The

Project Gutenberg EBook of The Violet Fairy Book, by Various

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Title: The Violet Fairy Book

Author: Various

Editor: Andrew Lang

Release Date: November 29, 2009 [EBook #641]

Last Updated: December 16, 2016

Language: English

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Produced by David Widger, and Charles Keller for Tina

THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK
By Various
Edited By Andrew Lang
TO VIOLET MYERS
IS DEDICATED
THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK
 PREFACE
The Editor takes this opportunity to repeat what he has often said before, that
he is not the author of the stories in the Fairy Books; that he did not invent them
‘out of his own head.’ He is accustomed to being asked, by ladies, ‘Have you
written anything else except the Fairy Books?’ He is then obliged to explain that
he has NOT written the Fairy Books, but, save these, has written almost
everything else, except hymns, sermons, and dramatic works.
The stories in this Violet Fairy Book, as in all the others of the series, have
been translated out of the popular traditional tales in a number of different
languages. These stories are as old as anything that men have invented. They are
narrated by naked savage women to naked savage children. They have been
inherited by our earliest civilised ancestors, who really believed that beasts and
trees and stones can talk if they choose, and behave kindly or unkindly. The
stories are full of the oldest ideas of ages when science did not exist, and magic
took the place of science. Anybody who has the curiosity to read the ‘Legendary
Australian Tales,’ which Mrs. Langloh Parker has collected from the lips of the
Australian savages, will find that these tales are closely akin to our own. Who
were the first authors of them nobody knows—probably the first men and
women. Eve may have told these tales to amuse Cain and Abel. As people grew
more civilised and had kings and queens, princes and princesses, these exalted
persons generally were chosen as heroes and heroines. But originally the
characters were just ‘a man,’ and ‘a woman,’ and ‘a boy,’ and ‘a girl,’ with
crowds of beasts, birds, and fishes, all behaving like human beings. When the
nobles and other people became rich and educated, they forgot the old stories,
but the country people did not, and handed them down, with changes at pleasure,
from generation to generation. Then learned men collected and printed the
country people’s stories, and these we have translated, to amuse children. Their
tastes remain like the tastes of their naked ancestors, thousands of years ago, and
they seem to like fairy tales better than history, poetry, geography, or arithmetic,
just as grown-up people like novels better than anything else.
This is the whole truth of the matter. I have said so before, and I say so again.
But nothing will prevent children from thinking that I invented the stories, or
some ladies from being of the same opinion. But who really invented the stories
nobody knows; it is all so long ago, long before reading and writing were
invented. The first of the stories actually written down, were written in Egyptian
hieroglyphs, or on Babylonian cakes of clay, three or four thousand years before
our time.
Of the stories in this book, Miss Blackley translated ‘Dwarf Long Nose,’ ‘The
Wonderful Beggars,’ ‘The Lute Player,’ ‘Two in a Sack,’ and ‘The Fish that
swam in the Air.’ Mr. W. A. Craigie translated from the Scandinavian, ‘Jasper
who herded the Hares.’ Mrs. Lang did the rest.
Some of the most interesting are from the Roumanion, and three were
previously published in the late Dr. Steere’s ‘Swahili Tales.’ By the permission
of his representatives these three African stories have here been abridged and
simplified for children.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

A TALE OF THE TONTLAWALD

THE FINEST LIAR IN THE WORLD
THE STORY OF THREE WONDERFUL BEGGARS
SCHIPPEITARO
THE THREE PRINCES AND THEIR BEASTS
(LITHUANIAN FAIRY TALE)
THE GOAT’S EARS OF THE EMPEROR TROJAN
THE NINE PEA-HENS AND THE GOLDEN APPLES
THE LUTE PLAYER
THE GRATEFUL PRINCE
 THE CHILD WHO CAME FROM AN EGG
STAN BOLOVAN
THE TWO FROGS
THE STORY OF A GAZELLE
HOW A FISH SWAM IN THE AIR AND A HARE IN
THE WATER.
TWO IN A SACK
THE ENVIOUS NEIGHBOUR
THE FAIRY OF THE DAWN
THE ENCHANTED KNIFE
JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES
THE UNDERGROUND WORKERS
THE HISTORY OF DWARF LONG NOSE
THE NUNDA, EATER OF PEOPLE
THE STORY OF HASSEBU
THE MAIDEN WITH THE WOODEN HELMET
THE MONKEY AND THE JELLY-FISH
THE HEADLESS DWARFS
THE YOUNG MAN WHO WOULD HAVE HIS EYES
OPENED
THE BOYS WITH THE GOLDEN STARS
THE FROG
THE PRINCESS WHO WAS HIDDEN
UNDERGROUND
THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY
THE STORY OF HALFMAN
THE PRINCE WHO WANTED TO SEE THE WORLD
VIRGILIUS THE SORCERER
MOGARZEA AND HIS SON
 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.)

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