Tales of Wonder Every Child Should Know
by unknown · English · Gutenberg #19461 · 718,536 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales of Wonder Every Child Should Know
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Tales of Wonder Every Child Should Know
Editor: Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin
Nora Archibald Smith
Release date: October 4, 2006 [eBook #19461]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19461
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF WONDER EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW ***
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The three-headed monster belched forth flame]
What Every Child Should Know LIBRARY
TALES
OF WONDER
EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW
Edited by
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
and NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
Published by DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & CO., INC., for
THE PARENTS' INSTITUTE, INC.
Publishers of "THE PARENTS' MAGAZINE"
_52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York_
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
* * * * *
PUBLISHER'S NOTE
_Doubleday, Page & Company wish to make acknowledgment of their
indebtedness to the following publishers_:
_G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London, for permission to use "The
Five Queer Brothers," "The Two Melons" and "What the Birds Said," from
"Chinese Nights' Entertainment," by Adele M. Fielde; "The Lac of
Rupees," from "Indian Fairy Tales," by Joseph Jacobs; "The
Sea-maiden," from "Celtic Fairy Tales," by Joseph Jacobs; "The Black
Horse" and "The Farmer of Liddesdale," from "More Celtic Fairy Tales,"
by Joseph Jacobs; and "The Buried Moon," from "More English Fairy
Tales," by Joseph Jacobs._
_T. Y. Crowell & Company, New York, for permission to use "The
Grateful Crane" from "The Fire-fly's Lovers," by William Elliot
Griffis._
_Joseph McDonough, Albany, for permission to use "Little Surya Bai,"
"The Jackal, the Barber and the Brahmin," "Truth's Triumph," "The
Raksha's Palace," and "Panch-Phul Ranee," from "Old Deccan Days," by
M. Frere._
_Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, for permission to use "The
Deserter," "Steelpacha" and "The Watch-tower Between Earth and
Heaven," from "The Russian Grandmother's Wonder Tales," by L. S.
Houghton._
_Macmillan & Company, London, for permission to use "The Grateful
Foxes" and "The Badger's Money," from "Tales of Old Japan," by A. B.
Mitford._
_The Review of Reviews Company, London, for permission to use "The
Feast of Lanterns" and "The Lake of Gems," from "Books for the
Bairns," edited by W. T. Stead._
_We also wish to express our appreciation to Mr. Seumas MacManus for
the use of his stories, "The Amadan of the Dough," "Hookedy-Crookedy,"
"Billy Beg and the Bull," and "The Queen of the Golden Mines," from
"Donegal Fairy Stories," and "In Chimney Corners," published by us._
* * * * *
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I WONDER (_Scandinavian_)
WHAT THE BIRDS SAID (_Chinese_)
THE SMITH AND THE FAIRIES (_Gaelic_)
THE GRATEFUL CRANE (_Japanese_)
LITTLE SURYA BAI (_Southern Indian_)
THE STORKS AND THE NIGHT OWL (_Persian_)
THE FIVE QUEER BROTHERS (_Chinese_)
THE LAC OF RUPEES (_Southern Indian_)
THE EMPEROR'S NIGHTINGALE. H. C. ANDERSEN
HOOKEDY-CROOKEDY. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
ARNDT'S NIGHT UNDERGROUND. D. M. MULOCK
THE UNICORN (_German_)
DESTINY. E. LABOULAYE (_Dalmatian_)
THE QUEEN OF THE GOLDEN MINES. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
THE DESERTER (_Russian_)
THE TWO MELONS (_Chinese_)
THE IRON CASKET (_Persian_)
THE KNIGHTS OF THE FISH. FERNAN CABALLERO (_Spanish_)
DAPPLEGRIM (_Scandinavian_)
THE HERMIT. VOLTAIRE (_French_)
THE WATCH-TOWER BETWEEN EARTH AND HEAVEN (_Russian_)
THE LUCKY COIN. FRANCOSO (_Portuguese_)
THE JACKAL, THE BARBER AND THE BRAHMIN (_Southern Indian_)
THE BIRD OF TRUTH. CABALLERO (_Spanish_)
THE TWO GENIES. VOLTAIRE (_French_)
STEELPACHA (_Russian_)
THE BURIED MOON (_English_)
THE FARMER OF LIDDESDALE (_English_)
THE BADGER'S MONEY (_Japanese_)
THE GRATEFUL FOXES (_Japanese_)
THE BLACK HORSE (_Celtic_)
TRUTH'S TRIUMPH (_Southern Indian_)
THE FEAST OF THE LANTERNS (_Chinese_)
THE LAKE OF GEMS (_Chinese_)
THE SEA-MAIDEN (_Celtic_)
THE ENCHANTED WATERFALL (_Japanese_)
THE AMADAN OF THE DOUGH. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
THE RAKSHAS'S PALACE (_Southern Indian_)
BILLY BEG AND THE BULL. SEUMAS MACMANUS (_Celtic_)
THE PRINCES FIRE-FLASH AND FIRE-FADE (_Japanese_)
PANCH-PHUL RANEE (_Southern Indian_)
SCHIPPEITARO (_Japanese_)
* * * * *
I WONDER!
I wonder if in Samarcand
Grave camels kneel in golden sand,
Still lading bales of magic spells
And charms a lover's wisdom tells,
To fare across the desert main
And bring the Princess home again--
I wonder!
I wonder in Japan to-day
If grateful beasts find out the way
To those who succoured them in pain,
And bring their blessings back again;
If cranes and sparrows take the shape
And all the ways of mortals ape--
I wonder!
In Bagdad, may there still be found
That potent powder, finely ground,
Which changes all who on it feast,
Monarch or slave, to bird or beast?
Do Caliphs taste and unafraid,
Turn storks, and weeping night-owls aid?
I wonder!
I wonder if in far Cathay
The nightingale still trills her lay
Beside the Porcelain Palace door,
And courtiers praise her as before I
If emperors dream of bygone things
And musing, weep the while she sings--
I wonder!
Such things have never chanced to me.
I wonder if to eyes that see
These magic visions still appear
In daily living, now and here;
If every flower is touched with glory,
If e'en the grass-blades tell a story--
I wonder
N. A. S.
* * * * *
_INTRODUCTION_
There is a Chinese tale, known as "The Singing Prisoner," in which a
friendless man is bound hand and foot and thrown into a dungeon, where
he lies on the cold stones unfed and untended.
He has no hope of freedom and as complaint will avail him nothing, he
begins to while away the hours by reciting poems and stories that he
had learned in youth. So happily does he vary the tones of the
speakers, feigning in turn the voices of kings and courtiers, lovers
and princesses, birds and beasts, that he speedily draws all his
fellow-prisoners around him, beguiling them by the spell of his
genius.
Those who have food, eagerly press it upon him that his strength may
be replenished; the jailer, who has been drawn into the charmed
circle, loosens his bonds that he may move more freely, and finally
grants him better quarters that the stories may be heard to greater
advantage. Next the petty officers hear of the prisoner's marvellous
gifts and report them everywhere with such effect that the higher
authorities at last become interested and grant him a pardon.
Tales like these, that draw children from play and old men from the
chimney-corner; that gain the freedom of a Singing Prisoner, and
enable a Scheherazade to postpone from night to night her hour of
death, are one and all pervaded by the same eternal magic. Pain,
grief, terror, care, and bondage are all forgotten for a time when
lakes of gems and enchanted waterfalls shimmer in the sunlight, when
Rakshas's palaces rise, full-built, before our very eyes, or when
Caballero's Knights of the Fish prance away on their magic chargers.
"I wonder when!" "I wonder how!" "I wonder where!" we say as we follow
them into the land of mystery. So Youngling said when he heard the
sound of the mysterious axe in the forest and asked himself who could
be chopping there.
"I wonder!" he cried again when he listened to the faerie spade
digging and delving at the top of the rocks.
"I wonder!" he questioned a third time when he drank from the
streamlet and sought its source, finding it at last in the enchanted
walnut. Axe and spade and walnut each gladly welcomed him, you
remember, saying, "It's long I've been looking for you, my lad!" for
the new world is always awaiting its Columbus.
No such divine curiosity as that of Youngling's stirred the dull minds
of his elder brothers and to them came no such reward. They jeered at
the wanderer, reproaching him that he forever strayed from the beaten
path, but when Youngling issues from the forest with the magic axe,
the marvellous spade, and the miraculous nut to conquer his little
world, we begin to ask ourselves which of the roads in the wood are
indeed best worth following.
"Childish wonder is the first step in human wisdom," said the greatest
of the world's showmen, but there are no wonders to the eyes that lack
real vision. In the story of "What the Birds Said," for instance, the
stolid jailer flatly denies that the feathered creatures have any
message of import to convey; it is the poor captive who by sympathy
and insight divines the meaning of their chatter and thus saves the
city and his own life.
The tales in this book are of many kinds of wonder; of black magic,
white magic and gray; ranging from the recital of strange and
supernatural deeds and experiences to those that fore-shadow modern
conquests of nature and those that utilize the marvellous to teach a
moral lesson. Choose among them as you will, for as the Spaniards
might say, "The book is at your feet; whatever you admire is yours!"
"Tales of Wonder" is the fourth and last of our Fairy Series in the
Children's Classics, so this preface is in the nature of an epilogue.
"The Fairy Ring," "Magic Casements," "Tales of Laughter"--each had its
separate message for its little public, and "Tales of Wonder" rings
down the curtain.
There was once a little brown nightingale that sang melodious strains
in the river-thickets of the Emperor's garden, but when she was
transported to the Porcelain Palace the courtiers soon tired of her
wild-wood notes and supplanted her with a wonderful bird-automaton,
fashioned of gold and jewels.
Time went on, but the Emperor, wisest of the court, began at last to
languish, and to long unceasingly for the fresh, free note of the
little brown nightingale. It was sweeter by far than the machine-made
trills and roulades of the artificial songster, and he felt
instinctively that only by its return could death be charmed away.
The old, yet ever new, tales in these four books are like the wild
notes of the nightingale in the river-thicket, and many are the
emperors to whom they have sung.
Whenever we tire of what is trivial and paltry in the machine-made
fairy tale of to-day, let us open one of these crimson volumes and
hear again the note of the little brown bird in the thicket.
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
* * * * *
_Tales of Wonder_
_I Wonder_
Once on a time there was a man who had three sons--Peter, Paul, and
the least of all, whom they called Youngling. I can't say the man had
anything more than these three sons, for he hadn't one penny to rub
against another; and he told the lads, over and over again, that they
must go out into the world and try to earn their bread, for at home
there was nothing to be looked for but starving to death.
Now near by the man's cottage was the King's palace, and, you must
know, just against the windows a great oak had sprung up, which was so
stout and tall that it took away all the light. The King had said he
would give untold treasure to the man who could fell the oak, but no
one was man enough for that, for as soon as one chip of the oak's
trunk flew off, two grew in its stead.
A well, too, the King desired, which was to hold water for the whole
year; for all his neighbours had wells, but he hadn't any, and that he
thought a shame. So the King said he would give both money and goods
to anyone who could dig him such a well as would hold water for a
whole year round, but no one could do it, for the palace lay high,
high up on a hill, and they could only dig a few inches before they
came upon the living rock.
But, as the King had set his heart on having these two things done, he
had it given out far and wide, in all the churches of his dominion,
that he who could fell the big oak in the King's courtyard, and get
him a well that would hold water the whole year round, should have the
Princess and half the kingdom.
Well! you may easily know there was many a man who came to try his
luck; but all their hacking and hewing, all their digging and delving,
were of no avail. The oak grew taller and stouter at every stroke, and
the rock grew no softer.
So one day the three brothers thought they'd set off and try, too, and
their father hadn't a word against it; for, even if they didn't get
the Princess and half the kingdom, it might happen that they would get
a place somewhere with a good master, and that was all he wanted. So
when the brothers said they thought of going to the palace, their
father said "Yes" at once, and Peter, Paul, and Youngling went off
from their home.
They had not gone far before they came to a fir-wood, and up along one
side of it rose a steep hillside, and as they went they heard
something hewing and hacking away up on the hill among the trees.
"I wonder now what it is that is hewing away up yonder?" said
Youngling.
"You are always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and Paul,
both at once. "What wonder is it, pray, that a wood-cutter should
stand and hack up on a hillside?"
"Still, I'd like to see what it is, after all," said Youngling, and up
he went.
"Oh, if you're such a child, 't will do you good to go and take a
lesson," cried out his brothers after him.
But Youngling didn't care for what they said; he climbed the steep
hillside toward where the noise came, and when he reached the place,
what do you think he saw?
Why, an axe that stood there hacking and hewing, all of itself, at the
trunk of a fir.
"Good day," said Youngling. "So you stand here all alone and hew, do
you?"
"Yes, here I've stood and hewed and hacked a long, long time, waiting
for you, my lad," said the Axe.
"Well, here I am at last," said Youngling, as he took the Axe, pulled
it off its haft, and stuffed both head and haft into his wallet.
So when he climbed down again to his brothers, they began to jeer and
laugh at him.
"And now, what funny thing was it you saw up yonder on the hillside?"
they said.
"Oh, it was only an axe we heard," said Youngling.
When they had gone a bit farther, they came under a steep spur of
rock, and up above they heard something digging and shovelling.
"I wonder, now," said Youngling, "what it is digging and shovelling up
yonder at the top of the rock?"
"Ah, you're always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and
Paul again; "as if you'd never heard a woodpecker hacking and pecking
at a hollow tree."
"Well, well," said Youngling, "I think it would be a piece of fun just
to see what it really is."
And so off he set to climb the rock, while the others laughed and made
game of him. But he didn't care a bit for that; up he clambered, and
when he got near the top, what do you think he saw? Why, a spade that
stood there digging and delving.
"Good day," said Youngling. "So you stand here all alone, and dig and
delve?"
"Yes, that's what I do," said the Spade, "and that's what I've done
this many a long day, waiting for you, my lad."
"Well, here I am," said Youngling again, as he took the Spade and
knocked off its handle, and put it into his wallet; and then he
climbed down again to his brothers.
"Well, what was it, so strange and rare," said Peter and Paul, "that
you saw up there at the top of the rock?"
"Oh," said Youngling, "nothing more than a spade; that was what we
heard."
So they went on again a good bit, till they came to a brook. They were
thirsty all three, after their long walk, and so they lay down beside
the brook to have a drink.
"I have a great fancy to see where this brook comes from," said
Youngling.
So up alongside the brook he went, in spite of all that his brothers
shouted after him. Nothing could stop him. On he went. And as he went
up and up, the brook grew smaller and smaller, and at last, a little
way farther on, what do you think he saw? Why, a great walnut, and out
of that the water trickled.
"Good day," said Youngling again. "So you lie here and trickle, and
run down all alone?"
"Yes, I do," said the Walnut "and here have I trickled and run this
many a long day, waiting for you, my lad."
"Well, here I am," said Youngling, as he took a lump of moss and
plugged up the hole, so that the water mightn't run out. Then he put
the Walnut into his wallet, and ran down to his brothers.
"Well, now," said Peter and Paul, "have you found out where the water
comes from? A rare sight it must have been!"
"Oh, after all, it was only a hole it ran out of," said Youngling, and
the others laughed and made game of him again, but Youngling didn't
mind that a bit.
So when they had gone a little farther, they came to the King's
palace; but as every man in the kingdom had heard that he might win
the Princess and half the realm, if he could only fell the big oak and
dig the King's well, so many had come to try their luck that the oak
was now twice as stout and big as it had been at first, for you will
remember that two chips grew for every one they hewed out with their
axes.
So the King had now laid it down as a punishment that if anyone tried
and couldn't fell the oak, he should be put on a barren island, and
both his ears were to be clipped off. But the two brothers didn't let
themselves be frightened by this threat; they were quite sure they
could fell the oak, and Peter, as he was the eldest, was to try his
hand first; but it went with him as with all the rest who had hewn at
the oak: for every chip he cut two grew in its place. So the King's
men seized him, and clipped off both his ears, and put him out on the
island.
Now Paul was to try his luck, but he fared just the same! When he had
hewn two or three strokes, they began to see the oak grow, and so the
King's men seized him, too, and clipped his ears, and put him out on
the island; and his ears they clipped closer, because they said he
ought to have taken a lesson from his brother.
So now Youngling was to try.
"If you want to look like a marked sheep, we're quite ready to clip
your ears at once, and then you'll save yourself some trouble," said
the King, for he was angry with him for his brothers' sake.
"Well, I'd just like to try first," said Youngling, and so he got
leave. Then he took his Axe out of his wallet and fitted it to its
handle.
"Hew away!" said he to his Axe, and away it hewed, making the chips
fly again, so that it wasn't long before down came the oak.
When that was done, Youngling pulled out his Spade and fitted it to
its handle.
"Dig away!" said he to his Spade, and so the Spade began to dig and
delve till the earth and rock flew out in splinters, and he soon had
the well deep enough, you may believe.
And when he had got it as big and deep as he chose, Youngling took out
his Walnut and laid it in one corner of the well, and pulled the plug
of moss out.
"Trickle and run," said Youngling, and so the Nut trickled and ran
till the water gushed out of the hole in a stream, and in a short time
the well was brimful.
So as Youngling had felled the oak which shaded the King's palace, and
dug a well in the palace-yard, he got the Princess and half the
kingdom, as the King had said; but it was lucky for Peter and Paul
that they had lost their ears, else they might have grown tired of
hearing how everyone said each hour of the day:
"Well, after all, Youngling wasn't so much out of his mind when he
took to wondering."
_What the Birds Said_
A lad named Kong Hia Chiang, who lived with his parents among the
mountains, understood the language of the birds. One twilight, as he
sat at his books, a flock of birds alighted on a tree before his
window and sang:
"Kong Hia Chiang, on the southern plain
A sheep awaits you by a heap of stones,--
A fine fat wether, that the dogs have slain;
You eat the flesh and we will pick the bones!"
Kong Hia Chiang went and brought in the torn sheep and cooked it
during the night. The next morning a shepherd came and said that one
of his sheep was missing; he had found blood on the meadow, had
followed the trail, and it had brought him to that house. Kong Hia
Chiang acknowledged that he had brought in the sheep, but declared
that the dogs had killed it, and that its death and the place where it
might be found had been made known to him by birds. His story was
considered to be an impudent fabrication, and he was haled away to
prison.
While he was awaiting his trial before the magistrate, a bird, flying
eastward, perched on the wall, saw him, and piped:
"Foes approach the western border,
Banners, bows, and spears in order,
While the gate lacks watch or warder."
Kong Hia Chiang thereupon so vehemently besought his jailer to inform
the magistrate of the imminent danger of invasion through the
unprotected Western Pass, that the jailer, though wholly incredulous,
decided to test his power of comprehending the utterances of birds. He
took some rice, soaked a part of it in sweetened water, and a part in
brine, and then spread the whole on the roof of a shed into which he
brought Kong Hia Chiang, and asked him if he knew why so many birds
were chirruping overhead. Kong Hia Chiang at once replied that those
on the roof were hailing those that were flying past, and saying:
"Call a halt; call a halt;
Here is rice fresh and white;
Half is sweet, half is salt;
Stop a bit; take a bite."
The jailer was at once convinced that the prisoner understood the
speech of birds, and therefore hastened to the magistrate to report
the warning and the test. The magistrate sent a swift courier to
notify the military officers, and a scout was sent out to the west. He
soon confirmed the message of Kong Hia Chiang, and troops were
dispatched to strengthen the garrison at the pass, the invaders
thereby being successfully repelled. The great service rendered to the
country by Kong Hia Chiang was acknowledged by his sovereign, who
afterward made use of his remarkable talent, invited him to study with
the princes, and eventually raised him to a high rank among the nobles
of the empire.
_The Smith and the Fairies_
Years ago there lived in Crossbrig a smith of the name of MacEachern.
This man had an only child, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years
of age, cheerful, strong, and healthy. All of a sudden he fell ill;
took to his bed and moped whole days away. No one could tell what was
the matter with him, and the boy himself could not, or would not, tell
how he felt. He was wasting away fast; getting thin, old, and yellow;
and his father and all his friends were afraid that he would die.
At last one day, after the boy had been lying in this condition for a
long time, getting neither better nor worse, always confined to bed,
but with an extraordinary appetite--one day, while sadly revolving
these things, and standing idly at his forge, with no heart to work,
the smith was agreeably surprised to see an old man, well known for
his sagacity and knowledge of out-of-the-way things, walk into his
workshop. Forthwith he told him the occurrence which had clouded his
life.
The old man looked grave as he listened; and after sitting a long time
pondering over all he had heard, gave his opinion thus: "It is not
your son you have got. The boy has been carried away by the '_Daione
Sith_,' and they have left a _Sibhreach_ in his place."
"Alas! and what then am I to do?" said the smith. "How am I ever to
see my own son again?"
"I will tell you how," answered the old man. "But, first, to make sure
that it is not your own son you have got, take as many empty
egg-shells as you can get, go into his room, spread them out carefully
before his sight, then proceed to draw water with them, carrying them
two and two in your hands as if they were a great weight, and arrange
them when full, with every sort of earnestness around the fire."
The smith accordingly gathered as many broken egg-shells as he could
get, went into the room, and proceeded to carry out all his
instructions.
He had not been long at work before there arose from the bed a shout
of laughter, and the voice of the seeming sick boy exclaimed, "I am
eight hundred years of age, and I have never seen the like of that
before." The smith returned and told the old man.
"Well, now," said the sage to him, "did I not tell you that it was not
your son you had: your son is in Borracheill in a digh there (that is,
a round green hill frequented by fairies). Get rid as soon as possible
of this intruder, and I think I may promise you your son. You must
light a very large and bright fire before the bed on which this
stranger is lying. He will ask you, 'What is the use of such a fire as
that?' Answer him at once, 'You will see that presently!' and then
seize him, and throw him into the middle of it. If it is your own son
you have got, he will call out to you to save him; but if not, the
thing will fly through the roof."
The smith again followed the old man's advice: kindled a large fire,
answered the question put to him as he had been directed to do, and
seizing the child flung him in without hesitation. The _Sibhreach_
gave an awful yell, and sprang through the roof, where a hole had been
left to let the smoke out.
On a certain night the old man told him the green round hill, where
the fairies kept the boy, would be open, and on that date the smith,
having provided himself with a Bible, a dirk, and a crowing cock, was
to proceed to the hill. He would hear singing and dancing, and much
merriment going on, he had been told, but he was to advance boldly;
the Bible he carried would be a certain safeguard to him against any
danger from the fairies. On entering the hill he was to stick the dirk
in the threshold, to prevent the hill from closing upon him; "and
then," continued the old man, "on entering you will see a spacious
apartment before you, beautifully clean, and there, standing far
within, working at a forge, you will also see your own son. When you
are questioned, say you come to seek him, and will not go without
him."
Not long after this, the time came round, and the smith sallied forth,
prepared as instructed. Sure enough as he approached the hill, there
was a light where light was seldom seen before. Soon after, a sound of
piping, dancing, and joyous merriment reached the anxious father on
the night wind.
Overcoming every impulse to fear, the smith approached the threshold
steadily, stuck the dirk into it as directed, and entered. Protected
by the Bible he carried on his breast, the fairies could not touch
him; but they asked him, with a good deal of displeasure, what he
wanted there. He answered, "I want my son, whom I see down there, and
I will not go without him."
Upon hearing this the whole company before him gave a loud laugh,
which wakened up the cock he carried dozing in his arms, who at once
leaped up on his shoulders, clapped his wings lustily, and crowed loud
and long.
The fairies, incensed, seized the smith and his son, and throwing them
out of the hill, flung the dirk after them, and in an instant all was
dark.
For a year and a day the boy never did a turn of work, and hardly ever
spoke a word; but at last one day, sitting by his father and watching
him finishing a sword he was making for some chief, and which he was
very particular about, he suddenly exclaimed, "That is not the way to
do it;" and taking the tools from his father's hands he set to work
himself in his place, and soon fashioned a sword, the like of which
was never seen in the country before.
From that day the young man wrought constantly with his father, and
became the inventor of a peculiarly fine and well-tempered weapon, the
making of which kept the two smiths, father and son, in constant
employment, spread their fame far and wide, and gave them the means in
abundance, as they before had the disposition, to live content with
all the world and very happily with each other.
_The Grateful Crane_[1]
"Fighting sparrows fear not man," as the old proverb says. Yet it was
not a sparrow but a crane that fell down out of the air. Near the feet
of Musai, the farmer's boy, it lay, as he waded in the ooze of his
rice field, working from daybreak to sundown.
[Footnote 1: From "The Fire-fly's Lovers," by William Elliot Griffis,
copyright, 1008, by T. Y. Crowell & Co.]
The farmer's boy was used to cranes, for in the plough's furrow on the
dry land these long-legged birds walked close behind, not the least
afraid in the Mikado's dominions. For who would hurt the
white-breasted creature, that every one called the Honourable Lord
Crane? The graceful birds seemed to love to be near man, when he
worked in the wet or paddy fields, where under four inches of water
the seeds were planted and the rice plants grew. So graceful in all
its movements is the crane that many a dainty little maid who acts
politely hears herself spoken of as the "bird that rises from the
water without muddying the stream."
Musai hurried to the grassy bank at the edge of the paddy field as
fast as he could wade through the liquid mud, to see what was the
matter with the crane. Throwing down his hoe, and looking in the
grass, he saw that an arrow was sticking in the crane's back, and that
red drops of blood dappled its white plumage. Instead of seeming
frightened when the man came near, the bird bent down its neck, as if
to submit to whatever the farmer's boy should do.
Gently Musai plucked out the arrow and helped the bird to rise,
pushing back the undergrowth so that its broad white pinions could
have free play. After a few feeble attempts to fly it spread its
wings, rose up from the earth, and after circling several times round
its benefactor as though to thank him, it flew off to the mountain.
Musai went back to his work, hoping that in season his labor would
yield a good crop. He had his widowed mother to support and must needs
toil every day. His one delight was to come home, weary after the long
hours of labour in the muddy rice field, and have a hot bath. This his
mother always had ready for him. Then, clean and with a fresh kimono,
and a little rest before supper-time, he was ready for a quiet evening
with the neighbours.
So in routine the days passed by until autumn was near at hand. One
day, returning before the sun was fully set, he found seated beside
his mother a lovely girl. In spite of his contemptible appearance
after a day's toil, working barelegged in the mire, she welcomed him
with the grace of a princess.
Not thinking of returning the salute in his unwashed condition, he
took off his head-kerchief, drew in his breath, and bowing to his
mother asked.
"Who is the honourable That Side, and how comes she into this
miserable hut?"
"My son," replied his mother, "though you are a man, you have as yet
no wife. Your virtues of obedience, filial reverence, fidelity, and
politeness have made you well known. Hence this fair damsel is not
unwilling to become your wife. But, without your consent, I could not
answer her proposal. What do you think about it?"
The young farmer, though highly complimented, at first said little,
but he thought hard. "Daintily reared, and perhaps of noble birth is
she, but should I gratify her desire, how can she bear the poverty to
which we are accustomed? Will she be patient, when she has to suffer
hunger? Or, shall we be separated, and that which promises love and
happiness last only a little while, to pass away, leaving gloom and
sorrow behind?"
But as the days slipped along, and when he saw how kind she was to her
new mother, ever patient and self-denying in loving reverence, all his
fears were driven away like clouds before the wind. So the young man
and woman were married.
But when the full autumn-time came for the rice ears to fill and round
out, nothing was found but husk and shell. The crop was a total
failure. With heavy taxes unpaid and no food in the house, starvation
loomed before them. By winter, all were in dire distress.
Then the patient wife revealed new powers and cheered her husband,
saying,
"I can spin such cloth as was never made in this province, if you will
build me a separate room. I cannot weave here, or make the fine
pattern of red and white except when alone and in perfect silence.
Build me a room, and the money you need will flow in."
The old mother was doubtful as to her daughter-in-law's project and
even Musai was but half-hearted. Yet he went to work diligently. With
beam, and wattle, and thatch, floor of mats and window of latticed
paper, with walls made tight because well daubed with clay, he built
the room apart. There alone, day by day, secluded from all, the sweet
wife toiled unseen. The mother and husband patiently waited, until
after a week, the little woman rejoined the family circle. In her
hands she bore a roll of woven stuff, white and shining, as lustrous
and pure as fresh fallen snow. Yet here and there, a crimson thread in
the stuff did but intensify the purity of the otherwise unflecked
whiteness. Pure red and pure white were the only colours of this
wonderful fabric.
"What shall we call it?" inquired the amazed husband.
"It has no name, for there is none other in the world like it," said
the fair weaver.
"But I must have a name. I shall take it to the Daimio. He will not
buy, if he does not know how it is called."
"Then," said the wife, "tell him its name is 'White Crane's-down
cloth.'"
Quickly passed the snowy fabric into the hands of the lord of the
castle, who sent it as a present to the Empress in Kioto. All were
amazed by it, and the Empress commanded the donor to be richly
rewarded. The farmer husband, bearing a thousand pieces of coin in his
bag, hastened home to spread the shining silver at his mother's feet
and to thank the wife who had brought him fortune. A feast followed,
and for many weeks the family lived easily on the money thus gained.
Then, when again on the edge of need, Musai asked his wife if she were
willing to weave another web of the wonderful Crane's-down cloth.
Cheerfully she agreed, cautioning him to leave her in privacy, and not
to look upon her until she came forth with the cloth.
But alas for the spirit of prying impertinence and wicked curiosity!
Not satisfied with having been delivered from starvation by a wife
that served him like a slave, Musai stealthily crept up to the paper
partition, touched his tongue to the latticed pane, and poked his
finger noiselessly through, thus making a round hole to which he glued
his eye and looked in.
What a sight! There was no woman at work, but a noble white crane--the
same that he had seen in the field, and from whose back he had
extracted the hunter's arrow. Bending over the spinning wheel, the
bird pulled from her own breast the silky down, and by twining and
twisting made it into the finest thread which mortals ever beheld.
From time to time, she pressed from her heart's blood red drops with
which to dye some strands, and thus the weaving went on. The web of
the cloth was nearly finished.
Musai astounded looked on without moving, until suddenly called by his
mother, he cried out in response, "Yes, I'm coming."
The startled crane turned and saw the eye in the wall. Throwing down
thread and web she moved angrily to the door, gave a shrill scream and
flew out under the sky. Like a white speck against the blue hills, she
appeared for a little while and then was lost to sight.
Son and mother once more faced poverty and loneliness, and Musai again
splashed barelegged in the rice field.
_Little Surya Bai_
A poor Milkwoman was once going into the town with cans full of milk
to sell. She took with her her little daughter (a baby of about a year
old), having no one in whose charge to leave her at home. Being tired,
she sat down by the roadside, placing the child and the cans full of
milk beside her; when, on a sudden, two large eagles flew overhead;
and one, swooping down, seized the child, and flew away with her out
of the mother's sight.
Very far, far away the eagles carried the little baby, even beyond the
borders of her native land, until they reached their home in a lofty
tree. There the old eagles had built a great nest; it was made of iron
and wood, and was as big as a little house; there was iron all round,
and to get in and out you had to go through seven iron doors.
In this stronghold they placed the little baby, and because she was
like a young eaglet they called her Surya Bai (the Sun Lady). The
eagles both loved the child; and daily they flew into distant
countries to bring her rich and precious things--clothes that had been
made for princesses, precious jewels, wonderful playthings, all that
was most costly and rare.
One day, when Surya Bai was twelve years old, the old husband Eagle
said to his wife, "Wife, our daughter has no diamond ring on her
little finger, such as princesses wear; let us go and fetch her one."
"Yes," said the other old Eagle; "but to fetch it we must go very
far." "True," rejoined he, "such a ring is not to be got nearer than
the Red Sea, and that is a twelve-month's journey from here;
nevertheless we will go." So the Eagles started off, leaving Surya Bai
in the strong nest, with twelve months' provisions (that she might not
be hungry whilst they were away), and a little dog and cat to take
care of her.
Not long after they were gone, one day the naughty little cat stole
some food from the store, for doing which Surya Bai punished her. The
cat did not like being whipped, and she was still more annoyed at
having been caught stealing; so, in revenge, she ran to the fireplace
(they were obliged to keep a fire always burning in the Eagle's nest,
as Surya never went down from the tree, and would not otherwise have
been able to cook her dinner), and put out the fire. When the little
girl saw this she was much vexed, for the cat had eaten their last
cooked provisions, and she did not know what they were to do for food.
For three whole days Surya Bai puzzled over the difficulty, and for
three whole days she and the dog and the cat had nothing to eat. At
last she thought she would climb to the edge of the nest, and see if
she could see any fire in the country below; and, if so, she would go
down and ask the people who lighted it to give her a little with which
to cook her dinner. So she climbed to the edge of the nest. Then, very
far away on the horizon, she saw a thin curl of blue smoke. So she let
herself down from the tree, and all day long she walked in the
direction whence the smoke came. Toward evening she reached the place,
and found it rose from a small hut in which sat an old woman warming
her hands over a fire. Now, though Surya Bai did not know it, she had
reached the Rakshas's country, and this old woman was none other than
a wicked old Rakshas, who lived with her son in the little hut. The
young Rakshas, however, had gone out for the day. When the old Rakshas
saw Surya Bai, she was much astonished, for the girl was beautiful as
the sun, and her rich dress resplendent with jewels; and she said to
herself, "How lovely this child is; what a dainty morsel she would be!
Oh, if my son were only here we would kill her, and boil her, and eat
her. I will try and detain her till his return."
Then, turning to Surya Bai, she said, "Who are you, and what do you
want?"
Surya Bai answered, "I am the daughter of the great Eagles, but they
have gone a far journey, to fetch me a diamond ring, and the fire has
died out in the nest. Give me, I pray you, a little from your
hearth."
The Rakshas replied, "You shall certainly have some, only first pound
this rice for me, for I am old, and have no daughter to help me."
Then Surya Bai pounded the rice, but the young Rakshas had not
returned by the time she had finished; so the old Rakshas said to her,
"If you are kind, grind this corn for me, for it is hard work for my
old hands."
Then she ground the corn, but still the young Rakshas came not; and
the old Rakshas said to her, "Sweep the house for me first, and then I
will give you the fire."
So Surya Bai swept the house; but still the young Rakshas did not
come.
Then his mother said to Surya Bai, "Why should you be in such a hurry
to go home? Fetch me some water from the well, and then you shall have
the fire."
And she fetched the water. When she had done so, Surya Bai said, "I
have done all your bidding, now give me the fire, or I will go
elsewhere and seek it."
The old Rakshas was grieved because her son had not returned home; but
she saw she could detain Surya Bai no longer, so she said, "Take the
fire and go in peace; take also some parched corn, and scatter it
along the road as you go, so as to make a pretty little pathway from
our house to yours"--and so saying, she gave Surya Bai several
handfuls of parched corn. The girl took them, fearing no evil, and as
she went she scattered the grains on the road. Then she climbed back
into the nest and shut the seven iron doors, and lighted the fire, and
cooked the food, and gave the dog and the cat some dinner, and took
some herself, and went to sleep.
No sooner had Surya Bai left the Rakshas's hut, than the young Rakshas
returned, and his mother said to him, "Alas, alas, my son, why did not
you come sooner? Such a sweet little lamb has been here, and now we
have lost her." Then she told him all about Surya Bai.
"Which way did she go?" asked the young Rakshas; "only tell me that,
and I'll have her before morning."
His mother told him how she had given Surya Bai the parched corn to
scatter on the road; and when he heard that, he followed up the track,
and ran, and ran, and ran, till he came to the foot of the tree.
There, looking up, he saw the nest high in the branches above them.
Quick as thought, up he climbed, and reached the great outer door; and
he shook it, and shook it, but he could not get in, for Surya Bai had
bolted it. Then he said, "Let me in, my child, let me in; I'm the
great Eagle, and I have come from very far, and brought you many
beautiful jewels; and here is a splendid diamond ring to fit your
little finger." But Surya Bai did not hear him--she was fast asleep.
He next tried to force open the door again, but it was too strong for
him. In his efforts, however, he had broken off one of his finger
nails (now the nail of a Rakshas is most poisonous), which he left
sticking in the crack of the door when he went away.
Next morning Surya Bai opened all the doors, in order to look down on
the world below; but when she came to the seventh door a sharp thing,
which was sticking in it, ran into her hand, and immediately she fell
down dead.
At that same moment the two poor Eagles returned from their long,
wearisome journey, bringing a beautiful diamond ring, which they had
fetched for their little favourite from the Red Sea.
There she lay on the threshold of the nest, beautiful as ever but cold
and dead.
The Eagles could not bear the sight; so they placed the ring on her
finger, and then, with loud cries, flew off to return no more.
But a little while after there chanced to come by a great Rajah, who
was out on a hunting expedition. He came with hawks, and hounds, and
attendants, and horses, and pitched his camp under the tree in which
the Eagles' nest was built. Then looking up, he saw, amongst the
topmost branches, what appeared like a queer little house; and he sent
some of his attendants to see what it was. They soon returned, and
told the Rajah that up in the tree was a curious thing like a cage,
having seven iron doors, and that on the threshold of the first door
lay a fair maiden, richly dressed; that she was dead, and that beside
her stood a little dog and a little cat.
At this the Rajah commanded that they should be fetched down, and when
he saw Surya Bai he felt very sad to think that she was dead. And he
took her hand to feel if it were already stiff; but all her limbs were
supple, nor had she become cold, as the dead are cold; and, looking
again at her hand, the Rajah saw that a sharp thing, like a long
thorn, had run into the tender palm, almost far enough to pierce
through to the back of her hand.
He pulled it out, and no sooner had he done so than Surya Bai opened
her eyes, and stood up, crying, "Where am I? and who are you? Is it a
dream, or true?"
The Rajah answered, "It is all true, beautiful lady. I am the Rajah of
a neighbouring land; pray tell me who are you."
She replied, "I am the Eagles' child."
But he laughed. "Nay," he said, "that cannot be; you are some great
Princess."
"No," she answered, "I am no royal lady; what I say is true. I have
lived all my life in this tree. I am only the Eagles' child."
Then the Rajah said, "If you are not a Princess born, I will make you
one; say only you will be my Queen."
Surya Bai consented, and the Rajah took her to his kingdom and made
her his Queen. But Surya Bai was not his only wife, and the first
Ranee, his other wife, was both envious and jealous of her.
The Rajah gave Surya Bai many trustworthy attendants to guard her and
be with her; and one old woman loved Surya Bai more than all the rest,
and used to say to her, "Don't be too intimate with the first Ranee,
dear lady, for she wishes you no good, and she has power to do you
harm. Some day she may poison or otherwise injure you." But Surya Bai
would answer her, "Nonsense! what is there to be alarmed about? Why
cannot we both live happily together like two sisters?" Then the old
woman would rejoin, "Ah, dear lady, may you never live to rue your
confidence! I pray my fears may prove folly." So Surya Bai went often
to see the first Ranee, and the first Ranee also came often to see
her.
One day they were standing in the palace courtyard, near a tank, where
the Rajah's people used to bathe, and the first Ranee said to Surya
Bai, "What pretty jewels you have, sister; let me try them on for a
minute, and see how I look in them."
The old woman was standing beside Surya Bai, and she whispered to her,
"Do not lend her your jewels."
"Hush, you silly old woman," answered she. "What harm will it do?" and
she gave the Ranee her jewels.
Then the Ranee said, "How pretty all your things are! Do you not think
they look well even on me! Let us come down to the tank; it is as
clear as glass, and we can see ourselves reflected in it, and how
these jewels will shine in the clear water!"
The old woman, hearing this, was much alarmed, and begged Surya Bai
not to venture near the tank, but she said, "I bid you be silent; I
will not distrust my sister." And she went down to the tank. Then,
when no one was near, and they were both leaning over, looking at
their reflections in the water, the first Ranee pushed Surya Bai into
the tank, who, sinking under the water, was drowned; and from the
place where her body fell there sprang up a bright golden sunflower.
The Rajah shortly afterward inquired where Surya Bai was, but nowhere
could she be found. Then, very angry, he came to the first Ranee and
said, "Tell me where the child is. You have made away with her."
But she answered, "You do me wrong; I know nothing of her. Doubtless
that old woman whom you allowed to be always with her, has done her
some harm." So the Rajah ordered the poor old woman to be thrown into
prison.
He tried to forget Surya Bai and all her pretty ways, but it was no
good. Wherever he went he saw her face. Whatever he heard, he still
listened for her voice. Every day he grew more miserable; he would not
eat or drink; and as for the other Ranee, he could not bear to speak
to her. All his people said, "He will surely die."
When matters were in this state, the Rajah one day wandered to the
edge of the tank, and bending over the parapet, looked into the water.
Then he was surprised to see, growing out of the tank close beside him
a stately golden flower; and as he watched it, the sunflower gently
bent its head and leaned down toward him. The Rajah's heart was
softened, and he kissed its leaves and murmured, "This flower reminds
me of my lost wife. I love it, it is fair and gentle as she used to
be." And every day he would go down to the tank and sit and watch the
flower. When the Ranee heard this, she ordered her servants to go and
dig the sunflower up, and to take it far into the jungle and burn it.
Next time the Rajah went to the tank he found his flower gone, and he
was much grieved, but none dared say who had done it.
Then, in the jungle, from the place where the ashes of the sunflower
had been thrown, there sprang up a young mango tree, tall and
straight, that grew so quickly, and became such a beautiful tree, that
it was the wonder of all the country round. At last, on its topmost
bough, came one fair blossom; and the blossom fell, and the little
mango grew rosier and rosier, and larger and larger, till so wonderful
was it both for size and shape that people flocked from far and near
only to look at it.
But none ventured to gather it, for it was to be kept for the Rajah
himself.
Now one day, the poor Milkwoman, Surya Bai's mother, was returning
homeward after her day's work with the empty milk cans, and being very
tired with her long walk to the bazaar, she lay down under the mango
tree and fell asleep. Then, right into her largest milk can, fell the
wonderful mango! When the poor woman awoke and saw what had happened,
she was dreadfully frightened, and thought to herself, "If any one
sees me with this wonderful fruit, that all the Rajah's people have
been watching for so many, many weeks, they will never believe that I
did not steal it, and I shall be put in prison. Yet it is no good
leaving it here; besides, it fell off of itself into my milk can. I
will therefore take it home as secretly as possible, and share it with
my children."
So the Milkwoman covered up the can in which the mango was, and took
it quickly to her home, where she placed it in the corner of the room,
and put over it a dozen other milk cans, piled one above another.
Then, as soon as it was dark, she called her husband and eldest son
(for she had six or seven children), and said to them, "What good
fortune do you think has befallen me to-day?"
"We cannot guess," they said. "Nothing less," she went on, "than the
wonderful, wonderful mango falling into one of my milk cans while I
slept! I have brought it home with me; it is in that lowest can. Go,
husband, call all the children to have a slice; and you, my son, take
down that pile of cans and fetch me the mango." "Mother," he said,
when he got to the lowest can, "you were joking, I suppose, when you
told us there was a mango here."
"No, not at all," she answered; "there is a mango there. I put it
there myself an hour ago."
"Well, there's something quite different now," replied the son. "Come
and see."
The Milkwoman ran to the place, and there, in the lowest can, she saw,
not the mango, but a little tiny wee lady, richly dressed in red and
gold, and no bigger than a mango! On her head shone a bright jewel
like a little sun.
"This is very odd," said the mother. "I never heard of such a thing in
my life! But since she has been sent to us, I will take care of her,
as if she were my own child."
Every day the little lady grew taller and taller, until she was the
size of an ordinary woman; she was gentle and lovable, but always sad
and quiet, and she said her name was "Surya Bai."
The children were all very curious to know her history, but the
Milkwoman and her husband would not let her be teased to tell who she
was, and said to the children, "Let us wait. By and by, when she knows
us better, she will most likely tell us her story of her own accord."
Now it came to pass that once, when Surya Bai was taking water from
the well for the old Milkwoman, the Rajah rode by, and as he saw her
walking along, he cried, "That is my wife," and rode after her as
fast as possible. Surya Bai hearing a great clatter of horses' hoofs,
was frightened, and ran home as fast as possible, and hid herself; and
when the Rajah reached the place there was only the old Milkwoman to
be seen standing at the door of her hut.
Then the Rajah said to her, "Give her up, old woman, you have no right
to keep her; she is mine, she is mine!"
But the old woman answered, "Are you mad? I don't know what you mean."
The Rajah replied, "Do not attempt to deceive me. I saw my wife go in
at your door; she must be in the house."
"Your wife?" screamed the old woman--"your wife? you mean my daughter,
who lately returned from the well! Do you think I am going to give my
child up at your command? You are Rajah in your palace, but I am Rajah
in my own house; and I won't give up my little daughter for any
bidding of yours. Be off with you, or I'll pull out your beard." And
so saying, she seized a long stick and attacked the Rajah, calling out
loudly to her husband and sons, who came running to her aid.
The Rajah, seeing matters were against him, and having outridden his
attendants (and not being quite certain moreover whether he had seen
Surya Bai, or whether she might not have been really the poor
Milkwoman's daughter), rode off and returned to his palace.
However, he determined to sift the matter. As a first step he went to
see Surya Bai's old attendant, who was still in prison. From her he
learned enough to make him believe she was not only entirely innocent
of Surya Bai's death, but gravely to suspect the first Ranee of having
caused it. He therefore ordered the old woman to be set at liberty,
still keeping a watchful eye on her, and bade her prove her devotion
to her long-lost mistress by going to the Milkwoman's house, and
bringing him as much information as possible about the family, and
more particularly about the girl he had seen returning from the well.
So the attendant went to the Milkwoman's house, and made friends with
her, and bought some milk, and afterward she stayed and talked to
her.
After a few days the Milkwoman ceased to be suspicious of her, and
became quite cordial.
Surya Bai's attendant then told how she had been the late Ranee's
waiting-woman, and how the Rajah had thrown her into prison on her
mistress's death; in return for which intelligence the old Milkwoman
imparted to her how the wonderful mango had tumbled into her can as
she slept under the tree, and how it had miraculously changed in the
course of an hour into a beautiful little lady. "I wonder why she
should have chosen my poor house to live in, instead of any one
else's," said the old woman.
Then Surya Bai's attendant said, "Have you ever asked her her history?
Perhaps she would not mind telling it to you now."
So the Milkwoman called the girl, and as soon as the old attendant saw
her, she knew it was none other than Surya Bai, and her heart jumped
for joy; but she remained silent, wondering much, for she knew her
mistress had been drowned in the tank.
The old Milkwoman turned to Surya Bai and said, "My child, you have
lived long with us, and been a good daughter to me; but I have never
asked you your history, because I thought it must be a sad one; but if
you do not fear to tell it to me now, I should like to hear it."
Surya Bai answered, "Mother, you speak true; my story is sad. I
believe my real mother was a poor Milkwoman like you, and that she
took me with her one day when I was quite a little baby, as she was
going to sell milk in the bazaar. But being tired with the long walk,
she sat down to rest, and placed me also on the ground, when suddenly
a great Eagle flew down and carried me away. But all the father and
mother I ever knew were the two great Eagles."
"Ah, my child! my child!" cried the Milkwoman, "I was that poor woman;
the Eagles flew away with my eldest girl when she was only a year old.
Have I found you after these many years?"
And she ran and called all her children, and her husband, to tell them
the wonderful news.
And there was great rejoicing among them all.
When they were a little calmer, her mother said to Surya Bai, "Tell
us, dear daughter, how your life has been spent since first we lost
you." And Surya Bai went on:
"The old Eagles took me away to their home, and there I lived happily
many years. They loved to bring me all the beautiful things they could
find, and at last one day they both went to fetch me a diamond ring
from the Red Sea; but while they were gone the fire went out in the
nest: so I went to an old woman's hut, and got her to give me some
fire; and next day (I don't know how it was), as I was opening the
outer door of the cage, a sharp thing, that was sticking in it, ran
into my hand and I fell down senseless.
"I don't know how long I lay there, but when I came to myself, I found
the Eagles must have come back, and thought me dead, and gone away,
for the diamond ring was on my little finger; a great many people were
watching over me, and amongst them was a Rajah, who asked me to go
home with him and be his wife, and he brought me to this place, and I
was his Ranee.
"But his other wife, the first Ranee, hated me (for she was jealous),
and desired to kill me; and one day she accomplished her purpose by
pushing me into the tank, for I was young and foolish, and disregarded
the warnings of my faithful old attendant, who begged me not to go
near the place. Ah! if I had only listened to her words I might have
been happy still."
At these words the old attendant, who had been sitting in the
background, rushed forward and kissed Surya Bai's feet, crying; "Ah,
my lady! my lady! have I found you at last!" and, without staying to
hear more, she ran back to the palace to tell the Rajah the glad news.
Then Surya Bai told her parents how she had not wholly died in the
tank, but become a sunflower; and how the first Ranee; seeing how fond
the Rajah was of the plant, had caused it to be thrown away; and then
how she had risen from the ashes of the sunflower, in the form of a
mango tree; and how when the tree blossomed all her spirit went into
the little mango flower, and she ended by saying: "And when the flower
became fruit, I know not by what irresistible impulse I was induced
to throw myself into your milk can. Mother--it was my destiny, and as
soon as you took me into your house, I began to recover my human
form."
"Why, then," asked her brothers and sisters, "why do you not tell the
Rajah that you are living, and that you are the Ranee Surya Bai?"
"Alas," she answered, "I could not do that. Who knows but that he may
be influenced by the first Ranee, and also desire my death. Let me
rather be poor like you, but safe from danger."
Then her mother cried, "Oh, what a stupid woman I am! The Rajah one
day came seeking you here, but I and your father and brothers drove
him away, for we did not know you were indeed the lost Ranee."
As she spoke these words a sound of horses' hoofs was heard in the
distance, and the Rajah himself appeared, having heard the good news
of Surya Bai's return from her old attendant.
It is impossible to tell the joy of the Rajah at finding his long-lost
wife, but it was not greater than Surya Bai's at being restored to her
husband.
Then the Rajah turned to the old Milkwoman, and said "Old woman, you
did not tell me true, for it was indeed my wife who was in your hut."
"Yes, Protector of the Poor," answered the old Milkwoman, "but it was
also my daughter." Then they told him how Surya Bai was the
Milkwoman's child.
At hearing this the Rajah commanded them all to return with him to the
palace. He gave Surya Bai's father a village and, ennobled the family;
and he said to Surya Bai's old attendant, "For the good service you
have done you shall be palace housekeeper," and he gave her great
riches; adding, "I can never repay the debt I owe you, nor make you
sufficient recompense for having caused you to be unjustly cast into
prison." But she replied, "Sire, even in your anger you were
temperate; if you had caused me to be put to death, as some would have
done, none of this good might have come upon you; it is yourself you
have to thank."
The wicked first Ranee was cast, for the rest of her life, into the
prison in which the old attendant had been thrown; but Surya Bai lived
happily with her husband the rest of her days; and in memory of her
adventures, he planted round their palace a hedge of sunflowers and a
grove of mango trees.
_The Storks and the Night Owl_
Chasid, Caliph of Bagdad, which, by the way, is on the river Tigris,
and was long, long ago the capital of the ancient Saracen Empire, was
comfortably seated upon his sofa one beautiful afternoon. He had slept
a little, for it was a very hot day, and he seemed cheerful after his
nap.
He smoked from a long pipe made of rosewood; sipped now and then a
little coffee, which a slave poured out for him, and stroked his beard
very contentedly. So it was very plain that the Caliph was in a good
humour. This was generally the case at this hour, as it was the custom
of his Grand Vizier Manzor to visit him every day about this time. He
came this afternoon, but he seemed very thoughtful. The Caliph looked
at him, and said: "Grand Vizier, why is thy countenance so sad?"
The Grand Vizier crossed his arms over his breast, bowed himself
before his lord, and said: "My lord, I am sad because in the court
below there is a merchant who has such fine wares that I am troubled
because I have so little money to spare to purchase them."
The Caliph, who had for a long time past desired to confer a favour
upon his Grand Vizier, sent his black slave to bring up the merchant.
The slave soon returned with him. The merchant was a short stout man,
with a dark brown face, and in ragged attire. He carried a chest, in
which he had various kinds of wares, pearls and rings, richly inlaid
pistols, goblets and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier looked at them,
and the former purchased some beautiful pistols for himself and
Manzor. As the merchant was about to pack up his chest the Caliph saw
a small drawer, and asked what it contained. The merchant drew out the
drawer, and showed therein a box filled with blackish powder and a
paper with strange writing upon it, which neither the Caliph nor
Manzor could read. "I received these things from a merchant who found
them in the streets of Mecca," said he. "I know not what they contain.
They are at your service for a trifling price, for I can do nothing
with them."
The Caliph, who was a great collector of old manuscripts for his
library, even if he could not read them, purchased box and writings,
and dismissed the merchant. But it occurred to the Caliph that he
would like to know the meaning of the writing, and he asked the Vizier
whether he knew anyone who could read it.
"Most worthy lord and master," replied the Vizier, "near the great
Mosque there dwells a man who understands all languages; he is called
'Selim the Wise.' Send for him; perhaps he may be able to interpret
the writing."
The learned Selim was soon brought. "Selim," said the Caliph, "they
say thou art very learned; peep now into this writing, and see if thou
canst read it. If thou canst, thou shalt have a rich new garment; if
thou canst not, thou shalt be beaten with five-and-twenty strokes upon
the soles of thy feet, for in that case thou art without the right to
be called 'Selim the Wise.'"
Selim bowed himself and said: "Thy will be done, my lord." For a long
time he examined the writing, then suddenly exclaimed, "This is Latin,
my lord."
"Say what it means," commanded the Caliph, "if it be Latin."
Selim commenced to translate the documents. "Oh man, thou who findest
this, praise Allah for His great goodness to thee. Whoever snuffs of
the powder contained in this box, and says thereupon 'Mutabor,' will
have the power to change himself into any animal he may choose, and
will be able to understand the language of that animal and all others.
Should he wish to return to his human form he must bow himself three
times to the East, and in the direction of our holy Mecca, and repeat
the same word. But beware, when thou art transformed that thou
laughest not, otherwise the magic word will disappear completely from
thy memory and thou wilt remain a beast."
When Selim the Wise had read this, the Caliph was delighted beyond
measure. He bound over the sage that he would disclose the secret to
no one, presented him with the promised rich garment, and dismissed
him. But to his Grand Vizier he said: "That I call a good purchase,
Manzor. I can scarcely restrain my delight until I am a beast. Early
to-morrow morning come thou hither; we will go together into the
field, snuff a little out of the box, and then listen to what is said
in the air, and in the water, in the wood, and in the field."
On the following morning the Caliph had scarcely breakfasted when the
Grand Vizier appeared to accompany him upon his walk, as he had
commanded him. The Caliph placed the box with the magic powder in his
girdle, and, having directed his train to remain behind, he set out
alone with his Grand Vizier. They went through the spacious gardens of
the Caliph, and looked around, but in vain, for some living thing,
that they might try their trick. The Vizier at length proposed that
they should go further on, to a pond where he had often seen many of
those beautiful creatures called Storks, which, by their grave
appearance and their continual clacking, had always excited his
attention.
The Caliph approved the proposal of the Vizier, and they went together
to the pond. When they had arrived they saw a stork walking gravely up
and down looking for frogs, and now and then clacking something to
himself. At the same time they saw also, far above in the air, another
stork hovering over the pond.
"I am pretty sure," said the Grand Vizier, "that these two long-legged
fellows are carrying on a fine conversation with each other. What if
we should become storks?"
"Well said!" replied the Caliph. "But first let us consider, once
more, how we are to become men again. True! three times must we bend
toward the East and in the direction of Mecca, and say 'Mutabor,' then
I am Caliph again and thou Vizier. But we must take care whatever we
do, not to laugh, or we are lost."
While the Caliph was thus speaking he saw the other stork hover over
their heads and slowly descend toward the earth. He drew the box
quickly from his girdle, took a good pinch, offered it to the Grand
Vizier, who also snuffed it, and both cried out "Mutabor!"
At once their legs began to shrivel up, and soon became thin and red.
The beautiful yellow slippers of the Caliph and of his companion were
changed into the strange-shaped feet of the stork; their arms were
changed to wings; their necks were lengthened out from their shoulders
and became a yard long; their beards had disappeared, and their bodies
were covered with feathers which were soft, fine and graceful.
"You have a beautiful beak," said the Caliph after a long pause of
astonishment. "By the beard of the Prophet, I have never seen anything
like it in my life."
"I thank you most humbly," replied the Grand Vizier, while he made his
obeisance. "But if it were permitted I might say that your Highness
looks even more handsome as a stork than as a Caliph. But come, if it
please you, let us listen to our comrades yonder, and find out whether
we really understand the language of the storks."
In the meanwhile the other stork had reached the ground. He trimmed
his feet with his beak, put his feathers in order, and advanced to his
companion. The two new storks hastened to get near them, and to their
great surprise heard the following conversation:--
"Good morning, Lady Longlegs, already so early in the meadow."
"Thank you, dear Clatterbeak, I have had only a slight breakfast."
"Would you like, perhaps, a piece of a duck or the leg of a frog?"
"Much obliged, but I have no appetite to-day. I have come into the
meadow for a very different purpose. I am to dance to-day before some
guests of my father's, and I wish to practise here a little quietly by
myself."
The young stork immediately jumped about the field with singular
motions. The Caliph and Manzor looked on with wonder; but as she stood
in a picturesque attitude upon one foot, and fluttered her wings
gracefully, they could no longer contain themselves--an irresistible
laughter burst forth from their beaks, from which they could not
recover themselves for a long time. The Caliph first collected
himself. "That was a joke now," he exclaimed, "that is not to be
purchased with gold. Pity that the foolish creatures have been
frightened away by our laughter, otherwise perhaps they might even
have sung!"
But it now occurred to the Grand Vizier that laughter had been
specially forbidden them during their transformation. He told his
anxiety to the Caliph. "Dear me, dear me, it would indeed be a
sorrowful joke if I must remain a stork. Pray bethink thyself of the
magic word. For the life of me I can't remember it."
"Three times must we bow to the East and to Mecca, and then say, 'Mu,
mu, mu.'"
They turned toward the East, and bowed and bowed, so that their beaks
almost touched the earth. But alas! alas! the magic word would not
come. However often the Caliph bowed himself and however anxiously the
Vizier called out "Mu, mu," all recollection of it had vanished, and
the poor Caliph and Vizier remained storks.
Very mournfully did the enchanted ones wander through the fields. They
knew not what to do in their great distress. They could not rid
themselves of their storks' skin and feathers; they could not return
to the city to make themselves known, for who would have believed a
stork, if he had said he was the Caliph? And even if they should
believe it, the inhabitants of Bagdad would not have a stork for their
Caliph. Thus they wandered about for several days, and nourished
themselves with the fruits of the field, which they could not eat very
conveniently on account of their long beaks. For ducks and frogs they
had no appetite; they were afraid that with such food they might
fatally disorder their stomachs. It was their only pleasure in this
sad condition that they could fly, and so they often flew upon the
roofs of Bagdad to see what passed in the city.
During the first days they observed great disorder and mourning in the
streets, but about the fourth day after their transformation, as they
stood upon the Caliph's palace, they saw in the street a splendid
procession. Drums and fifes sounded; a man in a scarlet mantle,
embroidered with gold, rode a richly caparisoned steed, surrounded by
a brilliant train of attendants.
Half Bagdad leaped to meet him, and all cried: "Hail, Mirza, Lord of
Bagdad!" The two storks upon the roof of the palace looked at each
other, and the Caliph said: "Canst thou now divine, Grand Vizier, why
I am enchanted? This Mirza is the son of my deadly enemy, the mighty
magician Cachnur, who, in an evil hour, swore revenge upon me. But
still I will not give up hope. Come with me, thou true companion of my
misfortune! We will wander to the grave of the Prophet. Perhaps on
that holy spot this spell will vanish;" and they at once soared from
the roof of the palace and flew toward Mecca.
But flying was no easy matter to them, for the two storks had as yet
but little practice. "Oh, my lord," sighed the Grand Vizier, after a
few hours, "with your permission I must stop, for I can bear it no
longer; you fly altogether too fast. Besides it is now evening, and we
should do well to seek a shelter for the night." Chasid at once
yielded to the prayer of the Vizier, and, as they at this moment
perceived a ruin in the valley below, they flew thither. The place in
which they had taken refuge for the night seemed formerly to have been
a castle. Beautiful columns overtopped the ruins, and several
chambers, which were still in a fair state of preservation, gave
evidence of the former splendour of the building. Chasid and his
companion wandered through the passages to find a dry spot for
themselves. Suddenly the stork Manzor stopped. "My Lord and master,"
he whispered softly, "if it were not folly in a Grand Vizier, and
still more in a stork, to be afraid of spirits, I should feel much
alarmed, for something near by us sighed and groaned very plainly."
The Caliph also stood still, and heard very distinctly a low weeping
that seemed rather to come from a human being than from an animal.
Full of expectation, he was about to advance toward the place from
whence came the sounds of weeping and sighing, when the Vizier seized
him by the wing with his beak and begged him very earnestly not to
plunge into new and unknown dangers But in vain! The Caliph, who bore
a brave heart under his stork's wing, tore himself loose, with the
loss of some of his feathers, and hastened into a dark passage-way. He
soon arrived at a door which seemed to be partly open, and through
which he overheard distinct sighs, with a slight moaning. In the
ruined chamber, which was but dimly lighted by a small grated window,
he saw a large night owl upon the floor. Big tears rolled from her
large round eyes, and with a hoarse voice she sent forth her cries
from her curved beak. As soon, however, as she saw the Caliph and
Vizier she gave a loud scream of joy. Gracefully she wiped the tears
from her eyes with her brown-spotted wing, and to the great
astonishment of both she exclaimed, in good plain Arabic, "Welcome, ye
storks! Ye are a good sign of my rescue, for it has been told me that
by a stork I shall attain to great happiness."
When the Caliph had recovered from his astonishment he bowed with his
long neck, brought his thin feet into a handsome position, and said:
"Night owl, from thy words I think that thou art a companion in
suffering. But alas! the hope that thou wilt be rescued by us is vain.
Thou wilt see our helplessness when we have told thee our history."
The night owl begged him to relate it. The Caliph commenced, and
repeated what we already know.
When the Caliph had told the owl his history she thanked him and said:
"Hear also my story, and you will see that I am not less unhappy than
you. My father is King of India; I, his only daughter, am called Lusa.
That magician Cachnur, who has enchanted you, has also plunged me into
this misery. He came one day to my father, and desired me for a wife
to his son. But my father, who is a quick-tempered man, ordered him to
be pushed down the stairs. The bad man contrived to meet me under
another form; and once, when taking refreshments in my garden, he
brought me, in the person of a slave, a draught in a cup, which
changed me into this frightful shape. Powerless from fright, he
brought me hither and cried in my ear: 'Here shalt thou remain, hated
and despised, even by the beasts, until thy death, or until someone,
with free will, shall desire thee for his wife, even in this horrible
shape. In this way I revenge myself upon thee and thy proud father!'
"Since then many months have passed. Solitary and disconsolate, I
dwell within these walls, scorned by the world, a horror even to the
beasts. Beautiful nature is locked up from me, for, like all owls, I
am blind by day, and only when the moon pours her pale light over
these ruins does the veil fall from my eyes."
The owl stopped speaking and wiped the tears again from her eyes, for
the telling of her sorrows had drawn them forth anew.
During the story of the Princess, the Caliph appeared deep in thought.
"If everything does not deceive me," he said, "there is a secret
connection between our fates; but where can I find the key to this
riddle?"
The owl replied: "Oh, my lord, I also have such a thought, for it was
once told me when I was a very little girl that a stork would one day
bring me great happiness, and I may know perhaps how we may be
rescued."
The Caliph was much astonished, and asked her in what way she meant.
"The magician who has made us both miserable," said she, "comes once
in every month to these ruins. Not far from this chamber is a hall.
There he is accustomed to feast with many of his companions. I have
often listened there already. They tell one another their histories,
and what they have been doing since last they met. Perhaps on the next
occasion they may talk over your story, and let fall the magic word
that you have forgotten."
"Oh, dearest Princess," exclaimed the Caliph, "tell me when does he
come and where is the hall?"
The owl was silent for a moment and then spoke. "Take it not
ungraciously, but only upon one condition can your wish be granted."
"Speak out! speak out!" cried the Caliph. "Command, and whatever it is
I will obey?"
"It is this: I also would gladly be free, and this can only happen if
one of you offer me his hand." The storks seemed somewhat confused at
this proposition, and the Caliph made a sign to his follower to
withdraw for a moment with him.
They talked together for a long time, the Caliph urging the Vizier to
consent; but he said it was not possible, as he was already an old
man, "whilst you, my lord and master, are but young in years." The
Caliph at last saw that the Vizier would rather remain a stork than
accept the owl, so he resolved to fulfil the condition himself. The
owl was overjoyed, and she said they could not have come at a better
time, for the magicians would most likely meet that very night.
She then left the chamber in company with the storks, in order to lead
them to the hall. They walked for a long time through a dark
passage-way, when at last a bright light shone upon them from an
opening in a ruined wall. When they had arrived thither the owl
advised them to keep perfectly quiet. From the opening near where they
stood they had a good view of the hall. It had many pillars, and the
whole apartment was richly decorated. In the middle was a round table
covered with rich food of various kinds; round the table were placed
seats, upon which sat eight men. In one of these men the storks
recognized the merchant who had sold them the magic powder. The one
who sat next him desired him to relate his history and what had been
done during the last few days. He did so, and among the other things
he told the story of his visit to the Caliph and Grand Vizier of
Bagdad.
"What kind of a word hast thou given them," asked the other magician.
"A very hard Latin one; it is Mutabor."
As the storks heard this from their place of concealment they became
almost beside themselves for joy. They ran so quickly with their long
legs to the door of the ruin that the owl could scarcely follow them.
There, the Caliph addressed the owl with much emotion.
"Saviour of my life, and the life of my friend, as an eternal thanks
for what thou hast done for us, accept me as thy husband"; then he
turned himself toward the east and toward Mecca. Three times the
storks bent their long necks toward the sun, which, by this time, was
rising above the distant hills: "Mutabor!" they exclaimed. In a
twinkling they were changed, and in the delight of newly restored
life, master and servant were laughing and weeping in each other's
arms. But who can describe their astonishment as they looked about
them?
A beautiful maiden in a splendid dress stood before them. She held out
her hand to the Caliph saying: "Do you no longer recognize your night
owl?"
Yes, it was indeed that bird. The Caliph looked with wonder at her
beauty and grace, and said: "It is my greatest happiness that I have
been a stork."
The three now started to travel together for the city of Bagdad. The
Caliph found in his clothes not only the box with the magic powder,
but also his purse of gold. By this means he purchased at the nearest
village all that was necessary for their journey, so that they very
soon arrived at the gates of Bagdad. The arrival of the Caliph excited
the greatest wonder. They had supposed him dead, but the people were
overjoyed to have their beloved lord again.
Their hatred was intense against the deceiver Mirza. They entered the
palace and took the old magician and his son prisoners. The Caliph
took the old man to that same chamber in which the Princess had lived
so long as an owl, and ordered him to be hung up there. But to the
son, who did not understand the wicked arts of his father, he offered
the choice of either to die or take snuff.
He chose the latter when the Grand Vizier offered the box. A good
pinch, and the magic word of the Caliph changed him into a stork. The
Caliph then directed that he should be put into a cage and placed in
his garden.
Long and happily the Caliph Chasid lived with his wife, the Princess.
His happiest hours were when the Grand Vizier visited him in the
afternoon. They never tired of talking about their storks' adventure,
and when the Caliph was more than usually merry he would imitate the
Grand Vizier, and show how he looked when he was a stork. He walked
gravely up and down the chamber with slow and solemn steps, made a
clacking noise, flapped his arms like wings, and showed how he, to no
purpose, bowed himself to the east and called out: "Mu--Mu--Mu." This
was always a great delight to the Princess and the children, which
were afterward born to her, until they also took delight in calling
out to one another: "Mu--Mu--Mu."
So for very many years happiness reigned in the palace, and not only
in the palace, but throughout the city of Bagdad, the capital of the
ancient Saracen Empire.
_The Five Queer Brothers_
An old woman had five grown-up sons that looked just alike. The eldest
could gulp up the ocean at a mouthful; the second was hard enough to
nick steel; the third had extensible legs; the fourth was unaffected
by fire; the fifth lived without breathing. They all concealed their
peculiar traits, and their neighbours did not even guess that they
were queer.
The eldest supported the family by fishing, going alone to the sea,
and bringing back loads of spoil. The neighbours often besought him to
teach their sons how to fish, and he at last let all their boys go
with him, one day, to learn his art. On reaching the shore, he sucked
the sea into his mouth, and directed the boys to the dry bottom, to
collect the fish. When he was tired of holding the water, he beckoned
to the boys to return, but they were playing amongst strange objects,
and paid no heed to him. When he could contain the sea no longer, he
had to let it flow back into its former basin, and all the boys were
drowned.
As he went homeward, he passed the doors of the parents, who inquired
how many fish their sons had caught, and how long they would be in
coming back. He told them the facts, yet they would not excuse him,
and they dragged him before the magistrate to account for the loss of
their children. He defended himself by saying that he had not invited
the boys to go with him, and had consented to their going only when
the parents had repeatedly urged him; that, after the boys were on the
ocean-bed, he had done his utmost to induce them to come ashore; that
he had held the water as long as he could, and had then thrown it in
the sea-basin solely because nothing else would contain it.
Notwithstanding this defence, the judge decided that, since he took
the boys away and did not bring them back, he was guilty of murder,
and sentenced him to decapitation. He entreated leave to pay one visit
to his aged mother before his execution, and this was granted. He went
alone and told his brothers of his doom, and the second brother
returned in his stead to the judge, thanked him for having given him
permission to perform a duty required by filial piety, and said he was
then ready to die. He knelt with bowed head, and the headsman brought
the knife down across the back of his neck, but the knife was nicked
and the neck was left unscathed. A second knife, and a third of finer
steel, were brought and tried by headsmen who were accustomed to sever
heads clean off at one stroke. Having spoiled their best blades
without marring his neck, they took him back to prison and informed
the judge that the sentence could not be executed.
The judge then decreed that he should be dropped into the sea which
covered his victims. When he heard this decision, he said that he had
taken leave of his mother supposing that his head was to be cut off,
and that, if he was to be drowned, he must go to her and make known
his fate, and get her blessing anew. Permission being given, he went
and told his brothers what had happened, and the third brother took
the place of the second, and presented himself before the judge as the
criminal that was to be sunk in the sea. He was carried far from shore
and thrown overboard, but he stretched his legs till his feet touched
bottom and he stood with his head in the air. They hauled him aboard
and took him farther from land, but still his extensible legs
supported him above the waters. Then they sailed to mid-ocean, and
cast him into its greatest depths, but his legs still lengthened so
that he was not drowned. They brought him back to the judge, reported
what had been done, and said that some other method of destroying him
must be followed.
He was then condemned to death by being boiled in oil; and while the
caldron was being heated, he begged and obtained leave to go and tell
his mother of his late survival, and, of the manner in which he was
soon to be taken off. His brothers having heard the latest judgment,
the fourth one went to bear the penalty of the law, and was lowered
into the kettle of boiling oil, where he disported himself as if in a
tepid bath, and even asked the executioners to stir up the fire a
little to increase the warmth. Finding that he could not be fried, he
was remanded to prison.
Then the populace, the bereaved parents, and the magistrate joined in
effort to invent a sure method of putting him to death. Water, fire
and sword all having failed, they finally fixed upon smothering him in
a vast cream-cake. The whole country round made contributions of flour
for the tough pastry, sugar for the viscid filling, and bricks for a
huge oven; and it was made and baked on a plain outside the city
walls. Meanwhile the prisoner was allowed to go and bid his mother
farewell, and the fifth brother secretly became his substitute. When
the cake was done, a multitude of people, with oxen, horses, and
ropes, dragged it to the execution ground, and within it the culprit
was interred. As he was able to exist without air, he rested
peacefully till the next midnight. Then he safely crawled forth, and
returned to his home, where he dwelt happily for many years with his
remarkable brothers.
_The Lac of Rupees_
A poor blind Brahman and his wife were dependent on their son for
their subsistence. Every day the young fellow used to go out and get
what he could by begging. This continued for some time, till at last
he became quite tired of such a wretched life, and determined to go
and try his luck in another country. He informed his wife of his
intention, and ordered her to manage somehow or other for the old
people during the few months that he would be absent. He begged her to
be industrious, lest his parents should be angry and curse him.
One morning he started with some food in a bundle, and walked on day
after day, till he reached the chief city of the neighbouring country.
Here he went and sat down by a merchant's shop and asked alms. The
merchant inquired whence he had come, why he had come, and what was
his caste; to which he replied that he was a Brahman, and was
wandering hither and thither begging a livelihood for himself, his
wife and parents. Moved with pity for the man, the merchant advised
him to visit the kind and generous king of that country, and offered
to accompany him to the court. Now, at that time it happened that the
king was seeking for a Brahman to look after a golden temple which he
had just had built. His Majesty was very glad, therefore, when he saw
the Brahman and heard that he was good and honest. He at once deputed
him to the charge of this temple, and ordered fifty kharwars of rice
and one hundred rupees to be paid to him every year as wages.
Two months after this, the Brahman's wife, not having heard any news
of her husband, left the house and went in quest of him. By a happy
fate she arrived at the very place that he had reached, where she
heard that every morning at the golden temple a golden rupee was given
in the king's name to any beggar who chose to go for it. Accordingly,
on the following morning she went to the place and met her husband.
"Why have you come here?" he asked. "Why have you left my parents?
Care you not whether they curse me and I die? Go back immediately, and
await my return."
"No, no," said the woman. "I cannot go back to starve and see your old
father and mother die. There is not a grain of rice left in the
house."
"O Bhagawant!" exclaimed the Brahman. "Here, take this," he continued,
scribbling a few lines on some paper, and then handing it to her, "and
give it to the king. You will see that he will give you a lac of
rupees for it." Thus saying he dismissed her, and the woman left.
On this scrap of paper were written three pieces of advice--First, If
a person is travelling and reaches any strange place at night, let him
be careful where he puts up, and not close his eyes in sleep, lest he
close them in death. Secondly, If a man has a married sister, and
visits her in great pomp, she will receive him for the sake of what
she can obtain from him; but if he comes to her in poverty, she will
frown on him and disown him. Thirdly, If a man has to do any work, he
must do it himself, and do it with might and without fear.
On reaching her home the Brahmani told her parents of her meeting with
her husband, and what a valuable piece of paper he had given her; but
not liking to go before the king herself, she sent one of her
relations. The king read the paper, and ordering the man to be
flogged, dismissed him. The next morning the Brahmani took the paper,
and while she was going along the road to the darbar reading it, the
king's son met her, and asked what she was reading, whereupon she
replied that she held in her hands a paper containing certain bits of
advice, for which she wanted a lac of rupees. The prince asked her to
show it to him, and when he had read it gave her a parwana for the
amount, and rode on. The poor Brahmani was very thankful. That day she
laid in a great store of provisions, sufficient to last them all for a
long time.
In the evening the prince related to his father the meeting with the
woman, and the purchase of the piece of paper. He thought his father
would applaud the act. But it was not so. The king was more angry than
before, and banished his son from the country.
So the prince bade adieu to his mother and relations and friends, and
rode off on his horse, whither he did not know. At nightfall he
arrived at some place, where a man met him, and invited him to lodge
at his house. The prince accepted the invitation, and was treated like
a prince. Matting was spread for him to squat on, and the best
provisions set before him.
"Ah!" thought he, as he lay down to rest, "here is a case for the
first piece of advice that the Brahmani gave me. I will not sleep
to-night."
It was well that he thus resolved, for in the middle of the night the
man rose up, and taking a sword in his hand, rushed to the prince with
the intention of killing him. But the prince arose and spoke.
"Do not slay me," he said. "What profit would you get from my death?
If you killed me you would be sorry afterward like that man who killed
his dog."
"What man? What dog?" he asked.
"I will tell you," said the prince, "if you will give me that sword."
So he gave him the sword, and the prince began his story:
"Once upon a time there lived a wealthy merchant who had a pet dog. He
was suddenly reduced to poverty, and had to part with his dog. He got
a loan of five thousand rupees from a brother merchant, leaving the
dog as a pledge, and with the money began business again. Not long
after this the other merchant's shop was broken into by thieves and
completely sacked. There was hardly ten rupees' worth left in the
place. The faithful dog, however, knew what was going on, and went and
followed the thieves, and saw where they deposited the things, and
then returned.
"In the morning there was great weeping and lamentation in the
merchant's house when it was known what had happened. The merchant
himself nearly went mad. Meanwhile the dog kept on running to the
door, and pulling at his master's shirt and pajamas, as though wishing
him to go outside. At last a friend suggested that, perhaps, the dog
knew something of the whereabouts of the things, and advised the
merchant to follow its leadings. The merchant consented, and went
after the dog right up to the very place where the thieves had hidden
the goods. Here the animal scraped and barked, and showed in various
ways that the things were underneath. So the merchant and his friends
dug about the place, and soon came upon all the stolen property.
Nothing was missing. There were all the articles just as the thieves
had taken them.
"The merchant was very glad. On returning to his house, he at once
sent the dog back to its old master with a letter rolled under the
collar, wherein he had written about the sagacity of the beast, and
begged his friend to forget the loan and to accept another five
thousand rupees as a present. When this merchant saw his dog coming
back again, he thought, 'Alas! my friend is wanting the money. How can
I pay him? I have not had sufficient time to recover myself from my
recent losses. I will slay the dog ere he reaches the threshold, and
say that another must have slain it. Thus there will be an end of my
debt. No dog, no loan.' Accordingly he ran out and killed the poor
dog, when the letter fell out of its collar. The merchant picked it up
and read it. How great was his grief and disappointment when he knew
the facts of the case!
"Beware," continued the prince, "lest you do that which afterward you
would give your life not to have done."
By the time the prince had concluded this story it was nearly morning,
and he went away, after rewarding the man.
The prince then visited the country belonging to his brother-in-law.
He disguised himself as a jogi, and sitting down by a tree near the
palace, pretended to be absorbed in worship. News of the man and of
his wonderful piety reached the ears of the king. He felt interested
in him, as his wife was very ill; and he had sought for hakims to cure
her, but in vain. He thought that, perhaps, this holy man could do
something for her. So he sent to him. But the jogi refused to tread
the halls of a king, saying that his dwelling was the open air, and
that if his Majesty wished to see him he must come himself and bring
his wife to the place. Then the king took his wife and brought her to
the jogi. The holy man bade her prostrate herself before him, and when
she had remained in this position for about three hours, he told her
to rise and go, for she was cured.
In the evening there was great consternation in the palace, because
the queen had lost her pearl rosary, and nobody knew anything about
it. At length some one went to the jogi, and found it on the ground by
the place where the queen had prostrated herself. When the king heard
this he was very angry and ordered the jogi to be executed. This stern
order, however, was not carried out, as the prince bribed the men and
escaped from the country. But he knew that the second bit of advice
was true.
Clad in his own clothes, the prince was walking along one day when he
saw a potter crying and laughing, alternately, with his wife and
children. "O fool," said he, "what is the matter? If you laugh, why do
you weep? If you weep, why do you laugh?"
"Do not bother me," said the potter. "What does it matter to you?"
"Pardon me," said the prince, "but I should like to know the reason."
"The reason is this, then," said the potter. "The king of this country
has a daughter whom he is obliged to marry every day, because all her
husbands die the first night of their stay with her. Nearly all the
young men of the place have thus perished, and our son will be called
on soon. We laugh at the absurdity of the thing--a potter's son
marrying a princess, and we cry at the terrible consequence of the
marriage. What can we do?"
"Truly a matter for laughing and weeping. But weep no more," said the
prince. "I will exchange places with your son, and will be married to
the princess instead of him. Only give me suitable garments, and
prepare me for the occasion."
So the potter gave him beautiful raiment and ornaments, and the prince
went to the palace. At night he was conducted to the apartment of the
princess. "Dread hour!" thought he; "am I to die like the scores of
young men before me?" He clenched his sword with firm grip, and lay
down on his bed, intending to keep awake all the night and see what
would happen. In the middle of the night he saw two Shahmars come out
from the nostrils of the princess. They stole over toward him,
intending to kill him, like the others who had been before him; but he
was ready for them. He laid hold of his sword, and when the snakes
reached his bed he struck at them and killed them. In the morning the
king came as usual to inquire, and was surprised to hear his daughter
and the prince talking gaily together. "Surely," said he, "this man
must be her husband, as he only can live with her."
"Where do you come from? Who are you?" asked the king, entering the
room.
"Oh king!" replied the prince, "I am the son of a king who rules over
such-and-such a country."
When he heard this the king was very glad, and bade the prince to
abide in his palace, and appointed him his successor to the throne.
The prince remained at the palace for more than a year, and then asked
permission to visit his own country, which was granted. The king gave
him elephants, horses, jewels, and abundance of money for the expenses
of the way and as presents for his father, and the prince started.
On the way he had to pass through the country belonging to his
brother-in-law, whom we have already mentioned. Report of his arrival
reached the ears of the king, who came with rope-tied hands and
haltered neck to do him homage. He most humbly begged him to stay at
his palace, and to accept what little hospitality could be provided.
While the prince was staying at the palace he saw his sister, who
greeted him with smiles and kisses. On leaving he told her how she and
her husband had treated him at his first visit, and how he escaped;
and then gave them two elephants, two beautiful horses, fifteen
soldiers, and ten lacs of rupees' worth of jewels.
Afterward he went to his own home, and informed his mother and father
of his arrival. Alas! his parents had both become blind from weeping
about the loss of their son. "Let him come in," said the king, "and
put his hands upon our eyes, and we shall see again." So the prince
entered, and was most affectionately greeted by his old parents; and
he laid his hands on their eyes, and they saw again.
Then the prince told his father all that had happened to him, and how
he had been saved several times by attending to the advice that he had
purchased from the Brahmani. Whereupon the king expressed his sorrow
for having sent him away, and all was joy and peace again.
_The Emperor's Nightingale_
China, as you know, is ruled over by an Emperor, who is a Chinaman,
and all his courtiers are Chinamen, too. Now, this little story that I
am going to tell you happened ever so long ago, and that is why you
ought to hear it now, before it is forgotten, for it is well worth
hearing.
The Emperor lived in the most beautiful palace in the world and it was
a very costly one, for it was made of the finest porcelain, and was so
brittle that you had to be very careful if you touched it. It was
surrounded by such a large garden that the gardener himself did not
quite know where it ended. Lovely flowers grew in luxuriance, and,
lest people should pass the most beautiful without noticing them,
peals of silver bells were tied to their stems.
Truly, everything was carefully planned in the Emperor's garden. If
you kept on far enough, you came to a mighty forest which stretched
down so close to the margin of the sea that the poor fishermen in
their boats could sail under the overhanging branches.
In one of these boughs a nightingale lived, and so beautiful was its
song that the rough sailors would stop to listen on their way out to
spread their nets.
"Ah, what beautiful music!" they would exclaim, and then they had to
sail on, for they had their work to do. And again, when nightfall
came, and the bird sang, and the boats came drifting home on the tide,
they would say:
"Heavens! how gloriously that bird sings!"
Travellers came from all over the world to see the Emperor's city and
his palace and garden; but when they heard the Nightingale, they would
say:
"That is most beautiful of all."
And when the travellers reached their homes again, they told all their
friends of the wonderful things they had seen and heard; and wise
people wrote books, in which they did not forget to tell of the
Nightingale, which was pronounced the loveliest among many lovely
things. Even the poets wrote verses about this Nightingale that lived
in the wood by the sea.
And then, one by one, the books travelled over the world, until some
at last reached the hands of the Emperor, who sat in his golden chair
and read them, nodding his head with pleasure; for he was charmed with
the beautiful descriptions of his city and castle and garden. Then he
read the words:
"The Nightingale is the most lovely thing of all!"
"What is this?" he said. "The Nightingale! I have never heard of such
a bird, yet there seems to be one in my empire--and in my own garden!
Imagine learning of such a thing for the first time from a book!"
Thereupon he summoned his Chamberlain, who was a very important
person, and who never replied more than "Paugh!" to any inferior who
dared to ask him anything. This, of course, was no answer at all.
"This book tells of a very remarkable bird called a Nightingale," said
the Emperor. "They say it is the finest thing in my empire. Why has no
one told me about it before?"
"I have never heard anyone mention it before, myself," replied the
Chamberlain. "I don't remember that it has ever been presented at
Court."
"I command it to appear at Court and sing before me to-night," said
the Emperor. "All the world knows what I possess, it appears, except
myself."
"I have never heard of such a thing before," answered the Chamberlain
again, "but I will search until it is found."
But where was it? The Chamberlain searched up and down the palace,
through corridors and up staircases, but he could not find anyone who
had even heard of a nightingale. Then he hastened back to the Emperor
to say that it must certainly be an invention of the man who had
written the book.
"Your Imperial Majesty will scarcely credit the sort of things these
people will write," he said. "It is all fiction and something called
Black Art."
"But the great and mighty Mikado of Japan has sent me this book!"
shouted the Emperor, very much annoyed, "and, therefore, there cannot
be anything that is false in it. I must and shall hear the
Nightingale, and I command it to be present this evening. It has my
especial Royal favour, and if it is not here, the whole Court shall be
trampled upon by camels after supper."
"Tching Pe!" exclaimed the Chamberlain, very much alarmed, and raced
up and down stairs and through all the corridors again, accompanied
now by half the Court, who were not at all anxious to be trampled
upon, even after supper. It was a great search after this wonderful
Nightingale, of which all the world had heard, except the Emperor and
his courtiers.
At length they came to the kitchen, where a poor little scullery-maid
at once exclaimed:
"Why, yes, I know it well; and it sings beautifully! Every evening I
have permission to take the kitchen scraps to my sick mother, who
lives down on the sea-shore, and often, as I come back, I rest in the
wood and listen to the Nightingale, Its song makes my eyes fill with
tears, and I seem to be able to feel my mother's kisses."
"Little girl," the Chamberlain said, "if you will take us straight to
where the Nightingale lives you shall receive a high appointment in
the Royal kitchen, and be allowed to see the Emperor dine every night.
His Majesty has commanded it to sing before him this evening."
So the girl led the Chamberlain and all the Court to the wood where
the Nightingale sang. When they were half-way there a cow began to
low.
"Hark!" said all the courtiers. "What a beautiful note, and how
powerful for such a tiny creature! I have certainly heard it before."
"No," said the maid, "that is only the lowing of a cow. We have a long
way to go yet."
"Oh, how exquisite!" murmured the Chinese Court-chaplain, as he heard
the frogs croaking in a marsh. "Now I can hear it; why, it resembles
the chime of silver bells."
"No, those are only the marsh frogs," said the little maid. "But we
shall soon be able to hear it now." And then, just as she spoke, the
Nightingale commenced to sing.
"Ah, now!" said the girl. "Listen, listen! There it sits up in the
branches," and she pointed to a tiny gray bird clinging to a spray of
thorn.
"I should never have believed it would look like that," exclaimed the
Chamberlain. "It looks so simple and so pale; it must be frightened at
the sight of so many grand people."
"Dear Nightingale," called the little girl, "our most noble Emperor
desires you to sing to him."
"Oh, certainly, with pleasure," replied the Nightingale; and it sang
so beautifully it was a treat to hear it.
"It is like the sound of running water; and see how its tiny throat
quivers, too," the Chamberlain said. "How strange that we have never
heard it talked about before! It will be an immense success at Court."
"Would the Emperor like to hear another song?" asked the bird, for it
thought the Emperor had been listening all the time.
"Most worthy Nightingale," the Chamberlain replied, "it is with great
pleasure I command you to appear before his Majesty at a Court
reception to-night, when you will charm his Majesty with your
delightful singing."
"It sounds so much more beautiful out in the wood," said the bird; but
still it promised willingly when it heard it was the Emperor's royal
desire.
The palace was very elegant in its decorations. The porcelain walls
and floors glittered and shone with the reflection from many lamps.
Beautiful flowers, shaking their silvery bells, were banked in rich
profusion on each side of the great staircase. Indeed, what with the
passing of many feet and the great draught, the bells tinkled so
loudly you could hardly hear yourself speak.
The Emperor sat on a jewelled throne in the centre of the great hall,
and close beside him stood a golden perch for the Nightingale. All
the courtiers were assembled, and the little scullery-maid, now raised
to the rank of a real Court cook, had received permission to listen
behind the door. Everyone stood dressed in his very best and gazed on
the little gray bird, to whom the mighty Emperor had just nodded his
head.
Then the Nightingale began to sing, and sang so gloriously that the
Emperor's eyes so filled with tears that they overflowed and ran down
his cheeks. And the bird sang on and on, till it reached one's very
heart. The Emperor was so delighted that he said the Nightingale
should wear his own golden slipper around its neck. But the
Nightingale thanked him very politely and said it had already received
sufficient reward.
"For," it said, "I have caused the Emperor's eyes to fill with tears,
and an Emperor's tears have a mighty power. Heaven knows I have been
sufficiently repaid." And again it burst into its beautiful song.
"Oh, what charming coquetry!" said the Court ladies, and each tried to
keep their mouths full of water so that they might gurgle like the
Nightingale when they spoke to anyone. Even the footmen and the
ladies' maids expressed their perfect satisfaction, and that was a
great deal, for they are generally the hardest to please. In short,
the Nightingale had scored a great success.
It was so arranged that in future it should live at Court, in its own
cage, with permission to fly out twice a day, and once during the
night.
On these trips it was accompanied by twelve servants, each of whom
held a silken cord attached to its leg, so that really there could not
be the slightest pleasure for it in such a flight. As for the city,
wherever you went, you met people talking of the wonderful bird. One
had only to say the word "Nightin" when the other would answer "gale,"
and each would give a sigh and feel they perfectly understood each
other. Eleven babies belonging to poor people were christened after
the bird, and yet not one of them could sing a note.
One day a parcel arrived at the palace, addressed to the Emperor, with
the words, "The Nightingale," written on the outside.
"Oh, this must be a fresh book about our famous bird," said the
Emperor.
But it was not a book. A wonderful work of art lay within a casket, a
clockwork nightingale, encrusted in diamonds and rubies and pearls,
and fashioned in the shape of a real bird. When it had been wound up
it sang one of the same songs that the real nightingale sang, and its
glittering tail moved up and down in time to the notes. A ribbon hung
around its neck, and on it these words were written: "The Emperor of
Japan's Nightingale is nothing compared to that of the Emperor of
China."
"How perfect!" everyone cried, and the Emperor immediately bestowed
the title of the King's-Imperial-Nightingale-Bringer on the courier
who had brought the bird.
"Now we must hear them sing a duet together. How beautiful it will
sound!" they all said. But it did not sound so well as they had
expected, for the real bird sang in a natural way, and just whatever
came into its little throat, and the artificial bird could only sing
waltzes.
"The new one sings quite correctly," said the chief Court musician.
"It keeps perfect time, and understands my own method, I can hear." So
then the new one had to sing by itself and obtained quite as much
applause as the real one had done. Besides, it looked so much
handsomer; glittering and glistening like bracelets and breast-pins.
Over and over again, for quite thirty-three times, it sang the same
tune and yet was not tired. The courtiers would have liked to hear it
again even, only the Emperor said "No, it's the real bird's turn now,
let us ask it to sing."
But where was the Nightingale? Not a soul had seen it fly out of the
open window back to its own green woods.
"Well, well! whatever has become of it?" exclaimed the Emperor. And
all the courtiers united in saying it was a most ungrateful creature.
"After all," they said, "we still have the better bird," and with that
the new one had to sing his song for the thirty-fourth time, and even
then the courtiers had not caught the tune quite correctly, for it was
very difficult and tricky. The Court musician, especially, praised
the bird, and said, not only was its plumage much more handsome, but
its inside was better made, too.
"For your Imperial Highness, and you, my noble lords and ladies, must
see," he went on, "that with a real Nightingale you can never tell
what is coming next, but with an imitation one everything is settled.
One can open it and see exactly how it works, where the waltz comes
from, and why the notes follow one after the other."
The courtiers all agreed with the Court musician, and the Emperor
commanded him to show it to the people on the following Saturday, and
let them hear it sing. This he did, and the Chinese people felt so
pleased and happy they all nodded their heads and shook their
forefingers and said "Ah!" Only the fishermen, who had heard the real
bird sing, shook their heads and said it all sounded very nice, and
very much alike, too; but somehow--they didn't quite know
how--something seemed lacking.
And so the real Nightingale was sent into exile, and the imitation one
slept on a satin cushion close to the Emperor's bed. All the jewels
and precious stones that had been showered on it as presents were
arranged around the edge of the cushion, and it was given the title of
the Emperor's Own Court Singer and advanced to the very highest rank,
that of First on the Left; for the left was thought to be the highest
station, as the Emperor wore his heart on that side, just like
ordinary people.
The Court musician wrote twenty-five volumes on the imitation bird.
The work was very tedious and dull, and full of the longest Chinese
words you can imagine; and people always said they had read it and
pretended to have enjoyed it, or else they would have been thought
stupid and have had their bodies trampled upon.
A whole year passed by in this fashion, and at last the Emperor and
his Court and all the Chinese people knew every turn and trill of the
Nightingale's song by heart, and this pleased them more than ever.
They often sang with it, and the street-urchins, even, could sing
"Tchoochoohuh juggjugg jugg," and the Emperor just the same. It was
really delightful.
One evening the Emperor lay in his bed listening to the bird which was
singing its very best. Suddenly it stopped with a jerk, and bang!
something had snapped in its inside, and all its wheels ran down with
a whirr, and then there was a dead silence.
The Emperor sprang out of bed and sent for the Court physician, but he
could do nothing. Then a watchmaker was fetched in, and after he had
talked a lot, and poked and examined the inside a great deal, he
managed to put it in something like working order again.
"You must not use it too much," he said, "it is nearly worn out, and
one can never put in fresh works again and be sure of the music being
as good as before."
At this there was great mourning all over the country, for the
imitation bird must only be allowed to sing once a year in future, and
even that might prove too much for it.
And when these performances were given the Court musician made a short
speech, full of very long words, proving that it sang as beautifully
as ever, and so the Court thought it did and were very well content.
After five years had passed the Emperor fell very ill. All the people
felt sad, for they were really extremely fond of him, and now it was
said he could not possibly live. Already the new Emperor was selected,
and the people stood about in the streets and begged to know from the
Chamberlain how the old Emperor was.
But "Paugh!" was all he would say as he nodded his head.
White and cold the old Emperor lay in his great tall bed, and all the
courtiers thought he was dead, and ran away to greet their new King.
In the antechamber the pages gossiped with the maids-in-waiting as
they ate a splendid tea. The palace was wrapped in silence, for
carpets had been laid down in the hall and corridor, so that the noise
of footsteps might be deadened. It was very, very still and solemn.
And the Emperor, still alive, lay all cold and pale on the magnificent
bed, with its heavy velvet draperies and gorgeous golden tassels.
High up, through the open window, the moon shone in upon him and the
imitation nightingale lying in its casket by the bed.
The poor old Emperor lay panting for breath; a terrible weight seemed
pressing on his chest, and he opened his eyes at last to see Death
sitting there, with the Emperor's crown upon his head and his sword
and jewelled sceptre in his hands.
The Emperor's gaze travelled round, and he saw faces--some ugly and
some smiling and gentle--peeping at him from among the velvet folds of
the curtains; these were the Emperor's good and bad deeds looking down
at him as Death pressed on his heart.
"Don't you remember this?" and "Can you recall that?" they all seemed
to be whispering. And the cold sweat broke out on the Emperor's brow,
at the recollections they brought to his mind.
"I do not remember--I cannot!" gasped the Emperor, then cried, "Music!
music! Bring the great Chinese drum, that I may not hear what they
say."
But still they whispered together, and Death nodded his head, like a
Chinese mandarin, at all they said.
"Music, music, I say!" shrieked the old Emperor. "Oh precious jewelled
bird, sing! I heaped upon you gold and precious stones, and even hung
my golden slippers around your neck. Ah, heavens! sing! I say, sing!"
But the imitation bird was still and silent, for until someone wound
it up, it could not sing, and there was no one by to do it. And Death
still sat gazing at him with hollow, hungry eyes, and all around was
terribly still.
Suddenly a silvery note floated in at the open window. It was the
voice of the real Nightingale as it sat upon a bough outside. It had
heard the Emperor was ill, and had come back to comfort him and fill
him with hope.
And as its song gained strength and rose and fell in delicious trills,
the ghostly faces faded away and the warm life blood began to flow
anew in the Emperor's veins. Even Death raised his head and said, "Go
on, go on, little Nightingale."
"Ah, but you will give me the Emperor's royal crown and his sword and
jewelled sceptre, if I do?" asked the bird.
And Death exchanged each of these treasures for a song, and the
Nightingale went on singing--of a peaceful churchyard, heavy with the
scent of roses and elder blossom, where the grass lay thick with the
dew of many tears shed by mortals over dear ones lying sleeping there.
Then Death was filled with a yearning to be in his own garden, and
passed like a gray mist out of the open window.
"Deep, deep thanks I give you," said the Emperor. "Merciful little
bird! I know you again. It was you I banished from my presence and my
kingdom. And yet, you have charmed the evil spectres from my bed and
Death from my heart. How can I ever repay you?"
"I am already rewarded in that I drew tears from your eyes when first
I sang to you. Those tears were jewels to crown the heart of any
singer, and I shall never forget them. I will sing you to sleep now, a
sleep from which you will awake fresh and strong again."
And the Emperor fell into a sweet, refreshing slumber, so deep and
peaceful that he awoke strong and well in the warm sunlight. None of
the courtiers were by him, for all believed he was dead, only the
Nightingale was still singing a gentle, sweet song.
"You must never leave me," the Emperor said; "you shall only sing when
you desire, and I will break the artificial bird into a million
pieces."
"No, spare it," said the Nightingale. "It did its best as long as it
was able, so keep it as before. I cannot build my nest within the
castle, but I will often come to you at evening and sing, on the bough
outside the window, songs that will make you glad, and at the same
time sweetly melancholy. I will sing of happiness and sorrow, of the
goodness and wickedness that lie close around you. The singing bird
loves the fisherman's hut, the peasant's cot, and all that is far
removed from palace and court. But I love your soul more than your
crown. I will fly to you and sing my songs, but you must promise me
one thing."
The Emperor stood in his royal robes, which he had put on with his own
hands, and he pressed his sword-hilt to his breast as he said:
"Anything that I can, I will grant."
"I only ask of you this one thing. Do not let anyone know that you
have a little bird that tells you all; it will be for the best."
So saying the Nightingale flew away.
Then the servants entered to attend to their dead Emperor, and when
they saw him standing there strong and well, they started back aghast.
But the Emperor only said:
"Good morning!"
_Hookedy-Crookedy_
Once on a time there was a King and Queen in Ireland, and they had one
son named Jack, and when Jack grew up to be man big, he rose up one
day and said to his father and mother that he would go off and push
his fortune.
All his father and mother could say to Jack, they could not keep him
from going. So with his staff in his hand and his father's and
mother's blessing on his head, off he started, and he travelled away
far, farther than I could tell you, and twice as far as you could tell
me. At length one day, coming up to a big wood, he met a gray-haired
old man. The old man asked him, "Jack, where are you going?"
He says, "I am going to push my fortune."
"Well," says the old man, says he, "If 't is looking for service you
are, there is a Giant who lives at the other side of that wood that
they call the Giant of the Hundred Hills, and I believe he wants a
fine strong, able, clever young fellow like you."
"Very well," says Jack, "I will push on to him."
Push on Jack did, away through the wood, until he got to the other
side, and then he saw a big castle, and going up he knocked at the
door, and a big Giant came out.
"Welcome, Jack," says he, "the King of Ireland's Son! Where are you
going and what do you want?"
"I come," says Jack, "to push my fortune, and am looking for honest
service. I have been told," he says to the Giant of the Hundred Hills,
"that you wanted a clean, clever boy like me."
"Well," says the Giant, "I am the Giant of the Hundred Hills, and do
want such a fine fellow as you. I have to go away every day," he says,
"to battle with another giant at the other end of the world, and when
I am away I want somebody to look after my house and place. If you
will be of good, faithful service to me, and do everything I tell you,
I will give you a bag of gold at the end of the time." Jack promised
he would do all that. The Giant then gave him a hearty supper and a
good bed, and well he slept that night. In the morning the Giant had
him called up before the first lark was in the sky.
"Jack, my brave boy," says he, "I have got to be off to the other end
of the world to-day to fight the Giant of the Four Winds, and it is
time you were up and looking after your business. You have got to put
this house in order, and look after everything in it until I come back
to-night. To every room in the house and to every place about the
house you can go, except the stable. My stable door is closed, and on
the peril of your life, don't open it or go into the stable. Keep that
in mind."
Jack said he certainly would. Then the Giant visited the stable, and
started off; and as soon as he was gone, Jack went fixing and
arranging the house and setting everything in order. And a wonderful
house it was to Jack, so big and so great; and after that he went to
the castle yard and into every house and building there, except the
stable: and when he had visited all the rest of them, he stood before
the stable and looked at it a long time. "And I wonder," says Jack,
says he, "I wonder what can be in there, and what is the reason he
wants me on the peril of my life not to go into it? I would like to go
and peep in, and there certainly would be no harm."
Every door in and about the Giant's place was opened by a little ring
turning on a pivot in the middle of the door. Forward to the stable
door Jack then steps, turns the little ring, and the door flew open.
Inside what does Jack see but a mare and a bear standing by the
manger, and neither of them eating. There was hay before the bear and
meat before the mare.
"Well," says Jack, "it is no wonder, poor creatures, you are not
eatin'. That was a nice blunder of the Giant," and he stepped in and
changed their food, putting hay before the mare and meat before the
bear, and at once both of them fell to it and Jack went out and closed
the stable door. As he did so his finger stuck in the ring, and he
pulled and struggled to get it away, but he could not.
That was a fix for poor Jack, "And by this and by that," says he, "the
Giant will be back and find me stuck here;" so he whips out his knife,
and cuts off his finger, and leaves it there.
And when the Giant came home that night, says he to Jack, "Well, Jack,
what sort of a day have you had this day, and how did you get along?"
"I had a fine day," says Jack, "and got along very well indeed."
"Jack," says he, "show me your two hands;" and when Jack held out his
two hands, the Giant saw one of his fingers gone. He got black in the
face with rage when he saw this, and he said, "Jack, did I not warn
you on the peril of your life not to go into that stable?"
Poor Jack pleaded all he could, and said he did not mean to, but
curiosity got the best of him, and he thought he would open the door
and peep in.
Says the Giant, "No man before ever opened that stable door and lived
to tell it, and you, too, would be a dead man this minute only for one
thing. Your father's father did my father a great service once. I am
the man who never forgets a good thing, and for that service," says
he, "I give you your life and pardon this time; but if you ever do the
like again, you won't live."
Jack, he promised that surely and surely he would never do the like
again. His supper he got that night, and to bed. And at early morning
again the Giant had him up, and, "Jack," says he, "I must be off to
the other end of the world again and fight the Giant of the Four
Winds. You know your duty is to look after this house and place and
set everything in order about it, and go everywhere you like, only
don't open the stable door or go into the stable, on the peril of your
life."
"I will mind all that," says Jack.
Then that morning again the Giant visited the stable before he went
away. And after he had gone, to his work went Jack, wandering through
the house, cleaning and setting everything in order about it, and out
into the yard he went, and fixed and arranged everything out there,
except the stable. He stood before the stable door a good while this
day, and says he to himself, "I wonder how the bear and the mare are
doing, and what the Giant did when he went in to see them? I would
give a great deal to know," says he. "I will take a peep in."
Into the ring of the door he put his finger, and turned it, and looked
in, and there he saw the mare and the bear standing as on the day
before and neither of them eating. In Jack steps. "And no wonder, poor
creatures," says he, "you don't eat, when that is the way the Giant
blundered," he says, after he saw the meat before the mare and the hay
before the bear this time also.
Jack then changed the food, putting the hay before the mare and the
meat before the bear, as it should be, and very soon both the mare and
the bear were eating heartily; and then Jack went out. He closed the
door, and when he did so, his finger stuck in the ring; and pull and
struggle though Jack did, he could not get it out.
"Och, och, och," says Jack, says he, "I am a dead man to-day surely."
He whips out his knife, and cuts off his finger, and leaves it there,
and 't was there when the Giant came home that night.
"Well, Jack, my fine boy," says he, "how have you got on to-day?"
"Oh, finely, finely," says Jack, says he, holding his hands behind his
back all the same.
"Show me your hands, Jack," says the Giant, "till I see if you wash
them and keep them clean always." And when Jack showed his hands, the
Giant got black in the face with rage, and says he, "Didn't I forgive
you your life yesterday for going into that stable, and you promised
never to do it again, and here I find you out, once more?"
The Giant ranted and raged for a long time, and then says he, "Because
your father's father did my father such a good turn, I suppose I will
have to spare your life this second time; but, Jack," says he, "if you
should live for a hundred years, and spend them all in my service,
and if you should then again open that door and put your foot into my
stable that day," says he, "you will be a dead man as sure as there is
a head on you. Mind that!"
Jack, he thanked the Giant very much for sparing his life, and
promised that he never, never would again disobey him.
The next morning the Giant had Jack up early, and told him he was
going off this day to fight the Giant at the other end of the world,
and gave Jack his directions, and warned him just as on the other
days. Then he went into the stable before he went away. And when he
was gone, Jack went through all the house, and through the whole yard,
setting everything in order, and when everything was done, he stood
before the stable door.
"I wonder," says Jack, "how the poor mare and the poor bear are
getting along and what the Giant of the Hundred Hills was doing here
to-day? I should very much like," says he, "to take one wee, wee peep
in," and he opened the door.
Jack peeped in, and there the mare and the bear stood looking at each
other again, and neither of them taking a morsel. And there was the
meat before the mare and the hay before the bear, just as on the other
days.
"Poor creatures," says Jack, "it is no wonder you are not eating, and
hungry and hungry you must be." And forward he steps, and changes the
food, putting it as it should be, the hay before the mare and the meat
before the bear, and to it both of them fell.
And when he had done this, up speaks the mare, and "Poor Jack," says
she, "I am sorry for you. This night you will be killed surely; and
sorry for us, too, I am, for we will be killed as well as you."
"Oh, oh, oh!" says Jack, says he, "that is terrible. Is there nothing
we can do?"
"Only one thing," says the mare.
"What is that?" says Jack.
"It's this," says the mare; "put that saddle and bridle on me, and let
us start off and be away, far, far from this country, when the Giant
comes back." And soon Jack had the saddle and bridle on the mare, and
on her back he got to start off.
"Oh!" says the bear, speaking up, "both of you are going away to leave
me in for all the trouble."
"No," says the mare, "we will not do that. Jack," says she, "take the
chains and tie me to the bear."
Jack tied the mare to the bear with chains that were hanging by, and
then the three of them, the mare and the bear and Jack, started, and
on and on they went, as fast as they could gallop.
After a long time, says the mare: "Jack, look behind you, and see what
you can see."
Jack looked behind him, and "Oh!" says he, "I see the Giant of the
Hundred Hills coming like a raging storm. Very soon he will be on us,
and we will all three be murdered."
Says the mare, says she, "We have a chance yet. Look in my left ear,
and see what you can see;" and in her left ear Jack looked, and saw a
little chestnut.
"Throw it over your left shoulder," says the mare.
Jack threw it over his left shoulder, and that minute there arose
behind them a chestnut wood ten miles wide. On and on they went that
day and that night; and till the middle of the next day, "Jack," says
the mare, "look behind you, and see what you can see."
Jack looked behind him, and "Oh!" says he, "I see the Giant of the
Hundred Hills coming tearing after us like a harvest hurricane."
"Do you see anything strange about him, Jack?" says the mare.
"Yes," says Jack, says he, "there are as many bushes on the top of his
head, and as much fowl stuck about his feet and legs as will keep him
in firewood and flesh for years to come. We are done for this time,
entirely," says poor Jack.
"Not yet," says the mare; "there is another chance. Look into my right
ear, and see what you can see."
In the mare's right ear Jack looked, and found a drop of water.
"Throw it over your left shoulder, Jack," says the mare, "and see what
will happen."
Over his left shoulder Jack threw it, and all at once a lough sprung
up between them and the Giant that was one hundred miles wide every
way and one hundred miles deep.
"Now," says the mare, "he cannot reach us until he drinks his way
through the lough, and very likely he will drink until he bursts, and
then we shall be rid of him altogether."
Jack thanked God, and on he went. It was not long now until he reached
the borders of Scotland, and there he saw a great wood.
"Now," says the mare and the bear, "this wood must be our
hiding-place."
"And what about me?" says Jack.
"For you, Jack," says the mare, "you must push on and look for
employment. The castle of the King of Scotland is near by, and I think
you will be likely to get employment there; but first I must change
you into an ugly little hookedy-crookedy fellow, because the King of
Scotland has three beautiful daughters, and he won't take into his
service a handsome fellow like you, for fear his daughters would fall
in love with you."
Then the mare put her nostrils to Jack's breast and blew her breath
over him, and Jack was turned into an ugly little hookedy-crookedy
fellow.
"Jack," says the mare, "before you go, look into my left ear, and take
what you see there."
Out of the mare's left ear Jack took a little cap.
"Jack," says she, "that is a wishing-cap, and every time you put it on
and wish to have anything done, it will be done. Whenever you are in
any trouble," the mare says, "come back to me, and I will do what I
can for you, and now good-bye."
So Jack said good-bye to the mare and to the bear, and set off. When
he got out of the wood, he soon saw a castle, and walked up to it and
went in by the kitchen. A servant was busy scouring knives. He told
her he wanted employment. She said the King of Scotland would employ
no man in his house, so he might as well push on. But Jack insisted
that the King would give him work, and at length the girl consented to
go and let the King know.
When the girl had gone away, Jack put on his wishing-cap and wished
the knives and forks scoured, and all at once the knives and forks,
that were piled in a stack ten yards high, were scoured as brightly as
new pins; and though the King of Scotland did not want to employ him,
when he found how quickly Jack had scoured all the big stack of knives
and forks, he agreed to keep him. But first he brought down his three
daughters to see Jack, so that he could observe what impression Jack
made upon them. When they came into the kitchen and saw the ugly
little fellow, every one of the three fainted and had to be carried
out.
"It is all right," says the King; "we will surely keep you," and Jack
was employed, and sent out into the garden to work there.
Now at this time the King of the East declared war on the King of
Scotland. The King of the East had a mighty army entirely, and he
threatened to wipe the King of Scotland off the face of the earth.
The King of Scotland was very much troubled, and he consulted with his
Grand Adviser what was best to be done, and his Grand Adviser
counselled that he should at once give his three daughters in marriage
to sons of kings, and in that way get great help for the war. The King
said this was a grand idea.
So he sent out messengers to all parts of the world to say that his
three beautiful daughters were ready for marriage. In a very short
time the son of the King of Spain came and married the eldest
daughter, and the son of the King of France came and married the
second, and a whole lot of princes came looking for the youngest, who
was the most beautiful of the three and whose name was Yellow Rose;
but she would not take one of them, and for this the King ordered her
never to come into his sight, nor into company, again.
Yellow Rose got very downhearted, and spent almost all her time now
wandering in the garden, where the Hookedy-Crookedy lad was looking
after the flowers, and she used to come around again and again,
chatting to Hookedy-Crookedy. And so it was not long until he saw that
the Yellow Rose was in love with him, and he got just as deeply in
love with her, for she was a beautiful and charming girl.
The next thing the Grand Adviser counselled the King was that he
should send his two new sons-in-law, the Prince of Spain and the
Prince of France, to the Well of the World's End for bottles of
Ioca[2] to take to battle with them, that they might cure the wounded
and dead men. So the King ordered his sons-in-law to go to the Well of
the World's End and bring him back two bottles of Ioca.
[Footnote 2: Ioca was a liquid that cured all wounds and restored the
dead to life.]
The Yellow Rose told Hookedy-Crookedy this, and when he had turned it
over in his mind, he said to himself, "I will go and have a chat with
the mare and the bear about this."
So off to the woods he went, and right glad the mare and the bear were
to see him. He told them all that had happened, and then he told them
how the King's two sons-in-law were to start to the Well of the
World's End the next day, and asked the mare's advice about it.
"Well, Jack," says the mare, "I want you to go with them. Take an old
hunter in the King's stable, an old bony, skinny animal that is past
all work, and put an old straw saddle on him, and dress yourself in
the most ragged dress you can get, and join the two men on the road,
and say that you are going with them. They will be heartily ashamed of
you, Jack, and your old horse, and they will do everything to get rid
of you. When you come to the crossroads, one of them will propose to
go in and have a drink; and while you are chatting over your drink,
they will propose that the three of you separate and every one take a
road by himself to go to the Well of the World's End, and that all
three shall meet at the crossroads again, and whoever is back first
with the bottle of water is to be the greatest hero of them all. You
agree to this. When they start on their roads, they will not go many
miles till they fill their bottles from spring wells by the roadside
and hurry back to the meeting-place, and then continue on home to the
King of Scotland and give him these bottles as bottles of Ioca from
the Well of the World's End. But you will be before them. After you
have set out on the road, and when you have gone around the first
bend, put on your wishing-cap and wish for two bottles of Ioca from
the Well of the World's End, and at once you will have them." And then
the mare directed Jack fully all that he was to do after.
Jack thanked the mare, and bade good-bye to her, and went away.
The next day, when the King's two sons-in-law set out on their grand
steeds to go to the Well of the World's End, they had not gone far
when Jack, in a ragged old suit and sitting on a straw saddle on an
old white skinny horse, joined them and told them he too was going
with them for a bottle of Ioca. Right heartily ashamed were they of
Jack and ready to do anything to get rid of him.
By and by, when they came to where the road divided into three, they
proposed to have a drink, and as they set off to drink they proposed
that each take a road for himself, and whoever got back first with a
bottle of Ioca would be the greatest hero. All agreed, and each chose
his own road and set out.
When Jack had got around the first bend, he put on his wishing-cap and
wished for two bottles of Ioca from the Well of the World's End, and
no sooner had he wished than he had them; and back again he came, and
when the other two came riding up, surprised they were to find Jack
there before them. They said that Jack had not been to the Well of the
World's End and it was no Ioca he had with him, but some water from
the roadside.
Said Jack, "Take care that is not your own story. Just test them; when
the servant comes in, you cut off his head and then cure him with
water from your bottles."
But both refused to do this, for they knew the water in their bottles
could not cure anything, and they defied Jack to do it.
"Very soon I will do it," said Jack.
So when the servant came in with the bottles of Ioca, Jack drew his
sword and whipped his head off him, and in a minute's time, with two
drops from one of his bottles, he had the head on again.
Says they to Hookedy-Crookedy, "What will you take for your two
bottles?"
Says Jack, "I will take the golden balls of your marriage pledge, and
also you shall allow me to write something on your backs."
And they agreed to this. They handed over to Jack the two golden balls
that were their marriage tokens, and they let Jack write on their bare
backs; and what Jack wrote on each of them was, "This is an unlawfully
married man." Then he gave them the bottles of Ioca, and they brought
them to the King, and Jack returned to his garden again.
He did not tell the Yellow Rose where he had been and what doing, only
said he was away on a message for her father. As soon as the King got
the bottles of Ioca, he gave orders that his army should move to
battle the next day.
The next morning early Jack was over to the wood to consult the mare.
He told her what was going to happen that day. Says the mare, "Look in
my left ear, Jack, and see what you will see."
Jack looked in the mare's left ear, and took out of it a grand
soldier's dress. The mare told him to put it on and get on her back.
On he put the dress, and at once Hookedy-Crookedy was transformed into
a very handsome, dashing young fellow, and off went Jack and the mare
and the bear, the three of them, away to the war. Every one saw them,
and they admired Jack very much, he was such a handsome,
clever-looking fellow, and the word was passed on to the King about
the great Prince who was riding to the war--himself, the mare, and the
bear. The King came to see him, too, and asked him on which side he
was going to fight.
"I will strike no stroke this day," says Jack, "except on the side of
the King of Scotland."
The King thanked him very heartily, and said he was sure they would
win. So they went into the battle with Jack at their head, and Jack
struck east and west and in all directions and at every blow of his
sword the wind of his stroke tossed houses on the other side of the
world, and in a very short time the King of the East ran off, with
all his soldiers that were still left alive. Then the King of Scotland
invited Jack to come home with him, as he was going to give a great
feast in his honor, but Jack said no, he could not go.
"They don't know at home," said Jack, "where I am at all"--and neither
they did--"so I must be off to them as quickly as possible."
"Then," says the King, "the least I can do is to give you a present.
Here is a tablecloth," says he, "and every time you spread it out you
will have it covered with eating and drinking of all sorts."
Jack took it, and thanked him, and rode away. He left the mare and the
bear in their own wood, and became Hookedy-Crookedy again, and ran
back to his garden. The Yellow Rose told him of the brave soldier that
had won her father's battle that day.
"Well, well," says Jack, says he, "he must have been a grand fellow
entirely. It is a pity I was not there, but I had to go on a message
for the King."
"Poor Hookedy-Crookedy," says she, "what could you do if you were
there yourself?"
Jack went to the wood again next morning, and consulted with the mare.
"Jack," said the mare, "look in the inside of my left ear, and see
what you will see," and Jack took out of her left ear a soldier's
suit, done off with silver, the grandest ever seen, and at the mare's
advice he put the suit on, and mounted on her back, and the three of
them went off to the battle. Every one was admiring the beautiful,
dashing fellow that was riding to the battle this day, and word came
to the King, and the King came to speak to him and welcomed him
heartily.
He said, "Your brother came with us the last day we went into the
battle. Your brother is a very handsome, fine-looking fellow. What
side are you going to fight on?"
Says Jack, "I will strike no stroke on any side but yours this day."
The King thanked him very heartily, and into the battle they went
with Jack at their head, and Jack struck east and west and in all
directions, and the wind of the strokes blew down forests in the other
end of the world, and very soon the King of the East, with all his
soldiers that were still alive, drew off from the battle.
Then the King thanked Jack and invited him to his castle; where he
would give a feast in his honor. But Jack said he could not go, for
they did not know at home where he was, and they would be uneasy about
him until he reached home again.
"Then," says the King, "the least I can do for you is to give you a
present. Here is a purse, and no matter how often and how much you pay
out of it, it will never be empty."
Jack took it, and thanked him, and rode away. In the wood he left the
mare and the bear, and was again changed into Hookedy-Crookedy, and
went home to his garden. The Yellow Rose came out, and told him about
the great victory a brave and beautiful soldier, brother to the fine
fellow of the day before, had won for her father.
"Well, well," says Jack, says he, "that was very wonderful entirely. I
am sorry I was not there, but I had to be away on a message for your
father."
"But, my poor Hookedy-Crookedy," says she, "it was better so, for what
could you do?"
Three days after that the King of the East took courage to come to
battle again. The morning of the battle Jack went to the wood to
consult the mare.
"Look into my left ear, Jack, and see what you will see," and from the
mare's left ear Jack drew out a most gorgeous soldier's suit, done off
with gold braiding and ornaments of every sort. By the mare's advice
he put it on, and himself, the mare, and the bear went off to the war.
The King soon heard of the wonderfully grand fellow that was riding to
the war to-day with the mare and the bear, and he came to Jack and
welcomed him and told him how his two brothers had won the last two
victories for him. He asked Jack on what side he was going to fight.
"I will strike no stroke this day," says Jack, "only on the King of
Scotland's side."
The King thanked him heartily, and said, "We will surely win the
victory," and then into the battle they rode with Jack at their head,
and Jack struck east and west and in all directions, and the wind of
the strokes tumbled mountains at the other end of the world, and very
soon the King of the East with all his soldiers that were left alive
took to their heels and never stopped running until they went as far
as the world would let them.
Then the King came to Jack and thanked him over and over again, and
said he would never be able to repay him. He then invited him to come
to his castle, where he would give a little feast in his honour, but
Jack said they didn't know at home where he was and they would be
uneasy about him, and so he could not go with the King.
"But," says he, "I and my brothers will come to the feast with you at
any other time."
"What day will the three of you come?" said the King.
"Only one of us can leave home in one day," said Jack. "I will come to
feast with you to-morrow, and my second brother the day after, and my
third brother the day after that."
The King agreed to this and thanked him. "And now," said the King,
"let me give you a present," and he gave him a comb, such that every
time he combed his hair with it he would comb out of it bushels of
gold and silver, and it would transform the ugliest man that ever was
into the nicest and handsomest. Jack took it and thanked the King and
rode away.
On this day, as on the other two days after the battle, they cured the
dead and the wounded with the bottles of Ioca, and all were well
again. When Jack went to the wood, he left the mare and the bear in it
and became Hookedy-Crookedy again, and went home and to his garden.
The Yellow Rose came to him and had wonderful news for him this day
about the terrible grand fellow entirely, who had won the battle for
her father that day; brother to the two brave fellows who had won the
battles on the other two days.
"Well," says Jack, says he, "those must be wonderful chaps. I wish I
had been there; but I had to be away on a message for your father all
day."
"Oh, my poor Hookedy-Crookedy," says she, "it was better so, for what
could you do?"
The next day, when it was near dinner time, he went off to the wood to
the mare and the bear and got on the suit he had worn the day before
in the battle, and mounted the mare and rode for the castle, and when
he came there all the gates happened to be closed, but he put the mare
at the walls, which were nine miles high, and leaped them.
The King scolded the gate-keepers, but Jack said a trifle like that
didn't harm him or his mare. After dinner the King asked him what he
thought of his two daughters and their husbands. Jack said they were
very good and asked him if he had any more daughters in his family.
The King said he used to have another, the youngest, but she would not
consent to marry as he wished, and he had banished her out of his
sight.
Jack said he would like to see her.
The King said he never wished to let her enter company again, but he
could not refuse Jack; so the Yellow Rose was sent for.
Jack fell a-chatting with her and used all his arts to win her; and of
course, in this handsome Jack she did not recognize ugly little
Hookedy-Crookedy. He told her he had heard that she had the very bad
taste to fall in love with an ugly, crooked, wee fellow in her
father's garden.
"I am a handsome fellow, and a rich prince," says Jack, "and I will
give you myself and all I possess if you will only say you will accept
me."
She was highly insulted, and she showed him that very quickly. She
said, "I won't sit here and hear the man I love abused," and she got
up to leave.
"Well," says Jack, "I admire your spirit; but before you go," says he,
"let me make you a little present," and he handed her a tablecloth.
"There," says he, "if you marry Hookedy-Crookedy, as long as you have
this tablecloth, you will never want eating and drinking of the
best."
The other two sisters grabbed to get the tablecloth from her but Jack
put out his hands and pushed them back.
At dinner time the next day Jack came in the dress in which he had
gone into the second battle, and with the mare he cleared the walls as
on the day before.
The King was enraged at the gate-keepers and began to scold them, but
Jack laughed at them and said a trifle like that was nothing to him or
his mare.
After dinner was over the King asked what he thought of his two
daughters and their husbands.
Jack said they were very good, and asked him if he had any more
daughters in his family.
The King said, "I have no more except one who won't do as I wish and
who has fallen in love with an ugly, crooked, wee fellow in my garden,
and I ordered her never to come into my sight."
But Jack said he would very much like to see her.
The King said that on Jack's account he would break his vow and let
her come in. So the Yellow Rose was brought in, and Jack fell to
chatting with her. He did all he could to make her fall in love with
him, and told her of all his great wealth and possessions and offered
himself to her, and said if she only would marry him she should live
in ease and luxury and happiness all the days of her life, as she
never could do with Hookedy-Crookedy.
But Yellow Rose got very angry, and said: "I won't sit here and listen
to such things," and she got up to leave the room.
"Well," says Jack, "I admire your spirit, and before you go let me
make you a little present."
So he handed her a purse. "Here," says he, "is a purse, and all the
days yourself and Hookedy-Crookedy live you will never want for money,
for that purse will never be empty."
Her sisters made a grab to snatch it from her, but Jack shoved them
back, and went out. And Jack rode away with the mare after dinner and
left her in the wood.
When he came back to his garden he always came in the
Hookedy-Crookedy shape and always pretended he had been off on a
message for the King.
The third day he went to the wood again. He dressed in the suit in
which he had gone to the first battle, and when he came back he went
to the castle and cleared the walls, and when the King scolded the
gate-keepers Jack told him never to mind, as that was a small trifle
to him and his mare.
A very grand dinner indeed Jack had this day, and when they chatted
after dinner the King asked him how he liked his two daughters and
their husbands.
He said he liked them very well, and asked him if he had any more
daughters in his family.
The King said no, except one foolish one who wouldn't do as he wished,
and who had fallen in love with an ugly, crooked, wee fellow in his
garden, and she was never to come within his sight again.
Says Jack, "I would like to see that girl."
The King said he could not refuse Jack any request he made; so he sent
for the Yellow Rose. When she came in, Jack fell into chat with her,
and did his very, very best to make her fall in love with him. But it
was of no use. He told her of all his wealth and all his grand
possessions, and said if she would marry him she should own all these,
and all the days she should live she should be the happiest woman in
the wide world, but if she married Hookedy-Crookedy, he said, she
would never be free from want and hardships, besides having an ugly
husband.
If the Yellow Rose was in a rage on the two days before, she was in a
far greater rage now. She said she wouldn't sit there to listen. She
told Jack that Hookedy-Crookedy was in her eyes a far more handsome
and beautiful man than he or than any king's son she had ever seen.
She said to Jack, that if he were ten times as handsome and a hundred
times as wealthy, she wouldn't give Hookedy-Crookedy's little finger
for himself or for all his wealth and possessions, and then she got up
to leave the room.
"Well," says Jack, says he, "I admire your spirit very much and," says
he, "I would like to make you a little present. Here is a comb," he
said, "and it will comb out of your hair a bushel of gold and a bushel
of silver every time you comb with it, and, besides," says he, "it
will make handsome the ugliest man that ever was."
When the other sisters heard this they rushed to snatch the comb from
her, but Jack threw them backwards so very roughly that their husbands
sprang at him. With a back switch of his two hands Jack knocked the
husbands down senseless. The King flew into a rage, and said, "How
dare you do that to the two finest and bravest men of this world?"
"Fine and brave, indeed!" said Jack. "One and the other are worthless
creatures, and not even your lawful sons-in-law."
"How dare you say that?" says the King.
"Strip their backs where they lie and see for yourself." And there the
King saw written, "An unlawfully married man."
"What is the meaning of this?" says the King. "They were lawfully
married to my two daughters, and they have the golden tokens of the
marriage."
Jack drew out from his pocket the golden balls and handed them to the
King, and said, "It is I who have the tokens."
The Yellow Rose had gone off to the garden in the middle of all this.
Jack made the King sit down, and told him all his story, and how he
came by the golden balls. He told him how he was Hookedy-Crookedy, and
that it reflected a great deal of honour on his youngest daughter that
she whom the King thought so worthless should refuse to give up
Hookedy-Crookedy for the one she thought a wealthy prince. The King,
you may be sure, was now highly delighted to grant him all he desired.
A couple of drops of Ioca brought the King's two sons-in-law to their
senses again, and at Jack's request, they were ordered to go and live
elsewhere. Jack went off, left his mare in the wood, and came into the
garden as Hookedy-Crookedy. He told the Yellow Rose he had been
gathering bilberries.
"Oh," says she, "I have something grand for you. Let me comb your hair
with this comb."
Hookedy-Crookedy put his head in her lap, and she combed out a bushel
of gold and silver; and when he stood up again, she saw
Hookedy-Crookedy no more, but instead the beautiful prince that had
been trying to win her in her father's drawing-room for the last three
days; and then and there to her Jack told his whole story, and it's
Yellow Rose who was the delighted girl.
With little delay they were married. The wedding lasted a year and a
day, and there were five hundred fiddlers, five hundred fluters and a
thousand fifers at it, and the last day was better than the first.
Shortly after the marriage, Jack and his bride were out walking one
day. A beautiful young woman crossed their path. Jack addressed her,
but she gave him a very curt reply.
"Your manners are not so handsome as your looks," said Jack to her.
"And bad as they are, they are better than your memory,
Hookedy-Crookedy," says she.
"What do you mean?" says Jack.
She led Jack aside, and she told him, "I am the mare who was so good
to you. I was condemned to that shape for a number of years, and now
my enchantment is over. I had a brother who was enchanted into a bear,
and whose enchantment is over now also. I had hopes," she says, "that
some day you would be my husband, but I see," she says, "that you
quickly forgot all about me. No matter now," she says; "I couldn't
wish you a better and handsomer wife than you have got. Go home to
your castle, and be happy and live prosperous. I shall never see you,
and you will never see me again."
_Arndt's Night Underground_
It was on a dreary winter's night, just such a one as it may be
now--only you cannot see it for your closed shutters and
curtains--that two children were coming home from their daily work,
for their parents were poor, and Arndt and Reutha had already to use
their little hands in labour. They were very tired, and as they came
across the moor the wind blew in their faces, and the distant roaring
of the Baltic sea, on whose shore they lived, sounded gloomy and
terrible.
"Dear Arndt, let me sit down and rest for a minute, I can go no
farther," said Reutha, as she sank down on a little mound that seemed
to rise up invitingly, with its shelter of bushes, from the midst of
the desolate moor.
The elder brother tried to encourage his little sister, as all kind
brothers should do; he even tried to carry her a little way; but she
was too heavy for him, and they went back to the mound. Just then the
moon came out, and the little hillock looked such a nice
resting-place, that Reutha longed more than ever to stay. It was not a
cold night, so Arndt was not afraid; and at last he wrapped his sister
up in her woollen cloak, and she sat down.
"I will just run a little farther and try if I can see the light in
father's window," said Arndt. "You will not be afraid, Reutha?"
"Oh, no! I am never afraid."
"And you will not go to sleep?"
"Not I," said Reutha; and all the while she rubbed her eyes to keep
them open, and leaned her head against a branch which seemed to her as
soft and inviting as a pillow.
Arndt went a little way, until he saw the light which his father
always placed so as to guide the children over the moor. Then he felt
quite safe and at home, and went back cheerfully to his sister.
Reutha was not there! Beside the little mound and among the bushes did
poor Arndt search in terror, but he could not find his sister. He
called her name loudly--there was no answer. Not a single trace of her
could be found; and yet he had not been five minutes away.
"Oh! what shall I do?" sobbed the boy; "I dare not go home without
Reutha!" And there for a long time did Arndt sit by the hillock,
wringing his hands and vainly expecting that his sister would hear him
and come back. At last there passed by an old man, who travelled about
the country selling ribbons and cloths.
"How you are grown since I saw you last, my little fellow!" said the
man. "And where is your sister Reutha?"
Arndt burst into tears, and told his friend of all that had happened
that night. The peddler's face grew graver and graver as the boy told
him it was on this very spot that he lost his little sister.
"Arndt," whispered he, "did you ever hear of the Hill-men? It is they
who have carried little Reutha away."
And then the old man told how in his young days he had heard strange
tales of this same moor; for that the little mound was a fairy-hill,
where the underground dwarfs lived, and where they often carried off
young children to be their servants, taking them under the hill, and
only leaving behind their shoes. "For," said the peddler, "the
Hill-people are very particular, and will make all their servants wear
beautiful glass shoes instead of clumsy leather."
So he and Arndt searched about the hill, and there, sure enough, they
found Reutha's tiny shoes hidden under the long grass. At this her
brother's tears burst forth afresh.
"Oh! what shall I do to bring back my poor sister? The Hill-men and
women will kill her!"
"No," said the old man, "they are very good little people, and they
live in a beautiful palace underground. Truly, you will never see
Reutha again, for they will keep her with them a hundred years; and
when she comes back you will be dead and buried, while she is still a
beautiful child."
And then, to comfort the boy, the peddler told him wonderful stories
of the riches and splendour of the Hill-people, how that sometimes
they had been seen dancing at night on the mounds, and how they wore
green caps, which, if any mortal man could get possession of, the
dwarfs were obliged to serve him and obey him in everything. All this
Arndt drank in with eager ears; and when the peddler went away he sat
a long time thinking.
"I will do it," at last he said aloud. "I will try to get my dear
Reutha safe back again."
And the boy stole noiselessly to the mound which the Hill-men were
supposed to inhabit. He hid himself among the surrounding bushes, and
there he lay in the silence and darkness, his young heart beating
wildly, and only stilled by one thought that lay ever there, that of
the lost Reutha. At last a sudden brightness flashed upon the boy's
eyes; it could not be the moon, for she had long set. No; but it was a
sight more glorious than Arndt had ever dreamed of.
The grassy hill opened, and through this aperture the boy saw a palace
underground, glittering with gold and gems. The Hill-men danced about
within it, dressed like tiny men and women. Arndt thought how
beautiful they were, though they seemed no bigger than his own baby
sister of six months old. One by one they rose out of the opening, and
gambolled on the snow-covered mound; but wherever they trod flowers
sprang up, and the air grew light and warm as summer. After a while
they ceased dancing and began ball-playing, tossing their little green
caps about in great glee. And lo and behold! one of these wonderful
caps, being tossed farther than usual, lighted on the very forehead of
the peeping boy!
In a moment he snatched it and held it fast, with a cry of triumph.
The light faded--the scene vanished--only Arndt heard a small weak
voice whispering, humbly and beseechingly in his ear.
"Please, noble gentleman, give me my cap again."
"No, no, good Hill-man," answered the courageous boy; "you have got
my little sister, and I have got your cap, which I shall keep."
"I will give you a better cap for it--all gold and jewels--oh, so
beautiful!" said the Hill-man, persuasively.
"I will not have it. What good would it do me? No, no, I am your
master, good dwarf, as you very well know, and I command you to take
me down in the hill with you, for I want to see Reutha."
There shone a dim light on the grass, like a glowworm, and then Arndt
saw the elfin mound open again; but this time the palace looked like a
dim, gloomy staircase. On the top stair stood the little Hill-man,
holding the glowworm lamp, and making many low bows to his new master.
Arndt glanced rather fearfully down the staircase; but then he thought
of Reutha, and his love for her made him grow bold. He took upon
himself a lordly air, and bade his little servant lead the way.
The Hill-man took him through beautiful galleries, and halls, and
gardens, until the boy's senses were intoxicated with these lovely
things. Every now and then he stopped, and asked for Reutha: but then
there was always some new chamber to be seen, or some dainty banquet
to be tasted; until, by degrees, Arndt's memory of his little sister
grew dimmer, and he revelled in the delights of the fairy palace hour
after hour. When night came--if so it could be called in that lovely
place, where night was only day shadowed over and made more
delicious--the boy felt himself lulled by sweet music to a soft
dreaminess, which was all the sleep that was needed in that fairy
paradise.
Thus, day after day passed in all gay delights, the elfin people were
the merriest in the world, and they did all their little master
desired. And Arndt knew not that while they surrounded him with
delights it was only to make him forget his errand. But one day, when
the boy lay on a green dell in the lovely fairy-garden, he heard a
low, wailing song, and saw a troop of little mortal children at work
in the distance. Some were digging ore, and others making jewellery,
while a few stood in the stream that ran by, beating linen, as it
seemed. And among these poor little maidens, who worked so hard and
sang so mournfully, was his own sister Reutha.
"No one cares for me," she murmured; and her song had in it a
plaintive sweetness, very different from the way in which the little
Danish maiden spoke on earth. "Reutha is alone--her hands are sore
with toil--her feet bleed--but no one pities her. Arndt sleeps in
gorgeous clothes, while Reutha toils in rags. Arndt is the
master--Reutha is the slave! Poor Reutha is quite alone!"
Even amidst the spells of fairyland that voice went to the brother's
heart. He called the Hill-people, and bade them bring Reutha to him.
Then he kissed her, and wept over her, and dressed her in his own
beautiful robes, while the Hill-men dared not interfere. Arndt took
his sister by the hand, and said--
"Now, let us go; we have stayed long enough. Good Hill-man, you shall
have your cap again when you have brought Reutha and me to our own
father's door."
But the Hill-man shook his tiny head, and made his most obsequious
bow. "Noble master, anything but this! This little maid we found
asleep on our hill, and she is ours for a hundred years."
Here Arndt got into a passion; for, convinced of the power the little
green cap gave him over the dwarfs, he had long lost all fear of them.
He stamped with his foot until the little man leaped up a yard high,
and begged his master to be more patient.
"How dare you keep my sister? you ugly little creatures!" cried the
boy, his former pleasant companion becoming at once hateful to him.
But the Hill-people only gave him gentle answers; until at last he
grew ashamed of being so angry with such tiny creatures. They led him
to a palace, more beautiful than any he had yet seen, and showed him
pearls and diamonds heaped up in basketfuls.
"You shall take all these away with you, noble sir!" said his little
servant. "They will make you a rich man all the days of your life, and
you will live in a palace as fine as ours. Is not that far better than
having a poor helpless sister to work for?"
But Arndt caught a glimpse of Reutha, as she sat outside; weeping--she
dared not enter with him--and he kicked the baskets over, and
scattered the jewels like so many pebbles.
"Keep all your treasures, and give me my sister!" cried he.
Then the Hill-man tried him with something else. Arndt was a very
handsome boy and everybody had told him so, until he was rather vain.
Many a time, when he worked in the field, he used to look at himself
in a clear, still pool, and think how golden his hair was, and how
lithe and graceful his figure. Now the Hill-man knew all this; and so
he led the boy to a crystal mirror and showed him his own beautiful
form, set off with every advantage of rich dress. And then, by fairy
spells, Arndt saw beside it the image of the little peasant as he was
when he entered the hill.
"Think how different!" whispered the dwarf. He breathed on the mirror,
and the boy saw himself as he would be when he grew up--a
hard-working, labouring man; and opposite, the semblance of a young,
graceful nobleman, whose face was the same which the stream had often
told him was his own.
"We can make thee always thus handsome. Choose which thou wilt be,"
murmured the tempting voice.
The boy hesitated; but the same moment came that melancholy voice--"My
brother is rich, and I am poor; he is clad in silk, and I in rags.
Alas, for me!"
"It shall not be!" cried the noble boy. "I will go out of this place
as poor as I came; but I will take Reutha with me. I will work all the
days of my life; but Reutha shall not stay here. Hill-people! I want
none of your treasures; but I command you to give me my sister, and
let us go!"
Arndt folded his arms around Reutha, and walked with her through all
the gorgeous rooms, the Hill-men and women following behind, and
luring him with their sweetest songs and most bewitching smiles. But
Reutha's voice and Reutha's smile had greatest power of all over her
brother's heart.
They climbed the gloomy staircase, and stood at the opening in the
hillock. Then the little Hill-man appealed once more to his master--
"Noble gentleman! remember, a life of labour with Reutha or one of
continual pleasure alone! Think again!"
"No, not for a moment," said Arndt, as he felt the breezes of earth
playing on his cheek. How sweet they were, even after the fragrant
airs of elfin-land!
"At least, kind master, give me my cap!" piteously implored the
Hill-man.
"Take it; and good-bye for evermore!" cried Arndt, as he clasped his
sister in his arms and leaped out. The chasm closed, and the two
children found themselves lying in a snow-drift, with the gray dawn of
a winter's morning just breaking over them.
"Where have you been all night, my children?" cried the anxious
mother, as they knocked at the door.
Had it, indeed, been only a single night, the months that seemed to
have passed while they were under the hill? They could not tell, for
they were now like all other children, and their wisdom learned in
fairyland had passed away. It seemed only a dream, save that the
brother and sister loved each other better than ever, and so they
continued to do as long as they lived.
_The Unicorn_
Fritz, Franz, and Hans were charcoal-burners. They lived with their
mother in the depths of a forest, where they very seldom saw the face
of another human being. Hans, the youngest, did not remember ever
having lived anywhere else, but Fritz and Franz could just call to
mind sunny meadows, in which they played as little children, plucking
the flowers and chasing the butterflies. Indeed, Fritz was able to
compare the present state of miserable poverty in which they lived
with the ease and comfort they had enjoyed in years gone by.
Once upon a time they were well off. They had enough to eat every day;
they lived in a comfortable house, surrounded by a nice garden, and
with plenty of kind neighbours around them. Then came a change. Their
father lost his money and was forced to leave this pleasant home, and
to earn bread for his family by becoming a charcoal-burner. Everything
now became different. Their house was a poor hut, composed of a few
logs of wood knocked roughly together. Dry black bread with,
occasionally, a few potatoes and lentils, and now and then, as a great
treat, a little porridge, formed their food. And to secure even this
they had to work hard from morning till night at their grimy trade.
But their father was brave and patient, and, while he was alive, the
wolf was kept some distance from the door. Besides, he could always
put some heart into the boys when they began to flag, by a joke or a
pleasant story. But he had died a year ago, owing to an accident he
met with while chopping wood for the furnace, and since his death
matters had been going from bad to worse with the family.
Fritz and Franz were, unfortunately, selfish, ill-conditioned lads,
who made the worst instead of the best of their troubles, and who
even grudged their mother and brother their share of the food. Hans,
on the other hand, was a capital fellow. He always had a cheerful
smile or word, and did all in his power to help his mother to keep in
good spirits. One day, at dinner time, they were startled by a knock
at the door. A knock at the door does not seem to us, perhaps, to be a
very startling thing, but they, as I said, so seldom saw a strange
face near their home that this knock at the door quite took away their
breath. When it came, Fritz and Franz were sitting over the fire
munching their last piece of black bread, and grumbling to each other
as was their custom, while Hans, seated on the bed beside his mother,
was telling her about what he saw and what he fancied when he was in
the forest. Fritz was the first to recover himself, and he growled
out, in his usual surly tone, "Come in." The door opened, and a
gentleman entered. From his green dress, the gun that he carried in
his hand, and the game-bag slung by his side, they saw that he was a
huntsman, who had been amusing himself with shooting the game with
which the forest abounded.
"Good morning, good friends," he said, in a cheerful tone. "Could you
provide me with a cup of water and a mouthful of something to eat? I
have forgotten to bring anything with me, and am ravenously hungry,
and far from home."
Fritz and Franz first threw a scowling glance from under their
eyebrows at the stranger by way of reply, then gave a grunt, and
continued munching at their hunks of bread. Hans, however, was more
polite. The only seats in the hut were occupied by Fritz and Franz,
and as they showed no disposition to move, Hans dragged a log of wood
from a corner and placed it before the visitor, and invited him to sit
down. Then he produced a cup, scrupulously clean indeed, but sadly
cracked and chipped, and, running outside, he filled it from a spring
of delicious, cool water, which rose near the hut. As he had been busy
talking to his mother, he had had no time to eat his share of the
black bread, and so he handed his coarse crust to the stranger, saying
he was sorry that there was nothing better to offer him.
"Thank you," said the stranger, courteously. "Hunger is the best
sauce. There is no lunch I like so well as this." And he set to work
with such a good will that, in a very short time, poor Hans's crust
had vanished, and there was nothing left before the stranger but a few
crumbs of bread on the table, and a few drops of water in the cup.
These he kneaded carelessly together into a little pellet, about the
size of a pea, while Hans told him, in answer to his questions, all
about their lonely life in the forest, and the hardships which they
had to endure.
When the stranger rose to go he said, "Well, I thank you heartily for
your hospitality--now I will give you a word of advice. One of you
lads should go and seek the sparkling golden water, which turns
everything it touches into gold."
Fritz and Franz pricked up their ears at this, and both at once
demanded where this sparkling golden water was to be found. The
stranger turned toward them, courteously, although these were the
first words they had spoken since his entrance, and replied:
"The sparkling golden water is to be found in the forest of dead
trees, on the farther side of those blue mountains, which you may see
on any clear day in the far distance. It is a three weeks' journey on
foot from here."
Then, bowing to his hosts, he stepped toward the door. Hans, however,
was there first, and opened it for him. Obeying a sign from the
stranger, Hans followed him a little way from the hut. Then the
stranger, taking from his pocket the little black bread pellet, said,
"I know, because you gave me your dinner, that you will have to go
hungry. I have no money to offer you, but here is something that will
be of far greater value to you than money. Keep this pellet carefully,
and when you seek the sparkling golden water, as I know you will,
don't forget to bring it with you. Now go back: you must follow me no
farther." So saying, the stranger waved his hand to Hans, and,
plunging into the thicket, disappeared. Hans slipped the pellet into
his pocket and re-entered the hut, where he found his brothers in loud
dispute about the sparkling golden water. They were much too
interested in the matter to pay any attention to Hans or to ask him,
as he was afraid they would, whether the stranger had given him any
money before he left. As he came in, he heard Fritz saying in a loud
voice:
"I'm the eldest, and I will go first to get the sparkling golden
water. When I've got it I will buy all the land hereabouts and become
Count. I will hunt every day, and have lots of good wine; and
sometimes, if I'm passing near here, I'll just look in to see how you
all are, and to show you my fine clothes, and horses, and dogs, and
servants." Fritz was, for him, almost gracious at the bright prospect
before him.
"I don't care whether you're the eldest or not," growled Franz,
stubbornly, "I shall go, too, to find the sparkling golden water. When
I've found it I will buy the Burgomaster's office, and live in his
house in the town yonder, and wear his fur robes and gold chain; and,
best of all, walk at the head of all the grand processions. None of
your wild hunting for me--give me ease and comfort."
At last it was decided, after a great deal of squabbling, that Fritz
as the eldest should go first in search of the sparkling golden water,
and accordingly next day he set out. Hans ventured to hint that the
first thing to be done with this sparkling golden water when it was
found should be to provide a comfortable home for their mother, but
Fritz's only answer to this was a blow, and an angry order to Hans to
mind his own business.
We cannot follow Fritz all the way on his journey. As he had no money
he was forced to beg at the doors of the cottages and farmhouses which
he passed, for food and shelter for the night. Now, this proved to be
rather hard work, because nobody very much liked his looks or his
manner; and people only gave him spare scraps now and then in order to
get him to go away as soon as possible. However, he found himself, at
last, approaching the forest of dead trees. He knew that it was the
forest, although there was nobody there to tell him so. He had not, in
fact, seen any human being for the last three days, but he felt that
he could not be mistaken. A vast forest of enormous trees lifted
leafless, sapless branches to the sky, and every breath of wind
rattled them together like the bones of a skeleton. When he was about
twenty yards from the forest a terrible sound came from it. It was as
though a thousand horses were neighing and screaming all at once.
Fritz's heart stood still. He wanted to run away, but his legs refused
to move. As he stood there, shaking and quaking, there rushed out of
the forest a huge unicorn with a spiral golden horn on his forehead.
"What seek you here?" asked the unicorn, in a voice of thunder. Fritz
stammered out that he sought the sparkling golden water.
"What want you with the sparkling golden water, which is in my
charge?" thundered the unicorn.
Fritz was almost too frightened to speak. He fell on his knees, put up
his hands, and cried: "Oh, good Mr. Unicorn, oh, kind Mr. Unicorn,
pray don't hurt me!"
The unicorn stamped furiously on the ground with his right forefoot.
"Say this instant," he cried, "what it is that you want with the
sparkling golden water!"
"I want to get money to buy land and become a Count," Fritz was just
able to gasp out. The unicorn said nothing; he simply lowered his
head, and with his golden horn tossed Fritz three hundred and
forty-five feet in the air. Up went Fritz like a sky-rocket, and down
he came like its stick, turning somersaults all the way. Fortunately
for him, his fall was broken by the branches of one of the dead trees.
If it had not been for this he would probably have been seriously
hurt. Through these branches he crashed until he reached the point
where they joined the trunk. The tree was hollow here, and Fritz
tumbled down to the bottom of the trunk and found himself a prisoner.
While he was feeling his arms and legs, to find out if any bones were
broken or not, he had the satisfaction of hearing the unicorn, as he
trotted back into the forest, muttering, loud enough for his words to
pierce the bark and wood of Fritz's prison:--
"So much for you and your Countship!"
Fritz tried to get out, but in vain. The tree was too smooth and
slippery and high for him to be able to clamber up, and he only hurt
himself every time he attempted to escape. There was nothing for it,
then, but for him to lie down and howl. He had to satisfy his hunger
as best he might, by eating the stray worms and woodlice and fungi,
which he found creeping, crawling, and growing round about the roots
of the tree. We will leave him there for the present and return to the
others.
Franz, Hans, and their mother waited and waited for Fritz to come
back. Hans and his mother could not believe it possible that, when he
had secured the sparkling golden water, he would leave them in their
poverty. Franz, on the other hand, judging Fritz by himself, thought
that nothing was more likely. And Franz was most probably right. Six
weeks was the shortest time in which Fritz could be home again.
"Unless," said Hans, "he buys a horse and rides back, as he will be
very well able to do when he has got the sparkling golden water." But
six weeks passed, and two months, and three months, and no Fritz,
either on horseback or afoot. Then Franz's patience came to an end. He
must needs go, too.
"I won't wait here starving any longer," said he; "Fritz has forgotten
all about us. I'll get the sparkling golden water and become
Burgomaster." So off he set, following the same road as Fritz, and
meeting with much the same difficulties. They were, however, rather
greater in his case than in his brother's. Folk remembered the
ill-conditioned Fritz only too well, and Franz was so like him in
looks and manner, that they shut the door in his face the moment he
appeared, and ran upstairs and called out from the top windows of
their houses, "Go away! There's nothing for you here. The big dog's
loose in the yard. Go away, charcoal-burner."
However, by dint of perseverance, in which to say the truth he was not
lacking, Franz, very hungry and sulky, reached the verge of the forest
of dead trees. Out came the unicorn and asked his business. On Franz
replying that he wanted the sparkling golden water in order to buy the
house and post of Burgomaster, the unicorn tossed him into the air,
and he tumbled into the same tree as Fritz. Then the unicorn trotted
back into the forest, muttering, for Franz's benefit: "So much for you
and your Burgomastership!"
When Fritz and Franz found themselves thus closely confined in the
same prison, they, instead of making the best of each other's company,
as sensible brothers would have done, fell to quarrelling and
fighting, until at last neither would speak to the other, and that
state of sulky silence they maintained all the time of their
captivity.
The months passed by, but no news came to Hans and his mother of Fritz
and Franz. Meanwhile Hans found that it became daily more difficult
for him to earn enough money to support two people. Moreover, he saw
that his mother was growing weaker, and he feared that she would die
unless she had proper food and nourishment. At last he said:
"Mother, if there were only some one to take care of you, I would go
in search of Fritz and Franz. You may be sure they have got the
sparkling golden water by this time. They would never refuse me a few
guldern, if I were to ask them and tell them how ill you are."
But Hans's mother did not at all like the idea of his leaving her, and
she begged and prayed him not to go. He felt obliged, therefore, to
submit, and stayed on for a little longer, until at last even his
mother saw that they must either starve or do as Hans suggested. Most
fortunately at this time there dropped in to see them another
charcoal-burner, whom Hans used to call "Uncle Stoltz," although he
was no uncle at all, but only a good-natured neighbour and an old
friend of Hans's father. Uncle Stoltz strongly urged the mother to let
her boy go in search of his brothers, adding, although he was nearly
as poor as they were themselves:
"You come and live with me and my wife. While we have a crust to
divide you shan't want."
So Hans's mother gave a reluctant consent, and went to live with Uncle
Stoltz, while Hans went out in search of his brothers. By making
inquiries he easily found the road which they had taken, but nobody
ever thought of shutting the door in his face. On the contrary, his
polite manners and cheerful looks made him a welcome guest at every
cottage and farmstead at which he stopped. At last he, too, found
himself on the verge of the forest of dead trees and face to face with
the golden-horned unicorn. But Hans was not to be frightened as his
brothers had been by the terrible voice and awe-striking appearance of
the guardian of the fountain. In reply to the usual question, given in
the usual tone of thunder: "What seek you here?" Hans replied, coolly,
"I seek my brothers, Fritz and Franz."
"They are where you will never find them," said the unicorn, "so go
home again."
"If I cannot find my brothers," said Hans, firmly, "I will not go home
without the sparkling golden water."
"What want you with the sparkling golden water, which is in my
charge?" asked the unicorn, in his terrible voice.
"I want to buy food and wine and comforts for my mother; who is very
ill," answered Hans, undaunted. But his eyes filled with tears as he
thought of his mother.
The unicorn spoke more gently.
"Have you," he asked, "the crystal ball? Because without it I cannot
allow you to pass to the sparkling golden water."
"The crystal ball!" echoed Hans. "I never heard of such a thing."
"That's a pity," said the unicorn, gravely; "I'm afraid you will have
to go home without the water; but, stay, feel in your pockets. You may
have had the ball, and put it somewhere, and have forgotten all about
it."
Hans smiled at the idea of the crystal ball lying, unknown to him, in
his pockets, but he followed the suggestion of the unicorn; and found,
as he knew he should find, nothing at all, except, indeed, the pellet
of black bread which the stranger-huntsman had given him, and which he
had not thought of from that day to this. "No," he said to the
unicorn, "I have nothing in my pocket, except this pellet," and he was
about to throw it away when the unicorn called out to him to stop.
"Let me see it," he said. "Why," he went on, "this is the crystal
ball--look!"
Hans did look, and sure enough he found in his hand a tiny globe of
crystal. He examined it with amazement. "Well," he said, "all I know
is that a second ago it was a black-bread pellet."
"That may be," said the unicorn, carelessly; "anyhow, it is a crystal
ball now, and the possession of it makes me your servant. It is my
duty to carry you to the fountain of sparkling golden water, if you
wish to go. Have you brought a flask with you?"
"No," said Hans. "Fritz took the only flask we had, and Franz an old
bottle."
"Fritz, eh? Well, follow me a little way." So saying, the unicorn led
Hans to the tree in which his brothers were imprisoned and, motioning
him to be silent, cried out:
"Ho! Master Count, throw out the flask you have with you, if you
please: it is wanted."
"'Shan't," growled Fritz's voice in reply, "unless you promise to let
me out."
"Oh, you won't, won't you?" said the unicorn; "well, we'll see."
With that he drew back a few steps, and then, running forward, thrust
his sharp horn into the side of the hollow trunk from which Fritz's
voice had issued. A loud yell came from the spot, showing that the
horn had run into some tender part of Fritz's body, and at the same
instant, the flask appeared flying out of the hole in the tree by
which Fritz and Franz had entered.
"That's right," said the unicorn, "now we shall do comfortably. Get on
my back, grasp my mane tightly, hold your breath, and shut your eyes."
"If you please," said Hans, "will you set Fritz and Franz free first?"
The unicorn looked annoyed. "They are doing very well there," he said;
"why should you disturb them? But you're my master, and I must do as
you please. Only, take my word, you will be sorry for this afterward."
With that he went to the tree and, with one or two powerful blows with
his horn, made a hole large enough for the unhappy prisoners to creep
out. Two more sheepish, miserable wretches than those half-starved
brothers of his, Hans had never seen. They fell at his feet and
thanked him again and again for delivering them. They promised never
to do anything unkind or selfish again, and each assured Hans that he
had always liked him far more than he had liked the other brother.
Their protestations of affection rather disgusted Hans, only, as he
was a good-hearted boy himself, he could not help being moved by them.
He then told his brothers in what state he had left his mother, and
how he was to be taken by the unicorn to get the sparkling golden
water.
"Oh!" cried the brothers, "can't you take us, too?"
The unicorn thought it time to interfere. "No one can be taken there,
but the owner of the crystal ball," he said. "Come, master, it is time
for you to mount."
Hans clambered nimbly into his seat on the unicorn's back. "Wait for
me here," he called out to his brothers. "I shall not be long." Then
Hans shut his eyes, held his breath, and grasped the unicorn tightly
by the mane. It was as well that he did so, for the unicorn gave a
bound that carried him over the tops of the highest trees, and would
certainly have thrown him off unless he had been very firmly seated.
Three such bounds did he take, and then he paused and said to Hans,
"Now you may open your eyes." Hans found himself in a desolate, rocky
valley, without a trace of vegetation--unless the forest of dead
trees, which clothed the valley on every side, might be taken as
vegetation. In the midst of the valley there sprang up a fountain of
water, which sparked with such intense brilliancy that Hans was unable
at first to look upon it.
"There, master," said the unicorn, turning his head, "this is the
fountain of sparkling golden water. Dismount, and fill your flask. But
take care that you do not allow your hand to touch the water. If it
does it will be turned into gold, and will never become flesh and
blood again."
Hans slipped from his seat and, flask in hand, approached the
fountain. The ground on which he walked was sand, but as he drew
nearer the fountain, he noticed that the sand kept growing brighter
until he felt that he was walking upon what he guessed rightly to be
veritable gold dust Hans thrust a handful of this dust into his
pocket, and also one or two moderate-sized stones that he found,
which, like the sand, had been changed, by the spray coming from the
fountain, into pure gold. He tried to be as careful as possible in
filling the flask; but, notwithstanding all his care, the top joint of
his little finger touched the water, and in an instant became gold.
However, he had his flask full of sparkling golden water, the flask
itself now, of course, golden, and he felt that the top joint of his
little finger was a small price to pay for all this.
"Now, master," said the unicorn when Hans got back, "do you still
intend to return to those brothers of yours? Or shall I put you out of
the forest at some other point?"
"Certainly," replied Hans; "I intend to return to them. You heard them
say how sorry they were for all the unkindness they had shown to my
mother and me. I know they mean to do better for the future. Besides,
I promised them to come back."
The unicorn said nothing, but grunted in a discouraging manner, and
motioned to Hans to get on his back. When he was seated the unicorn
said:
"Since this is your wish, you must have it. I have, however, three
pieces of advice to give you. On your way home your brothers will
offer to carry the flask--do not let them do so; also do not let them
get behind you for a moment; and thirdly, guard the crystal ball with
the utmost care. I can't go with you beyond the verge of the forest of
dead trees. One visit, and only one, is permitted to the fountain. You
therefore can never come here again. But if ever you need me sorely,
crush the crystal ball, and I will be with you. Now shut your eyes, we
must be off."
Three bounds brought them to the side of Fritz and Franz; and Hans
having thanked the unicorn warmly for his kindness, the three brothers
began to retrace their steps homeward. Now, during Hans's absence at
the fountain, Fritz and Franz had been devising how they might rob him
of the flask of sparkling golden water.
"It is disgusting," they said to one another, "that this wretched
little Hans should beat us both. He will only waste the water in
buying things for his mother, while it would make us Count and
Burgomaster."
As soon, therefore, as they were out of sight of the unicorn, Fritz
and Franz begged and prayed Hans to allow one of them to carry the
flask.
"You've had all the trouble of getting the water," they said; "we
ought at least to be allowed the honour of helping you carry it.
Besides, are we not your servants now that you are so rich? It is not
suitable for you to do all the work." But Hans remembered the
unicorn's words, and held firmly to his flask.
"No," he said, "thank you; but I'll carry it myself." Then Fritz and
Franz pretended to get sulky and tried to drop behind, but Hans would
not allow this, either. The consequence was that the three made very
slow progress homeward. Toward the evening they came to a deep stream,
which they had to re-cross. It was only fordable at one point, as they
all knew, because they had, of course, already crossed it before. Hans
stood aside to allow Fritz and Franz to go on first, but each of them
went in a little way, and ran back, saying that they were afraid of
being drowned.
"What nonsense," said Hans, who was getting a little impatient at the
delay; "it's quite shallow," and, forgetting the unicorn's warning, he
entered the stream first. Fritz and Franz did not miss the
opportunity. Each took a large stone and struck Hans violently on the
head. Then as he fell back senseless into the water, Fritz snatched
the flask from off the belt to which it was attached, and Franz thrust
with his foot Hans's body farther into the river, so that the current
should carry it away, and, laughing at their own cleverness, the two
proceeded to cross the ford.
Now, naturally enough, lads like Fritz and Franz do not care to trust
each other very far. As soon, therefore, as they reached the other
side of the stream, Franz produced his bottle, and demanded of Fritz
his share of the sparkling golden water. Fritz, who intended to keep
it all to himself, proposed that they should put off sharing it till
later. Franz would not hear of this. He knew, only too well, what
Fritz intended. This led to a wrangle, which ended in a fight between
the two, in which the sparkling golden water was spilled, partly over
Fritz's right hand, and the remainder over Franz's left foot. The
brothers first realized what had happened to them by Fritz finding
that he could not close his fist to strike, and Franz finding that he
could not raise his foot to kick. The discovery sobered them in an
instant. There they stood, one with a hand and the other with a foot
of solid gold, and the golden flask with them; but the water, the
precious sparkling golden water, lost forever. Fritz was the first to
recover himself.
"Well," he said, "thank goodness I have a couple of feet left me. I
shall be off, I can't wait for you. You must hobble on as best you
can, or stay here and starve," and he was on the point of leaving
Franz to his fate, when the latter caught him by the collar.
"If I've only one foot, I have two hands," cried he, "and I don't
intend to let you leave me behind. No, no; we must go together or not
at all."
Fritz was obliged to submit, as it was a case of two hands against
one; and he and Franz, arm in arm as though they were the most
affectionate brothers, made their way slowly to the nearest town.
There they had to submit to have hand and foot cut off. The operation
hurt them very much indeed, but they sold the gold for a good sum of
money to the goldsmith. With that, and with what they got for the
flask, Fritz was able to buy his Countship, although he could never
hunt owing to the loss of his right hand, and Franz was able to buy
his Burgomastership, although the loss of his foot prevented his
walking properly in processions. Neither of them, of course, gave a
thought to their mother.
Now we must return to poor Hans, whom we left floating down the
stream--senseless, and to all appearance dead. He was not dead,
however, although the blows which his brothers had inflicted were very
severe ones. He was only stunned, and fortunately he did not float far
enough to be drowned. His body came into a back eddy of the stream
and drifted gently on to a shelving bank of white sand. The cold water
soon had the effect of bringing him to his senses so far as to enable
him to crawl on to the land. It was, however, some hours before he was
able to recall the past events. When he remembered them he gave way to
despair. All the pains he had taken to win the sparkling golden water
were thrown away. He might not return to get more--the unicorn had
told him that. His mother would be as badly off as ever. Above all, he
had the bitter disappointment of feeling that his brothers had
deceived him. Then he bethought him of the crystal ball. Taking it
from his pocket, he placed it on a large stone, and taking another
stone struck it with all his force. A report like that of a cannon
followed, and at the same instant the unicorn stood before him.
"I warned you of what would happen," he said to Hans. "You would have
done much better if you had left your brothers in the tree. Now let me
see what can be done for you. First of all, rub that dockleaf, which
is touching your right hand, on the wound in your head." Hans did as
he was told, and his head became as sound as ever. "Now," said the
unicorn, "you must go straight home to your mother and bring her to
the city of White Towers, and stay there till you hear from me again."
"But," said Hans, with tears in his eyes, "how can I do that? My
mother is much too ill to move, and I have lost the sparkling golden
water which was to have made her well and strong."
"Did not I see you," asked the unicorn, "put some sand and stones of
pure gold into your pocket as you went to the fountain? There will be
more than enough to meet all your expenses. Do as I tell you," and the
unicorn, saying this, disappeared.
Hans, greatly ch
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/19461