Edmund Dulac's Fairy-Book: Fairy Tales of the Allied Nations
by Edmund Dulac · English · Gutenberg #25513 · 336,405 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Edmund Dulac's Fairy-Book: Fairy Tales of the Allied Nations
Author: Edmund Dulac
Release date: May 18, 2008 [eBook #25513]
Most recently updated: January 3, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25513
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDMUND DULAC'S FAIRY-BOOK: FAIRY TALES OF THE ALLIED NATIONS ***
Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive.)
EDMUND DULAC'S
FAIRY-BOOK
[Illustration: SNEGOROTCHKA
The daintiest, prettiest little maiden they had ever seen.
_See page 2_]
EDMUND DULAC'S
FAIRY-BOOK
FAIRY TALES
OF THE
ALLIED
NATIONS
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
EDMUND DULAC'S FAIRY-BOOK
--HC--
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
PAGE
SNEGOROTCHKA:
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE 1
THE BURIED MOON:
AN ENGLISH FAIRY TALE 7
WHITE CAROLINE AND BLACK CAROLINE:
A FLEMISH FAIRY TALE 15
THE SEVEN CONQUERORS OF THE QUEEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI:
A BELGIAN FAIRY TALE 23
THE SERPENT PRINCE:
AN ITALIAN FAIRY TALE 31
THE HIND OF THE WOOD:
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE 45
IVAN AND THE CHESTNUT HORSE:
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE 63
THE QUEEN OF THE MANY-COLOURED BEDCHAMBER:
AN IRISH FAIRY TALE 73
THE BLUE BIRD:
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE 81
BASHTCHELIK (OR, REAL STEEL):
A SERBIAN FAIRY TALE 95
THE FRIAR AND THE BOY:
AN ENGLISH FAIRY TALE 119
THE GREEN SERPENT:
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE 129
URASHIMA TARO:
A JAPANESE FAIRY TALE 145
THE FIRE BIRD:
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE 159
THE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG:
A CHINESE FAIRY TALE 171
ILLUSTRATIONS
SNEGOROTCHKA
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
The daintiest, prettiest little maiden they had ever seen _Frontispiece_
PAGE
THE BURIED MOON
AN ENGLISH FAIRY TALE
In her frantic struggles the hood of her cloak fell back from
her dazzling golden hair, and immediately the whole place was
flooded with light 8
WHITE CAROLINE AND BLACK CAROLINE
A FLEMISH FAIRY TALE
And, when he saw White Caroline, he started to play on his organ the
most beautiful airs that it was possible to hear, and the three
little dogs commenced to dance together 16
THE SEVEN CONQUERORS OF THE QUEEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI
A BELGIAN FAIRY TALE
'Hi! friend! Take the whole castle, with the Queen and all that it
contains, on your shoulders!' 24
THE SERPENT PRINCE
AN ITALIAN FAIRY TALE
When Grannmia saw her strange lover, she alone remained calm and
courageous 32
THE HIND OF THE WOOD
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE
Giroflée thanked the fairy and went ... far into the wood; and there,
sure enough, she saw a hut and an old woman sitting outside 56
IVAN AND THE CHESTNUT HORSE
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
The chestnut horse seemed to linger in the air at the top of its leap
while that kiss endured 64
THE BLUE BIRD
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE
The Prince took a carriage drawn by three great frogs with great big
wings.... Truitonne came out mysteriously by a little door 88
BASHTCHELIK (OR, REAL STEEL)
A SERBIAN FAIRY TALE
The Prince, looking out, saw him snatch up the Princess ... and
soar rapidly away 104
The Palace of the Dragon King 112
THE FRIAR AND THE BOY
AN ENGLISH FAIRY TALE
The Friar, bound fast to the post, squirmed and wriggled, showing
plainly that he would foot it if he could 128
THE GREEN SERPENT
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE
Laideronnette kissed and embraced the good Fairy Protectress 144
URASHIMA TARO
A JAPANESE FAIRY TALE
Urashima was so enchanted that he could not speak a word 152
THE FIRE BIRD
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
There he found the Princess asleep, and saw that her face was the face
he had seen in the portrait 160
With a scream the Princess rushed forward, and, before her wicked
sister could prevent her, she had upset the cauldron with a crash 168
THE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG
A CHINESE FAIRY TALE
The wonderful bird, like a fire of many colours come down from heaven,
alighted before the Princess, dropping at her feet the portrait 172
SNEGOROTCHKA
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
The old wife sang merrily as she sat in the inglenook stirring the soup,
for she had never felt so sad. Many, many years had come and gone,
leaving the weight of their winters on her shoulders and the touch of
snow on her hair without ever bringing her a little child. This made her
and her dear old husband very sad, for there were many children outside,
playing in the snow. It seemed hard that not even one among them was
their very own. But alas! there was no hope for such a blessing now.
Never would they see a little fur cap hanging on the corner of the
mantelpiece, nor two little shoes drying by the fire.
The old husband brought in a bundle of wood and set it down. Then, as he
heard the children laughing and clapping their hands outside, he looked
out at the window. There they were, dancing with glee round a snow man
they had made. He smiled as he saw that it was evidently meant to look
like the Mayor of the village, it was so fat and pompous.
'Look, Marusha!' he cried to the old wife. 'Come and see the snow man
they've made.'
As they stood together at the window, they laughed to see what fun the
children got out of it. Suddenly the old man turned to her with a bright
idea.
'Let's go out and see if _we_ can't make a little snow man.'
But Marusha laughed at him. 'What would the neighbours say? They would
poke fun at us; it'd be the joke of the village. Besides, we're too old
to play like children.'
'But only a little one, Marusha; only a teeny-weeny little snow
man,--and I'll manage it that nobody sees us.'
'Well, well,' she said, laughing; 'have your own way, as you always did,
Youshko.'
With this she took the pot from the fire, put on her bonnet, and they
went out together. As they passed the children, they stopped to play
with them a while, for they now felt almost like children themselves.
Then they trudged on through the snow till they came to a clump of
trees, and, behind this, where the snow was nice and white, and nobody
could see them, they set to work to make their little man.
The old husband insisted that it must be very small, and the old wife
agreed that it should be almost as small as a new-born babe. Kneeling
down in the snow, they fashioned the little body in next to no time. Now
there remained only the head to finish. Two fat handfuls of snow for the
cheeks and face, and a big one on top for the head. Then they put on a
wee dab for the nose and poked two holes, one on each side, for the
eyes.
It was soon done, and they were already standing back looking at it, and
laughing and clapping their hands like children. Then suddenly they
stopped. What had happened? A very strange thing indeed! Out of the two
holes they saw looking at them two wistful blue eyes. Then the face of
the little snow man was no longer white. The cheeks became rounded and
smooth and radiant, and two rosy lips began to smile up at them. A
breath of wind brushed the snow from the head, and it all fell down
round the shoulders in flaxen ringlets escaping from a white fur cap. At
the same time some snow, loosened from the little body, fell down and
took the shape of a pretty white garment. Then, suddenly, before they
could open and shut their mouths, their snow mannikin was gone, and in
his place stood the daintiest, prettiest little maiden they had ever
seen.
They gave each other a look out of the corners of their eyes, and
scratched their heads in wonderment. But it was as true as true. There
stood the little girl, all pink and white before them. She was really
alive, for she ran to them; and, when they stooped down to lift her up,
she put one arm round the old wife's neck and the other round the old
man's, and gave them each a hug and a kiss.
They laughed and cried for joy; then, suddenly remembering how real some
dreams can seem, they pinched each other in turn. Still they were not
sure, for the pinches might have been a part of the dream. So, in fear
lest they might wake and spoil the whole thing, they wrapped the little
girl up quickly and hastened back home.
On the way they met the children, still playing round their snow man;
and the snowballs with which they pelted them in the back were very
real; but there again, the snowballs might have belonged to the dream.
But when they were inside the house, and saw the inglenook, with the
soup in the pot by the fire and the bundle of wood near by, and
everything just as they had left it, they looked at each other with
tears in their eyes and no longer feared that it was all a dream. In
another minute there was a little white fur cap hanging on the corner of
the mantelpiece and two little shoes drying by the fire, while the old
wife took the little girl on her lap and crooned a lullaby over her.
The old man put his hand on his wife's shoulder and she looked up.
'Marusha!'
'Youshko!'
'At last we have a little girl! We made her out of the snow, so we will
call her Snegorotchka.'
The old wife nodded her head, and then they kissed each other. When they
had all had supper, they went to bed, the old husband and wife feeling
sure that they would wake early in the morning to find the child still
with them. And they were not disappointed. There she was, sitting up
between them, prattling and laughing. But she had grown bigger, and her
hair was now twice as long as at first. When she called them 'Little
Father' and 'Little Mother' they were so delighted that they felt like
dancing as nimbly as they had in their young days. But, instead of
dancing, they just kissed each other, and wept for joy.
That day they held a big feast. The old wife was busy all the morning
cooking all kinds of dainties, while the old man went round the village
and collected the fiddlers. All the boys and girls of the village were
invited, and they ate and sang and danced and had a merry time till
daybreak. As they went home, the girls all talked at once about how much
they had enjoyed themselves, but the boys were very silent;--they were
thinking of the beautiful Snegorotchka with the blue eyes and the golden
hair.
Every day after that Snegorotchka played with the other children, and
taught them how to make castles and palaces of snow, with marble halls
and thrones and beautiful fountains. The snow seemed to let her do
whatever she liked with it, and to build itself up under her tiny
fingers as if it knew exactly what shape it was to take. They were all
greatly delighted with the wonderful things she made; but when she
showed them how to dance as the snowflakes do, first in a brisk whirl,
and then softly and lightly, they could think of nothing else but
Snegorotchka. She was the little fairy queen of the children, the
delight of the older people, and the very breath of life to old Marusha
and Youshko.
And now the winter months moved on. With slow and steady stride they
went from mountain top to mountain top, around the circle of the
sky-line. The earth began to clothe itself in green. The great trees,
holding out their naked arms like huge babies waiting to be dressed,
were getting greener and greener, and last year's birds sat in their
branches singing this year's songs. The early flowers shed their perfume
on the breeze, and now and then a waft of warm air, straying from its
summer haunts, caressed the cheek and breathed a glowing promise in the
ear. The forests and the fields were stirring. A beautiful spirit
brooded over the face of nature;--spring was trembling on the leash and
tugging to be free.
One afternoon Marusha was sitting in the inglenook stirring the soup
and singing a mournful song, because she had never felt so full of joy.
The old man Youshko had just brought in a bundle of wood and laid it on
the hearth. It seemed just the same as on that winter's afternoon when
they saw the children dancing round their snow man; but what made all
the difference was Snegorotchka, the apple of their eye, who now sat by
the window, gazing out at the green grass and the budding trees.
Youshko had been looking at her; he had noticed that her face was pale
and her eyes a shade less blue than usual. He grew anxious about her.
'Are you not feeling well, Snegorotchka?' he asked.
'No, Little Father,' she replied sadly. 'I miss the white snow,--oh! so
much; the green grass is not half as beautiful. I wish the snow would
come again.'
'Oh! yes; the snow will come again,' replied the old man. 'But don't you
like the leaves on the trees and the blossoms and the flowers, my
darling?'
'They are not so beautiful as the pure, white snow.' And Snegorotchka
shuddered.
The next day she looked so pale and sad that they were alarmed, and
glanced at one another anxiously.
'What ails the child?' said Marusha.
Youshko shook his head and looked from Snegorotchka to the fire, and
then back again.
'My child,' he said at last, 'why don't you go out and play with the
others? They are all enjoying themselves among the flowers in the
forest; but I've noticed you never play with them now. Why is it, my
darling?'
'I don't know, Little Father, but my heart seems to turn to water when
the soft warm wind brings the scent of the blossoms.'
'But we will come with you, my child,' said the old man. 'I will put my
arm about you and shield you from the wind. Come, we will show you all
the pretty flowers in the grass, and tell you their names, and you will
just love them,--all of them.'
So Marusha took the pot off the fire and then they all went out
together, Youshko with his arm round Snegorotchka to shield her from the
wind. But they had not gone far when the warm perfume of the flowers was
wafted to them on the breeze, and the child trembled like a leaf. They
both comforted her and kissed her, and then they went on towards the
spot where the flowers grew thickly in the grass. But, as they passed a
clump of big trees, a bright ray of sunlight struck through like a dart
and Snegorotchka put her hand over her eyes and gave a cry of pain.
They stood still and looked at her. For a moment, as she drooped upon
the old man's arm, her eyes met theirs; and on her upturned face were
swiftly running tears which sparkled in the sunlight as they fell. Then,
as they watched her, she grew smaller and smaller, until, at last, all
that was left of Snegorotchka was a little patch of dew shining on the
grass. One tear-drop had fallen into the cup of a flower. Youshko
gathered that flower--very gently--and handed it to Marusha without a
word.
They both understood now. Their darling was just a little girl made of
snow, and she had melted away in the warmth of the sunlight.
THE BURIED MOON
AN ENGLISH FAIRY TALE
In my old Granny's days, long, long--oh, so long ago, Carland was just a
collection of bogs. Pools of black water lay in the hollows, and little
green rivulets scurried away here and there like long lizards trying to
escape from their tails, while every tuft that you trod upon would
squirt up at you like anything. Oh! it _was_ a nice place to be in on a
dark night, I give you my word.
Now, I've heard my Granny say that a long time before her day the Moon
got trapped and buried in the bog. I'll tell you the tale as she used to
tell it to me.
On some nights the beautiful Moon rose up in the sky and shone brighter
and brighter, and the people blessed her because by her wonderful light
they could find their way home at night through the treacherous bogs.
But on other nights she did not come, and then it was so dark that the
traveller could not find his way; and, besides, the Evil Things that
feared the light--toads and creepy, crawly things, to say nothing of
Bogles and Little Bad People--came out in the darkness to do all the
harm they could, for they hated the people and were always trying to
lead them astray. Many a poor man going home in the dark had been
enticed by these malevolent things into quicksands and mud pools. When
the Moon was away and the night was black, these vile creatures had
their will.
When the Moon learned about this, she was very grieved, for she is a
sweet, kind body, who spends nights without sleep, so as to show a light
for people going home. She was troubled about it all, and said to
herself, 'I'll just go down and see how matters stand.'
So, when the dark end of the month came round, she stepped down out of
the sky, wrapped from head to foot in her black travelling cloak with
the hood drawn over her bright golden hair. For a moment she stood at
the edge of the marshes, looking this way and that. Everywhere, as far
as she could see, was the dismal bog, with pools of black water, and
gnarled, fantastic-looking snags sticking up here and there amid the
dank growth of weeds and grasses. There was no light save the feeble
glimmer of the stars reflected in the gloomy pools; but, upon the grass
where she stood, a bright ring of moonlight shone from her feet beneath
her cloak.
She saw this and drew her garments closer about her. It was cold, and
she was trembling. She feared that vast expanse of bog and its evil
creatures, but she was determined to face the matter out and see exactly
how the thing stood.
Guided by the light that streamed from her feet, she advanced into the
bog. As the summer wind stirs one tussock after another, so she stepped
onward between the slimy ponds and deadly quagmires. Now she reached a
jet-black pool, and all too late she saw the stars shining in its
depths. Her foot tripped and all she could do was to snatch at an
overhanging branch of a snag as she fell forward. To this she clung,
but, fast as she gripped it, faster still some tendrils from the bough
whipped round her wrists like manacles and held her there a prisoner.
She struggled and wrenched and tugged with all her might and main, but
the tendrils only tightened and cut into her wrists like steel bands.
[Illustration: THE BURIED MOON
In her frantic struggles the hood of her cloak fell back from her
dazzling golden hair, and immediately the whole place was flooded with
light.
_See page 9_]
As she stood there shivering in the dark and wondering how to free
herself, she heard far away in the bog a voice calling through the
night. It was a wailing cry, dying away in despair. She listened and
listened, and the repeated cry came nearer; then she heard
footsteps--halting, stumbling and slipping. At last, by the dim light of
the stars, she saw a haggard, despairing face with fearful eyes; and
then she knew it was a poor man who had lost his way and was floundering
on to his death. Now he caught sight of a gleam of light from the
captive Moon, and made his uncertain way towards it, thinking it meant
help. As he came nearer and nearer the pool, the Moon saw that her light
was luring him to his death, and she felt so very sorry for him, and so
angry with herself that she struggled fiercely at the cords that held
her. It was all in vain, but, in her frantic struggles, the hood of her
cloak fell back from her dazzling golden hair, and immediately the whole
place was flooded with light, which fell on muddy pools and quicks and
quags, glinting on the twisted roots and making the whole place as clear
as day.
How glad the wayfarer was to see the light! How pleased he was to see
all the Evil Things of the dark scurrying back into their holes! He
could now find his way, and he made for the edge of the treacherous
marsh with such haste that he had not time to wonder at the strange
thing that had happened. He did not know that the blessed light that
showed him his path to safety shone from the radiant hair of the Moon,
bound fast to a snag and half buried in the bog. And the Moon herself
was so glad he was safe, that she forgot her own danger and need. But,
as she watched him making good his escape from the terrible dangers of
the marshes, she was overcome by a great longing to follow him. This
made her tug and strain again like a demented creature, until she sank
exhausted, but not free, in the mud at the foot of the snag. As she did
so, her head fell forward on her breast, and the hood of her cloak again
covered her shining hair.
At that moment, just as suddenly as the light had shone out before, the
darkness came down with a swish, and all the vile things that loved it
came out of their hiding-places with a kind of whispering screech which
grew louder and louder as they swarmed abroad on the marshes. Now they
gathered round the poor Moon, snarling and scratching at her and
screaming hateful mockeries at her. At last they had her in their
power--their old foe whose light they could not endure; the Bright One
whose smile of light sent them scurrying away into their crevices and
defeated their fell designs.
'Hell roast thee!' cried an ugly old witch-thing; 'thou'rt the
meddlesome body that spoils all our brews.'
'Out on thee!' shrieked the bogle-bodies; 'if 'twere not for thee we'd
have the marsh to ourselves.'
And there was a great clamour--as out-of-tune as out-of-tune could be.
All the things of darkness raised their harsh and cracked voices against
the Bright One of the sky. 'Ha, ha!' and 'Ho, ho!' and 'He, he!' mingled
with chuckles of fiendish glee, until it seemed as if the very trickles
and gurgles of the bog were joining in the orgy of hate.
'Burn her with corpse-lights!' yelled the witch.
'Ha, ha! He, he!' came the chorus of evil creatures.
'Truss her up and stifle her!' screamed the creeping things. 'Spin webs
round her!' And the spiders of the night swarmed all over her.
'Sting her to death!' said the Scorpion King at the head of his brood.
'Ho, ho! He, he!' And, as each vile thing had something to say about it,
a horrible, screeching dispute arose, while the captive Moon crouched
shuddering at the foot of the snag and gave herself up as lost.
The dim grey light of the early dawn found them still hissing and
clawing and screeching at one another as to the best way to dispose of
the captive. Then, when the first rosy ray shot up from the Sun, they
grew afraid. Some scuttled away, but those who remained hastened to do
something--anything that would smother the light of the Moon. The only
thing they could think of now was to bury her in the mud,--bury her
deep. They were all agreed on this as the quickest way.
So they clutched her with skinny fingers and pushed her down into the
black mud beneath the water at the foot of the snag. When they had all
stamped upon her, the bogle-bodies ran quickly and fetched a big black
stone which they hurled on top of her to keep her down. Then the old
witch called two will-o'-the-wisps from the darkest part of the
marshes, and, when they came dancing and glancing above the pools and
quicks, she bade them keep watch by the grave of the Moon, and, if she
tried to get out, to sound an alarm.
Then the horrid things crept away from the morning light, chuckling to
themselves over the funeral of the Moon, and only wishing they could
bury the Sun in the same way; but that was a little too much to hope
for, and besides, all respectable Horrors of the Bog ought to be asleep
in bed during the Sun's journey across the sky.
The poor Moon was now buried deep in the black mud, with a heavy stone
on top of her. Surely she could never again thwart their plans of evil,
hatched and nurtured in the foul darkness of the quags. She was buried
deep; they had left no sign; who would know where to look for her?
Day after day passed by until the time of the New Moon was eagerly
looked for by the good folk who dwelt around the marshes, for they knew
they had no friend like the Moon, whose light enabled them to find the
pathways through the bog-land, and drove away all the vile things into
their dark holes and corners. So they put lucky pennies in their pouches
and straws in their hats, and searched for the crescent Moon in the sky.
But evening twilight brought no Moon, which was not strange, for she was
buried deep in the bog.
The nights were pitch dark, and the Horrors held frolic in the marshes
and swarmed abroad in ever-increasing numbers, so that no traveller was
safe. The poor people were so frightened and dumbfounded at being
forsaken by the friendly Moon, that some of them went to the old Wise
Woman of the Mill and besought her to find out what was the matter.
The Wise Woman gazed long into her magic mirror, and then made a brew of
herbs, into which she looked just as long, muttering words that nobody
but herself could understand.
'It's very strange,' she said at last; 'but there's nought to say what
has become of her. I'll look again later on; meantime if ye do learn
anything, let me know.'
So they went away more mystified than ever, and, as the following nights
brought no Moon, they could do nothing but stand about in groups in the
streets discussing the strange thing. The disappearance of the Moon was
the one topic. By the fireside, at the work-bench, in the inn and all
about, their tongues went nineteen to the dozen; and no wonder, for who
had ever heard of the Moon being lost, stolen or strayed?
But it chanced one day that a man from the other side of the marshes was
sitting in the inn, smoking his pipe and listening to the talk of the
other inmates, when all of a sudden he sat bolt upright, slapped his
thigh and cried out, 'I' fegs! Now I mind where that there Moon be!'
Then he told them how one night he had got lost in the marshes and was
frightened to death; how he went blundering on in the dark with all the
Evil Things after him, and, at last, how a great bright light burst out
of a pool and showed him the way to go.
When they heard this they all took the shortest cut to the Wise Woman,
and told her the man's story. After a long look in the mirror and the
pot, she wagged her head slowly and said, 'It's all dark, children. You
see, being as there's no Moon to conjure by, I can't tell ye where she's
gone or what's made off with her--which same I could tell ye fine if she
was in her right place. But mebbe, if ye do what I'm going to tell ye,
then ye may hap on her yourselves. Listen now! Just before the darklings
come, each of ye take a stone in your mouth and a twig of the
witch-hazel in your hands, and go into the marshes without fear. Speak
no word, for fear of your lives, but keep straight on till ye come to a
spot where ye'll see a coffin with a cross and a candle on it. That's
where ye'll find your Moon, I'm thinking, if ye're lucky.
So the next night as the dark began to fall they all trooped out into
the marshes, each with a stone in his mouth and a twig of the
witch-hazel in his hands. Never a word they spoke, but kept straight on;
and, I'm telling you, there was not one among them but had the creeps
and the starts. They could see nothing around them but bogs and pools
and snags; but strange sighing whispers brushed past their ears, and
cold wet hands sought theirs and tugged at the hazel twigs. But all at
once, while looking everywhere for the coffin with the cross and the
candle, they espied the big, strange stone, and it looked just like a
coffin; while at the head of it was a black cross formed by the branches
of the snag, and on this cross flickered a tiny light just like a
candle.
When they saw these things they all knew that what the Wise Woman had
told them was true: they were not far from their beloved Moon. But,
being mighty feared of Bogles and the other Evil Things, they all went
down on their knees in the mud and said the Lord's Prayer, once
forwards, in keeping with the cross, and once backwards to keep off the
Horrors of the Darkness. All this they said in their minds, without
saying a word aloud, for they well knew what would happen to them if
they neglected the Wise Woman's advice.
Then they rose up and laid hands on the great stone and heaved it up.
And my Granny says, that as they did it, some of them saw, just for one
tiddy-widdy little waste of a minute, the most beautiful face in the
world gazing up at them with wistful eyes like--like--I really can't
remember how my Granny described them, but it was either 'pools of
gratitude' or 'lakes of love.' At all events, this is exactly what
happened when the stone was rolled right over, and it was said so
quickly that not one of them could describe it afterwards: 'Thanks,
brave folk! I shall never forget your kindness,' as the Moon stepped up
out of the black pool into her place in the sky.
Then they were all astonished beyond words, for, suddenly, all around
was the silver light, making the safe ways between the bogs as clear as
day. There was a sudden rush of weird things to their lairs, and then
all was still and bright. Looking up, they saw with delight the full
Moon sailing in the sky and smiling down upon them. She was there to
light them home again. She was there to stampede the Evil Things--the
Bogles and the Bad Little People--back into their vile dens. And, as the
people looked around and wondered, it almost seemed to them that this
time she had killed the Horrors dead--never to come to life again.
WHITE CAROLINE AND BLACK CAROLINE
A FLEMISH FAIRY TALE
_Come, come, Caroline,
White, white, child o' mine!
I hate you, HATE you,
And, at any rate, you
Are no child o' mine!_
_Come, come, Caroline,
Black, black, child o' mine!
I bore you, adore you,
Will give whatever more you
Want, O child o' mine!_
Once upon a time there was a mother who had two daughters, both named
Caroline. People called one 'White Caroline,' because she was so
beautiful. But her mother could not see it, because the child was not
really her own. The other was called 'Black Caroline' by the people,
because she was so ugly. Black Caroline was the favourite of her mother,
and received everything she could desire.
Now one day it so happened that an old shepherd was passing by, and with
him he had three little lambs; and he smiled on seeing White Caroline,
and he caressed her head, and the little lambs came close and rubbed
themselves against her little white dress. White Caroline was
exceedingly pleased with all this. Now Black Caroline, standing on the
winding stairs, also wanted to see; and, coming to the door, she half
opened it. But as soon as the old shepherd saw her face, he turned and
started on his way, and the three little lambs bleated and beat their
heads together, because Black Caroline was so ugly;--but she was good
all the same!
And their mother, in her heart, could not stand this, so she said:
'_White Caroline must die, cost what it will!_'
And so she thought and thought during seven days how she could get rid
of White Caroline. Then, one day, she went behind a hedge and said:
'Hedge, Thorn-hedge, give me a dozen deadly thorns, each one an inch
long!'
And the hedge gave her a dozen deadly thorns, each thorn an inch long.
Then their mother returned home, and showed them to Black Caroline.
'Pay attention, Black Caroline,' she said; 'this evening when you go to
bed you must sleep at the edge, and the inside place must be for White
Caroline; because I am going to conceal all the little thorns in her
pillow; and she will die when she puts her head upon her pillow, and
then you, alone, shall be more than ever the pet child of your mother!'
_And Black Caroline said, 'Very well!'_
But that evening, when White Caroline was about to get into bed, Black
Caroline took her by the arm and said:
'White Caroline, I love you very much; and you must not tell mother; but
she is trying to kill you. There are a dozen deadly thorns in your
pillow; go to sleep all the same, but we'll put our heads at the foot of
the bed!'
And White Caroline, full of joy, took Black Caroline in her little arms
and they slept together!'
The following morning they heard a rat-a-tat on the stairs.
'Here! Black Caroline! Are you there?'
It was their mother calling from the bottom of the stairs.
'Yes, my dear little mother, I am here!' said White Caroline.
Their mother was in a terrible rage because White Caroline was not dead.
She at once mounted the stairs to see if Black Caroline was alive. But
even then she could not understand how it was that White Caroline was
not dead, and once again rage overcame her!
[Illustration: WHITE CAROLINE AND BLACK CAROLINE
And, when he saw White Caroline, he started to play on his organ the
most beautiful airs that it was possible to hear, and the three little
dogs commenced to dance together.
_See page 17_]
Now it happened that one day a musician was passing by their house: and
he had with him three little dogs; and, when he saw White Caroline, he
started to play on his organ the most beautiful airs that it was
possible to hear, and the three little dogs commenced to dance together.
White Caroline was exceedingly pleased! But Black Caroline, who was on
the winding stairs, came down and half opened the door because she
wanted to see also. But, as soon as the musician saw the face of Black
Caroline, he ceased to play, and the three little dogs hid their heads
under a sack because Black Caroline was so ugly--but she was also very
good.
And their mother, in her heart, could not stand that, so she said:
'_White Caroline must die, cost what it will!_'
She thought and thought during seven days how she could rid herself of
White Caroline. At last she went to an old witch, and bought the most
violent poison that could be got.
On arriving home she called Black Caroline and said:
'Pay attention, Black Caroline; when at dinner to-day, do not eat of the
little meat-balls. Say you have a pain in your head; because I am going
to put this poison in the meat, and then White Caroline will eat it, and
she will die; and then you will be more than ever the pet of your
mother!'
_And Black Caroline said, 'Very well!'_
But, at dinner time, when White Caroline was about to eat from her
plate, she took her by the arm and said:
'White Caroline, I love you very much, but you must not tell mother; she
wishes your death, and she has put poison in your meat. Tell her that we
will eat our dinner outside the house, so that the cat may not eat the
birds and so that the crows may not eat the grain. Then you can throw
your portion away.'
Then White Caroline, full of joy, took Black Caroline in her little arms
and they went out together.
A little while after they heard a rat-a-tat at the garden door.
'Here! Black Caroline! Are you there?'
It was their mother calling from the inside of the house.
'Yes, my dear little mother, I am here!' said White Caroline.
And their mother was in a great rage because White Caroline was not
dead. Then she went out to see if Black Caroline was still alive. And
she had still her plate full of meat, and she was shedding tears of
blood, because she had such a bad headache. And their mother could not
understand how it was that White Caroline was not dead, and she boiled
with rage.
And one day it happened that a tradesman was passing the house with
sweets and cakes in his van, and when he saw White Caroline, he showed
her all the sweets and cakes and nuts. White Caroline was so happy,
because the tradesman gave her nuts and sweets for nothing, just because
she was so pretty. But Black Caroline, who was coming down the winding
stairs, came out to see.
As soon as the man saw Black Caroline, he mounted his van and drove away
at full gallop, because she was so ugly--but she was good all the same.
And her mother could not stand that, so she said:
'_White Caroline must die, cost what it will!_'
Then she went to an old miller and asked him if he could place the mill
against four little sticks, so that whoever touched the mill it would
fall on them and crush them. And the old miller said: 'Yes, it can be
done very well, and the mill will be placed thus in fourteen days. I
will see to it at once.'
Their mother was very pleased, and she showed Black Caroline how the
mill would be placed, and said to her:
'Pay attention, Black Caroline: when you go with the sack of flour to
the mill, you must let it drag and be overcome, before you arrive near
the little sticks that support the mill. White Caroline must take it all
alone. As soon as she touches the little sticks she will be crushed by
the mill, and then you will be more than ever the pet of your mother!'
_And Black Caroline said, 'Very well!'_
But the next day, when White Caroline walked near the little sticks,
Black Caroline stopped her and said:
'White Caroline, I love you very much, and you must not tell mother;
but she intends that you shall die, and she has caused these little
sticks to be placed like that, so that the mill will fall on you and
crush you. Throw the sack on the sticks--so!'
And White Caroline, full of joy, took Black Caroline in her little arms,
and so they went back. And it was well they did, for there were five
little rats in that sack of flour, and all those five were killed when
the mill fell down.
Then they heard a rat-a-tat, and the voice of their mother calling:
'Here! Black Caroline! Are you there?'
'Yes, little mother, I am here,' answered White Caroline.
And the mother was very cross to find that White Caroline was not dead.
And she ran quickly to the mill to see if Black Caroline was alive. And,
when she came back and found her, she was crying tears of blood because
she ached in every limb and could not walk. And her mother could not
understand how it was that White Caroline was not dead, and she boiled
with rage.
She took Black Caroline home and put her in her little bed. Then she set
out to find White Caroline with intent to kill her; but White Caroline
had gone far away where her mother could not get at her.
On her journey she came to a great stretch of water and she could not
cross over. But suddenly she saw many arms, as black as pitch, held out
over the water so that they formed a bridge. White Caroline did not know
whether to pass over this bridge or to go back. She began to cry
bitterly; then, plucking up courage, she made the sign of the cross and
ran upon them.
When she came to the middle, the arms gave way, and White Caroline would
have been drowned had she not been held by the heels of her little
wooden shoes. And the water-nymphs and vampires were all around her.
Then, suddenly, a beautiful woman all in white came running to her aid.
And, though the claws of the Evil Things were now pulling her down by
the heels of her little shoes, the White Woman was in time to save her
just as she was on the point of being drowned.
Then the White Woman turned to the water-nymphs and vampires:
'Be still, all of you! Down to your dens, and say I sent ye!'
Then she led White Caroline to the other side of the water. And there
she looked at her, and kissed her, and loved her as her own, because she
was so beautiful.
This White Woman was the Queen of all the water and the woods, and was
able, in her domain, to grant anything that any one desired. In her
great love for White Caroline, she told her that she could have whatever
she wished.
'Would you like to eat some beautiful grapes, White Caroline?' said she.
Then with her wand she tapped a vine, and behold, immediately there hung
beautiful grapes upon it!
'Would you like a beautiful dress of silk, White Caroline?' And she
tapped again with her little wand, and, immediately, from a chrysalis
hanging from the vine, a lovely dress of sky-blue silk was unfolded
before her, all ready to put on.
And the nymphs and the vampires were more than ever afraid to come near
White Caroline, and she was very glad of that indeed.
'Would you like a voyage?' said the White Woman. And, immediately, with
a wave of her wand, she pointed it at a little nautilus sailing on the
water, and there, in another moment, stood a beautiful barque with all
sail set. And so White Caroline had everything she could desire, and was
very happy.
But one day a King came by, and the sound of his trumpet rang over the
length of the water and through the woods. Quick--so quick--the White
Woman ran to White Caroline and said to her:
'White Caroline, the time has come, and we must part; and you will never
see me again. But, before I go, you can wish for two things; and
whatever you wish, it shall be granted you!'
With that the White Woman vanished.
Then White Caroline wished to have Black Caroline with her. And
immediately there was a rustling among the trees, and Black Caroline
stood beside her!
The two Carolines were now reunited. But White Caroline was sad because
Black Caroline was not as pretty as she herself, and, remembering the
White Woman's promise, she resolved to wish that they might both be
exactly the same.
Then she wished that both of them should be changed into something
exactly alike!
Immediately they began to change. Little white feathers appeared on
their shoulders and spread until they were entirely covered; and there
they stood together, two beautiful white swans! And ever after they swam
up and down on the peaceful water and no one could tell one from the
other. And never again did the nymphs and the vampires come near to harm
them.
THE SEVEN CONQUERORS OF THE QUEEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI
A BELGIAN FAIRY TALE
Once upon a time there was a boy who was ambitious. One day he said to
his mother: 'Give me a muffin and patch my trousers, for I am going to
set out to win the Queen of the Mississippi.'
So the mother gave him a muffin and patched his trousers, and the boy
went off.
He had not gone very far when he came to a mountain path, on which was a
great cross, beneath which stood a man holding a bow with an arrow fixed
on the string.
This man looked down at the boy as if to say, 'What are you doing here?'
The boy immediately answered his unspoken question by demanding, 'Hello,
friend! What are you doing there?'
'You see that fly on that cross?' said the man, pointing to a minute
speck on one of its arms. 'Wait then, and watch me! I will put out one
of its eyes.'
With this, while the boy watched, he drew his bow to the full, and let
the arrow fly.
It was a wonderful shot, for one of the eyes of the fly fell on the
ground at the foot of the cross.
The boy was so taken with this, that he seemed to grow two whole years
in half a minute. To look at him, you would have thought he was no
longer a boy. He drew himself up proudly to his full height, and said in
the voice of a young man:
'Will you travel with me, my pippy?'
'Pardon?'
Then it was question and answer between them:
_'Come, travel with me, my pippy.'
'Oh! Whither away? To old Mandalay?'
'But no; to the far Mississippi,
Where a beautiful Queen holds sway:
And I'll marry that Queen some day.'
'I am yours! And the bounty?'
'Give it a name: I will pay.'_
Then the young man took his muffin, and, breaking off a little bit of
it, handed it to the man with the bow and arrow.
'Keep it,' said he; 'it's a pledge of good faith.'
So they journeyed on together. When they had gone some distance, they
came to a high field, and in the middle of this stood a man stock still,
gazing at the sun. As soon as the young man saw him, he shouted out at
the top of his voice: 'Hi! What are you doing there, my good fellow?'
'I am just waiting for it to get a little more dazzling,' replied the
man, still keeping his eyes fixed on the midday sun.
As soon as the young man heard this he seemed to grow still more in
stature. Indeed, he seemed to be almost a man.
'Will you travel with me?' he said.
'Pardon?'
Then it was question and answer between them:
_'Come, travel with me, my pippy.'
'Oh! Whither away? To the land of Cathay?'
'But no; to the far Mississippi,
Where a beautiful Queen hath sway,
Who has stolen my heart away.'
'I am yours! And the bounty?'
'What you will: it's a pleasure to pay.'_
Then the young man took his muffin, and, breaking off a little bit of
it, handed it to the man who gazed at the sun.
'Keep it,' said he; 'it's a pledge of good faith.'
[Illustration: THE SEVEN CONQUERORS OF THE QUEEN OF THE MISSISSIPPI
"Hi! friend! Take the whole castle, with the Queen and all that it
contains, on your shoulders!"
_See page 29_]
So they journeyed on together. When they had gone some distance further,
they saw a man who had tied his legs together.
'Hello! What are you doing there, my friend?'
'I want to catch that hare over yonder; but unless I tied my legs
together there would be no sport in it.'
'Will you travel with me?'
'Pardon?'
_'Will you travel with me, my pippy?'
'Oh! Whither away? To Botany Bay?'
'But no; to the far Mississippi,
Where a Queen--tooral-ooral-i-ay--
Is waiting for what I'm to say.
'I am yours! And the bounty?'
'Either here or in Botany Bay!'_
Then the boy took his muffin, and, breaking off a little piece, handed
it to him.
'Keep it,' said he; 'it's a pledge of good faith.'
So they journeyed on together. But they had travelled scarce a league
when they met a man who was carrying ten great trees in his arms. And
when the boy, who had grown into a young man, saw this, he was
immediately full grown.
'Hi! my friend! What are you doing there?'
'My mother wants some wood,' replied the man, picking a few branches off
the trees and flinging them idly on the roadside, 'so I am just taking
her some.'
'Will you travel with me?'
'Pardon?'
_'Will you travel with me, my pippy?'
'Oh! Whither away? To Rome or Pompeii?'
'But no; to the far Mississippi:
There's a Queen of great beauty that way,
And there's no one but Cupid to pay.'
'I am yours! And the bounty?'
'Name your price: it shall be as you say.'_
Then the young man took his muffin, and, breaking off a little bit of
it, handed it to the man who carried the trees.
'Keep it,' said he; 'it's a pledge of good faith.'
So they journeyed on together. They were still a long way from the
Mississippi when they came across a man with a mouth large enough to
swallow a river. When the boy, who had become a young man and was now
full grown, set his eyes on him, his beard and moustache began to
sprout.
'Will you travel with me?'
'Pardon?'
_'Come, travel with me, my pippy.
(Sing merry-ton-ton-ta-lay.)
To the land of the far Mississippi
Where the crystalline fountains play;
There's a Queen who will not say me nay.'
'I am yours! But the bounty?'
'We're picking it up on the way.'_
Then the young man took his muffin, and, breaking off a little bit of
it, handed it to the man with the mouth as large as a river.
'Keep it,' said he; 'it's a pledge of good faith.'
So they journeyed on together. On and on they went until at last they
came to a great hill-top, and there, standing on the crest of it, they
looked down into an immense valley where they saw a man engaged in
eating up the whole earth. As soon as he saw this gigantic meal going
on, the boy, who had become a young man and was now full grown with
moustache and beard, appeared like a knight errant. One could see that,
from the spurs which had grown upon his heels.
'Hi! What are you doing there?'
'I am so terribly hungry that nothing less than the whole earth can
appease my appetite.'
'Will you travel with me?'
'Pardon?'
_'Come, travel with me, my pippy.'
'Oh! Whither? Madras or Bombay?'
'But no; to that far Mississippi,
Which flows from the gates of the day;
Where a Queen all in purple array
Waits for me----'
'I am yours! And the bounty?'
'Wouldn't go in a twenty-ton dray!'_
Then the young man took his muffin, and, breaking off a little bit,
handed it to the man who was eating up the earth.
'Keep it,' said he; 'it's a pledge of good faith.'
They were still a long way from their destination when they came to a
beautiful castle of burnished gold, surrounded by a very deep moat over
which was a drawbridge; and on the bridge was a golden portcullis. As
soon as they arrived, their leader rang the bell. When the door was
opened, the travellers entered, and the hero asked to see the King.
'What do you want with the King?' replied an attendant, richly attired.
'I have come to ask for the hand of his daughter, the Queen of the
Mississippi,' said the hero.
'That is all very well; but consider well before you start on such an
undertaking; for many have come as you have come and have lost their
lives.'
'That is nothing,' they all replied. 'We are not afraid!'
Then they were led before the Queen, and all were completely dazzled by
her beauty. It was a long time before they realised that she was
speaking to them. At last they understood her to say:
'Here is my servant. See if you can eat more than he does.'
And the servant sat down in front of a table covered with dishes crowded
with large joints of meat. And behold, he ate the whole lot up.
'Oh! that is nothing at all,' said the young hero. And, turning to the
man who ate up the earth, he said:
'Sit down there, my friend.' Then turning again to the servant, he
ordered him to bring in the biggest bull they could find.
They obeyed, and set it down in front of the man who ate the earth. And,
in presence of the Queen, he swallowed the bull whole, head and tail and
everything; and it was alive!
But the Queen said, 'You have not won me yet!'
And then she called in a second servant and said:
'Here is my servant. See if you can drink more than he can!'
And immediately the servant took hold of a whole cask of wine, and in
one mouthful drank the whole lot up.
The young hero said, 'That is nothing at all!' Then, turning to the man
with a mouth as big as a river, he added:
'Come here, my friend. Place yourself on your stomach on the moat, and
drink well!'
And the man with the mouth as large as a river placed himself on his
stomach, with his mouth to the water of the great moat outside, and in
one second he had drunk up the whole moat, fishes and all, absolutely
dry.
But the Queen still said they had not won her!
And she beckoned another servant. Then, turning to the young man, she
said: 'See if you can run better than he can. There,' she said, 'at the
top of that high mountain, just near the sun, lives a hermit. Go and ask
him what it is he wishes to say to me. Then come back and tell me.'
'Oh! that is nothing at all,' said the young hero. And, turning to the
man who ran like a hare, he said: 'Go to the top of the mountain and
come back with the message.'
And the man who ran like a hare was out of sight in a second, and before
they could count three he had returned to the Queen with the message
that the hermit was dead, which the Queen had known all the time.
And the young man said to the King:
'You have submitted us to the test, and we have carried out all that you
wished: we have now gained the Queen, and I am going to take her.'
Then the King got very angry and called out all his soldiers.
The young man, hearing this, said to the man with the strong arms:
'Hi! friend! Take the whole castle, with the Queen and all that it
contains, on your shoulders!'
The man obeyed and they went on their way!
They had not gone a great distance when the man who had gazed at the sun
cried out:
'In the distance I can see that we are being pursued by an army; they
want to take the Queen!'
The King and his army approached rapidly, and demanded the Queen.
Then the man of the strong arm killed the King and every one of his army
with a single blow.
Then he departed with the Queen and the castle to the home of the young
man; and as soon as they got there the hero married the Queen, and, with
her and his mother, they lived very happily to a good old age.
THE SERPENT PRINCE
AN ITALIAN FAIRY TALE
Once, a very long time ago, before aeroplanes emulated eagles and motor
cars ran along swifter than the foxes, there lived on the outskirts of a
great forest an old couple who were poor and childless and lonely.
Matteo was the name of this worthy pair, and the old man was called Cola
and his wife was known as Sapatella. Now Matteo was a forester, and,
because his duties kept him roaming from early morn until late in the
evening through the deep dark glades of the forest, his wife, who had to
stay at home and mind the cottage and prepare the meals, and never go
out, not even to see the pictures on Saturday evenings, was very lonely
indeed and wished more than ever that she had a son, so that _he_ could
go to the pictures and tell her all about them when he came home.
But wishes do not make horses or sons, nor even daughters, and so this
poor old woman had to live a very lonely life indeed, which gave her a
great deal of time to think and to envy
_The old woman who lived in a shoe,
Who had so many children she didn't know what to do,_
who lived about the same time in another part of the country.
One evening, when the days were growing short and the nights were
correspondingly long and chilly, Matteo was on his way back to the
cottage, when he remembered that Sapatella had asked him to bring home
some faggots with him to cook with and to keep them warm, because, of
course, when you are a forester and live in a forest, you cannot expect
to have coal to burn in your grates, like those who live in towns and
villages.
There was plenty of brushwood, and heaps of twigs and fallen boughs
lying about, and, as he had his axe with him, which all good foresters
carry to clear a path for themselves through the dense undergrowths, it
was not long before Matteo had collected a great bundle of faggots which
was just as much as he could carry on his back.
But Matteo carried home with him on his back more than a mere bundle of
dry boughs and twigs, although he did not know it. Neither did
Sapatella, not until the next morning after Matteo had gone off to his
work, when she went to the wood pile to get some sticks to put under her
pot to boil the nice rabbit which Matteo had shot for her the day
before. She picked up a bundle and was about to place it on the fire
when a tiny serpent, oh, ever so tiny! slithered and wriggled its way
out of the twigs and coiled itself up on the rug.
Being a forester's wife, Sapatella was not the least bit frightened of
serpents or mice or beetles or other dreadful beasts; besides, it was
such a tiny serpent, all yellow as can be; and, when the firelight
danced on it, it shone bright and gleaming like gold.
'Ah me, said the good woman with a sigh, 'even the serpents have their
young ones, but I have no one.'
Then the serpent uncoiled and stretched itself out towards her and
spoke. All kinds of animals spoke in those days, as you will notice if
you read the story through, though not so frequently but that the good
woman was surprised and startled to hear it.
'You may have me for your child if you will,' it said.
_'Keep me warm and feed me well,
And fortune will upon you dwell.'_
Sapatella was, as I have already said, considerably startled to hear a
baby serpent talk like that; but she was a kind-hearted woman and very,
very lonely, and she quickly made up her mind to adopt the little
serpent and bring it up as her own.
[Illustration: THE SERPENT PRINCE
When Grannmia saw her strange lover, she alone remained calm and
courageous.
_See page 39_]
The forester, her husband, who was also kind-hearted, agreed to let her
have her own way in the matter, and so the little serpent found a home
and care and affection.
_They kept him warm and fed him well,
And fortune did upon them dwell._
From that time on, peace and contentment and prosperity brightened the
little cottage. Everything went smoothly and comfortably, though whether
the little serpent had really anything to do with it or not, I cannot
say.
Serpents grow up very quickly, and, what with the warmth and the good
food and the affection, the little serpent soon grew to be a big one,
oh, monstrous big! so that when he lay in front of the fire he took up
the whole of the rug, and Sapatella had to scold him in order to make
room so that she could attend to her cooking.
One day when she had nearly tripped over his tail and fallen with a pot
of boiling water in her hands, Sapatella said to it: 'You are grown too
big to be lying about before the fire all day. You must get up and do
something.'
'Very well, mother,' said the serpent--it always called her mother, and
Cola it called father, just as a son would. 'Find me a wife and I will
get married and settle down.'
Sapatella did not very well know how to set about finding a wife for a
serpent, even an adopted one; but she agreed to speak to Matteo her
husband about the matter when he came home that night.
After supper, accordingly, she put the serpent's request to the
forester.
'Our serpent wants to get married, Cola,' she said; 'so you must find
him a wife.'
'Very well,' said Matteo. 'I will hunt through the forest when I am out,
and try and find another serpent for him to mate with.'
'Oh, that will not do at all,' said the serpent, who had been listening
very intently to its adopted parents' conversation, though it seemed to
be sleeping peacefully all over the floor in front of the fire. 'I do
not mate with serpents. You must get the King's daughter for me.
To-morrow you must set out to the palace, and tell the King that I
require his daughter in marriage.'
Naturally Matteo did not at all care about his errand; but his wife
entreated him to go, and so on the morrow the good man set forth, the
serpent watching him depart from the cottage door, chanting all the
while:
_'To the King my message tell,
And fortune will upon you dwell.'_
Well, Matteo walked along through the forest on his way to the King's
palace, and the nearer he got to his journey's end the more difficult
and dangerous his errand seemed to grow. He thought the King would be
sure to be very angry, and he might even order him to be hanged for a
knave, or beaten off the palace grounds for a fool.
But he kept thinking of what the serpent had said, and, as good fortune
dwelling upon us is something we all like to have, the forester kept on
his way and resolved faithfully to carry out his errand.
He came at last to the palace gates, and as, in those days, in that
country, any one who wanted to could walk in and speak to the King, this
simple old fellow passed in with the crowd who were going to seek help
or justice, and in due time he came before the King.
'O great King!' he said, 'a serpent who is my adopted son has sent me to
ask your daughter's hand in marriage.'
The King stared, and then he frowned, and then he stared again. Kings
are accustomed to receiving strange requests; but never anything so
strange as this.
Fortunately for Cola, the King was a good-humoured, easy-going man, and,
thinking that he had to do with some harmless old lunatic, he only
laughed, as did all the courtiers and people who stood about him.
'Very well,' he said. 'I will grant your request, only your adopted son
must first of all turn all the fruit in my orchard into gold. Then will
I give him my daughter in marriage.'
Matteo thanked the King for his great clemency and kindness in not
having him hanged or beaten out of the palace, and then started off home
again.
'I am well out of that,' he thought to himself; 'but my adopted son will
have to be contented with a wife of less degree. Who ever heard of
turning apples and flowers and cherries into gold? Why, they can only
make copper and silver of them in Covent Garden.'
But the serpent didn't seem in the least bit concerned when the forester
told him the result of his errand.
'That is a small matter,' it said. 'To-morrow morning you must go into
the city with a basket, and gather up all the fruit-stones you can find,
and take them and scatter them in the orchard.
_'Do this thing and do it well,
And fortune will upon you dwell.'_
So Matteo went once more to the town and did exactly as the serpent had
told him. Not knowing anything of magic, he did not in the least expect
anything to happen; so you may imagine his surprise when not only the
fruit, but every tree and leaf and bough in the whole orchard, turned
into solid gold, and glittered so in the sunlight that one could
scarcely bear to look at them.
It chanced that the King was walking on the terrace with his courtiers
when Matteo entered the orchard.
'There is that silly old man come back again who wants me to wed my
daughter to a serpent,' he said. 'Is he going to turn my fruit into gold
by stealing it and selling it in the market-place?'
The courtiers laughed at this excellent jest, as courtiers will; but the
next moment they stopped laughing, and each one rubbed his eyes and
ejaculated in astonishment and delight at the marvellous beauty and
value of the King's orchards.
The King himself could say nothing, and he said nothing, until Matteo
came before him and humbly begged his Majesty to fulfil his promise now
that the serpent, his adopted son, had done the task assigned to him.
The King was in a quandary. He was not greedy or avaricious; but to have
a serpent for a son-in-law was, for a king, clearly impossible.
'Softly,' he said. 'You have fulfilled your task, it is true; but so
fair an orchard requires a better setting. Golden trees should not grow
out of common ground and be enclosed by common walls. Let your adopted
son first turn all the ground and the walls into diamonds and rubies and
precious stones, so that I may have orchards whereof the like is not
known in all the world, and then will I give him my daughter to wife.'
The forester again thanked his Majesty for his great condescension and
retired, while the King and his courtiers went into the orchard and
picked golden apples and plums and peaches from golden boughs, and
marvelled at the wonderful thing that had been done before their eyes.
It was in the King's mind that this could be no common or forest
serpent, and he was troubled to think what his position would be if the
second task was performed as readily and thoroughly as the first had
been.
When Matteo reached home and told the serpent what had befallen him, the
serpent shook his tail and seemed about to fly into a passion.
'You see how well kings keep their word,' it said angrily. 'But it is a
small matter after all. Do you go again to the town on the morrow, and
gather all the broken bits of china and glass you can find. These you
must take in a basket, and lay a piece on each wall and between each
tree and bush.
_'Do this thing and do it well,
And fortune will upon you dwell.'_
So Matteo set out at daybreak, and did exactly as the serpent had told
him. He had no difficulty in finding plenty of material for his purpose,
and it was still early when he reached the orchard with a heavy load of
broken tea-cups and plates and oddments of basins and teapots and
water-jugs.
Early as it was, it was not too early for the King to be present. The
wonder of this new possession had kept his Majesty awake nearly all
night, and he was impatient until he could get into the orchard and
satisfy himself that it was all really and actually true.
When he saw Matteo approach and lay down his fragments of china, he grew
thoughtful, for he realised that it was all true enough, and that the
second condition would be likely to be performed. But he said nothing,
and Matteo walked from tree to tree, dropping here a piece of cup, there
a fragment of plate; and, wherever the china fell, the ground between
the trees turned to diamond or sapphire or ruby. With the walls it was
just the same. Every kind of precious stone known and unknown was to be
found in that wonderful orchard, even to a carbuncle which grew on a
courtier's toe in consequence of his incautious action in putting his
foot just where Matteo was dropping a tiny bit of china.
The King was delighted and depressed at the same time. He had got
orchards surpassing in beauty and value anything that was known to be in
the whole world; also he had to give his daughter in marriage to a
serpent, and the last seemed to the poor King of greater consideration
than the former.
'Tell the serpent, your adopted son, that, although he has accomplished
the task I set him, yet will I not give him my daughter to wed unless he
also turns my palace into gold,' he said to Matteo, and again the
forester thanked the King for his great clemency and condescension, and
returned to his home.
Again the serpent grew angry and said shrewd things concerning the value
of the word of kings, and the trust which is not to be found in
princes--not even German princes.
'But,' said he, 'it is a small matter. Do you go at daybreak and gather
in the forest herbs of this kind and that, and make them into a broom,
and sweep therewith the whole length of the palace walls, and so shall
it be even as the King wishes.
_'Go do this thing and do it well,
And fortune shall upon you dwell.'_
So Matteo went into the forest and gathered herbs of this kind and that,
and swept the palace well round as the serpent had directed, and when
the King and his courtiers and the servants--even down to the scullery
wench--arose, the whole palace was golden from the front step of the
main entrance to the topmost ridge of the chimney. And it was not gold
plate either: it was all solid gold of the purest kind.
This time the King saw that there was no way of escape when Matteo asked
for the fulfilment of the royal promise, so he called his daughter to
him and told her of the matter.
'My dear Grannmia,' he said, for that was her name, 'for your sake I
have twice broken my royal pledge, and now I greatly fear you must keep
it. It is a small matter--just to marry a serpent, the adopted son of a
poor forester.'
The Princess, who was very young and very dutiful, and surpassingly fair
to look upon, agreed cheerfully, as though marrying serpents was quite
an ordinary everyday duty like laying foundation stones and receiving
bouquets.
So the King told Matteo to send the serpent along and marry his
daughter, and for goodness' sake not to bother him any further with
golden palaces, and jewelled orchards, and carbuncles on his favourite
courtier's big toe.
When the serpent heard this from Matteo, it seemed beside itself with
joy, and there and then set off for the palace. But before it left the
humble cottage in which it had received so much care and affection, it
bade farewell to Sapatella and Matteo, and thanked them very heartily
for all their goodness, finishing up with these words:
_'Now my task you have done full well,
Good fortune shall upon you dwell.'_
And it did; for, from that time till the day they died, both Sapatella
and Matteo were happy and contented and prosperous, and never ailed or
suffered pain or disappointment.
When Grannmia saw her strange lover, she alone remained calm and
courageous--the only one in the palace who did. All the servants ran
shrieking when they saw the great golden monster entering the doors,
and, when it got to the presence-chamber, the King and Queen fled in one
direction and the courtiers in another. Only the Princess remained,
trembling with astonishment, and awaited the pleasure of the serpent.
Slowly it came gliding towards her, and then, when it was almost near
enough for her to touch it, it reared up--the golden skin fell apart,
and a young and most handsome Prince stood bowing before her.
Now, of course, everything would have been happy and joyous if it had
not been for the silly old King, who, partly out of anxiety for his
daughter, but chiefly from curiosity, stole back and peeped into the
room just as the Prince emerged from the golden skin which had disguised
him as a serpent.
He did just what you should never do with disenchanted princes: rushed
forward and threw the discarded skin into the fire, where it flashed and
burned like a resinous torch.
At the sound of the crackling the Prince turned, and, when he saw what
had happened, he was furiously angry, more angry, in fact, than he had
been when, as a serpent, he had reflected on the unreliability of the
promises of kings. Then, with a sad look at the Princess, he turned to
the King and said:
_'This act of yours renews the spell,
May fortune never with you dwell.'_
And, turning himself into a dove, he circled three times round the
Princess and then flew through the window. At least, he would have flown
through the window, only it did not happen to be open. In consequence he
broke the pane and very nearly his own head; but he got out, and flew
straight away over the golden orchard, while the Princess, who had
rushed to the window, stood gazing after him until he could no longer be
seen. Then she turned and gave the unhappy King her views of his
meddlesome prying. Then she burst into tears and cried until the sun
went down, so that the tears formed a stream and ran down into the
fountain-court, and all the poor little goldfish died because of too
much salt in their fresh water.
But crying does not help any one, so, after all the palace servants had
gone to bed, she gathered up all her treasures and set out to find her
elusive husband, who had come to her as a serpent with a wriggly tail,
and flown away as a dove with a bit of a broken window-pane in his head.
When she got out of the palace grounds into the woods behind, she met a
fox who was also looking for a dove, or a fowl, or any other winged
thing.
The fox said, 'Good evening, pretty Princess. May I travel with you for
company?'
'Yes, do,' said the Princess. 'I am not used to the woods at night, and
I may not be able to find my way.'
So the fox led her through the wood and far away from the palace until
they had gone miles and miles, and the Princess was so tired that she
would not go another step, not even to find a dove with a bandaged head.
So they both lay down and went to sleep.
It was late in the morning when she awoke and heard the birds singing
all around her.
Their song pleased her very much, and the fox, noticing this, remarked:
'Ah, if you could only understand what they are saying you would be much
more pleased.'
'Oh, do tell me, dear fox,' pleaded the Princess; and, after he had made
her ask him a sufficient number of times, the fox replied:
'Well, they are saying that the King's son, who was turned into a
serpent by his godmother to spite his father, has met with an accident
that now threatens his life. The spell lasted for seven years, and, on
the very day it ended, he was about to marry the daughter of another
king, when her father rashly burnt the skin and thus caused him to be
turned into a dove. In flying from the palace he has cut his head
against a window-pane, and is now at his father's palace lying so sadly
hurt that none of the doctors can do anything for him.'
The Princess was greatly concerned at hearing this story.
'But listen, dear fox, and hear if the birds say whether there is any
way of curing this poor Prince,' she said.
So the fox listened intently, and by and by he said to the Princess:
'The blackbirds are saying there is no way, but the wrens say there is
one. Whoever would cure the Prince must obtain the blood from these very
birds and pour it on the head of the Prince, when he will immediately
recover and be as well as he ever was.'
The Princess began to grow hopeful, and begged of the fox to catch the
birds for her so that she might obtain the remedy and restore the Prince
to health. She added a promise of reward for his assistance, and the fox
agreed to help her.
So they waited under the trees until the sun had gone in and the birds
were all asleep in their nests, and then the fox climbed stealthily into
the trees and gathered the birds one after the other, just like a
naughty schoolboy stealing apples from a farmer's orchard.
Having obtained what she required, the Princess set forth eagerly to
carry the remedy to the Prince's palace.
But the fox, who had taken care to keep well out of her reach, suddenly
sat down and began to laugh.
'Why do you laugh, dear fox?' asked the Princess. 'Is it that you are
overjoyed to think that the Prince who is to be my husband will soon be
restored to health? But let us hurry: we may be too late!'
'No, it is not that,' said the fox, laughing again. 'It is to think that
your remedy will be of no avail without the other ingredient, which is
the blood of a fox, and as I am not minded to supply it, I will skip the
reward you promised and be off.'
Thereupon he started away, pelting as hard as he could go.
The Princess saw that her only hope was to outwit the fox, and she
immediately thought of a plan to gain her end.
'Dear fox, do not run,' she said; 'that would be a pity now that the
remedy is in our own hands. The King is certain to reward us lavishly,
and surely there are plenty of other foxes among whom we can find one
willing to spare his blood to save the King's son. Let us go on, then,
and trust to our fortune.'
The fox, proud of the fact of being the most artful animal alive, never
thought for one moment that he could be exceeded in cunning by a simple
maiden, so he came back to the Princess, and together they walked
through the forest to the far end where the palace of the King showed in
the near distance.
'That is the place,' said the fox; 'but we haven't got the other
ingredient!'
'Oh yes, we have,' said the Princess, and, before the fox could be any
more artful, she hit him on the head with a stout branch she had picked
up, and with such force that he did not in the least object to the
necessary addition to the Prince's medicine being drawn from his own
veins.
Of course the Princess was sorry to have to do this. The fox had helped
her a great deal; and besides, she was a tender-hearted little thing,
and she wept like anything all the while she was compounding the remedy;
but princes are of more importance than foxes, particularly when they
are handsome princes who have been serpents and are wanted to make
handsome husbands.
So the Princess took the phial containing the very strange cure for
wounded heads, and proceeded straight to the King's palace.
They were all so disturbed, with the servants running about
distractedly, and the doctors quarrelling with each other, and the
courtiers standing about trying not to look bored, that no one took the
least notice of the Princess; but she was a pushing young lady, and
seeing the palace doors all open, she made her way from room to room
until at last she found the King himself.
'And it please your Majesty,' she said, dropping him a curtsy, 'I have
come to save the Prince.'
'But how can you save the Prince when all the great doctors in my
kingdom cannot?' demanded the King.
_'The birds told me,
The fox helped me,
And I can save your son.
But, if I do, I ask of you
To marry me to him when I've done,'_
chanted the Princess.
The King was so overcome with grief and anxiety that he was ready to
promise anything to anybody who could help him, so he gave the Princess
the required promise, and, without more ado, she caused herself to be
led into the chamber of the Prince, and poured the contents of the phial
over his wound.
The Prince, who had been so nearly at the point of death that no one
would have believed to see him that there was any life in him at all,
immediately sat up, recovered and well.
He did not recognise the Princess, and when the King, his father, told
him the terms on which she had saved his life, and presented the maiden
to him, he refused.
'For the great service you have rendered me I am grateful indeed,' he
said; 'but I cannot marry you. My heart is already given to another, and
not even for my life will I be false to my word.'
When she heard this the Princess was secretly overjoyed; but she
pretended to be greatly displeased, and she disdainfully rejected all
other offers of reward that were made to her by the King and the Prince.
'Tell me who this other is, and I will go to her and get her to
relinquish you in my favour,' she said at length. 'When she learns what
I have done for you, I am sure she will agree that my claim is greater
than hers.'
'It is the Princess Grannmia; but that I am sure she will never do,'
said the Prince proudly. 'Even if she would, I will not. What is life
without love? and I would rather be a serpent again, and live in the
cottage of a poor forester all my days, than rule this kingdom without
my beloved Princess.'
On hearing this the Princess could no longer keep her secret.
'You must love me indeed, dear Prince,' she said, 'if you do not
recognise me when I come pleading to you to carry out your promise after
saving your life, and marry me as you would have done when the King, my
father, drove you away from me.'
Then the Prince recognised her, and he embraced her so heartily that the
Princess wondered whether he was still a serpent or only just a strong
young man who was very much in love with her, while the King went out
and gave immediate orders to set the bells a-ringing, and have
preparations made on the most lavish scale for the wedding feast.
THE HIND OF THE WOOD
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE
Once upon a time there lived a King and a Queen whose marriage was as
happy as happy could be; they loved each other tenderly, and, in turn,
their subjects loved them; but one thing clouded their life: and that
was that they had no children, no heir. The Queen thought that the King
would love her much more if she had a child. So she made up her mind to
drink of the water of a certain spring. People came there in thousands
from afar to drink of this special kind of water; and one saw so many
that it looked as though all the world and his wife were there.
Now there were many, many lovely fountains in the wood where the Queen
and other people went to drink at the spring; so the Queen asked her
ladies to lead the others away to these fountains to amuse themselves,
and leave her alone. Then, when they had all withdrawn, she bewailed in
a plaintive voice.
'Am I not unhappy,' she said, 'to have no children! The poor women, who
can badly afford them, have plenty; but here it is now five years that I
have begged heaven to give me one. Oh! am I to die without ever having a
little child? Never! Never! Nev----'
She broke off suddenly, for she saw that the water of the fountain was
troubled. Then a big Crayfish came up and climbed on to the bank and
spoke to her:
'Great Queen, you shall have your desire. Near here is the grand palace
which the fairies built, but it is impossible for you to find it,
because it is surrounded by strong fairy barricades, through which no
mortal eye could ever see, nor mortal footstep pass without a guide.
But I am your humble servant, and, if you will trust yourself to me, I
will take you there.'
The Queen listened without interrupting, for hearing a big Crayfish
talk--and talk so nicely too--was a great surprise to her. But there was
a still greater surprise in store. The Crayfish waved its feelers in the
air, and, before she could count three, it had taken the form of a
beautiful little old woman, with pretty snow-white hair and a dainty
shepherdess costume. She bowed low, and then spoke.
'Well, madam,' said she, 'always look upon me as one of your friends,
for I wish nothing but what would be for your good.'
She was so sweet and charming that the Queen kissed her, and then by
common consent they went off hand in hand through the wood by a way
which surprised the Queen.
It was the way by which the fairies came from the palace to the
fountains. As they went the Queen paused to look at a strange thing
which made her heart beat very fast. At a certain spot the bushes
overhead were full of roses and orange blossoms, entwined and laced in
such a way as to form a cradle covered with leaves. The earth beneath
was a carpet of violets, and, in the giant cedars above, thousands of
little birds, each one a different colour, sang their songs; and the
meaning of their melody was this: that cradle, woven by fairy fingers,
was not there for nothing.
The Queen had not got over this surprise before she saw in the distance
a castle that dazzled her vision, so splendid did it shine. To tell the
truth, the walls and the ceilings were of nothing but diamonds, and all
the benches--even the balcony and terraces--all were pure diamonds
scintillating with flashes beyond the strength of human eyes to bear.
The Queen gave a great cry of joy as she covered her eyes with her hand.
Then, as they came to the gate of the castle, she asked the little old
woman if what she saw were real, or if she were dreaming?
'Nothing is more real, madam,' the fairy replied. And at that moment the
door of the castle opened and six other fairies came out. But what
fairies! They were the most beautiful ever seen. They all made a low
bow to the Queen, and each one presented her with a branch flowering
with petals of precious stones, to make herself a bouquet. One bore
roses, another tulips, another rare wild-flowers, and the rest budded
with carnations and pomegranates.
'Madam,' they said, 'we could not give you a greater mark of our
friendship for you, than to invite you here. We are pleased to be able
to tell you that you shall have a lovely little Princess whom you shall
call Désirée. Be sure not to forget that, when she is born, you summon
us, because we wish to endow her with all the good qualities possible.
All you will have to do is to take the branches of the bouquet, and, in
naming each flower, think of the fairy of that name; rest assured that
we shall be in your room immediately.'
The Queen, full of joy, threw her arms around each one's neck in turn,
and kissed them all, over and over again, for half an hour. After that
they begged the Queen to go through their palace, and the diamonds were
so bright that the Queen could not keep her eyes open. Then they took
her through their garden. Never was there such lovely fruit; the
apricots were larger than her head, and she could only eat a quarter of
one, and the taste was so lovely that the Queen resolved never to eat
anything else as long as she lived. She remained in the palace until the
evening, and then, having thanked the fairies for all they had done for
her, she returned with the Fairy of the Fountain.
Now, when the Queen went home, she found that they were all very upset,
and had been searching for her, and could not think where she had gone.
Some had thought that, as she was so beautiful and young, some stranger
had taken her away: which was reasonable, for she spoke so nicely to
every one. But now at last they had found her, and the King was himself
again.
The Queen soon found that what the fairies had said was true. On a
certain day she had a little daughter, and she called her Désirée. Then,
remembering their words, she at once took the bouquet and named each
flower and thought of the fairies one after the other, and lo!
immediately they were all there. Their arms were crammed full of
presents. And, after they had kissed the Queen and the little Princess,
they began to distribute the presents. There was beautiful lace with the
history of the world worked into it; then came a lovely cover all marked
in gold representing all the toys that children play with. The cot was
then shown, and the Queen went into raptures over it: it surely was the
nicest ever made; it was of beautiful, rare wood, with a canopy of blue
silk, inwrought with diamonds and rubies.
Then the fairies took the little Princess on their knees, and kissed her
and hugged her because she was so good and beautiful. Each fairy wished
her a good quality. One wished her to be wise; another wished that she
might be good; another wished her to be virtuous; another to be
beautiful; another to possess a good fortune; and the fifth asked for
her a long life and good health. Then came the last, and she wished that
Désirée might obtain all that she herself could ever wish for.
The Queen thanked them a hundred times for all the good things they had
given her little daughter, and, while she was doing so, all gave a
sudden start, for the door opened and a tremendous Crayfish--so large
that it could hardly get through the door--came in, waving its feelers
in the air.
'O ungrateful Queen!' said the Crayfish, 'you did not trouble to ask me
here. Is it possible that you have so soon forgotten the Fairy of the
Fountain and the good services I did in taking you to my sisters. Why,
you have invited all of them, and I am the only one forgotten.'
The Queen was terribly upset at her error, and begged the Fairy to
forgive her. She hastened to assure her that she had not for a moment
forgotten her great obligation to her; and she begged her not to go back
on her friendship, and particularly to be good to the little Princess.
The others thought that the Fairy of the Fountain would wish evil to the
baby Princess, so they said to her: 'Dear sister, do not be cross with
the Queen; she is good and never would offend you.'
Now, as the Fairy of the Fountain liked to be spoken to nicely, this
softened her a little, and she said:
'Very well, I will not wish her all the harm I was going to; I will
lessen it a little. But take care that she never sees the light of day
until she is fifteen, or she and you will have reason to regret it. That
is all I have to say.' Then, suddenly changing into the little old woman
with the white hair and shepherdess dress, she pirouetted through the
wall, staff in hand. And the cries of the Queen and the prayers of the
good fairies did not matter a bit.
The Queen begged the other fairies to avert the terrible catastrophe,
and besought them to tell her what to do. They consulted together, and
at last told the Queen that they would build a palace without any
windows or doors, and with an underground passage, so that the
Princess's food could be brought to her. And she was to be kept there
until she was fifteen.
Then, with a wave of their wands, they made a lovely, pure-white marble
castle spring up, and, inside of this, all the chairs were made of
jewels, and even the floors were no different. And here the little
Princess dwelt and grew up a good and beautiful child, possessing all
the good qualities that her fairy godmothers had wished for her; and
from time to time they came to see how she was getting on. But, of all
the fairy godmothers, Tulip was the favourite. She reminded the Queen
never to forget the warning not to allow the Princess to see the light
of day, lest the terrible fate that the Fairy of the Fountain had laid
upon her would surely come to pass. The Queen, of course, promised never
to forget so important a matter.
Now, just as her little daughter was nearing the age of fifteen, the
Queen had her portrait taken and sent to all the great courts of the
world. And so it happened that one Prince, when he saw it, took it and
shut it up in his cabinet and talked to the portrait as though it was
the Princess herself in the flesh.
The courtiers heard him and went and told his father that his son had
gone mad, and that he was shut up in his room, talking all day long to
something or somebody who wasn't there.
The King immediately sent for his son and told him what the courtiers
had said about him; then he asked him if it was true, and what had come
over him to act like this.
The Prince thought this a favourable opportunity, so he threw himself at
the feet of the King and said:
'You have resolved, sire, to marry me to the Black Princess, but I love
the Princess Désirée.'
'You have not seen her,' said the King. 'How can you love her?'
'Neither have I seen the Black Princess, but I have both their
portraits,' replied the Warrior Prince (he was so named because he had
won three great battles), 'but I assure you that I have such a love for
the Princess Désirée, that if you do not withdraw your word to the Black
Princess and allow me to have Désirée, I shall die, and I shall be very
glad to do so if I am unable to have the Princess I love.'
'It is to her portrait, then, that you have been speaking?' said the
King. 'My son, you have made yourself the laughing-stock of the whole
court. They think you are mad.'
'You would be as much struck as I am if you saw her portrait,' replied
the Prince firmly.
'Fetch it and show it to me, then,' said the King, equally firmly.
The Prince went, and returned with the Princess's portrait as requested;
and the King was so struck with her beauty that he gave the Prince leave
there and then to marry her, and promised to withdraw his word from the
other Princess.
'My dear Warrior,' said he, 'I should love to have so beautiful a
Princess in my court.'
The Prince kissed his father's hand and bowed his knee, for he could not
conceal his joy. He begged the King to send a messenger not only to the
Black Princess but also to Princess Désirée; and he hoped that in regard
to his own Princess, he would choose a man who would prove the most
capable; and he must be rich, because this was a special occasion and
called for all the elaborate preparation it was possible to show in such
a diplomatic mission.
The King's choice fell on Prince Becafigue; he was a young Prince who
spoke eloquently, and he possessed five millions of money. And, beside
this, he loved the Warrior Prince very dearly.
When the messenger was taking his leave the Prince said to him:
'Do not forget, my dear Becafigue, that my life depends on my marrying
Princess Désirée, whom you are going to see. Do your best for me and
tell the Princess that I love her.' Then he handed Becafigue his
photograph to give the Princess.
The young Prince Becafigue's cortège was so grand, and consisted of so
many carriages, that it took them twenty-three hours to pass; and the
whole world turned out to see him enter the gates of the palace where
the King and Queen and Princess Désirée lived. The King and Queen saw
him coming and were very pleased with all his grandeur, and commanded
that he should be received in a manner befitting so great a personage.
Becafigue was taken before the King and Queen, and, after paying his
respects to them, told them his message and asked to be introduced to
the Princess Désirée. What was his surprise on being refused!
'I am very sorry to have to say no to your request, Prince Becafigue,'
said the King, 'but I will tell you why. On the day the Princess was
born a fairy took an aversion to her, and said that a great misfortune
should befall her if she saw the light of day before she was fifteen
years of age.'
'And am I to return without her?' said Becafigue. 'Here is a portrait of
the Warrior Prince.' Then, as he was handing it to the King, and was
about to say something further about it, a voice came from the
photograph, speaking with loving tones:
'Dear Désirée, you cannot imagine with what joy I wait for you: come
soon to our court, where your beauty will grace it as no other court
will ever be graced.'
The portrait said nothing more, and the King and the Queen were so
surprised that they asked Becafigue to allow them to show it to the
Princess.
Becafigue readily assented and the Queen took the portrait to the
Princess and showed it to her; and the Princess was delighted. Although
the Queen had told her nothing, the Princess knew that it meant a great
marriage, and was not surprised when her mother asked: 'Would you be
cross if you had to marry this man?'
'Madam,' said the Princess, 'it is not for me to choose; I shall be
pleased to obey whatever you wish.'
'But,' said the Queen, 'if my choice should fall on this particular
Prince, would you consider yourself happy?'
The Princess blushed and turned her eyes away and said nothing; then the
Queen took her in her arms and kissed her, for she loved the Princess
very much and knew that she would soon lose her, for it wanted only
three months to her fifteenth birthday.
When the Prince knew that he could not have his dear Princess Désirée
until three months had passed, he became very sad, and could not sleep
at night, until at last his strength gave way and he was near to death.
Doctors were called in, but they could do nothing at all, and the King
was in a dreadful state, for he loved his son very much.
Now the other messenger, who was sent to the Black Princess to tell her
that the Prince had changed his mind and was going to marry another, was
admitted to her presence and soon explained his errand.
'Mr. Messenger,' she said when he had finished, 'is it possible that
your master does not think I am beautiful or rich enough? Look out over
my broad lands and you will find that they are so vast that you cannot
see where they end; and, as for money, I have large coffers full to the
brim, as any one will tell you.'
'Madam,' replied the messenger, 'I blame my master as much as a humble
subject may. Now if I were sitting on the greatest throne in the world,
I would think it the highest favour from heaven if you would share it
with me.'
'That speech has saved your life,' said the Black Princess, 'you may
go.'
When the Fairy of the Fountain heard this she was extremely angry and
she looked in her book to make sure that the Warrior Prince had really
left the Black Princess in favour of the Princess Désirée. Yes, it was
quite true.
'What!' cried the Fairy of the Fountain, 'this ill-omened Désirée is
always in some way upsetting my plans. No! I will not allow it to
happen: why should I?'
Now the messenger Becafigue hurried along to the court of Désirée's
father and mother, and threw himself at their feet, and told them that
his master was very ill and likely to die if he did not see the
Princess.
The King and Queen agreed that it would be best to go and tell the
Princess about the Prince; so the Queen went and told her daughter all
she knew, not forgetting to mention the evil wish that had been laid
upon her at the time of her birth. But the Princess asked her mother if
it were not possible to defeat this wish by taking steps to send her to
the Prince in a carriage with all the light shut out.
This was agreed upon and a carriage was made on a subtle plan, with a
separate compartment for the Princess, and mouse-trap blinds through
which food and drink could be inserted without admitting the light of
day. In this she, with her two ladies-in-waiting, Long-Epine and
Giroflée, set forth, and all the court wept together with the King and
Queen at the going away of their little Princess.
Now Long-Epine did not care for Désirée very much, and, what is more,
she loved the Warrior Prince, having seen his photograph and heard him
speak.
The Queen's last words at parting were:
'Take care of my little daughter, and do not on any account let her see
the light of day. I have made all arrangements with the Prince that she
is to be shut up in a room where she will not be able to see the light,
and every care will be taken.' And, with these words in their ears, they
set off, having promised the Queen that all would be done as she
wished.
Long-Epine told herself she would never let the Princess win the Warrior
Prince, not if she could prevent it; so, at dinner time that day, when
the sun was at its highest, she went as usual to the carriage with the
Princess's food, and, with a big knife, slit the blind so that the light
streamed in. No sooner had she done so than a strange thing happened.
The Princess had been quite alone in the darkened compartment; then how
was it that a white hind leapt out through the window and sped away into
the forest? Long-Epine watched it, wondering. Then she looked in at the
window, but the compartment was empty. The Princess had gone!
Immediately the Princess, in the form of a white hind, had disappeared
into the forest, her good friend Giroflée began to chase after her. As
soon as she had gone, Long-Epine took the clothes of her mistress and
dressed herself up in them, and resolved to impersonate the Princess
before the young Prince. Then the carriage drove on, and in it sat
Long-Epine disguised as the Princess.
When they arrived she presented herself as Désirée; but the Prince
looked at her with horror, for she was not at all like a real Princess.
Désirée's dress, which she wore, came to her knees, and she had not
noticed that her ugly legs showed below the dress.
'This is not the Princess of the portrait,' said the Prince and his
father together. 'You took us for fools, no doubt!'
The false Princess said that it was a terrible thing to bring her away
from her kingdom to be treated in this way, and to break the word that
they had given. 'How can you do this?' she cried.
At this the Prince and his father were so angry that they did not reply
at all, but simply had the false Princess clapped in irons and put into
prison.
The Prince was so heart-broken at this new trouble that he resolved to
go and shut himself up for the remainder of his life, alone. At once he
summoned the faithful Becafigue, and told him all. Then he wrote a
letter to his father and sent it by Becafigue.
'If I never see my real Princess again,' he wrote, 'I beg of you that
at least you will keep that sham one locked up, and guard her close.'
Now all this time the Princess was in the wood, running hither and
thither as hinds do. Once or twice she looked at herself in the water of
the fountain, and saw herself so changed that she cried out: 'Is it I?
Am I this hind?' Then at last she got very hungry, and began to eat
berries and herbs, and finally sought a quiet spot and went to sleep.
The Fairy Tulip had always loved the Princess, and said that if she left
the castle before she was fifteen, she was sure that the Fairy of the
Fountain would relent and do her no harm. But, as for Giroflée, she was
all this time wandering round looking for the little Princess. She had
walked so much and now felt so tired that she lay down and went to sleep
in the forest. The next morning the Princess, seeking moss among the
ferns, found her. When she saw that it was Giroflée, she went up to her
and caressed her with her nozzle, as hinds do, and looked into her eyes
until at last Giroflée knew full well that it was the Princess turned
into a White Hind. She watched the Hind attentively and saw two large
tears fall from her eyes, and then there was not a single doubt that it
was her dear little Princess; so she put her arms around her neck, and
they wept together.
Then Giroflée told the Princess that she would never leave her, and that
she would stay with her until the end.
The Hind understood, and, to show her gratitude, took Giroflée into the
very deepest part of the forest to find her some luscious fruit which
she had seen there; but on the way Giroflée called out in alarm: she
would die of fright if she had to spend the night in such a desolate
spot; and then they both began to cry. Their cries were so pitiful that
they touched the heart of the good Fairy Tulip, and she came to their
aid.
Giroflée begged her to have pity on her young mistress, and to give her
back her natural form, but the Fairy Tulip said that it was impossible
to do that. She said that she would do what she could. She told
Giroflée that if she went into the forest, she would come to the hut of
an old woman. She was to speak her fair and ask her to take charge of
both of them. Then when night came, the Princess would change back into
her natural form; but as this could only happen at night in the hut,
they must be very careful.
Now Giroflée thanked the fairy and went, as she had told her, far into
the wood; and there, sure enough, she saw a hut and an old woman sitting
outside on a bench. She went up to her at once.
'My dear mother,' she said, 'will you allow me to have a little room in
your house for myself and my little Hind?'
'Yes, my dear daughter,' she replied, 'I will certainly give you a
room.' And she immediately took them into the hut, and then into the
dearest little room it was possible to find. It contained two little
beds all draped in pure white and beautifully clean.
As the night began to come in, Désirée changed her form and became the
Princess again; and, seeing this, Giroflée kissed her and hugged her
with delight. The old woman knocked at the door, and, without entering,
she handed Giroflée some fresh fruit which they were very pleased to
have to eat; and then they went to bed. But, as soon as day dawned,
Désirée took again the shape and form of a White Hind.
Now Becafigue was in the very same wood, and came to the hut where the
old woman lived. He begged her to give him something for his master to
eat; but the old woman told him that if his master spent the night in
the forest, harm would surely happen to him, because it was full of wild
animals. Why should he not come to her hut? Why should he not accept the
little room she could offer him? He was welcome to it and a good meal
besides.
Then Becafigue went back and told the Prince all that the old woman had
said and persuaded him to accept her offer. They put the Prince into the
room next to the Princess, but neither of them knew anything of this
arrangement.
[Illustration: THE HIND OF THE WOOD
Giroflée thanked the fairy and went ... far into the wood; and there,
sure enough, she saw a hut and an old woman sitting outside.
_See page 56_]
The next morning the Prince called Becafigue, and told him that he was
going into the forest and that he was not to follow him. The Prince had
walked and walked for a long time in the forest, grieving over his loss,
when suddenly in the distance he saw a lovely little White Hind, and
gave chase and tried to catch it. The Hind, who was no other than the
little Princess, ran and ran far away until the Prince, in utter
fatigue, gave up the chase; but he resolved to look again the next day,
and to be more careful this time, so as not to let the Hind get away.
Then he went home and told the story to Becafigue, while the Princess on
her side was telling her dear Giroflée that a young hunter had chased
her and tried to kill her, but she was so fleet-footed that she got
away.
Giroflée told her not to go out any more, but to stay in and read some
books that she would find for her; but, after a little thought, the
Princess found it too awful to be shut up in one little room all day
long, so the next morning she went out again into the forest, and
wandered through the beautiful dells and glades. After going some
distance she saw a young hunter lying down on the mossy bank asleep,
and, approaching him cautiously, she found that she was now so very
close to him that it would be impossible to get away before he awoke.
Then again, he was so handsome, that, instead of running away, she
rubbed her little nose against the young hunter. What was her surprise
to see that it was her dear Prince! for he, at her caress, opened his
eyes, and she at once recognised him. And when he jumped up and stroked
and patted her, she trembled with delight and raised her beautiful eyes
to his in the dumb eloquence of love.
'Ah! little White Hind,' said he, 'if you only knew how miserable I am,
and what the cause of it is, you would not envy me! I love you, little
Hind, and I will take care of you and look after you.' And with this he
went farther into the forest to find some green herbs for her.
Now the Hind with a sudden fright found its heels again, and, just
because she wanted so much to stay, she bounded off as fast as she could
go, and never stopped till she reached home, where in great excitement
she told Giroflée all that had happened.
The Prince, when he returned and found that the Hind had disappeared,
went back also to the hut, and told the old woman that the Hind had
deserted him just when he had been so very kind to it and had gone in
search of food for it. The Warrior Prince then explained to Becafigue
that it was only to see the little Hind that he had remained so long,
and that on the morrow he would depart and go away. But he did not.
The Princess in the meantime resolved to go a long way into the forest
on the morrow, so as to miss the Prince; but he guessed her little
trick, and so the next day he did the same as she. Then, suddenly, in
the distance he saw the Hind so plainly that he let fly an arrow to
attract its attention. What was his dismay to see the arrow pierce the
flank of the poor little Hind! She fell down immediately on a mossy
bank, and swiftly the Prince ran up. He was so upset at what had
happened, that he flew and got leaves and stopped the bleeding. Then he
said:
'Is it not your fault, little flier? You ran away and left me yesterday,
and the same would have happened to-day if this had not occurred.'
The Hind did not reply at all; what could she say? And besides, she was
in too much pain to do anything but moan.
The Prince caressed her again and again. 'What have I done to you?' he
said. 'I love you, and I cannot bear to think I have wounded you.'
But her moaning went on. At last the Prince resolved to go to the hut
and get something to carry her on, but before he went he tied her up
with little ribbons, and they were tied in such a manner that the
Princess could not undo them. As she was trying to free herself she saw
Giroflée coming towards her, and made a sign to her to hasten; and,
strange to say, Giroflée reached her exactly at the same moment as the
Prince with Becafigue.
'I have wounded this little Hind, madam,' said the Prince, 'and she is
mine.'
'Sir,' replied Giroflée, 'this little Hind is well known to me--and, if
you want to see how she recognises me, you will give her her liberty.'
The Prince then cut the ribbons in compliance with her request.
'Come along, my little Hind,' said Giroflée; 'kiss me!'
At this the little Hind threw herself on Giroflée's neck. 'Nestle to my
heart! Now give me a sigh!' The Hind obeyed, and the Prince could not
doubt that what Giroflée said was true.
'I give her to you,' said the Prince; 'for I see she loves you.'
Now when Becafigue saw Giroflée, he told the Prince that he had seen her
in the castle with the Princess Désirée, and that he knew that Giroflée
was staying in a part of their own hut. Why could they not find out if
the Princess was staying there also? So the following night, the Prince
having agreed, Becafigue listened through a chink in the wall of the
hut, and what was his surprise to hear two voices talking! One said:
'Oh, that I might die at once! It would be better than to remain a Hind
all the days of my life! What a fate! Only to be myself to you, and to
all others a little White Hind! How terrible never to be able to talk to
my Prince!'
Becafigue put his eye to the chink and this is what he saw.
There was the Princess in a beautiful dress all shining with gold. In
her lovely hair were diamonds, but the tears in her eyes seemed to
sparkle even more brightly. She was beautiful beyond words, and
disconsolate beyond sorrow.
Becafigue nearly cried out with joy at sight of her. He ran off at once
and told the Prince.
'Ah! seigneur,' said he, 'come with me at once and you will see in the
flesh the maiden you love.'
The Prince ran with him, and when they came on tip-toe to the chink in
the wall, he looked and saw his dear Princess.
Then so great was his joy that he could not be restrained. He went and
knocked at the door, resolving to see his Princess at once.
Giroflée, thinking it was the old woman, opened the door, and the Prince
immediately dashed into the room and threw himself at the feet of the
Princess, and kissed her hand and told her how much he loved her.
'What! my dear little Princess, was it you that I wounded as a little
Hind? What can I do to show my sorrow for so great a crime?'
The way in which he spoke put all the doubts from the Princess's mind.
The Prince, knowing all, loved her. She bade him rise, and then stood
with downcast eyes, fearing the worst. Her fears were justified: in a
moment his arms were around her, and she was sobbing for joy on his
breast.
They had stood a moment so, when suddenly the Prince started and
listened. What sound was that? It was the tramp of armed men; nearer and
nearer it came--the threatening sound of an advancing host. He opened
the window, and, on looking out, saw a great army approaching. They were
his own soldiers, going up against Désirée's father to avenge the insult
offered to their Prince. And the King his father was at their head, in a
litter of gold.
When the Warrior Prince saw that his father was there he ran out to him
and threw his arms round his neck and kissed him.
'Where have you been, my son?' said the King. 'Your absence has caused
me great sorrow!'
Then the Prince told him all about Long-Epine, and how the Princess had
been changed into a Hind through her disregard of the Fairy's warning.
The King was terribly grieved at this news, and turned his eyes to
heaven and clasped his hands. At this moment the Princess Désirée came
out, mounted on a pure-white horse and looking more beautiful and lovely
than she had ever been. Giroflée was also with her as her attendant. The
spell had been removed for ever.
At sight of them the old King blessed them, and said that he would give
his kingdom to his son as soon as he was married to the Princess
Désirée. The Princess thanked him a thousand times for his goodness, and
then the King ordered the army to return to the city, for there would be
no war, but only rejoicing.
Back into the capital, a mighty procession--an army headed by its
rulers, and victorious without striking a blow. Great was the joy of all
the people to see the Prince and the Princess, and they showered upon
them heaps of presents the like of which was never seen.
The faithful Becafigue begged the Prince to allow him to marry Giroflée.
She was delighted to have such a great offer, and more than delighted to
remain in a land where she would always be with her dear Princess.
Now the Fairy Tulip, when she heard all that had happened, resolved, out
of the goodness of her heart, to give Giroflée a splendid present, so
that her husband should not have the advantage of being the richer. It
will astonish you to hear that she gave her four big gold mines in
India; and you know what gold mines in India are worth.
And the marriage feasts lasted several months. Each day was a greater
day than the one before; and every day the adventures of the little
White Hind were sung throughout the country, even as they are still
sung, in boudoir, fireside, and camp, to this very day.
IVAN AND THE CHESTNUT HORSE
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
In a far land where they pay people to keep its name a profound secret,
there lived an old man who brought up his three sons just exactly in the
way they should go. He taught them the three R's, and also showed them
what books to read and how to read them. He was particularly careful
about their education, for he had learned that to know things was to be
able to do things.
At last, when he came to die, he gathered his three sons round his
deathbed and cautioned them.
'Do not forget,' he said--'do not forget to come and read the prayers
over my grave.'
'We will not forget, father,' they replied.
The two elder brothers were great big, strapping fellows, but the
youngest one, Ivan, was a mere stripling. As they all stood around the
bed of their dying father, he looked a mere reed compared to his proud,
stout, elder brothers. But his eyes were full of fire and spirit, and
the firm expression of his mouth showed great determination. And, when
the father had breathed his last, and his two elder brothers wept
without restraint, Ivan stood silent, his pale face set and his eyes
full of the bright wonder of tears that would not melt.
On the day that they buried their father, Ivan returned to the grave in
the evening to read prayers over it. He had done so, and was making his
way homeward, when there was a great clatter of hoofs behind him; then,
as he reached the village square, the horseman pulled up and dismounted
quite near to him. After blowing a loud blast on his silver
trumpet--for he was the King's messenger--he cried in a loud voice:
'All and every man, woman and child, take notice, in the name of the
King. It is the King's will that this proclamation be cried abroad in
every town and village where his subjects dwell. The King's daughter,
Princess Helena the Fair, has caused to be built for herself a shrine
having twelve pillars and twelve rows of beams. And she sits there upon
a high throne till the time when the bridegroom of her choice rides by.
And this is how she shall know him: with one leap of his steed he
reaches the height of the tower, and, in passing, his lips press those
of the Princess as she bends from her throne. Wherefore the King has
ordered this to be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of the
land, for if any deems himself able so to reach the lips of the Princess
and win her, let him try. In the name of the King I have said it!'
The blood of the youth of the nation, wherever this proclamation was
issued, took flame and leapt to touch the lips of Princess Helena the
Fair. All wondered to whose lot this lucky fate would fall. Some said it
would be to the most daring, others contended that it was a matter of
the leaping powers of the steed, and yet others that it depended not
only on the steed but on the daring skill of the rider also.
When the three brothers had listened to the words of the King's
messenger they looked at one another; at least the elder two did, for it
was apparent to them that Ivan, the youngest, was quite out of the
competition, whereas they, two splendid handsome fellows, were
distinctly in it.
'Brothers,' said Ivan at last, 'our first thought must be to fulfil our
father's dying wish. But, if you prefer it, we could take it in turns to
read the prayers over our father's grave. Let it be the duty of one of
us each day to fulfil the duty, morning and evening.'
The elder brothers agreed readily to this, but, when Ivan asked whose
turn it should be on the morrow, they both began to make excuses.
[Illustration: IVAN AND THE CHESTNUT HORSE
The chestnut horse seemed to linger in the air at the top of its leap
while that kiss endured.
_See page 69_]
'As for me,' said the eldest, 'I must go and order the work of the farm
my father left me, and that will take seven days.'
'And for me,' said the younger, 'I must see to the estate which is my
part of the inheritance, and that also will take seven days.'
'Then,' replied Ivan, 'if I perform the duty for seven days, you will
each do your share afterwards?'
His brothers agreed still more readily than before. Then they went their
ways, Ivan full of thoughts of his father, and the other two to train
their jumping horses, the one on his farm and the other on his estate.
And both laughed to themselves, for neither knew the purpose of the
other.
How they curled their hair and cleaned their teeth, and practised
'prunes and prisms' with their mouths close to the looking-glass!--so
that when, at one bound of their magnificent steeds, they reached the
level of the Princess's lips, to aim the kiss that was to win the prize,
they would make a brave show, and a conquering one. As for their little
brother, they each thought he could go on praying over their father's
grave as long as he liked,--it would be the best thing he could do, and
it would not interfere with their secret plans, so carefully concealed
from each other and from him.
So, for seven days, in their separate districts, they raced about on
their horses by day and dreamed of the greatest leaping feats by night.
And at the end of the seven days the youngest brother summoned them to
keep their agreement, and asked which of them would read the prayers,
morning and evening, for the second seven days.
'I have done my part,' he said; 'now it is for you to arrange between
you which one shall continue the sacred duty.'
The two elder brothers looked at each other and then at Ivan.
'As for me,' said one, 'I care little who does it, so long as I am free
to get on with my business, which is more important.'
'And as for me,' said the other, 'I am in no mind to watch each blade
of grass growing on the grave. I cannot really afford the time, I am so
busy. You, Ivan,--you are different: you are not a man of affairs; how
could you spend your time better than reading prayers over our father's
grave?'
'So be it,' replied Ivan. 'You get back to your work and I will attend
to the sacred duty for another seven days.'
The two elder brothers went their separate ways, and for seven more days
devoted their entire attention to training their horses for the flying
leap at the Princess's lips. How they tore like mad about the fields!
How they jumped the hedges and ditches! How they curled their hair and
dyed their moustaches and practised their lips, not only to 'prunes and
prisms,' but to 'peaches of passion' and 'pomegranates,' and
'peripatetic perambulation' and everything they could think of! In fact,
they paid so much attention to the lips which were to meet those of the
Princess at the top of the flying leap, that they began to neglect their
own and their horses' meals. In other words, they were beginning to show
signs of over-training.
At the end of the second seven days Ivan again summoned them to a family
council, and asked them if either of them could now take up the sacred
duty. But no; thinking heavily on horses and lips, and high jumps and
kisses, they spoke lightly of fields to be tilled, seed to be sown, and
all such things that must be done at once. Their view was--and they got
quite friendly over it--that Ivan should be more than delighted to bear
this pleasurable burden of reading prayers over his father's grave.
Indeed, nothing but the stern call of immediate duty would prevail upon
them to relinquish a task so pleasant.
'So be it,' said Ivan; 'I will perform the sacred duty for another seven
days.' But as he spoke, he noted his brothers' curled hair and dyed
moustaches, and gleaned from this, and from the look of sudden suspicion
and jealousy exchanged between them, that they were both in love with
the same fair one. But he kept this to himself, and left them to their
own concerns.
Again, at the end of seven days, when Ivan had read the prayers
devoutly, he summoned his brothers. But they did not come. Both sent
messages saying that they were frightfully busy, and would he be so good
as to go on with the sacred duty until they could be spared to do their
share later on. Ivan accepted their messages, and went on reading the
prayers over the father's grave.
Meanwhile each of his brothers prepared for the great flying leap; and
each said to himself: 'What about Ivan? He would like to see this great
exploit. It might make a man of him. He is altogether lacking in
ambition, and to see a great deed done might stir him to try to be a
great hero himself. But yet--I fear it would never do. He is so weedy,
so insignificant. I feel I should lose by having a brother like that
anywhere about. No; he is far better reading prayers over our father's
grave.'
So each in his own way resolved to go in alone--apart from the other and
apart from Ivan.
The morning of the great day came. The eldest brother had chosen from
his horses a magnificent black one with arched neck and flowing mane and
tail. The second brother had selected a bay equally splendid. And now,
at sunrise, they were, each unknown to the other, combing their
well-curled hair, re-dyeing their moustaches, and booting and trapping
themselves for the wonderful display of prowess the day was to bring
forth. And they did not forget to make sure that their lips were as fit
as they were anxious for the 'high kiss.'
At the appointed time they rode into the lists and drew their lots, and
neither was altogether surprised at seeing his brother among the host of
competitors for the hand of Helena the Fair. Their surprise came later,
when Ivan arrived on the scene.
It so happened in this way: that, towards evening, when his two brothers
had each had their last try to leap up to the Princess's lips and
failed, like every one else, Ivan himself was reading the prayers over
his father's grave. Suddenly a great emotion came over him, and he
stopped in his reading. He was filled with a longing to look just for
once upon the face of Helena the Fair, for whose favour he knew that
the most splendid in the land were competing with their wonderful
steeds. So strong was this longing that he broke down and, bending over
his father's grave, wept bitterly.
And then a strange thing happened. His father heard him in his coffin,
and shook himself free from the damp earth, and came out and stood
before him.
'Do not weep, Ivan, my son,' he said. And Ivan looked up and was
terrified at the sight of him.
'Nay, my son, do not fear me,' his father went on. 'You have fulfilled
my dying wish, and I will help you in your trouble. You wish to look
upon the face of Helena the Fair, and so it shall be.'
With this he drew himself up, and his aspect was commanding. Then he
called in a loud voice, and, as the echoes of his tones began to die
away, Ivan heard them change into the far-distant beat of a horse's
hoofs. After listening for a while his father called again, and this
time the echo was a horse's neigh and galloping hoofs. It seemed beyond
the hillside, and Ivan looked up and wondered. A third time his father
called, and nearer and nearer came the galloping sound, until at last,
with a thundering snort and a ringing neigh, a beautiful chestnut horse
appeared, circled round them thrice, and then came to a halt before
them, its two forefeet close together and its eyes, ears, and nostrils
shooting flames of fire.
Then came a voice, and Ivan knew it was the voice of the chestnut horse
with the proudly arched neck and flowing mane:
'What is your will? Command me and I obey!'
The father took Ivan by the hand and led him to the horse's head.
'Enter here at the right ear,' he said, 'and pass through, and make your
way out at the left ear. By so doing you will be able to command the
horse, and he will do whatever you may wish that a horse should do.'
So Ivan, nothing doubting, passed in at the right ear of the chestnut
horse and came out at the left; and immediately there was a wonderful
change in him. He was no longer a dreamy youth: he was at once a man of
affairs, and the light of a high ambition shone in his eyes.
'Mount! Go, win the Princess Helena the Fair!' said his father, and
immediately vanished.
With one spring Ivan was astride the chestnut horse, and, in another
moment, they were speeding like lightning towards the shrine of Helena
the Fair.
The sun was setting, and the two elder brothers, disconsolate, were
about to withdraw from the field, when, startled by the cries of the
people, they saw a steed come galloping on, well ridden, and at a
terrific pace. They turned to look and they marked how Helena the Fair,
disappointed of all others, leaned out to watch the oncoming horseman.
And the whole concourse turned and stood to await the possible event.
On came the chestnut horse, his nostrils snorting fire, his hoofs
shaking the earth. He neared the shrine, and, to a masterful rein, rose
at a flying leap. The daring rider looked up and the Princess leaned
down, but he could not reach her lips, ready as they were.
The whole field now stood at gaze as the chestnut horse with its rider
circled round and came up again. And this time, with a splendid leap,
the brave steed bore its rider aloft so that the fragrant breath of the
Princess seemed to meet his nostrils, and yet his lips did not meet
hers.
Again they circled round while all stood still and tense. Again the
chestnut steed rose to the leap, and, this time, the lips of Ivan met
those of the Princess in a long sweet kiss, for the chestnut horse
seemed to linger in the air at the top of its leap while that kiss
endured.
Then, while the Princess looked after, horse and rider reached the
ground and disappeared like lightning.
Instantly the host of onlookers swarmed in.
'Who is he? Where is he?' was the cry on every hand. 'He kissed her on
the lips, and she kissed him. Look at her! Is it not true?'
It was true, for Princess Helena the Fair, with a lovelight in her eyes,
was leaning down and searching, with all her soul, even for the very
dust spurned from the heels of her lover's horse. But she could see
nothing, and sank back within her shrine, treasuring the kiss upon her
lips; while the people, dissatisfied, but wondering greatly, melted
away. Among them went the splendid brothers, seeking how they could sell
their well-trained horses to advantage, for they had both been
frantically near to the Princess's lips.
Whither had Ivan flown on the chestnut horse? Loosing the reins--he
cared for nothing but the kiss--he let his steed go, and presently it
came to a standstill before his father's grave. There he dismounted and
turned the horse adrift. As if its errand was completed, it galloped
off; a rainbow came down to meet it, and, closing in, seemed to snatch
it up in its folds. Ivan was alone before his father's grave.
Once more he bowed himself in prayer. Once more his father appeared
before him.
'Thou hast done well, O my son,' he said. 'Thou hast fulfilled my dying
wish, but my living wish is yet to be fulfilled. To-morrow Helena the
Fair will summon the people and demand her bridegroom. Be thou there,
but say nothing.'
With this Ivan found himself alone.
On the following day there was a great gathering at the palace, and, in
the midst of it, sat Princess Helena the Fair demanding her
bridegroom--the one who had leapt to her lips and won her from all
others. Her heart and soul and body were his. The half of her kingdom to
come was his. She, herself, was his;--where was he?
Search was made among the highest in the land, but, fearing a demand for
the repetition of the leap and the kiss, none came forward. Ivan sat at
the back, a humble spectator.
'She is thinking of that leap and that kiss,' said he to himself. 'When
she sees me as I am, then let her judge.' But love, though blind, has
eyes. The Princess rose from her seat and swept a glance over the
people. She saw the two handsome elder brothers and passed them by as so
much dirt. Then, by the light of love, she descried, sitting in a
corner, where the lights were low, the hero of the chestnut horse,--the
one who had leapt high and reached her lips in the first sweet kiss of
love.
She knew him at once, and, as all looked on in wonder, she made her way
to that dim corner, took him by the hand without a word, and led him up,
past the throne of honour, to an antechamber, where, with the joyous
cries of the people ringing in their ears, their lips met a second
time,--at the summit of a leap of joy.
At that moment the King entered, knowing all.
'What is this?' said he.
Then he smiled, for he understood his daughter, and knew that she had
not only chosen her lover, but had won her choice.
'My son,' he added, without waiting for an answer, 'you and yours will
reign after me. Look to it! Now let us go to supper.'
THE QUEEN OF THE MANY-COLOURED BEDCHAMBER
AN IRISH FAIRY TALE
One day in the long ago, the sun shone down upon a green wood whose
mightiest trees have since rotted at the bottom of the ocean, where the
best masts find a grave. While the sunlight slept on the bosom of the
foliage, a horseman galloped in the shade beneath. The great chief Fion,
son of Cumhail, was looking for his knights, whom he had outstripped in
the hunt.
He reined in his steed in a broad glade, and blew his bugle loud and
clear. Beside the echoes repeated among the hillsides, there was no
answering call. He rode on, pausing now and again to blow another and
another bugle-blast, but always with the same result.
At length the wood grew more scattered, and presently he came out upon a
stretch of plain where the grass was so green that it looked like
emerald; and beyond it in the distance, at the end of the sloping plain,
he could see the seashore, and the ocean rising like a wall of sapphire
up to the farthest horizon.
Down by the shore he could see figures moving, and, thinking that his
knights had found their way thither, he rode like the wind down the
long, gentle slope towards them. As he drew nearer and nearer, he saw
that there were twelve of them, and they were playing at ball. By the
mighty strokes they gave with the _coman_ he guessed that these were the
twelve sons of Bawr Sculloge, for none but them could drive the ball so
high and far. Tremendous were their strokes, and, when they ran after
the ball, they outstripped the wind.
As Fion drew rein and dismounted, they stopped their play; and, drawing
near, welcomed him loudly as the helper of the weak, and the protector
of the green island against the white-faced stranger.
When he had returned their greeting, they invited him to join them in
their game--if such an amusement was agreeable to him.
'Fion, son of Cumhail,' said one, 'here, take my _coman_ and wipe away
the vanity and conceit of all comers, for we are practising for a great
contest.'
Fion took the _coman_ and looked at it, holding it up between his finger
and thumb.
'I doubt if I could do much good with this plaything,' said Fion; 'it
would break at first blow if I were to strike at all hard.'
'Never let that stand in the way,' returned the other. 'Wait!'
He then searched upon the ground among the blades of grass, and at
length found a nettle, which he pulled up by the roots. Having breathed
a charm over it, he passed it three times from one hand to the other,
and lo, it was changed into a mighty _coman_, fit for the hand of Fion,
son of Cumhail.
Then they were amazed at his terrific blows. The ball, struck by Fion,
soared almost out of sight in the sky, and fell to earth far off. But,
each time, the fleet-footed sons of Bawr Sculloge retrieved it.
At last Fion bared his arm to the shoulder, and, with a final blow, sent
the ball out of sight. None saw it go; none saw it fall. They all stood
and looked at each other.
'My hand on it,' said the eldest son of Bawr, advancing to Fion. 'I live
to admit that I never saw the game played till to-day.'
As they were speaking, a voice hailed them; and, turning seawards, they
saw a small boat approaching. As soon as it touched the beach, a man
sprang ashore, and hastened towards them.
'Hail! Fion, son of Cumhail!' he cried. 'You are known to me, though not
I to you. My lady, the Queen of Sciana Breaca, lays a knight's task upon
you. Hasten forthwith, and have speech with her on her island. The hand
of Flat Ear the Witch is upon her, and her chiefs have advised her to
summon you to her aid.'
'I know it,' replied Fion. 'The Salmon of Wisdom, which comes up from
the sea, breeds knowledge in my brain. I know what is passing in all the
islands, but I fear that my efforts against witchcraft would be
unavailing. Nevertheless, I will try. I will choose, from the twelve
sons of Bawr Sculloge, three that I need, and together we will follow
you to the island.'
'But, noble chief, you have no boat here, and mine will hold only one
other beside myself.'
'Let not that trouble you,' replied Fion. 'I will provide a boat for us
four, and we will follow you.'
With this he selected from the twelve sons the three that he needed.
They were Chluas, Grunne, and Bechunach. Then he plucked two twigs of a
witch hazel that grew near by, and they all proceeded to the beach.
There he held the two twigs out over the water, and, in a moment, the
one became a boat and the other a mast with sail set. He sprang in and
the three followed, and presently they were speeding over the sea,
setting their course by that of the stranger in his boat.
They sailed for many hours before they came to the island of the Queen
of the Many-coloured Bedchamber. There they passed between high rocks,
and entered a quiet harbour, where they moored their boat to a stout
pillar and set a seal upon the fastening, forbidding any but themselves
to loose it for the space of one year, for they knew not how long their
quest would last. Then they went up into the palace of the Queen.
They were gladly welcomed and treated with the most generous
hospitality. When they had eaten and drank, the Queen led them into a
vast bedchamber decorated in the form and manner of the rainbow. Over
the ceiling were the seven colours in their natural order. Round the
walls they ranged themselves in the same fashion, and even the carpet
itself was formed of seven hues to correspond. If the rainbow itself had
been caught and tied up in a room, the effect could not have been more
remarkable. It was indeed a many-coloured bedchamber!
Taking Fion by the hand, the Queen led them all into a corner of the
bedchamber, where she pointed to a little cot in which a child lay
sleeping.
'I had three children,' she said as she stood at the head of the cot,
while Fion and the others gathered round. 'When the eldest was a year
old it was carried off by that wicked witch, Flat Ear. The next year,
when the second one was twelve months old, it suffered the same fate.
And now my youngest here, who is twelve months old to-day, has fallen
sick, and I fear to lose him in the same manner. This very night the
witch will surely come and snatch my child away unless you can prevent
her.'
'Take comfort, fair Queen,' said Fion. 'We will do our best. If you will
leave this chamber to us we will watch over your child and see that it
comes to no harm. And, if it be possible to capture the witch, depend
upon it we shall do so. Too long she has worked her wickedness upon
these lands.'
The Queen thanked him and withdrew. Soon the sun was set, and, as the
child slept on and the shadows gathered, Fion and the three brothers set
their watch in the Many-coloured Bedchamber. Presently servants came in
and set wine before them--honey-mead and Danish beer, and metheglin and
sweet cakes. And, while they regaled themselves, the servants brought
chessmen and a board, and Grunne and Bechunach played chess while Fion
and Chluas watched by the bedside.
Hours passed while the two chess-players were absorbed in their game and
the other two kept watch and ward. Then, towards midnight, while Fion
was alert and wakeful, he saw Chluas sink his chin on his breast,
overcome by an unnatural sleep. Thrice Chluas strove to rouse himself,
but thrice he sank into a deeper sleep.
'Wake up, Chluas!' cried Grunne, as Bechunach was considering his next
move. 'Wake up! We have a pledge to keep.'
Chluas roused himself. 'Yes, yes,' he said; 'we have a pledge to keep.'
And then his chin sank gradually on his breast again, and he was once
more a victim to the same unnatural sleep.
'Let him alone,' said Fion. 'I will watch.'
And the two brothers went on with their game of chess.
Suddenly a chill wind swept through the bedchamber. The fire in the
grate flickered, and the candles burned low: the child in the cot
stirred and moaned.
'See that!' said Fion in a hoarse whisper, pointing to the fireplace.
They turned and looked. It was a long, lean, bony hand reaching down the
chimney and groping in the direction of the cot. The fingers were spread
out and crooked, all ready to clutch. Slowly the long arm lengthened and
drew near the cot. It was about to snatch the child, when Fion darted
forward and seized it in an iron grip.
There was a violent struggle, for Fion had the arm of the witch in his
powerful grasp. He held on so masterfully that the witch, in her frantic
efforts to draw it away, fell down the chimney, rolled across the fire,
struck Fion a terrific blow on the temple with her other hand, and then,
falling on top of his unconscious body, lay still, her shoulder torn and
bleeding.
Grunne and Bechunach quickly ran to Fion's aid, and, leaving the witch
for dead, quickly withdrew his body and restored him to consciousness.
Then, when they turned to see to the witch, they found that both she and
the child had vanished.
They sprang to their feet and roused Chluas roughly. But he sank to
sleep again immediately.
'What shall we do?' they all asked of Fion.
'Follow!' said he; 'follow where I lead. Grunne, pick up your bow and
arrows; Bechunach, knot your ladder of cords. Follow me, both of you.
Leave Chluas sleeping: he is not in his body; his spirit goes with us,
and we cannot do without it.'
So Grunne gathered up his bow and arrows and Bechunach his rope, and the
three, leaving the body of Chluas like dead wood, went forth to seek the
witch.
They came to the seashore, loosed their boat, sped across the harbour
and out between the high rocks. Then, guided by the loosed spirit of the
sleeping Chluas, they sped forward on the ocean, driven by a freshening
breeze. All the while the spirit-light, floating above the waves, led
them on.
It was some two hours before dawn when they descried, in the distance,
the lighted tower of the witch, upon an island. A dull, red flame shot
out from it, and, as it turned for ever on itself, this flame lighted
the sea around like a revolving wheel, clear and red against the
surrounding blackness.
Nearer and nearer they approached it. Then Fion stood up in the boat and
chanted magic spells, raising his arms and sinking them again with
fingers stretched and his palms downwards. Then with a loud cry he
called for sleep to descend on the vile witch of the revolving tower.
Ere yet his cry had died away on the surrounding sea the red light
ceased to revolve. It was still, glaring dully. Then, as the boat
touched the beach beneath the tower, Fion commanded Bechunach to throw
his knotted cord and noose the topmost turret.
It was soon done. The noose caught, and held. And, in another moment,
Bechunach, like a wild cat of the mountain, was climbing up. Fion and
Grunne followed, while the spirit of Chluas, who lay fast asleep in the
Many-coloured Bedchamber, guided and directed their every movement.
They gained a window of the tower and made their way in. Following the
gleam of the dull, red light, they went from room to room, and at last
came to one where it shone clearly through the cracks of the door. They
burst in, and stood aghast on the threshold at the sight that met their
gaze.
There on the floor lay the witch, in a magic sleep, the blood flowing
from her shoulder, torn by Fion in the struggle. And there, around her,
crying bitterly, were the Queen's three children.
Fion stooped down and swept his arm round them, and took them aside and
comforted them. Then he gathered the youngest to his breast, and,
directing Grunne and Bechunach to see to the other two, he led the way
to the window.
In a very short time they had all climbed down the rope ladder and were
speeding away in the boat. But, as they left the island, the spell was
released. The tower, with its wheel of red light, began again to revolve
upon the waters, and they heard the witch's shriek of rage as she awoke
to the pain of her wound, to find the children gone. It came again and
again, that shriek of baffled hate and rage and pain. Then, as they
looked back, they saw a dark form glide down the walls of the tower like
a loathsome thing creeping head downwards. It reached the foot and sped
to the seashore. Then it seemed to loose a boat, and, in another moment,
it was speeding in pursuit of them. Faster and faster over the waves it
came.
'Quick!' cried Fion to Grunne. 'Draw your bowstring to your ear. You
will not miss: the spirit of the sleeper will guide your shaft.'
Grunne fitted an arrow to his bowstring, and drew it to his ear. Then,
as Fion shot forward his outstretched hands, casting a vivid light from
his finger-tips over the surface of the sea, the arrow sped with a twang
and a whiz.
A terrible cry came back across the water. The witch, struck to the
heart, threw up her arms, and, falling from her boat, sank in the sea.
Fion put down his hands, and then all was dark, save for a dull red
light which flickered and played above the spot where the witch had
sunk; and they sped on.
Now they neared the harbour, and saw a multitude of people waiting, with
torches waving. When they gained the foothold of the land, with the
three children in their arms, the people raised a mighty cheer. The
Queen heard it and hastened to meet them.
Great was her joy on receiving her three children at the hands of Fion.
And she showered upon him every blessing, entertaining him and his
comrades--the three sons of Bawr Sculloge--for a whole year. And every
year thereafter--lest the deed be forgotten--on the anniversary of the
day she sent a boat laden with gold and silver and precious stones, and
shields and helmets and chess-tables and rich cloaks; and the sons of
Bawr Sculloge invited Fion to join them in high festival on that day,
for they said, 'Such deeds should never be forgotten.'
And, one morning in spring, Fion, son of Cumhail, went into the gardens
and orchards about his palace and plucked many twigs from flowers and
fruit trees, and with these he went down to the seashore. Holding them
above the waves, he recited a spell, and immediately a boat was formed
of the twigs--a trim little craft with sail set.
He sprang in and steered his course for the isle of the Queen of the
Many-coloured Bedchamber. And, as he sped over the waves, the boat began
to bud; and green leaves appeared on the mast, and the spars and stays
put out the growth of spring, till they shone like emerald in the sun.
When he came in sight of the island, the sides of the boat were covered
with blossoms, the mast had put out a wealth of petals, and the sail and
rigging were covered with flowering vines. Then, as he passed between
the high rocks and entered the harbour, the watchers on shore saw a boat
approaching, splendid with summer flowers, and on its mast were
spreading branches dropping down with luscious fruit. Nearer and nearer
it came, and, when it touched the shore, Fion sprang out, and bade them
gather the beautiful flowers and the ripe fruit and take them to their
Queen.
And Queen Breaca valued this present more than any other he could have
offered, because the manner of it was beautiful, and a Queen is a woman,
and a woman loves beautiful things above all else.
And Chluas, the sleeper--what reward had he? He claimed none, and none
knows what was his reward. Yet it is said that in the Land of Deep Sleep
there are rewards undreamt of by those who wake.
THE BLUE BIRD
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE
There was once upon a time a King who was tremendously rich both in
money and lands. His wife, the Queen, died, and left him inconsolable.
He shut himself up for eight days in a little room, and banged his head
against the wall so much that it was believed he would kill himself, so
grieved was he at his loss.
All his subjects resolved between themselves to go and see him, and they
did. Some said that he could show his grief in a less painful manner.
Others made speeches grave and serious, but not one of them made any
impression on the widowed King. Eventually there was presented to him a
woman dressed in the deepest mourning, and she cried and moaned so long
and so loud that she caused no little surprise.
She said to the King that she did not like the others coming to ask him
to stay his crying, for nothing was more just than that he should cry
over the loss of a good wife; and that as for her, who once had the very
best of husbands, and had lost him, she would cry for him as long as she
had eyes in her head to cry with; and immediately she let out and
redoubled her sobs, and the King, following her example, did the same.
Each one recounted to the other the good qualities of their dear dead
ones; so much so that at last there was nothing more could be found to
say about their losses and their great sorrow. In the end the widow
lifted her deep veil, and the poor afflicted King gazed at the afflicted
one, who kept turning and turning her great blue eyes with long black
lashes. The King watched her with deep attention; and little by little
he talked less of his lost Queen, until at last he forgot to talk of her
at all.
The widow then said that for ever she would cry and mourn for her
husband, but the King begged her not to go to that limit and immortalise
her sorrow. In the end he astonished her by saying that he would marry
her, and that the black would be changed into green and pink, the colour
of roses. It suffices to say that the King did as the stories tell: did
all that was possible and all that she wished.
Now the King had but one daughter of his first marriage, and she was
considered one of the eight wonders of the world; her name was Florine,
because she resembled a beautiful flower: she was fresh, young and
lovely. She was always dressed in the most beautiful transparent
clothes, and with garlands of flowers in her hair, which made a
beautiful effect. She was only fifteen years old when the King married
again.
The new Queen also had, by her first husband, a daughter, who had been
brought up by her godmother, the fairy Soussio; but she was neither
beautiful nor gracious. The girl's name was Truitonne, because her face
was so like the face of a trout, and her hair was so full of grease that
it was impossible to touch it; and her skin simply ran with oil. But the
Queen did not love her any the less. All she could do was to talk of the
charming Truitonne, and how Florine had all sorts of advantages over
her; and the Queen became desperate, and sought every possible way to
make the King see faults in Florine.
One day the King said to the Queen that Florine and Truitonne were big
enough to marry now, and that the first Prince who came to the court
should have one of the two Princesses in marriage.
'I maintain,' said the Queen, 'that my daughter shall be the one to get
the trousseau; she is the elder, and she is a million times more
amiable, and those are the points that matter, after all.'
The King, who hated disputes, said that it was well, and that she was
her own mistress.
Some time afterwards, news came that Prince Charming had arrived. Never
did a Prince display such gallantry and magnificence; his manner and
looks were in keeping with the name he bore. When the Queen heard of
this handsome Prince she employed all the dressmakers and tailors to
dress Truitonne, and make her presentable, and she begged the King that
Florine should have nothing at all new. Her one thought was to have all
the beautiful clothes ready before the arrival of Prince Charming at
court.
When he came the Queen received him in all pomp and splendour, and
presented to him her daughter more brilliant than the sun, and more ugly
than she was usually, because of all the jewels she had on.
Prince Charming turned away his eyes; the Queen tried to persuade him
that the Princess pleased him very much. But he demanded to know if
there was not another Princess called Florine? 'Yes,' said Truitonne,
pointing with her finger; 'see, there she is, hidden away, because she
is not good.'
Florine reddened, and looked so beautiful, so beautiful, that Prince
Charming forgot himself. He bowed the knee and made a low curtsy to the
Princess. 'Madam,' said he, 'your incomparable beauty is too much; but
for you I should have sought help in a strange land.'
'Seigneur,' replied the Princess, 'I am sorry that I am not dressed in a
proper manner, but I have only my old clothes; yet I thank you for
asking to see me.'
'It would be impossible,' said Prince Charming, 'that any one once
seeing you could have eyes for anything else than so beautiful a
Princess.'
'Ah!' said the Queen, irritated, 'I do well wasting my time listening to
you. Believe me, seigneur, Florine is also a coquette; she does not
deserve that you should be so gallant to her.'
Prince Charming understood the motives of the Queen in speaking of
Florine in this way. He was not in a position to prove the truth, but he
let it be seen that all his admiration was for Florine.
The Queen and Truitonne were very upset to see that he preferred
Princess Florine. So, when Princess Florine left the company of Prince
Charming, the Queen with impatience waited for her to return to her
room. There were hidden four men with masks over their faces, and they
had orders to take the Princess Florine away on a journey, to await the
pleasure of Prince Charming, so that she would please him better and
would make him a better spouse.
The Queen then went to the Prince and told him that the Princess was a
coquette, and had a bad temper; that she tormented the servants, and did
not know how to behave herself; that she was avaricious, and preferred
to be dressed like a little shepherdess rather than like a Princess.
To all this Prince Charming listened. 'But,' said he, 'it would be
impossible for so beautiful and amiable a girl to be all that you say.
How could that be true of one with such modest grace and beauty? even
though she be dressed in a humble little frock. That is not a thing that
touches me very much. It pains me far more to know that the Queen hurts
her feelings, and you are not a stepmother for nothing; and really,
madam, the Princess Truitonne is so ugly that it would be hard to find
anything uglier amongst God's creatures. The courtiers, too, do not look
at all pleased to hear you speak badly of Florine.'
The Queen spent half of the night questioning him, for she could not
believe that he loved Florine. And the poor Princess Florine was
terrified because the four men with masks had taken her far away.
'I do not doubt that it is for the Queen's advantage that I am taken
away,' said she. And she cried so much that even her enemies were
touched.
The Queen in the meantime gave Prince Charming all the jewels he could
wish for, and lavished her attention on him. The King presented him with
a little book with gold covers and studded with diamonds, and inside it,
he told him, was a photograph of his future wife.
'What!' said Prince Charming, 'the beautiful Princess Florine? Ah! she
thinks of me, and in a most generous manner.'
'Seigneur,' said the King, 'you mistake; we take the part of the amiable
Truitonne. I am cross, seigneur, that you do not accept this great
honour; but, at the same time, a King is merely a King: he is not master
enough to make the engagements that he would like.'
The Prince at last asked for Princess Florine.
'Seigneur,' said the Queen, 'her father desired that she should go away
until my daughter is married.'
'And for what reason,' said the Prince, 'should this beautiful girl be
made a prisoner?'
'I ignore all that,' said the Queen.
So the Prince left the Queen's company because it was not congenial to
him. When he entered his own room, he said to a young Prince who had
accompanied him, and whom he loved very much, that he would give all the
world to be able to speak to one of the women of the beautiful Princess
for a moment. His young friend found one at once whom it would be
possible to question with confidence. She told him that the same evening
Florine would be at a little window that looked out on to the garden and
that he could then speak to her, but that he must take every precaution,
lest the Queen and King should overhear.
The Prince was delighted, and made ready to see the Princess. But the
wicked maid went at once and told the Queen all that had passed. It was
then arranged that Truitonne should take her place; and so, with great
precautions, Truitonne placed herself at the little window.
The night was very dark; so much so that it was impossible for Prince
Charming to suspect the change passed upon him. He expressed himself
exactly the same to Truitonne as he had to Florine and plainly showed
his love for her. Truitonne, profiting by her mother's instructions,
said that she was the most unhappy person in the world to have such a
wicked and cruel stepmother, and that she would have to suffer until her
stepsister was married. The Prince assured her that he would marry her
if she would have him, and that he would give her his heart and his
crown; and he removed a ring from his finger and put it on the finger
of Truitonne, as a token of his faith, and told her that she would only
have to wait an hour, when a carriage would come to take her away.
Truitonne begged of him to go to the Queen and ask her to give her her
liberty, and assured him that, if he would come back to-morrow at the
same hour, she would be ready.
The Queen was very happy at the success of her scheme. The Prince took a
carriage drawn by three great frogs with great big wings, which made the
carriage simply fly. Truitonne came out mysteriously by a little door,
and the Prince, who was awaiting her appearance, at once put his arms
around her and swore eternal faith, but, as he was not in any humour to
take a long journey in the flying carriage without marrying the Princess
whom he loved, he demanded of her where they could go. She told him that
she had a fairy godmother named Soussio, who was a very celebrated
person, and that they would have to go to her castle.
Then the Prince, not knowing the road, begged of the frogs with the
flying wings to put them on the right way; and they did so, for, mind
you, frogs know all the routes of the universe. And so, in no time, they
found themselves at the castle of the fairy Soussio.
Then Truitonne told the godmother that she had trapped Prince Charming
and that she wanted to marry him. The godmother was not so sure that it
could be done, 'for,' said she, 'he loves Princess Florine.' At all
events she went to the room where the Prince was, and said to him:
'Prince Charming, here is the Princess Truitonne to whom you have given
your faith; she is my godchild, and I wish that you marry her at once.'
'Me!' cried he; 'you want me to marry that little monster? You must
think I am very easily pleased when you put forward such a proposition
to me. She knows full well that I have never promised her anything. And
if she says otherwise, she is----'
'Do not deny,' said the Fairy, 'and do not be bold and forget the
respect that you owe me.'
'I respect you,' replied the Prince, 'as much as it is possible to
respect a fairy. Come, now. Will you deliver me my Princess?'
'Is it that you do not know me?' said Truitonne; and she showed him his
ring, adding, 'and to whom did you give this ring at the little window
as a pledge of your faith, if it was not to me? Come, now, do not
pretend that you have forgotten.'
'No! no! I am not going to be duped and deceived,' said the Prince.
'Come! come, my great frogs! I want to depart at once.'
'You cannot depart without my consent, said the Fairy, and she
immediately touched his feet and they became glued to the floor.
'I will not,' said the Prince, 'have any other than my Princess Florine;
on that I am resolved, and all you say and do will not change me one
little bit.'
Soussio became sweet and used every art in her power to induce the
Prince to marry Truitonne. Truitonne cried, raved, and begged; but the
Prince would not say one single word to her; he only looked at her with
indignant eyes and replied not a word to all her overtures.
He passed twenty days and twenty nights like this. At last the Fairy was
so tired of it all that she said to the Prince, 'Very well; you are
obstinate, and will not listen to reason, and will not keep your word
and marry my godchild!'
The Prince, who had not spoken a word, at last replied: 'Do to me what
you will, but deliver me from the dullness of this place!'
'Dullness!' cried Truitonne; 'bother you! You have done me a great
injury in coming here to my country and giving me your word and then
breaking it.'
'Listen to the touching words,' said the Prince in sarcasm. 'See what I
have lost in refusing to take so beautiful a woman for my wife.'
'No! no!' replied Soussio, 'she shall never be that, and for your
insult to her you shall fly through this window, and remain a Blue Bird
for seven years. Do you hear me?--a Blue Bird for seven years.'
Immediately the Prince began to change, and his arms became covered with
feathers, and he became a Blue Bird; his eyes became bright, and on his
head a great white plume arose like a crown--and he flew away through
the window.
In his sad mood he flew from branch to branch, warbling his song of
sorrow and his love for Florine, and deploring the awful wickedness of
their enemies. He thought that he was doomed for seven years, and that
Florine would be married to another.
When Truitonne returned to the Queen and told her all that had happened
she flew into a terrible temper. She resolved to punish the poor Florine
for having engaged the love of Prince Charming. So she dressed the
Princess Truitonne in all her grandeur, and on her finger was the ring
given her by the Prince; and, when Florine saw this, she knew that the
ring belonged to her Prince. The Queen then announced to all that her
daughter was engaged to Prince Charming, and that he loved her to
distraction. Florine did not doubt the truth of it all. When she
realised that she would never marry her Prince Charming, she cried all
the night, and sat at the little window nursing her regrets. And, when
the day arrived for the marriage, she shut the window and continued to
cry.
During this time the Blue Bird, or Prince Charming, did not cease to fly
round the castle. The Princess sat at the window and every night
entreated that she might be delivered. 'O wicked Queen!' she cried, 'to
keep me shut up like this because of Prince Charming!'
The Blue Bird heard this and did not lose a word, but waited to see who
the lady was who had such a sorry plaint. But she shut the window and
retired. The Blue Bird, curious to see and to hear some more, came again
the following night, and again there was a maiden at the window who was
full of regrets.
[Illustration: THE BLUE BIRD
The Prince took a carriage drawn by three great frogs with great big
wings ... Truitonne came out mysteriously by a little door.
_See page 86_]
'Fortune!' said she, 'you have taken from me the love of my father. I
have received a blow at a tender age; and it is so much pain that I am
tired of living. I demand with all my heart that my fatal destiny may
end.'
The Blue Bird listened, and then he knew that it was his Princess, and
he said: 'Florine, a King who loves you will never love any one but
you.'
'A King who loves me!' said she. 'Is this another snare of my enemies?'
'No, my Princess.' And Florine was very much afraid of this bird who
spoke with as much spirit as a man. But the beauty of his plumage
reassured her.
'Would it be possible to see you, my Princess?' said he. 'Could I taste
a happiness so great without dying of joy? But, alas! this great joy
would be troubled by your captivity, and the wicked fairy Soussio has
done this for seven years.'
'And who are you, charming bird?' said the Princess caressingly.
'You have said my name rightly, and yet you fail to recognise me,'
replied the Prince.
'What! The greatest King in the world! The Prince Charming!' cried the
Princess. 'Is he the little bird I see?'
'Alas! dear Florine, it is too true! And, if one thing consoles me, it
is that I prefer this sorrow rather than renounce the love I have for
you.'
'For me!'
And so this went on. The Blue Bird paid visits to Florine every night,
and they were as happy as it was possible to be. One evening Prince
Charming flew away to his palace, and brought back lovely diamond
bracelets, beautiful pearl necklaces and a sweet little pearl watch, and
gave them all to Florine.
The Queen could not understand how it was that Florine had such lovely
jewels and why she looked so happy, so she questioned her about it.
Florine, who knew that if she said the Blue Bird had given them to her,
they would not believe her, and would try to drive him away, said she
did not know. The Queen said the Evil One must have bought her soul, and
decided to watch.
She did so, and discovered that the Blue Bird came every night. Then
Truitonne and her mother sought the help of the wicked fairy Soussio;
and she, to please her godchild, worked another spell on the poor Blue
Bird, so that he could not come any more to see his Florine.
One day his friend the Good Fairy was passing by a certain spot where he
was a prisoner in a tree, and she saw a trail of blood and heard a very
weak voice calling her, but nowhere could she find the Blue Bird. But
she knew it was his blood. Then, after a long time, she found him in his
tiny nest, dying.
This was the Good Fairy who had given him the flying-frog carriage, so
again she resolved to help him if she could. Away she went to the fairy
Soussio and asked her to release the spell on Prince Charming. Soussio
agreed to do so if he would marry Truitonne. Then the Good Fairy
conducted Prince Charming back to his castle, where, on his arrival, the
ugly Truitonne was awaiting his return, dressed in lovely clothes, and
more ugly than ever.
Now the old King died, and the people, who hated the Queen and her ugly
daughter, said that they would have no other Queen but Florine, and they
went to her in her little room and begged her for their sake to be their
Queen. But she said she had not the heart for anything because she had
lost her lover, Prince Charming. They asked her again to become their
Queen and then to go out and look for him, and they were sure she would
find him.
So she became their Queen, and then dressed herself as a poor peasant,
and went out into strange lands and travelled in many strange places,
thinking to find her beloved Prince. But it was all of no avail. One day
she stopped, out of sheer fatigue, to rest by a fountain, and, while she
was there, the Good Fairy, disguised, came by and asked her what she was
crying for. Florine told her all about the Prince whom she loved and was
seeking. Then the Good Fairy told her that Prince Charming was at his
own castle and that the spell had been removed, and she gave Florine
four little eggs, and said that whenever she was in trouble she was to
throw one of them down, and at the same time ask what she wanted, and it
would be granted. With these words she disappeared.
Florine turned her face towards the castle of the Prince, and, after
many trials and sufferings, she found herself at the feet of her ugly
sister Truitonne. Florine, disguised as a poor peasant, was not
recognised, so she offered her lovely jewels for sale, and Truitonne,
who loved jewellery, resolved to buy them. But Florine would not sell
for money: all she asked was to spend a night in the castle. Truitonne
was only too glad to get them at such a price, and agreed.
Feeling that the poor peasant girl was giving her something for nothing,
and imagining that she did not really know the value of the jewels,
Truitonne allowed her sister every liberty in the palace. She could go
where she would, unquestioned, and do what she pleased.
Florine took every advantage of this, and, mixing freely among the
attendants, she soon learned many things about Prince Charming. Among
other pieces of news was this important item: the Prince, being unable
to sleep, was in the habit of taking a sleeping-draught every night.
On hearing this she sought the Prince's head valet, and made herself so
charming to him that he lost his head altogether, and was more than
willing to fulfil her lightest wish.
'Tell me,' said she at last, 'why does the Prince take
sleeping-draughts?'
'Ah!' replied he, looking very wise, 'it is because the Princess is so
ugly.'
'Because she is so ugly? I--I don't understand.'
'What! From the very first the Prince's waking hours have been one long,
frightful dream; and he can only banish it by night by taking the
sleeping-draught. The Prince is deeply in love with the Princess's
sister, but no one but myself knows that. Every night, when he sinks to
sleep under the draught, he smiles, and his face looks so very happy,
and he whispers one name again and again: "Florine! Florine!"'
The peasant girl's heart beat hard, and a plan shot like lightning
through her mind. She would tell this man everything and he would help
her. She knew he would, and she knew also that he would not be blind to
his own advantage. Her mind was quickly made up. The four little eggs
the Good Fairy had given her were packed in a little box. Taking this
from the folds of her dress she took one of them and threw it on the
floor.
'I _am_ Florine!' she said. 'And I want your willing help.'
The head valet stared at her in dismay. Then his face changed. He bowed
to her with the utmost respect, and said: 'Princess, I am your faithful
slave; command me and I will obey.'
'First, then,' said Florine, 'do not give the Prince the draught
to-night; and find me an apartment next to his.'
'It shall be done,' replied the valet, and with a low bow he withdrew to
make the arrangement.
'Stay!' cried Florine as he was going. 'I forbid you to tell the Prince
a word of this. You understand?'
'And obey,' he replied, bowing again and again as he left her presence,
walking backwards in respect to high royalty.
That night the Prince, impatient to forget the face of Truitonne, called
for his sleeping-draught. The head valet appeared, bearing a flavoured
mixture in a crystal goblet on a golden tray. The Prince drank it. By
its taste it was the draught, but, by its effect, it was not. No sleep
came to him, and the face of Truitonne grew uglier and uglier in his
mind. Presently he started up.
'What sound was that?'
It came from the next apartment--the sound of a woman weeping. He
listened, and in the stillness of the palace the sound came clearly. He
knew that voice: it was the voice of his dear Princess Florine, just as
he used to hear it when, as a Blue Bird, he spoke with her at her
window.
In a moment he arose and dressed himself in his royal robes. While he
was doing this, Florine in the next room took another egg from the box,
and, throwing it upon the floor, cried: 'I wish that, by storm and
lightning, all that is evil and ugly in this palace shall be destroyed,
and all that is good and beautiful left.'
As she spoke the rising wind wailed about the palace and died away; dull
thunder reverberated in the distance. The air grew stifling, and the
night flowers paid their perfumes out like threatened debtors. Another
rush of wind, then silence broken only by a peal of thunder nearer than
before. The splash of heavy drops was heard on the flagstones of the
courtyard below. The lightning was seen to flash through the windows,
and the thunder shook the castle to its foundations.
Nearer and nearer loomed the storm, growing more terrific every moment.
Every one was up and running about in panic. Those with ugly souls and
bodies, if their consciences were also wicked, went mad in the panic,
and fled in a body from the palace, thinking the end of the world had
come. But those whose consciences were clear, whose hearts were
true--those who could never be called ugly, no matter what they looked
like--they sought the Prince and gathered round him, while the palace
shuddered as all the storm gods poured out their wrath.
As the panic-stricken ones fled towards the hills, Florine looked out at
the window and saw them, a rushing group with terror in their heels.
There came a vivid flash of lightning, and the thunder split and rolled
and crashed. When Florine looked again she saw no fugitives: they had
disappeared for ever. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm
abated. The thunder rolled away into the distance, and the moon came out
and rode from cloud to cloud triumphant.
There was a knock upon the door. It was the Prince, and behind him were
gathered his own, the good and true, according to her wish. How could
she meet him in her peasant's garb? A quick thought came to her. She
took the third egg and smashed it on the floor, saying: 'I wish that I
may come face to face with my Prince in all the dazzling splendour that
befits a princess.'
Instantly there was a flash as if a fairy wand had cleft the air. And
there stood Florine, the most splendidly royal figure you could imagine.
She was beautiful beyond words--so beautiful that the wonderful jewels
in her hair and on her lovely dress, on her neck and arms and tiny
shoes, could never have got their beauty from any one but her.
She opened the door, and stepped back with a cry of delight. As she did
so, she placed her hand to her breast where she felt the frail little
box that contained the fourth and last egg.
In another moment she was in the Prince's arms, and the pressure of that
embrace crushed the box and broke the egg.
'I wish,' she cried on the instant, raising her lips to his, 'I wish
that you will love me for ever!'
BASHTCHELIK (OR, REAL STEEL)
A SERBIAN FAIRY TALE
The aged Tsar was dying, and his three sons and three daughters were
standing round his bed. He had yet strength to give his last commands,
which were extraordinary.
'It is my will, O my sons,' he said, 'that you give my daughters in
marriage to the first suitors that come to demand them. Question me not,
but fulfil to the letter this, my last injunction. If you fail, my curse
will fall upon you.'
These were the Tsar's last words before he died. It was approaching the
hour of midnight when he passed away; and, when the dawn found his sons
and daughters weeping for grief, they were startled by a dreadful noise.
Came a loud beating against the palace gates, and instantly an awful
tempest sprang up around the palace. Peal on peal of thunder roared, and
vivid lightning flashed. The whole place rocked and swayed and trembled
to its foundations. Then above the fearful din came a loud voice: 'In
the name of a King, open the gates!'
'Do not open!' cried the eldest brother.
'See to it that you do not open!' insisted the younger one. But the
youngest disregarded them both, and rushed to the gates.
''Tis I will open!' he flung back to them as they followed at his heels.
'Though the earth dissolve, what have we to fear? We have done no
wrong!'
With this he flung the gates wide. There was no one there, but a
sizzling light moved in towards them, and, out of the heart of it came a
clear, cold voice:
'I have come to demand the hand of your eldest sister in marriage.
Forbid me not. I await your consent, but, if you refuse, it will be at
your peril.'
The eldest brother answered at once, without a glance at the other two:
'It is unheard of! I cannot see you; I do not know you; who is to know
where or how you will bestow my sister? I might never see her again.' He
turned to the younger one and added, 'What say you, brother?'
'For my part, I will not consent,' replied he readily. 'I like not these
signs of ill omen.'
Then they both turned to the youngest.
'What say you, little brother?'
He was quick to answer:
'I obey my father, and counsel you to do the same. It is not that I fear
his curse, but I love him, and will obey his wish.'
Without waiting for any reply he ran within, and soon returned, leading
his eldest sister by the hand.
'Here,' said he, offering her to the unseen visitant, 'in accordance
with the custom of my country and the dying wish of my father, I give
you my sister for your wedded wife. May she be faithful to you.'
The Princess was then taken by an invisible hand and led away; and, as
she stepped across the threshold of the palace gates, a tremendous clap
of thunder burst overhead; the lightning flashed again, and the whole
earth rocked at the sound and sight of it; and, at terror of it, the
courtiers who had gathered round fell on their faces and prayed for
deliverance with all their might.
When the sun rose, the palace was still astir. None had slept, so none
had dreamed; therefore, when eyes met eyes, the truth was known: a
terrible thing had happened, but none knew how it had happened. All
sought to find some clue to explain the disappearance of the eldest
Princess, but there was no clue to the midnight mystery of the thing.
And on the second night the same terrible thing occurred again. The
palace was stormed by thunder and lightning till its foundations
quaked. Then, above all, came another commanding voice: 'Open the gates
immediately--in the name of a King!'
Again the elder brother demurred, and again the youngest admitted the
invisible but powerful applicant, and bestowed upon him the second
sister.
'I trust she will be loyal and faithful to you,' he said; and, as she
stepped over the threshold, the elements roared like a great lion
glutting on his prey. And still, to the courtiers who stood by, the
mystery of the thing was greater than their fear of the quakings of the
earth and the sudden gasps of icy air that smote them.
Again, on the third night, while the youngest sister, who was very
proud, was preparing to reject a suitor promised by her brothers, a
greater storm than ever swept up about the palace, and, to hear it, one
would have thought that half the world were rolling down a hill. It was
terrific, and still more terrific was a voice that cried: 'Open these
gates, in the name of a King who comes on his own business!'
As before, the two elder brothers demurred, but the youngest was more
obedient to his father's dying wish. He bestowed the youngest sister
upon the first to seek her hand. And, as she stepped over the threshold,
the whole palace trembled and fluttered as if disturbed by the wings of
a thousand giant eagles.
The two elder brothers mourned and grieved for their sisters, saying
they were lost for ever. How could they see them again? How could they
visit them? They were gone--swallowed up in the invisible.
'It is not so,' said the youngest. 'We have fulfilled our father's
command. We have done no wrong; though the skies fall down, what have we
to fear? Follow me forth: we will go and search for them!'
And so, not knowing what had befallen their sisters, nor whom they had
married, they set out to search far and wide for them.
After journeying for some days, they reached a wild, inhospitable
country, where, in a mighty forest so dense they could see neither the
sun by day nor the stars by night, they lost their way. But still they
pushed on, hoping to find an outlet. At last, after wandering for days,
they came at sunset to a small lake, where they prepared to pass the
night.
The eldest watched while the two younger brothers slept.
In the middle of the night, while his brothers slept soundly, he was
gazing upon the waters of the lake, watching the moonbeams play with the
ripples stirred by the soft night wind, when he saw a great black head
appear on the surface and rapidly approach the shore where he was
standing. Presently, as the monster emerged from the water, he found
himself face to face with a great alligator rushing upon him to devour
him.
Like lightning he drew his sword and smote the alligator between the
eyes, cleaving its head in one mighty stroke. Then, when it had ceased
its death struggles, he cut off both its ears and placed them in his
haversack.
As his brothers still slept he resolved to say nothing about the matter,
and, to this end, he rolled the carcase of the alligator down the
shelving shore into the water, where it sank like lead. At sunrise he
roused his brothers, and, with few words, they resumed their wandering.
After three days struggling through the forest, they came to another
lake, where they camped for the night. This time the second brother
watched, while the eldest and the youngest slept.
And he, too, had a strange adventure, but more terrible than that the
eldest brother had encountered. At midnight the waters of the lake began
to move, and a great alligator with two heads emerged and came up on the
shore. Then, with both mouths wide open and his long sharp teeth
gleaming in the moonlight, the monster rushed at the watcher and the
sleepers. But the watcher sprang forward, sword in hand, and dealt two
terrific blows, one on each head, killing the alligator instantly. Then
he cut off the four ears and placed them in his haversack, and rolled
the huge carcase back into the lake. As the eldest brother had done, he
kept the matter to himself, and let his brothers sleep on.
In the morning he aroused them, and they all set out again on their
wandering.
During that day they came to the edge of the forest, but only to find a
vast desert before them. Their hearts sank within them, but, nothing
daunted, they set forth, saying one to the other, 'There is no desert
that has no boundaries. We shall come to the other side.'
But for three whole days they journeyed on, and all was still desert as
far as the eye could see; and their food and water were exhausted, and
they were sore distressed. Then, as they saw that the desert had no end,
they cried to God to deliver them. And it seemed that the haze of the
desert lifted, and they saw before them a lake, calm and peaceful. On
its shore they would spend the night.
Having refreshed themselves from its waters, and eaten of some luscious
fruits that grew upon its margin, they made their camp; and this time
the youngest brother watched while the other two slept.
And he, also, had an adventure, but far more terrible than either of his
brothers had encountered. As they were sleeping soundly, and he was
looking at the still surface of the lake, something heaved up out of the
depths and swam rapidly towards him. When it came up out of the water he
saw that it was a monstrous alligator, with three heads. As it advanced
upon him, with all three mouths wide open, ready to devour him and his
sleeping brothers, he sprang to meet it, and, with three mighty strokes
like flashes of lightning, severed the three heads from the body. Then
he cut off the six ears and placed them in his haversack. As the other
two brothers had done, he, also, kept the matter to himself.
It was not yet dawn, and the fire was burning low. In order to replenish
it the young Prince went into the surrounding desert to look for fuel.
After searching for some time in vain, he mounted a rock and looked
around; and there, not very far away, he saw the gleam of a fire. He ran
towards it, knowing he should find some fuel. But, when he arrived at
the place where the fire was burning, he found the glare of it came from
within a large cave. Creeping forward cautiously, he peered in, and saw
a strange sight. The fire was blazing in the middle of the floor, and
round it sat nine giants, eating the flesh of human beings, whose limbs
they drew from a huge cauldron over the fire.
Horrifying was this sight to the Prince. He made up his mind to trick
the giants. He advanced boldly into the cave and gave them greeting.
'Good-morrow, my friends,' he cried jauntily; 'I've been searching for
you everywhere.'
'Good-morrow, friend!' replied the biggest of the giants. 'And, if
you're indeed one of us, you will, of course, join us in our feast, and
then help us in our search for more.'
'With every pleasure!' cried the Prince; 'indeed, I need hardly thank
you for the kind invitation, since I am at all times ready to assist you
in your hunting expeditions. I have a rare tooth for the flesh of
mortals, and the bigger they are the better I like them.'
The giants looked at one another and grunted approvingly. Then said the
chief: 'Since you are with us, what is your name?'
'I am Nine Man Mord,' replied the Prince, taking the name of that hero
of a far land who had slain nine men in so many strokes of his sword. 'I
have journeyed from the North and have come to dwell among you, and be
one of you.'
They were all astonished, for they had heard wonderful stories of Nine
Man Mord; and they seemed to forget that they themselves were nine.
'Come, Nine Man Mord!' they cried; 'come, sit and eat with us.'
Readily the Prince took his place among them; but, though it seemed to
them that he ate of the human flesh, he did not really do so. While
pretending to eat, he told them such tales of his adventures in the far
country that none of them noticed he was not eating, but disposing of
the flesh cunningly, sometimes by throwing it behind him, and again by
offering a tit-bit to one or another in token of friendship.
When the feast was over, the giants rose and stretched themselves.
'Now,' said the biggest one, 'we'll go a-hunting. There's always
to-morrow's feast to be thought of. We go, O Nine Man Mord, to the
Tsar's city. There is still good flesh to be got there, though we have
been feeding on it for many, many years. And, I may tell you, as the
prey is not so plentiful as it used to be, it affords all the better
sport in the taking.'
'I'm with you,' replied the Prince, 'and, maybe, I can show you a trick
or two.'
So they set out and journeyed together--the nine giants and the
Prince--till they came to the outskirts of a large and beautiful city.
Here, in the surrounding forest, the giants plucked up two great trees
by the roots, and took them to the city walls, where they placed one
tree as a ladder.
Then the chief giant said to the Prince: 'O Nine Man Mord, climb by this
to the top of the wall, and then we will pass the other tree up to you
so that you can fix it as a ladder on the other side for all of us to
descend by.'
The Prince climbed the tree-ladder; and, when he had reached the top of
the wall they pushed the other tree up to him.
'Now,' he called down, 'I don't quite know how you want it placed. Will
one of you come up and show me?'
In answer to this the chief himself climbed up and swung the tree over
roots first, while he held and steadied it by its topmost branches. At
this moment the Prince, unseen by the others, drew his sword, and, with
one stroke, hewed off the giant's head. It fell within the city walls,
and, in another second, the headless body went tumbling after it.
'Now,' he cried down to the others, 'it's all fixed, and your chief has
gone down. Come up one by one, and I will hold the tree for you, and
steady it, so that you can reach the ground quickly.'
And they came up one by one; and, one by one, off went their heads; and
they, and their bodies after them, reached the ground very quickly. Then
he climbed down the tree, and over the piled carcases of the nine
giants, and made his way into the city.
It was true what the giants had said; for, although the sun had not yet
risen, signs were not wanting that the city, if not deserted, was very
thinly inhabited. The streets were neglected; the houses for the most
part were falling to decay; and though, no doubt, those who remained--if
any--feared a visit from the man-eating giants, still no watch was set,
and the Prince, as he made his way through the streets, saw no one.
At last, as he went on, he espied a high tower, and, at one of its
windows, there was a light. He made his way to this tower, and quickly
ran up the stairs leading to the room that contained the light. At last,
seeing its rays through the crack of the door, he turned the handle and
entered.
A strange sight met his gaze as he stood a moment on the threshold. It
was a splendid apartment of velvet and gold, magnificently decorated;
but what immediately riveted his eyes was the figure of a beautiful
princess sleeping upon a richly furnished couch. She was lovely to look
upon; and, as he advanced into the room, he could see nothing but her.
Presently, however, a hiss greeted his ears; and, looking up, he was
startled to see a huge snake lying on the ledge above the couch, with
its arched neck bent down ready to strike the sleeping girl.
With a loud cry the Prince tried to attract its attention; then, as it
raised its head, he snatched his dagger from his belt, and, with one
blow, pinned its head to the wall.
'Hold wood! Hold dagger!' he cried, releasing the hilt. 'None can draw
that blade from the wall but him who planted it there!'
Then, without waking the beautiful maiden, he stole from the room and
went back over the city wall, and beyond, till he came again to the
giants' cave, where he quickly gathered some fuel and hurried back to
his brothers, whom he found still sleeping. When he had set the fire in
a blaze, he watched till the hour of sunrise, and then woke them with a
loud cry:
'Arouse ye, my brothers; the day is here!'
But he told them nothing of his adventures of the night.
When they set out they came very soon to a high-road that led to the
gates of the Tsar's city. Now it was the daily practice of the Tsar to
walk in the ways of the city for an hour after sunrise, and bewail the
death of those of his people who had perished by the hands of the
giants, and also to pray fervently that his own daughter would never so
perish. So it was that on this same morning he came, by his wanderings
through empty streets, to the part of the wall where the tall
tree-ladder was standing; and, as he drew near, he saw with amazement
the great bodies of the giants lying on the ground, each with his head
severed from his body.
When the Tsar saw this he raised his hands to high heaven and cried,
'This is a great day, for the giants are all slain!' And the people, who
still remained to him, hearing his cry of joy, came running, and
gathered about him, praying that God would preserve the mighty one who
had done this astonishing deed. They were still praising the unknown
hero, when some attendants came running swiftly from the palace, to tell
the Tsar that a great snake had almost succeeded in killing the
Princess.
At this he hastened back and made his way to the room in the tower where
the Princess was lying asleep; and there he found the snake pinned to
the wall by a dagger. At once he took the hilt in his hand and tried to
drag it from the wall, but, to his great wonder, it resisted all his
efforts.
On this, seeing the great strength of the hero who had planted the
dagger there, and knowing that none but he could have the strength to
remove it, he ordered a proclamation to be issued throughout the whole
kingdom: that, if the man who had killed the nine giants and pinned the
head of the snake to the wall with his dagger, would come and draw his
dagger forth again, he would be rewarded with splendid gifts and receive
the Princess in marriage.
Far and wide went this proclamation, but the Tsar, to make doubly sure,
posted a thousand officials at as many inns on the great high-roads that
connected the city with the outlying parts of the kingdom. And these
officials' duty was to question travellers, and learn whether they had
met, or heard of, any such hero as he who had killed the giants and
transfixed the snake. Rewards were offered to any who could supply
information, and punishments were held out to those who concealed it.
Now it so happened that the three Princes, in their search for their
sisters, chanced to rest at an inn on one of the high-roads; and, when
they had finished supper, they fell into conversation with an
interesting stranger--a courtly man of cities, with manners that are
only learnt in kings' palaces. He begged to be allowed to call for
wine,--which in those days was no offence,--and, as they drank their
toasts, he fell to narrating his wonderful exploits in a far-off
kingdom--so far-off, indeed, that imagination alone could reach it, and
no other traveller could ever return to tell a different tale.
After describing some heroic combats the stranger at last remarked, 'And
what may be the doughty deeds that you young heroes have set to your
credit?'
At this the eldest brother told how he had slain the alligator; and, to
vouch for the truth of his story, showed the two ears he had preserved,
placing them before the stranger.
When the unknown had applauded his story the younger brother told how he
had slain the alligator with _two_ heads, and threw down on the table
the four ears as evidence.
The stranger applauded more loudly than before, and then turned to the
youngest brother; but he remained silent.
'Come,' said the stranger, coaxing him; 'your brothers have performed
great exploits: have you not followed their example?'
Then the young Prince replied: 'I am only young; but, now I think of it,
I _did_ kill an alligator once, myself. It was a rather ferocious beast
in its way, and had _three_ heads; but I managed to--well, here are its
ears.' And he threw the six ears on the table.
At this his two brothers were as much astonished as the stranger; for,
though he was the youngest, he had done the bravest deed. The
official--for such was the stranger--then begged the young Prince to
tell of his other exploits. So the hero told how he had slain the
giants. This was enough for the official: he sprang up and hastened away
to the palace, where he informed the Tsar that he had found the mighty
hero for whom every one was searching.
[Illustration: THE STORY OF BASHTCHELIK
The Prince, looking out, saw him snatch up the Princess ... and soar
rapidly away.
_See page 108_]
The Tsar was delighted; and having rewarded the official, sent for the
Princes in all haste. When they arrived, he bade them tell all they had
been through, and listened to their adventures with all attention. And,
when they had finished, he turned to the youngest brother and said:
'Your exploits, young sir, are the most extraordinary of all I have
heard. But all of you follow me to the tower; I would make
certain--_quite_ certain!'
Beckoning the three brothers to follow him, he led the way; and,
finally, they reached the room where the youngest had pinned the snake's
head to the wall.
The couch was empty, but the snake and the dagger were still there, just
as the young Prince had left them.
Then said the Tsar, addressing the eldest: 'Draw forth the dagger!'
The eldest brother seized the hilt, and put forth all his strength; but
the dagger did not move.
Then said the Tsar: 'It is so. Let your younger brother try.'
His words were obeyed; but the dagger was immovable.
Then said the Tsar: 'It is so. Let the youngest try.'
His words were obeyed. The youngest Prince took the hilt, and, with a
mighty wrench, tore it from the wall; then, as he restored it to its
sheath at his side, the snake fell at his feet.
'It is so!' said the Tsar. 'It was your hand saved my daughter's life. I
will give her to you in marriage, and you shall be my Prime Minister.'
Then, to the two elder Princes, he said: 'If you would prefer to remain
with your brother in my country I will bestow two ladies of the land
upon you for wives, and give you suitable castles to live in.'
But, though the youngest accepted the Tsar's offer with a proud
pleasure, the other two excused themselves with thanks, saying that it
was only right for their brother to remain, but, for themselves, their
duty was to carry out the quest for their lost sisters.
The Tsar honoured their refusal, and, having given orders that they
should be escorted from the city with every mark of royal favour, bade
them farewell; and they departed the richer by two asses laden with
gifts of gold and silver and precious stones. Shortly afterwards, the
youngest Prince and the Princess were married; and the whole city
rejoiced for three days with great celebrations.
But the Prince, much as he loved his wife, soon began to blame himself
for accepting this great happiness so easily when the quest of his lost
sisters was his first duty. On this account he began to pine, and the
Princess could not comfort him.
One day, when his grief threatened to sink him in remorse, the Tsar came
to him with a bunch of nine keys in his hand, and said: 'My son; I am
going forth to the hunt; but you remain, and, with these keys, you may
open some delights while I am absent.'
Then he took him and showed him the doors of nine rooms of the palace,
assuring him he would find great joy in the first four, a more hidden
joy in the next three, and, in the eighth, a summing up of all the joys
in the four and the three; but--the ninth he must not enter; for, what
was there, no man could endure.
When the Tsar had gone to the hunt, the young Prince opened the doors
one by one, and he was truly amazed at what was revealed to him. The
first four led him to all the delights of earth; the next three to all
the delights of heaven; and the eighth to the Great Joy of Earth and
Heaven in one.
And now he stood at the door of the ninth.
'What is here?' said he. 'What is here that is denied me? I have slain
the three-headed alligator; I have hewed off the heads of nine giants; I
have vanquished the serpent that encircles the world, and rescued the
Princess from his lowering fangs. Surely the Tsar is testing me! Come
what may, I will enter at this door; for he who does not go on, slides
back.'
With this he selected the key; and, inserting it in the lock, opened the
ninth door, and entered. What an unexpected sight was there! The joys of
the four, the three, and the eighth--were they at last bound up in
this?--this man with the strength of the under-world in his limbs, the
strength of the mid-world in his set face, and the strength of the skies
in his calm gaze beneath tortured brows?
There, before him, was a man, bound, it seemed, by all the bonds of the
universe. His legs were encircled with bands of iron, which, at their
fastenings into the floor, were rusted. His hips and loins were bound
with lead. A copper girdle held his breast. A silver band enthralled his
tongue and hands, and what seemed like a spider's web of thin,
light-blue wire encircled his body and gathered itself in a circlet of
the same woven material upon his brows. Truly, if ever a man was fast
bound, this man was; for, in addition to all these things, there was a
ring of gold round his neck, and from it extended thick cables of
platinum, which were firmly riveted into four strong beams, one in each
corner of the room. Around him, on the eight sides of the room, were
open windows revealing all the joys of the eight chambers; but the man
was bound in the centre.
And, as the Prince looked upon him, the captive gasped, 'O young man,
for the love of God, bring me a cup of water from yonder fountain; and
I, in return, will give thee another life.'
The Prince at once drew him the draught from the nearest fountain,
thinking the while that it would be good to have a life to spare. Then,
when the chained captive had drunk the water eagerly, the two looked at
one another.
'What is your name?' asked the Prince.
'My name is Bashtchelik, which, as you know, means "real steel."'
'Farewell, then, Bashtchelik; I hear the hoof-beats of the Tsar's horses
in the distance.' And he turned towards the door.
'Nay, leave me not!' cried Bashtchelik, and then he implored him: 'Give
me a second cup of water, and I will give you a second life.'
The Prince drew him another cup of water and handed it to him with a
good heart, thinking, as it was returned to him empty, that a second
life was well worth having. Then, hearing the approach of the Tsar more
distinctly, he bade farewell a second time and turned away; but the
captive again besought him.
'O mighty one!' he cried; 'do not leave me. I know thee, I know thy
name; I know thy noble deeds. Twice hast thou given me to drink; I pray
thee, do it yet a third time and I will give thee a third life.'
Hastily the Prince filled the cup and gave him to drink, for the Tsar
and his company were now at the gates, and he knew not how to face him.
But, before he could gain the door, he heard a crash behind him; and,
looking back, he saw that the captive had broken his bonds and stood
free. Then, before one could say it had happened, he had loosed a great
pair of wings from his sides, and rushed through the doorway. The
Prince, looking out, saw him snatch up the Princess, his wife, from the
terrace of the Palace, and soar rapidly away.
Ere the beating of wings was lost in the distance, the Tsar came in and
demanded to know why the ninth room was open and the captive gone. The
Prince then explained everything, and begged the Tsar not to be angry.
'He broke his bonds,' he said, 'and has gone, taking my wife--the
daughter that you gave me--away with him. But give me leave, and I will
find her and kill Bashtchelik.'
'Alas!' replied the Tsar, 'you have done a rash thing. You know not this
man. I lost the best part of a whole army in capturing him. What can you
do, my son?'
'I will go forth and seek him,' replied the Prince without wavering. 'If
he is stronger than I, then you will see neither me nor my wife again;
but, if I prevail, we will return to you.'
* * * * *
So the Prince set forth on his quest; and after three days' journey, he
came to a beautiful city. And, as he rode beneath the walls of a
castle, he heard a voice from a window high in the tower, calling to
him. He drew rein and dismounted; then, as he advanced into the
courtyard, a girl came running towards him.
'O my brother!' she cried; 'you have come at last!'
It was his eldest sister whom he had found so easily. They embraced and
kissed, and then she led him into the castle.
'And your husband?' he asked as they stepped aside into a dimly-lighted
antechamber; 'who and what is he?'
'He is the Dragon King,' she replied in a whisper; 'and he is no friend
of my brothers. Yet I will hide you, and then ask him what he would do
if you sought me out.'
That evening, when the Dragon King came home on whirring wings, there
was no sign of either the Prince or his charger. Yet he raised his
nostrils in the air and sniffed.
'I smell a human being,' he said. 'Confess, woman; who is it?'
'No one,' replied she. But he was certain about the matter, saying that
his senses had never yet deceived him, though a woman might.
'That is nought,' said she. 'But, tell me; if my brothers came to look
for me, how would you take it?'
'If your eldest brother came here,' replied the Dragon King, 'I would
eat him raw. Your second brother I would stew gently over a slow fire,
or, if he were nice and fat, I should roast him to a turn; but your
youngest brother--him I would spare.'
Then said she, 'O King, my youngest brother, who is your brother-in-law,
is here in your castle. I will summon him.'
It was a great meeting between the young Prince and the Dragon King. One
would have thought that th
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