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The Brown Fairy Book

by Andrew Lang · English · Gutenberg #3282 · 528,462 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Brown Fairy Book

Author: Andrew Lang


        
Release date: June 1, 2002 [eBook #3282]
                Most recently updated: March 14, 2023

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3282

Credits: J.C. Byers, L.M. Shaffer and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK ***




THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK

Edited by Andrew Lang




Dedicated
to
Diana Scott Lang




Preface


The stories in this Fairy Book come from all quarters of the world. For
example, the adventures of “Ball-Carrier and the Bad One” are told by
Red Indian grandmothers to Red Indian children who never go to school,
nor see pen and ink. “The Bunyip” is known to even more uneducated
little ones, running about with no clothes at all in the bush, in
Australia. You may see photographs of these merry little black fellows
before their troubles begin, in “Northern Races of Central Australia,”
by Messrs. Spencer and Gillen. They have no lessons except in tracking
and catching birds, beasts, fishes, lizards, and snakes, all of which
they eat. But when they grow up to be big boys and girls, they are
cruelly cut about with stone knives and frightened with sham bogies all
for their good their parents say and I think they would rather go to
school, if they had their choice, and take their chance of being
birched and bullied. However, many boys might think it better fun to
begin to learn hunting as soon as they can walk. Other stories, like
“The Sacred Milk of Koumongoé,” come from the Kaffirs in Africa, whose
dear papas are not so poor as those in Australia, but have plenty of
cattle and milk, and good mealies to eat, and live in houses like very
big bee-hives, and wear clothes of a sort, though not very like our
own. “Pivi and Kabo” is a tale from the brown people in the island of
New Caledonia, where a boy is never allowed to speak to or even look at
his own sisters; nobody knows why, so curious are the manners of this
remote island. The story shows the advantages of good manners and
pleasant behaviour; and the natives do not now cook and eat each other,
but live on fish, vegetables, pork, and chickens, and dwell in houses.
“What the Rose did to the Cypress,” is a story from Persia, where the
people, of course, are civilised, and much like those of whom you read
in “The Arabian Nights.” Then there are tales like “The Fox and the
Lapp” from the very north of Europe, where it is dark for half the year
and day-light for the other half. The Lapps are a people not fond of
soap and water, and very much given to art magic. Then there are tales
from India, told to Major Campbell, who wrote them out, by Hindoos;
these stories are “Wali Dâd the Simple-hearted,” and “The King who
would be Stronger than Fate,” but was not so clever as his daughter.
From Brazil, in South America, comes “The Tortoise and the Mischievous
Monkey,” with the adventures of other animals. Other tales are told in
various parts of Europe, and in many languages; but all people, black,
white, brown, red, and yellow, are like each other when they tell
stories; for these are meant for children, who like the same sort of
thing, whether they go to school and wear clothes, or, on the other
hand, wear skins of beasts, or even nothing at all, and live on grubs
and lizards and hawks and crows and serpents, like the little
Australian blacks.

The tale of “What the Rose did to the Cypress,” is translated out of a
Persian manuscript by Mrs. Beveridge. “Pivi and Kabo” is translated by
the Editor from a French version; “Asmund and Signy” by Miss Blackley;
the Indian stories by Major Campbell, and all the rest are told by Mrs.
Lang, who does not give them exactly as they are told by all sorts of
outlandish natives, but makes them up in the hope white people will
like them, skipping the pieces which they will not like. That is how
this Fairy Book was made up for your entertainment.




CONTENTS

 Preface
 What the Rose did to the Cypress
 Footnotes
 Ball-carrier and the Bad One
 How Ball-carrier Finished His Task
 The Bunyip
 Father Grumbler
 The Story of the Yara
 The Cunning Hare
 The Turtle and His Bride
 How Geirald The Coward Was Punished
 Hábogi
 How the Little Brother Set Free His Big Brothers
 The Sacred Milk of Koumongoé
 The Wicked Wolverine
 The Husband of the Rat’s Daughter
 The Mermaid and the Boy
 Pivi and Kabo
 The Elf Maiden
 How Some Wild Animals Became Tame Ones
 Fortune and the Wood-Cutter
 The Enchanted Head
 The Sister of the Sun
 The Prince and the Three Fates
 The Fox and the Lapp
 Kisa the Cat
 The Lion and the Cat
 Which was the Foolishest?
 Asmund and Signy
 Rübezahl
 Story Of The King Who Would Be Stronger Than Fate
 Story of Wali Dâd the Simple-Hearted
 Tale of a Tortoise and of a Mischievous Monkey
 The Knights of the Fish




The Brown Fairy Book




What the Rose did to the Cypress[1]


Once upon a time a great king of the East, named Saman-lalposh,[2] had
three brave and clever sons—Tahmasp, Qamas, and Almas-ruh-baksh.[3] One
day, when the king was sitting in his hall of audience, his eldest son,
Prince Tahmasp, came before him, and after greeting his father with due
respect, said: “O my royal father! I am tired of the town; if you will
give me leave, I will take my servants to-morrow and will go into the
country and hunt on the hill-skirts; and when I have taken some game I
will come back, at evening-prayer time.” His father consented, and sent
with him some of his own trusted servants, and also hawks, and falcons,
hunting dogs, cheetahs and leopards.

At the place where the prince intended to hunt he saw a most beautiful
deer. He ordered that it should not be killed, but trapped or captured
with a noose. The deer looked about for a place where he might escape
from the ring of the beaters, and spied one unwatched close to the
prince himself. It bounded high and leaped right over his head, got out
of the ring, and tore like the eastern wind into the waste. The prince
put spurs to his horse and pursued it; and was soon lost to the sight
of his followers. Until the world-lighting sun stood above his head in
the zenith he did not take his eyes off the deer; suddenly it
disappeared behind some rising ground, and with all his search he could
not find any further trace of it. He was now drenched in sweat, and he
breathed with pain; and his horse’s tongue hung from its mouth with
thirst. He dismounted and toiled on, with bridle on arm, praying and
casting himself on the mercy of heaven. Then his horse fell and
surrendered its life to God. On and on he went across the sandy waste,
weeping and with burning breast, till at length a hill rose into sight.
He mustered his strength and climbed to the top, and there he found a
giant tree whose foot kept firm the wrinkled earth, and whose crest
touched the very heaven. Its branches had put forth a glory of leaves,
and there were grass and a spring underneath it, and flowers of many
colours.

Gladdened by this sight, he dragged himself to the water’s edge, drank
his fill, and returned thanks for his deliverance from thirst.

He looked about him and, to his amazement, saw close by a royal seat.
While he was pondering what could have brought this into the merciless
desert, a man drew near who was dressed like a faqir, and had bare head
and feet, but walked with the free carriage of a person of rank. His
face was kind, and wise and thoughtful, and he came on and spoke to the
prince.

“O good youth! how did you come here? Who are you? Where do you come
from?”

The prince told everything just as it had happened to him, and then
respectfully added: “I have made known my own circumstances to you, and
now I venture to beg you to tell me your own. Who are you? How did you
come to make your dwelling in this wilderness?”

To this the faqir replied: “O youth! it would be best for you to have
nothing to do with me and to know nothing of my fortunes, for my story
is fit neither for telling nor for hearing.” The prince, however,
pleaded so hard to be told, that at last there was nothing to be done
but to let him hear.

“Learn and know, O young man! that I am King Janangir[4] of Babylon,
and that once I had army and servants, family and treasure; untold
wealth and belongings. The Most High God gave me seven sons who grew up
well versed in all princely arts. My eldest son heard from travellers
that in Turkistan, on the Chinese frontier, there is a king named
Quimus, the son of Timus, and that he has an only child, a daughter
named Mihr-afruz,[5] who, under all the azure heaven, is unrivalled for
beauty. Princes come from all quarters to ask her hand, and on one and
all she imposes a condition. She says to them: ‘I know a riddle; and I
will marry anyone who answers it, and will bestow on him all my
possessions. But if a suitor cannot answer my question I cut off his
head and hang it on the battlements of the citadel.’ The riddle she
asks is, ‘What did the rose do to the cypress?’

“Now, when my son heard this tale, he fell in love with that unseen
girl, and he came to me lamenting and bewailing himself. Nothing that I
could say had the slightest effect on him. I said: ‘Oh my son! if there
must be fruit of this fancy of yours, I will lead forth a great army
against King Quimus. If he will give you his daughter freely, well and
good; and if not, I will ravage his kingdom and bring her away by
force.’ This plan did not please him; he said: ‘It is not right to lay
a kingdom waste and to destroy a palace so that I may attain my desire.
I will go alone; I will answer the riddle, and win her in this way.’ At
last, out of pity for him, I let him go. He reached the city of King
Quimus. He was asked the riddle and could not give the true answer; and
his head was cut off and hung upon the battlements. Then I mourned him
in black raiment for forty days.

After this another and another of my sons were seized by the same
desire, and in the end all my seven sons went, and all were killed. In
grief for their death I have abandoned my throne, and I abide here in
this desert, withholding my hand from all State business and wearing
myself away in sorrow.”

Prince Tahmasp listened to this tale, and then the arrow of love for
that unseen girl struck his heart also. Just at this moment of his
ill-fate his people came up, and gathered round him like moths round a
light. They brought him a horse, fleet as the breeze of the dawn; he
set his willing foot in the stirrup of safety and rode off. As the days
went by the thorn of love rankled in his heart, and he became the very
example of lovers, and grew faint and feeble. At last his confidants
searched his heart and lifted the veil from the face of his love, and
then set the matter before his father, King Saman-lal-posh. “Your son,
Prince Tahmasp, loves distractedly the Princess Mihr-afruz, daughter of
King Quimus, son of Timus.” Then they told the king all about her and
her doings. A mist of sadness clouded the king’s mind, and he said to
his son: “If this thing is so, I will in the first place send a courier
with friendly letters to King Quimus, and will ask the hand of his
daughter for you. I will send an abundance of gifts, and a string of
camels laden with flashing stones and rubies of Badakhsham In this way
I will bring her and her suite, and I will give her to you to be your
solace. But if King Quimus is unwilling to give her to you, I will pour
a whirlwind of soldiers upon him, and I will bring to you, in this way,
that most consequential of girls.” But the prince said that this plan
would not be right, and that he would go himself, and would answer the
riddle. Then the king’s wise men said: “This is a very weighty matter;
it would be best to allow the prince to set out accompanied by some
persons in whom you have confidence. Maybe he will repent and come
back.” So King Saman ordered all preparations for the journey to be
made, and then Prince Tahmasp took his leave and set out, accompanied
by some of the courtiers, and taking with him a string of two-humped
and raven-eyed camels laden with jewels, and gold, and costly stuffs.

By stage after stage, and after many days’ journeying, he arrived at
the city of King Quimus. What did he see? A towering citadel whose foot
kept firm the wrinkled earth, and whose battlements touched the blue
heaven. He saw hanging from its battlements many heads, but it had not
the least effect upon him that these were heads of men of rank; he
listened to no advice about laying aside his fancy, but rode up to the
gate and on into the heart of the city. The place was so splendid that
the eyes of the ages have never seen its like, and there, in an open
square, he found a tent of crimson satin set up, and beneath it two
jewelled drums with jewelled sticks. These drums were put there so that
the suitors of the princess might announce their arrival by beating on
them, after which some one would come and take them to the king’s
presence. The sight of the drums stirred the fire of Prince Tahmasp’s
love. He dismounted, and moved towards them; but his companions hurried
after and begged him first to let them go and announce him to the king,
and said that then, when they had put their possessions in a place of
security, they would enter into the all important matter of the
princess. The prince, however, replied that he was there for one thing
only; that his first duty was to beat the drums and announce himself as
a suitor, when he would be taken, as such, to the king, who would then
give him proper lodgment. So he struck upon the drums, and at once
summoned an officer who took him to King Quimus.

When the king saw how very young the prince looked, and that he was
still drinking of the fountain of wonder, he said: “O youth! leave
aside this fancy which my daughter has conceived in the pride of her
beauty. No one can answer er her riddle, and she has done to death many
men who had had no pleasure in life nor tasted its charms. God forbid
that your spring also should be ravaged by the autumn winds of
martyrdom.” All his urgency, however, had no effect in making the
prince withdraw. At length it was settled between them that three days
should be given to pleasant hospitality and that then should follow
what had to be said and done. Then the prince went to his own quarters
and was treated as became his station.

King Quimus now sent for his daughter and for her mother, Gulrukh,[6]
and talked to them. He said to Mibrafruz: “Listen to me, you cruel
flirt! Why do you persist in this folly? Now there has come to ask your
hand a prince of the east, so handsome that the very sun grows modest
before the splendour of his face; he is rich, and he has brought gold
and jewels, all for you, if you will marry him. A better husband you
will not find.”

But all the arguments of father and mother were wasted, for her only
answer was: “O my father! I have sworn to myself that I will not marry,
even if a thousand years go by, unless someone answers my riddle, and
that I will give myself to that man only who does answer it.”

The three days passed; then the riddle was asked: “What did the rose do
to the cypress?” The prince had an eloquent tongue, which could split a
hair, and without hesitation he replied to her with a verse: “Only the
Omnipotent has knowledge of secrets; if any man says, ‘I know’ do not
believe him.”

Then a servant fetched in the polluted, blue-eyed headsman, who asked:
“Whose sun of life has come near its setting?” took the prince by the
arm, placed him upon the cloth of execution, and then, all merciless
and stony hearted, cut his head from his body and hung it on the
battlements.

The news of the death of Prince Tahmasp plunged his father into despair
and stupefaction. He mourned for him in black raiment for forty days;
and then, a few days later, his second son, Prince Qamas, extracted
from him leave to go too; and he, also, was put to death. One son only
now remained, the brave, eloquent, happy-natured Prince
Almas-ruh-bakhsh. One day, when his father sat brooding over his lost
children, Almas came before him and said: “O father mine! the daughter
of King Quimus has done my two brothers to death; I wish to avenge them
upon her.” These words brought his father to tears. “O light of your
father!” he cried, “I have no one left but you, and now you ask me to
let you go to your death.”

“Dear father!” pleaded the prince, “until I have lowered the pride of
that beauty, and have set her here before you, I cannot settle down or
indeed sit down off my feet.”

In the end he, too, got leave to go; but he went a without a following
and alone. Like his brothers, he made the long journey to the city of
Quimus the son of Timus; like them he saw the citadel, but he saw there
the heads of Tahmasp and Qamas. He went about in the city, saw the tent
and the drums, and then went out again to a village not far off. Here
he found out a very old man who had a wife 120 years old, or rather
more. Their lives were coming to their end, but they had never beheld
face of child of their own. They were glad when the prince came to
their house, and they dealt with him as with a son. He put all his
belongings into their charge, and fastened his horse in their
out-house. Then he asked them not to speak of him to anyone, and to
keep his affairs secret. He exchanged his royal dress for another, and
next morning, just as the sun looked forth from its eastern oratory, he
went again into the city. He turned over in his mind without ceasing
how he was to find out the meaning of the riddle, and to give them a
right answer, and who could help him, and how to avenge his brothers.
He wandered about the city, but heard nothing of service, for there was
no one in all that land who understood the riddle of Princess
Mihr-afruz.

One day he thought he would go to her own palace and see if he could
learn anything there, so he went out to her garden-house. It was a very
splendid place, with a wonderful gateway, and walls like Alexander’s
ramparts. Many gate-keepers were on guard, and there was no chance of
passing them. His heart was full of bitterness, but he said to himself:
“All will be well! it is here I shall get what I want.” He went round
outside the garden wall hoping to find a gap, and he made supplication
in the Court of Supplications and prayed, “O Holder of the hand of the
helpless! show me my way.”

While he prayed he bethought himself that he could get into the garden
with a stream of inflowing water. He looked carefully round, fearing to
be seen, stripped, slid into the stream and was carried within the
great walls. There he hid himself till his loin cloth was dry. The
garden was a very Eden, with running water amongst its lawns, with
flowers and the lament of doves and the jug-jug of nightingales. It was
a place to steal the senses from the brain, and he wandered about and
saw the house, but there seemed to be no one there. In the forecourt
was a royal seat of polished jasper, and in the middle of the platform
was a basin of purest water that flashed like a mirror. He pleased
himself with these sights for a while, and then went back to the garden
and hid himself from the gardeners and passed the night. Next morning
he put on the appearance of a madman and wandered about till he came to
a lawn where several pert-faced girls were amusing themselves. On a
throne, jewelled and overspread with silken stuffs, sat a girl the
splendour of whose beauty lighted up the place, and whose ambergris and
attar perfumed the whole air. “That must be Mihrafruz,” he thought,
“she is indeed lovely.” Just then one of the attendants came to the
water’s edge to fill a cup, and though the prince was in hiding, his
face was reflected in the water. When she saw this image she was
frightened, and let her cup fall into the stream, and thought, “Is it
an angel, or a peri, or a man?” Fear and trembling took hold of her,
and she screamed as women scream. Then some of the other girls came and
took her to the princess who asked: “What is the matter, pretty one?”

“O princess! I went for water, and I saw an image, and I was afraid.”
So another girl went to the water and saw the same thing, and came back
with the same story. The princess wished to see for herself; she rose
and paced to the spot with the march of a prancing peacock. When she
saw the image she said to her nurse: “Find out who is reflected in the
water, and where he lives.” Her words reached the prince’s ear, he
lifted up his head; she saw him and beheld beauty such as she had never
seen before. She lost a hundred hearts to him, and signed to her nurse
to bring him to her presence. The prince let himself be persuaded to go
with the nurse, but when the princess questioned him as to who he was
and how he had got into her garden, he behaved like a man out of his
mind—sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, and saying: “I am hungry,” Or
words misplaced and random, civil mixed with the rude.

“What a pity!” said the princess, “he is mad!” As she liked him she
said: “He is my madman; let no one hurt him.” She took him to her house
and told him not to go away, for that she would provide for all his
wants. The prince thought, “It would be excellent if here, in her very
house, I could get the answer to her riddle; but I must be silent, on
pain of death.”

Now in the princess’s household there was a girl called Dil-aram[7];
she it was who had first seen the image of the prince. She came to love
him very much, and she spent day and night thinking how she could make
her affection known to him. One day she escaped from the princess’s
notice and went to the prince, and laid her head on his feet and said:
“Heaven has bestowed on you beauty and charm. Tell me your secret; who
are you, and how did you come here? I love you very much, and if you
would like to leave this place I will go with you. I have wealth equal
to the treasure of the miserly Qarun.” But the prince only made answer
like a man distraught, and told her nothing. He said to himself, “God
forbid that the veil should be taken in vain from my secret; that would
indeed disgrace me.” So, with streaming eyes and burning breast,
Dil-aram arose and went to her house and lamented and fretted.

Now whenever the princess commanded the prince’s attendance, Dil-aram,
of all the girls, paid him attention and waited on him best. The
princess noticed this, and said: “O Dil-aram! you must take my madman
into your charge and give him whatever he wants.” This was the very
thing Dilaram had prayed for. A little later she took the prince into a
private place and she made him take an oath of secrecy, and she herself
took one and swore, “By Heaven! I will not tell your secret. Tell me
all about yourself so that I may help you to get what you want.” The
prince now recognised in her words the perfume of true love, and he
made compact with her. “O lovely girl! I want to know what the rose did
to the cypress. Your mistress cuts off men’s heads because of this
riddle; what is at the bottom of it, and why does she do it?” Then
Dil-aram answered: “If you will promise to marry me and to keep me
always amongst those you favour, I will tell you all I know, and I will
keep watch about the riddle.”

“O lovely girl,” rejoined he, “if I accomplish my purpose, so that I
need no longer strive for it, I will keep my compact with you. When I
have this woman in my power and have avenged my brothers, I will make
you my solace.”

“O wealth of my life and source of my joy!” responded Dil-aram, “I do
not know what the rose did to the cypress; but so much I know that the
person who told Mihr-afruz about it is a negro whom she hides under her
throne. He fled here from Waq of the Caucasus—it is there you must make
inquiry; there is no other way of getting at the truth.“On hearing
these words, the prince said to his heart, “O my heart! your task will
yet wear away much of your life.”

He fell into long and far thought, and Dil-aram looked at him and said:
“O my life and my soul! do not be sad. If you would like this woman
killed, I will put poison into her cup so that she will never lift her
head from her drugged sleep again.”

“O Dil-aram! such a vengeance is not manly. I shall not rest till I
have gone to Waq of the Caucasus and have cleared up the matter.” Then
they repeated the agreement about their marriage, and bade one another
goodbye.

The prince now went back to the village, and told the old man that he
was setting out on a long journey, and begged him not to be anxious,
and to keep safe the goods which had been entrusted to him.

The prince had not the least knowledge of the way to Waq of the
Caucasus, and was cast down by the sense of his helplessness. He was
walking along by his horse’s side when there appeared before him an old
man of serene countenance, dressed in green and carrying a staff, who
resembled Khizr.[8] The prince thanked heaven, laid the hands of
reverence on his breast and salaamed. The old man returned the greeting
graciously, and asked: “How fare you? Whither are you bound? You look
like a traveller.”

“O revered saint! I am in this difficulty: I do not know the way to Waq
of the Caucasus.” The old man of good counsel looked at the young
prince and said: “Turn back from this dangerous undertaking. Do not go;
choose some other task! If you had a hundred lives you would not bring
one out safe from this journey.” But his words had no effect on the
prince’s resolve. “What object have you,” the old man asked, “in thus
consuming your life?”

“I have an important piece of business to do, and only this journey
makes it possible. I must go; I pray you, ill God’s name, tell me the
way.”

When the saint saw that the prince was not to be moved, he said: “Learn
and know, O youth! that Waq of Qaf is in the Caucasus and is a
dependency of it. In it there are jins, demons, and peris. You must go
on along this road till it forks into three; take neither the right
hand nor the left, but the middle path. Follow this for a day and a
night. Then you will come to a column on which is a marble slab
inscribed with Cufic characters. Do what is written there; beware of
disobedience.” Then he gave his good wishes for the journey and his
blessing, and the prince kissed his feet, said good-bye, and, with
thanks to the Causer of Causes, took the road.

After a day and a night he saw the column rise in silent beauty to the
heavens. Everything was as the wise old man had said it would be, and
the prince, who was skilled in all tongues, read the following Cufic
inscription: “O travellers! be it known to you that this column has
been set up with its tablet to give true directions about these roads.
If a man would pass his life in ease and pleasantness, let him take the
right-hand path. If he take the left, he will have some trouble, but he
will reach his goal without much delay. Woe to him who chooses the
middle path! if he had a thousand lives he would not save one; it is
very hazardous; it leads to the Caucasus, and is an endless road.
Beware of it!”

The prince read and bared his head and lifted his hands in supplication
to Him who has no needs, and prayed, “O Friend of the traveller! I, Thy
servant, come to Thee for succour. My purpose lies in the land of Qaf
and my road is full of peril. Lead me by it.” Then he took a handful of
earth and cast it on his collar, and said: “O earth! be thou my grave;
and O vest! tee thou my winding-sheet!” Then he took the middle road
and went along it, day after day, with many a silent prayer, till he
saw trees rise from the weary waste of sand. They grew in a garden, and
he went up to the gate and found it a slab of beautifully worked
marble, and that near it there lay sleeping, with his head on a stone,
a negro whose face was so black that it made darkness round him. His
upper lip, arched like an eyebrow, curved upwards to his nostrils and
his lower hung down like a camel’s. Four millstones formed his shield,
and on a box-tree close by hung his giant sword. His loin-cloth was
fashioned of twelve skins of beasts, and was bound round his waist by a
chain of which each link was as big as an elephant’s thigh.

The prince approached and tied up his horse near the negro’s head. Then
he let fall the Bismillah from his lips, entered the garden and walked
through it till he came to the private part, delighting in the great
trees, the lovely verdure, and the flowery borders. In the inner garden
there were very many deer. These signed to him with eye and foot to go
back, for that this was enchanted ground; but he did not understand
them, and thought their pretty gestures were a welcome. After a while
he reached a palace which had a porch more splendid than Caesar’s, and
was built of gold and silver bricks. In its midst was a high seat,
overlaid with fine carpets, and into it opened eight doors, each having
opposite to it a marble basin.

Banishing care, Prince Almas walked on through the garden, when
suddenly a window opened and a girl, who was lovely enough to make the
moon writhe with jealousy, put out her head. She lost her heart to the
good looks of the prince, and sent her nurse to fetch him so that she
might learn where he came from and how he had got into her private
garden where even lions and wolves did not venture. The nurse went, and
was struck with amazement at the sun-like radiance of his face; she
salaamed and said: “O youth! welcome! the lady of the garden calls you;
come!” He went with her and into a palace which was like a house in
Paradise, and saw seated on the royal carpets of the throne a girl
whose brilliance shamed the shining sun. He salaamed; she rose, took
him by the hand and placed him near her. “O young man! who are you?
Where do you come from? How did you get into this garden?” He told her
his story from beginning to end, and Lady Latifa[9] replied: “This is
folly! It will make you a vagabond of the earth, and lead you to
destruction. Come, cease such talk! No one can go to the Caucasus. Stay
with me and be thankful, for here is a throne which you can share with
me, and in my society you can enjoy my wealth. I will do whatever you
wish; I will bring here King Qulmus and his daughter, and you can deal
with them as you will.”

“O Lady Latifa,” he said, “I have made a compact with heaven not to sit
down off my feet till I have been to Waq of Qaf and have cleared up
this matter, and have taken Mihrafruz from her father, as brave men
take, and have put her in prison. When I have done all this I will come
back to you in state and with a great following, and I will marry you
according to the law.” Lady Latifa argued and urged her wishes, but in
vain; the prince was not to be moved. Then she called to the cupbearers
for new wine, for she thought that when his head was hot with it he
might consent to stay. The pure, clear wine was brought; she filled a
cup and gave to him. He said: “O most enchanting sweetheart! it is the
rule for the host to drink first and then the guest.” So to make him
lose his head, she drained the cup; then filled it again and gave him.
He drank it off, and she took a lute from one of the singers and played
upon it with skill which witched away the sense of all who heard. But
it was all in vain; three days passed in such festivities, and on the
fourth the prince said: “O joy of my eyes! I beg now that you will bid
me farewell, for my way is long and the fire of your love darts flame
into the harvest of my heart. By heaven’s grace I may accomplish my
purpose, and, if so, I will come back to you.”

Now she saw that she could not in any way change his resolve, she told
her nurse to bring a certain casket which contained, she said,
something exhilarating which would help the prince on his journey. The
box was brought, and she divided off a portion of what was within and
gave it to the prince to eat. Then, and while he was all unaware, she
put forth her hand to a stick fashioned like a snake; she said some
words over it and struck him so sharply on the shoulder that he cried
out; then he made a pirouette and found that he was a deer.

When he knew what had been done to him he thought, “All the threads of
affliction are gathered together; I have lost my last chance!” He tried
to escape, but the magician sent for her goldsmith, who, coming,
overlaid the deer-horns with gold and jewels. The kerchief which that
day she had had in her hand was then tied round its neck, and this
freed it from her attentions.

The prince-deer now bounded into the garden and at once sought some way
of escape. It found none, and it joined the other deer, which soon made
it their leader. Now, although the prince had been transformed into the
form of a deer, he kept his man’s heart and mind. He said to himself,
“Thank heaven that the Lady Latifa has changed me into this shape, for
at least deer are beautiful.” He remained for some time living as a
deer amongst the rest, but at length resolved that an end to such a
life must be put ill some way. He looked again for some place by which
he could get out of the magic garden. Following round the wall he
reached a lower part; he remembered the Divine Names and flung himself
over, saying, “Whatever happens is by the will of God.” When he looked
about he found that he was in the very same place he had jumped from;
there was the palace, there the garden and the deer! Eight times he
leaped over the wall and eight times found himself where he had started
from; but after the ninth leap there was a change, there was a palace
and there was a garden, but the deer were gone.

Presently a girl of such moon-like beauty opened a window that the
prince lost to her a hundred hearts. She was delighted with the
beautiful deer, and cried to her nurse: “Catch it! if you will I will
give you this necklace, every pearl of which is worth a kingdom.” The
nurse coveted the pearls, but as she was three hundred years old she
did not know how she could catch a deer. However, she went down into
the garden and held out some grass, but when she went near the creature
ran away. The girl watched with great excitement from the palace
window, and called: “O nurse, if you don’t catch it, I will kill you!”
“I am killing myself,” shouted back the old woman. The girl saw that
nurse tottering along and went down to help, marching with the gait of
a prancing peacock. When she saw the gilded horns and the kerchief she
said: “It must be accustomed to the hand, and be some royal pet!” The
prince had it in mind that this might be another magician who could
give him some other shape, but still it seemed best to allow himself to
be caught. So he played about the girl and let her catch him by the
neck. A leash was brought, fruits were given, and it was caressed with
delight. It was taken to the palace and tied at the foot of the Lady
Jamila’s raised seat, but she ordered a longer cord to be brought so
that it might be able to jump up beside her.

When the nurse went to fix the cord she saw tears falling from its
eyes, and that it was dejected and sorrowful “O Lady Jamila! this is a
wonderful deer, it is crying; I never saw a deer cry before.” Jamila
darted down like a flash of lightning, and saw that it was so. It
rubbed its head on her feet and then shook it so sadly that the girl
cried for sympathy. She patted it and said: “Why are you sad, my heart?
Why do you cry, my soul? Is it because I have caught you? I love you
better than my own life.” But, spite of her comforting, it cried the
more. Then Jamila said: “Unless I am mistaken, this is the work of my
wicked sister Latifa, who by magic art turns servants of God into
beasts of the field.” At these words the deer uttered sounds, and laid
its head on her feet. Then Jamila was sure it was a man, and said: “Be
comforted, I will restore you to your own shape.” She bathed herself
and ordered the deer to be bathed, put on clean raiment, called for a
box which stood in an alcove, opened it and gave a portion of what was
in it to the deer to eat. Then she slipped her hand under her carpet
and produced a stick to which she said something. She struck the deer
hard, it pirouetted and became Prince Almas.

The broidered kerchief and the jewels lay upon the ground. The prince
prostrated himself in thanks to heaven and Jamila, and said: “O
delicious person! O Chinese Venus! how shall I excuse myself for giving
you so much trouble? With what words can I thank you?” Then she called
for a clothes-wallet and chose out a royal dress of honour. Her
attendants dressed him in it, and brought him again before the
tender-hearted lady. She turned to him a hundred hearts, took his hand
and seated him beside her, and said: “O youth! tell me truly who you
are and where you come from, and how you fell into the power of my
sister.”

Even when he was a deer the prince had much admired Jamila now he
thought her a thousand times more lovely than before. He judged that in
truth alone was safety, and so told her his whole story. Then she
asked: “O Prince Almas-ruh-bakhsh, do you still wish so much to make
this journey to Waq of Qaf? What hope is there in it? The road is
dangerous even near here, and this is not yet the borderland of the
Caucasus. Come, give it up! It is a great risk, and to go is not wise.
It would be a pity for a man like you to fall into the hands of jins
and demons. Stay with me, and I will do whatever you wish.”

“O most delicious person!” he answered, “you are very generous, and the
choice of my life lies in truth in your hands; but I beg one favour of
you. If you love me, so do I too love you. If you really love me, do
not forbid me to make this journey, but help me as far as you can. Then
it may be that I shall succeed, and if I return with my purpose
fulfilled I will marry you according to the law, and take you to my own
country, and we will spend the rest of our lives together in pleasure
and good companionship. Help me, if you can, and give me your counsel.”

“O very stuff of my life,” replied Jamila “I will give you things that
are not in kings’ treasuries, and which will be of the greatest use to
you. First, there are the bow and arrows of his Reverence the Prophet
Salih. Secondly, there is the Scorpion of Solomon (on whom be peace),
which is a sword such as no king has; steel and stone are one to it; if
you bring it down on a rock it will not be injured, and it will cleave
whatever you strike. Thirdly, there is the dagger which the sage Timus
himself made; this is most useful, and the man who wears it would not
bend under seven camels’ loads. What you have to do first is to get to
the home of the Simurgh,[10] and to make friends with him. If he
favours you, he will take you to Waq of Qaf; if not, you will never get
there, for seven seas are on the way, and they are such seas that if
all the kings of the earth, and all their wazirs, and all their wise
men considered for a thousand years, they would not be able to cross
them.”

“O most delicious person! where is the Simurgh’s home? How shall I get
there?”

“O new fruit of life! you must just do what I tell you, and you must
use your eyes and your brains, for if you don’t you will find yourself
at the place of the negroes, who are a bloodthirsty set; and God forbid
they should lay hands on your precious person.”

Then she took the bow and quiver of arrows, the sword, and the dagger
out of a box, and the prince let fall a Bismillah, and girt them all
on. Then Jamila of the houri-face, produced two saddle-bags of ruby-red
silk, one filled with roasted fowl and little cakes, and the other with
stones of price. Next she gave him a horse as swift as the breeze of
the morning, and she said: “Accept all these things from me; ride till
you come to a rising ground, at no great distance from here, where
there is a spring. It is called the Place of Gifts, and you must stay
there one night. There you will see many wild beasts—lions, tigers,
leopards, apes, and so on. Before you get there you must capture some
game. On the long road beyond there dwells a lion-king, alla if other
beasts did not fear him they would ravage the whole country and let no
one pass. The lion is a red transgressor, so when he comes rise and do
him reverence; take a cloth and rub the dust and earth from his face,
then set the game you have taken before him, well cleansed, and lay the
hands of respect on your breast. When he wishes to eat, take your knife
and cut pieces of the meat and set them before him with a bow. In this
way you will enfold that lion-king in perfect friendship, and he will
be most useful to you, and you will be safe from molestation by the
negroes. When you go on from the Place of Gifts, be sure you do not
take the right-hand road; take the left, for the other leads by the
negro castle, which is known as the Place of Clashing Swords, and where
there are forty negro captains each over three thousand or four
thousand more. Their chief is Taramtaq.[11] Further on than this is the
home of the Simurgh.”

Having stored these things in the prince’s memory, she said: “You will
see everything happen just as I have said.” Then she escorted him a
little way; they parted, and she went home to mourn his absence.

Prince Almas, relying on the Causer of Causes, rode on to the Place of
Gifts and dismounted at the platform. Everything happened just as
Jamila had foretold; when one or two watches of the night had passed,
he saw that the open ground around him was full of such stately and
splendid animals as he had never seen before. By-and-by, they made way
for a wonderfully big lion, which was eighty yards from nose to
tail-tip, and was a magnificent creature. The prince advanced and
saluted it; it proudly drooped its head and forelocks and paced to the
platform. Seventy or eighty others were with it, and now encircled it
at a little distance. It laid its right paw over its left, and the
prince took the kerchief Jamila had given him for the purpose, and
rubbed the dust and earth from its face; then brought forward the game
he had prepared, and crossing his hands respectfully on his breast
stood waiting before it. When it wished for food he cut off pieces of
the meat and put them in its mouth. The serving lions also came near
and the prince would have stayed his hand, but the king-lion signed to
him to feed them too. This he did, laying the meat on the platform.
Then the king-lion beckoned the prince to come near and said: “Sleep at
ease; my guards will watch.”. So, surrounded by the lion-guard, he
slept till dawn, when the king lion said good-bye, and gave him a few
of his own hairs and said: “When you are in any difficulty, burn one of
these and I will be there.” Then it went off into the jungle.

Prince Almas immediately started; he rode till he came to the parting
of the ways. He remembered quite well that the right-hand way was short
and dangerous, but he bethought himself too that whatever was written
on his forehead would happen, and took the forbidden road. By-and-by he
saw a castle, and knew from what Jamila had told him that it was the
Place of Clashing Swords. He would have liked to go back by the way ho
had come, but courage forbade, and he said, “What has been preordained
from eternity will happen to me,” and went on towards the castle. He
was thinking of tying his horse to a tree which grew near the gate when
a negro came out and spied him. “Ha!” said the wretch to himself, “this
is good; Taram-taq has not eaten man-meat for a long time, and is
craving for some. I will take this creature to him.” He took hold of
the prince’s reins, and said: “Dismount, man-child! Come to my master.
He has wanted to eat man-meat this long time back.” “What nonsense are
you saying?” said the prince, and other such words. When the negro
understood that he was being abused, he cried: “Come along! I will put
you into such a state that the birds of the air will weep for you.”
Then the prince drew the Scorpion of Solomon and struck him—struck him
on the leathern belt and shore him through so that the sword came out
on the other side. He stood upright for a little while, muttered some
words, put out his hand to seize the prince, then fell in two and
surrendered his life.

There was water close at hand, and the prince made his ablution, and
then said: “O my heart! a wonderful task lies upon you.” A second negro
came out of the fort, and seeing what had been done, went back and told
his chief. Others wished to be doubled, and went out, and of every one
the Scorpion of Solomon made two. Then Taram-taq sent for a giant negro
named Chil-maq, who in the day of battle was worth three hundred, and
said to him: “I shall thank you to fetch me that man.”

Chil-maq went out, tall as a tower, and bearing a shield of eight
millstones, and as he walked he shouted: “Ho! blunder-head! by what
right do you come to our country and kill our people? Come! make two of
me.” As the prince was despicable in his eyes, he tossed aside his club
and rushed to grip him with his hands. He caught him by the collar,
tucked him under his arm and set off with him to Taram-taq. But the
prince drew the dagger of Timus and thrust it upwards through the
giant’s armpit, for its full length. This made Chil-maq drop him and
try to pick up his club; but when he stooped the mighty sword shore him
through at the waist.

When news of his champion’s death reached Taram-taq he put himself at
the head of an army of his negroes and led them forth. Many fell before
the magic sword, and the prince laboured on in spite of weakness and
fatigue till he was almost worn out. In a moment of respite from attack
he struck his fire-steel and burned a hair of the king-lion; and he had
just succeeded in this when the negroes charged again and all but took
him prisoner. Suddenly from behind the distant veil of the desert
appeared an army of lions led by their king. “What brings these
scourges of heaven here?” cried the negroes. They came roaring up, and
put fresh life into the prince. He fought on, and when he struck on a
belt the wearer fell in two, and when on a head he cleft to the waist.
Then the ten thousand mighty lions joined the fray and tore in pieces
man and horse.

Taram-taq was left alone; he would have retired into his fort, but the
prince shouted: “Whither away, accursed one? Are you fleeing before
me?” At these defiant words the chief shouted back, “Welcome, man! Come
here and I will soften you to wax beneath my club.” Then he hurled his
club at the prince’s head, but it fell harmless because the prince had
quickly spurred his horse forward. The chief, believing he had hit him,
was looking down for him, when all at once he came up behind and cleft
him to the waist and sent him straight to hell.

The king-lion greatly praised the dashing courage of Prince Almas. They
went together into the Castle of Clashing Swords and found it adorned
and fitted in princely fashion. In it was a daughter of Taram taq,
still a child She sent a message to Prince Almas saying, “O king of the
world! choose this slave to be your handmaid. Keep her with you; where
you go, there she will go!” He sent for her and she kissed his feet and
received the Mussulman faith at his hands. He told her he was going a
long journey on important business, and that when he came back he would
take her and her possessions to his own country, but that for the
present she must stay in the castle. Then he made over the fort and all
that was in it to the care of the lion, saying: “Guard them, brother!
let no one lay a hand on them.” He said goodbye, chose a fresh horse
from the chief’s stable and once again took the road.

After travelling many stages and for many days, he reached a plain of
marvellous beauty and refreshment. It was carpeted with flowers—roses,
tulips, and clover; it had lovely lawns, and amongst them running
water. This choicest place of earth filled him with wonder. There was a
tree such as he had never seen before; its branches were alike, but it
bore flowers and fruit of a thousand kinds. Near it a reservoir had
been fashioned of four sorts of stone—touchstone, pure stone, marble,
and loadstone. In and out of it flowed water like attar. The prince
felt sure this must be the place of the Simurgh.” he dismounted, turned
his horse loose to graze, ate some of the food Jamila had given him,
drank of the stream and lay down to sleep.

He was still dozing when he was aroused by the neighing and pawing of
his horse. When he could see clearly he made out a mountain-like dragon
whose heavy breast crushed the stones beneath it into putty. He
remembered the Thousand Names of God and took the bow of Salih from its
case and three arrows from their quiver. He bound the dagger of Timus
firmly to his waist and hung the scorpion of Solomon round his neck.
Then he set an arrow on the string and released it with such force that
it went in at the monster’s eye right up to the notch. The dragon
writhed on itself, and belched forth an evil vapour, and beat the
ground with its head till the earth quaked. Then the prince took a
second arrow and shot into its throat. It drew in its breath and would
have sucked the prince into its maw, but when he was within striking
distance he drew his sword and, having committed himself to God, struck
a mighty blow which cut the creature’s neck down to the gullet. The
foul vapour of the beast and horror at its strangeness now overcame the
prince, and he fainted. When he came to himself he found that he was
drenched in the gore of the dead monster. He rose and thanked God for
his deliverance.

The nest of the Simurgh was in the wonderful tree above him, and in it
were young birds; the parents were away searching for food. They always
told the children, before they left them, not to put their heads out of
the nest; but, to-day, at the noise of the fight below, they looked
down and so saw the whole affair. By the time the dragon had been
killed they were very hungry and set up a clamour for food. The prince
therefore cut up the dragon and fed them with it, bit by bit, till they
had eaten the whole. He then washed himself and lay down to rest, and
he was still asleep when the Simurgh came home. As a rule, the young
birds raised a clamour of welcome when their parents came near, but on
this day they were so full of dragon-meat that they had no choice, they
had to go to sleep.

As they flew nearer, the old birds saw the prince lying under the tree
and no sign of life in the nest. They thought that the misfortune which
for so many earlier years had befallen them had again happened and that
their nestlings had disappeared. They had never been able to find out
the murderer, and now suspected the prince. “He has eaten our children
and sleeps after it; he must die,” said the father-bird, and flew back
to the hills and clawed up a huge stone which he meant to let fall on
the prince’s head. But his mate said, “Let us look into the nest first
for to kill an innocent person would condemn us at the Day of
Resurrection.” They flew nearer, and presently the young birds woke and
cried, “Mother, what have you brought for us?” and they told the whole
story of the fight, and of how they were alive only by the favour of
the young man under the tree, and of his cutting up the dragon and of
their eating it. The mother-bird then remarked, “Truly, father! you
were about to do a strange thing, and a terrible sin has been averted
from you.” Then the Simurgh flew off to a distance with the great stone
and dropped it. It sank down to the very middle of the earth.

Coming back, the Simurgh saw that a little sunshine fell upon the
prince through the leaves, and it spread its wings and shaded him till
he woke. When he got up he salaamed to it, who returned his greeting
with joy and gratitude, and caressed him and said: “O youth, tell me
true! who are you, and where are you going? And how did you cross that
pitiless desert where never yet foot of man had trod?” The prince told
his story from beginning to end, and finished by saying: “Now it is my
heart’s wish that you should help me to get to Waq of the Caucasus.
Perhaps, by your favour, I shall accomplish my task and avenge my
brothers.” In reply the Simurgh.” first blessed the deliverer of his
children, and then went on: “What you have done no child of man has
ever done before; you assuredly have a claim on all my help, for every
year up till now that dragon has come here and has destroyed my
nestlings, and I have never been able to find who was the murderer and
to avenge myself. By God’s grace you have removed my children’s
powerful foe. I regard you as a child of my own. Stay with me; I will
give you everything you desire, and I will establish a city here for
you, and will furnish it with every requisite; I will give you the land
of the Caucasus, and will make its princes subject to you. Give up the
journey to Waq, it is full of risk, and the jins there will certainly
kill you.” But nothing could move the prince, and seeing this the bird
went on: “Well, so be it! When you wish to set forth you must go into
the plain and take seven head of deer, and must make water-tight bags
of their hides and keep their flesh in seven portions. Seven seas lie
on our way—I will carry you over them; but if I have not food and drink
we shall fall into the sea and be drowned. When I ask for it you must
put food and water into my mouth. So we shall make the journey safely.”

The prince did all as he was told, then they took flight; they crossed
the seven seas, and at each one the prince fed the Simurgh When they
alighted on the shore of the last sea, it said: “O my son! there lies
your road; follow it to the city. Take thee three feathers of mine,
and, if you are in a difficulty, burn one and I will be with you in the
twinkling of an eye.”

The prince walked on in solitude till he reached the city. He went in
and wandered about through all quarters, and through bazaars and lanes
and squares, in the least knowing from whom he could ask information
about the riddle of Mihr-afruz. He spent seven days thinking it over in
silence. From the first day of his coming he had made friends with a
young cloth-merchant, and a great liking had sprung up between them.
One day he said abruptly to his companion: “O dear friend! I wish you
would tell me what the rose did to the cypress, and what the sense of
the riddle is.” The merchant started, and exclaimed: “If there were not
brotherly affection between us, I would cut off your head for asking me
this!” “If you meant to kill me,” retorted the prince, “you would still
have first to tell me what I want to know.” When the merchant saw that
the prince was in deadly earnest, he said: “If you wish to hear the
truth of the matter you must wait upon our king. There is no other way;
no one else will tell you. I have a well-wisher at the Court, named
Farrukh-fal,[12] and will introduce you to him.” “That would be
excellent,” cried the prince. A meeting was arranged between Farrukhfal
and Almas, and then the amir took him to the king’s presence and
introduced him as a stranger and traveller who had come from afar to
sit in the shadow of King Sinaubar.

Now the Simurgh had given the prince a diamond weighing thirty misqals,
and he ordered this to the king, who at once recognised its value, and
asked where it had been obtained. “I, your slave, once had riches and
state and power; there are many such stones in my country. On my way
here I was plundered at the Castle of Clashing Swords, and I saved this
one thing only, hidden in my bathing-cloth.” In return for the diamond,
King Sinaubar showered gifts of much greater value, for he remembered
that it was the last possession of the prince. He showed the utmost
kindness and hospitality, and gave his wazir orders to instal the
prince in the royal guest-house. He took much pleasure in his visitor’s
society; they were together every day and spent the time most
pleasantly. Several times the king said: “Ask me for something, that I
may give it you.“One day he so pressed to know what would pleasure the
prince, that the latter said: “I have only one wish, and that I will
name to you in private.” The king at once commanded every one to
withdraw, and then Prince Almas said: “The desire of my life is to know
what the rose did to the cypress, and what meaning there is in the
words.” The king was astounded. “In God’s name! if anyone else had said
that to me I should have cut off his head instantly.” The prince heard
this in silence, and presently so beguiled the king with pleasant talk
that to kill him was impossible.

Time flew by, the king again and again begged the prince to ask some
gift of him, and always received this same reply: “I wish for your
Majesty’s welfare, what more can I desire?” One night there was a
banquet, and cupbearers carried round gold and silver cups of sparkling
wine, and singers with sweetest voices contended for the prize. The
prince drank from the king’s own cup, and when his head was hot with
wine he took a lute from one of the musicians and placed himself on the
carpet border and sang and sang till he witched away the sense of all
who listened. Applause and compliments rang from every side. The king
filled his cup and called the prince and gave it him and said: “Name
your wish! it is yours.” The prince drained off the wine and answered:
“O king of the world! learn and know that I have only one aim in life,
and this is to know what the rose did to the cypress.”

“Never yet,” replied the king, “has any man come out from that question
alive. If this is your only wish, so be it; I will tell you. But I will
do this on one condition only, namely, that when you have heard you
will submit yourself to death.” To this the prince agreed, and said: “I
set my foot firmly on this compact.”

The king then gave an order to an attendant; a costly carpet overlaid
with European velvet was placed near him, and a dog was led in by a
golden and jewelled chain and set upon the splendid stuffs. A band of
fair girls came in and stood round it in waiting.

Then, with ill words, twelve negroes dragged in a lovely woman,
fettered on hands and feet and meanly dressed, and they set her down on
the bare floor. She was extraordinarily beautiful, and shamed the
glorious sun. The king ordered a hundred stripes to be laid on her
tender body; she sighed a long sigh. Food was called for and
table-cloths were spread. Delicate meats were set before the dog, and
water given it in a royal cup of Chinese crystal. When it had eaten its
fill, its leavings were placed before the lovely woman and she was made
to eat of them. She wept and her tears were pearls; she smiled and her
lips shed roses. Pearls and flowers were gathered up and taken to the
treasury.

“Now,” said the king, “you have seen these things and your purpose is
fulfilled.” “Truly,” said the prince, “I have seen things which I have
not understood; what do they mean, and what is the story of them? Tell
me and kill me.”

Then said the king: “The woman you see there in chains is my wife; she
is called Gul, the Rose, and I am Sinaubar, the Cypress. One day I was
hunting and became very thirsty. After great search I discovered a well
in a place so secret that neither bird nor beast nor man could find it
without labour. I was alone, I took my turban for a rope and my cap for
a bucket. There was a good deal of water, but when I let down my rope,
something caught it, and I could not in any way draw it back. I shouted
down into the well: ‘O! servant of God! whoever you are, why do you
deal unfairly with me? I am dying of thirst, let go! in God’s name.’ A
cry came up in answer, ‘O servant of God! we have been in the well a
long time; in God’s name get us out!’ After trying a thousand schemes,
I drew up two blind women. They said they were peris, and that their
king had blinded them in his anger and had left them in the well alone.

“‘Now,’ they said, ‘if you will get us the cure for our blindness we
will devote ourselves to your service, and will do whatever you wish.’

“‘What is the cure for your blindness?’

“‘Not far from this place,’ they said, ‘a cow comes up from the great
sea to graze; a little of her dung would cure us. We should be
eternally your debtors. Do not let the cow see you, or she will
assuredly kill you.’

“With renewed strength and spirit I went to the shore. There I watched
the cow come up from the sea, graze, and go back. Then I came out of my
hiding, took a little of her dung and conveyed it to the peris. They
rubbed it on their eyes, and by the Divine might saw again.

“They thanked heaven and me, and then considered what they could do to
show their gratitude to me. ‘Our peri-king,’ they said, ‘has a daughter
whom he keeps under his own eye and thinks the most lovely girl on
earth. In good sooth, she has not her equal! Now we will get you into
her house and you must win her heart, and if she has an inclination for
another, you must drive it out and win her for yourself. Her mother
loves her so dearly that she has no ease but in her presence, and she
will give her to no one in marriage. Teach her to love you so that she
cannot exist without you. But if the matter becomes known to her mother
she will have you burned in the fire. Then you must beg, as a last
favour, that your body may be anointed with oil so that you may burn
the more quickly and be spared torture. If the peri-king allows this
favour, we two will manage to be your anointers, and we will put an oil
on you such that if you were a thousand years in the fire not a trace
of burning would remain.’

“In the end the two peris took me to the girl’s house. I saw her
sleeping daintily. She was most lovely, and I was so amazed at the
perfection of her beauty that I stood with senses lost, and did not
know if she were real or a dream. When at last I saw that she was a
real girl, I returned thanks that I, the runner, had come to my goal,
and that I, the seeker, had found my treasure.

“When the peri opened her eyes she asked in affright: ‘Who are you?
Have you come to steal? How did you get here? Be quick! save yourself
from this whirlpool of destruction, for the demons and peris. who guard
me will wake and seize you.’

“But love’s arrow had struck me deep, and the girl, too, looked kindly
on me. I could not go away. For some months I remained hidden in her
house. “We did not dare to let her mother know of our love. Sometimes
the girl was very sad and fearful lest her mother should come to know.
One day her father said to her: ‘Sweetheart, for some time I have
noticed that your beauty is not what it was. How is this? Has sickness
touched you? Tell me that I may seek a cure.’ Alas! there was now no
way of concealing the mingled delight and anguish of our love; from
secret it became known. I was put in prison and the world grew dark to
my rose, bereft of her lover.

“The peri-king ordered me to be burnt, and said: ‘Why have you, a man,
done this perfidious thing in my house?’ His demons and peris.
collected amber-wood and made a pile, and would have set me on it, when
I remembered the word of life which the two peris. I had rescued had
breathed into my ear, and I asked that my body might be rubbed with oil
to release me the sooner from torture. This was allowed, and those two
contrived to be the anointers. I was put into the fire and it was kept
up for seven days and nights. By the will of the Great King it left no
trace upon me. At the end of a week the pert-king ordered the ashes to
be cast upon the dust-heap, and I was found alive and unharmed.

“Peris who had seen Gul consumed by her love for me now interceded with
the king, and said: ‘It is clear that your daughter’s fortunes are
bound up with his, for the fire has not hurt him. It is best to give
him the girl, for they love one another. He is King of Waq of Qaf, and
you will find none better.’

“To this the king agreed, and made formal marriage between Gul and me.
You now know the price I paid for this faithless creature. O prince!
remember our compact.”

“I remember,” said the prince; “but tell me what brought Queen Gul to
her present pass?”

“One night,” continued King Sinaubar, “I was aroused by feeling Gul’s
hands and feet, deadly cold, against my body. I asked her where she had
been to get so cold, and she said she had had to go out. Next morning,
when I went to my stable I saw that two of my horses, Windfoot and
Tiger, were thin and worn out. I reprimanded the groom and beat him. He
asked where his fault lay, and said that every night my wife took one
or other of these horses and rode away, and came back only just before
dawn. A flame kindled in my heart, and I asked myself where she could
go and what she could do. I told the groom to be silent, and when next
Gul took a horse from the stable to saddle another quickly and bring it
to me. That day I did not hunt, but stayed at home to follow the matter
up. I lay down as usual at night and pretended to fall asleep. When I
seemed safely off Gul got up and went to the stable as her custom was.
That night it was Tiger’s turn. She rode off on him, and I took
Windfoot and followed. With me went that dog you see, a faithful friend
who never left me.

“When I came to the foot of those hills which lie outside the city I
saw Gul dismount and go towards a house which some negroes have built
there. Over against the door was a high seat, and on it lay a giant
negro, before whom she salaamed. He got up and beat her till she was
marked with weals, but she uttered no complaint. I was dumfounded, for
once when I had struck her with a rose stalk she had complained and
fretted for three days! Then the negro said to her: ‘How now, ugly one
and shaven head! Why are you so late, and why are you not wearing
wedding garments?’ She answered him: ‘That person did not go to sleep
quickly, and he stayed at home all day, so that I was not able to adorn
myself. I came as soon as I could.’ In a little while he called her to
sit beside him; but this was more than I could bear. I lost control of
myself and rushed upon him. He clutched my collar and we grappled in a
death struggle. Suddenly she came behind me, caught my feet and threw
me. While he held me on the ground, she drew out my own knife and gave
it to him. I should have been killed but for that faithful dog which
seized his throat and pulled him down and pinned him to the ground.
Then I got up and despatched the wretch. There were four other negroes
at the place; three I killed and the fourth got away, and has taken
refuge beneath the throne of Mihr-afruz, daughter of King Quimus. I
took Gul back to my palace, and from that time till now I have treated
her as a dog is treated, and I have cared for my dog as though it were
my wife. Now you know what the rose did to the cypress; and now you
must keep compact with me.”

“I shall keep my word,” said the prince; “but may a little water be
taken to the roof so that I may make my last ablution?”

To this request the king consented. The prince mounted to the roof,
and, getting into a corner, struck his fire-steel and burned one of the
Sirurgh’s feathers in the flame. Straightway it appeared, and by the
majesty of its presence made the city quake. It took the prince on its
back and soared away to the zenith.

After a time King Sinaubar said: “That young man is a long time on the
roof; go and bring him here.” But there was no sign of the prince upon
the roof; only, far away in the sky, the Simurgh was seen carrying him
off. When the king heard of his escape he thanked heaven that his hands
were clean of this blood.

Up and up flew the Simurgh, till earth looked like an egg resting on an
ocean. At length it dropped straight down to its own place, where the
kind prince was welcomed by the young birds and most hospitably
entertained. He told the whole story of the rose and the cypress, and
then, laden with gifts which the Simurgh had gathered from cities far
and near, he set his face for the Castle of Clashing Swords. The
king-lion came out to meet him; he took the negro chief’s
daughter—-whose name was also Gul—in lawful marriage, and then marched
with her and her possessions and her attendants to the Place of Gifts.
Here they halted for a night, and at dawn said good-bye to the
king-lion and set out for Jamila’s country.

When the Lady Jamila heard that Prince Almas was near, she went out,
with many a fair handmaid, to give him loving reception. Their meeting
was joyful, and they went together to the garden-palace. Jamila
summoned all her notables, and in their presence her marriage with the
prince was solemnised. A few days later she entrusted her affairs to
her wazir, and made preparation to go with the prince to his own
country. Before she started she restored all the men whom her sister,
Latifa, had bewitched, to their own forms, and received their
blessings, and set them forward to their homes. The wicked Latifa
herself she left quite alone in her garden-house. When all was ready
they set out with all her servants and slaves, all her treasure and
goods, and journeyed at ease to the city of King Quimus.

When King Quimus heard of the approach of such a great company, he sent
out his wazir to give the prince honourable meeting, and to ask what
had procured him the favour of the visit. The prince sent back word
that he had no thought of war, but he wrote: “Learn and know, King
Quimus, that I am here to end the crimes of your insolent daughter who
has tyrannously done to death many kings and kings sons, and has hung
their heads on your citadel. I am here to give her the answer to her
riddle.” Later on he entered the city, beat boldly on the drums, and
was conducted to the presence.

The king entreated him to have nothing to do with the riddle, for that
no man had come out of it alive. “O king!” replied the prince, “it is
to answer it that I am here; I will not withdraw.”

Mihr-afruz was told that one man more had staked his head on her
question, and that this was one who said he knew the answer. At the
request of the prince, all the officers and notables of the land were
summoned to hear his reply to the princess. All assembled, and the king
and his queen Gul-rakh, and the girl and the prince were there.

The prince addressed Mihr-afruz: “What is the question you ask?”

“What did the rose do to the cypress?” she rejoined.

The prince smiled, and turned and addressed the assembly.

“You who are experienced men and versed in affairs, did you ever know
or hear and see anything of this matter?”

“No!” they answered, “no one has ever known or heard or seen aught
about it; it is an empty fancy.”

“From whom, then, did the princess hear of it? This empty fancy it is
that has done many a servant of God to death!”

All saw the good sense of his words and showed their approval. Then he
turned to the princess: “Tell us the truth, princess; who told you of
this thing? I know it hair by hair, and in and out; but if I tell you
what I know, who is there that can say I speak the truth? You must
produce the person who can confirm my words.”

Her heart sank, for she feared that her long-kept secret was now to be
noised abroad. But she said merely: “Explain yourself.”

“I shall explain myself fully when you bring here the negro whom you
hide beneath your throne.”

Here the king shouted in wonderment: “Explain yourself, young man! What
negro does my daughter hide beneath her throne?”

“That,” said the prince, “you will see if you order to be brought here
the negro who will be found beneath the throne of the princess.”

Messengers were forthwith despatched to the garden house, and after
awhile they returned bringing a negro whom they had discovered in a
secret chamber underneath the throne of Mihr-afruz, dressed in a dress
of honour, and surrounded with luxury. The king was overwhelmed with
astonishment, but the girl had taken heart again. She had had time to
think that perhaps the prince had heard of the presence of the negro,
and knew no more. So she said haughtily: “Prince! you have not answered
my riddle.”

“O most amazingly impudent person,” cried he, “do you not yet repent?”

Then he turned to the people, and told them the whole story of the rose
and the cypress, of King Sinaubar and Queen Gul. When he came to the
killing of the negroes, he said to the one who stood before them: “You,
too, were present.”

“That is so; all happened as you have told it!”

There was great rejoicing in the court and all through the country over
the solving of the riddle, and because now no more kings and princes
would be killed. King Quimus made over his daughter to Prince Almas,
but the latter refused to marry her, and took her as his captive. He
then asked that the heads should be removed from the battlements and
given decent burial. This was done. He received from the king
everything that belonged to Mihr-afruz; her treasure of gold and
silver; her costly stuffs and carpets; her household plenishing; her
horses and camels; her servants and slaves.

Then he returned to his camp and sent for Dil-aram, who came bringing
her goods and chattels, her gold and her jewels. When all was ready,
Prince Almas set out for home, taking with him Jamila, and Dil-aram and
Gul, daughter of Taram-taq, and the wicked Mihr-afruz, and all the
belongings of the four, packed on horses and camels, and in carts
without number.

As he approached the borders of his father’s country word of his coming
went before him, and all the city came forth to give him welcome. King
Saman-lal-posh—Jessamine, wearer of rubies—had so bewept the loss of
his sons that he was now blind. When the prince had kissed his feet and
received his blessing, he took from a casket a little collyrium of
Solomon, which the Simurgh had given him, and which reveals the hidden
things of earth, and rubbed it on his father’s eyes. Light came, and
the king saw his son.

Mihr-afruz was brought before the king, and the prince said: “This is
the murderer of your sons; do with her as you will.” The king fancied
that the prince might care for the girl’s beauty, and replied: “You
have humbled her; do with her as you will.”

Upon this the prince sent for four swift and strong horses, and had the
negro bound to each one of them; then each was driven to one of the
four quarters, and he tore in pieces like muslin.

This frightened Mihr-afruz horribly, for she thought the same thing
might be done to herself. She cried out to the prince: “O Prince Almas!
what is hardest to get is most valued. Up till now I have been subject
to no man, and no man had had my love. The many kings and kings sons
who have died at my hands have died because it was their fate to die
like this. In this matter I have not sinned. That was their fate from
eternity; and from the beginning it was predestined that my fate should
be bound up with yours.”

The prince gave ear to the argument from pre-ordainment, and as she was
a very lovely maiden he took her too in lawful marriage. She and
Jamila, set up house together, and Dil-aram and Gul set up theirs; and
the prince passed the rest of his life with the four in perfect
happiness, and in pleasant and sociable entertainment.

Now has been told what the rose did to the cypress.

Finished, finished, finished!




Footnotes:

1 (return)
[Translated from two Persian MSS. in the possession of the British
Museum and the India Office, and adapted, with some reservations, by
Annette S. Beveridge.]

2 (return)
[Jessamine, ruby-decked.]

3 (return)
[Life-giving diamond.]

4 (return)
[World-gripper.]

5 (return)
[Love-enkindler.]

6 (return)
[Rose-cheek.]

7 (return)
[Heartsease.]

8 (return)
[Elias.]

9 (return)
[Pleasure.]

10 (return)
[Thirty-birds.]

11 (return)
[Pomp and Pride.]

12 (return)
[Of happy omen.]




Ball-carrier and the Bad One


Far, far in the forest there were two little huts, and in each of them
lived a man who was a famous hunter, his wife, and three or four
children. Now the children were forbidden to play more than a short
distance from the door, as it was known that, away on the other side of
the wood near the great river, there dwelt a witch who had a magic ball
that she used as a means of stealing children.

Her plan was a very simple one, and had never yet failed. When she
wanted a child she just flung her ball in the direction of the child’s
home, and however far off it might be, the ball was sure to reach it.
Then, as soon as the child saw it, the ball would begin rolling slowly
back to the witch, just keeping a little ahead of the child, so that he
always thought that he could catch it the next minute. But he never
did, and, what was more, his parents never saw him again.

Of course you must not suppose that all the fathers and mothers who had
lost children made no attempts to find them, but the forest was so
large, and the witch was so cunning in knowing exactly where they were
going to search, that it was very easy for her to keep out of the way.
Besides, there was always the chance that the children might have been
eaten by wolves, of which large herds roamed about in winter.

One day the old witch happened to want a little boy, so she threw her
ball in the direction of the hunters’ huts. A child was standing
outside, shooting at a mark with his bow and arrows, but the moment he
saw the ball, which was made of glass whose blues and greens and
whites, all frosted over, kept changing one into the other, he flung
down his bow, and stooped to pick the ball up. But as he did so it
began to roll very gently downhill. The boy could not let it roll away,
when it was so close to him, so he gave chase. The ball seemed always
within his grasp, yet he could never catch it; it went quicker and
quicker, and the boy grew more and more excited. That time he almost
touched it—no, he missed it by a hair’s breadth! Now, surely, if he
gave a spring he could get in front of it! He sprang forward, tripped
and fell, and found himself in the witch’s house!

“Welcome! welcome! grandson!” said she; “get up and rest yourself, for
you have had a long walk, and I am sure you must be tired!” So the boy
sat down, and ate some food which she gave him in a bowl. It was quite
different from anything he had tasted before, and he thought it was
delicious. When he had eaten up every bit, the witch asked him if he
had ever fasted.

“No,” replied the boy, “at least I have been obliged to sometimes, but
never if there was any food to be had.”

“You will have to fast if you want the spirits to make you strong and
wise, and the sooner you begin the better.”

“Very well,” said the boy, “what do I do first?”

“Lie down on those buffalo skins by the door of the hut,” answered she;
and the boy lay down, and the squirrels and little bears and the birds
came and talked to him.

At the end of ten days the old woman came to him with a bowl of the
same food that he had eaten before.

“Get up, my grandson, you have fasted long enough. Have the good
spirits visited you, and granted you the strength and wisdom that you
desire?”

“Some of them have come, and have given me a portion of both,” answered
the boy, “but many have stayed away from me.”

“Then,” said she, “you must fast ten days more.”

So the boy lay down again on the buffalo skins, and fasted for ten
days, and at the end of that time he turned his face to the wall, and
fasted for twenty days longer. At length the witch called to him, and
said:

“Come and eat something, my grandson.” At the sound of her voice the
boy got up and ate the food she gave him. When he had finished every
scrap she spoke as before: “Tell me, my grandson, have not the good
spirits visited you all these many days that you have fasted?”

“Not all, grandmother,” answered he; “there are still some who keep
away from me and say that I have not fasted long enough.”

“Then you must fast again,” replied the old woman, “and go on fasting
till you receive the gifts of all the good spirits. Not one must be
missing.”

The boy said nothing, but lay down for the third time on the buffalo
skins, and fasted for twenty days more. And at the end of that time the
witch thought he was dead, his face was so white and his body so still.
But when she had fed him out of the bowl he grew stronger, and soon was
able to sit up.

“You have fasted a long time,” said she, “longer than anyone ever
fasted before. Surely the good spirits must be satisfied now?”

“Yes, grandmother,” answered the boy, “they have all come, and have
given me their gifts.”

This pleased the old woman so much that she brought him another basin
of food, and while he was eating it she talked to him, and this is what
she said: “Far away, on the other side of the great river, is the home
of the Bad One. In his house is much gold, and what is more precious
even than the gold, a little bridge, which lengthens out when the Bad
One waves his hand, so that there is no river or sea that he cannot
cross. Now I want that bridge and some of the gold for myself, and that
is the reason that I have stolen so many boys by means of my ball. I
have tried to teach them how to gain the gifts of the good spirits, but
none of them would fast long enough, and at last I had to send them
away to perform simple, easy little tasks. But you have been strong and
faithful, and you can do this thing if you listen to what I tell you!
When you reach the river tie this ball to your foot, and it will take
you across—you cannot manage it in any other way. But do not be afraid;
trust to the ball, and you will be quite safe!”

The boy took the ball and put it in a bag. Then he made himself a club
and a bow, and some arrows which would fly further than anyone else’s
arrows, because of the strength the good spirits had given him. They
had also bestowed on him the power of changing his shape, and had
increased the quickness of his eyes and ears so that nothing escaped
him. And in some way or other they made him understand that if he
needed more help they would give it to him.

When all these things were ready the boy bade farewell to the witch and
set out. He walked through the forest for several days without seeing
anyone but his friends the squirrels and the bears and the birds, but
though he stopped and spoke to them all, he was careful not to let them
know where he was going.

At last, after many days, he came to the river, and beyond it he
noticed a small hut standing on a hill which he guessed to be the home
of the Bad One. But the stream flowed so quickly that he could not see
how he was ever to cross it, and in order to test how swift the current
really was, he broke a branch from a tree and threw it in. It seemed
hardly to touch the water before it was carried away, and even his
magic sight could not follow it. He could not help feeling frightened,
but he hated giving up anything that he had once undertaken, and,
fastening the ball on his right foot, he ventured on the river. To his
surprise he was able to stand up; then a panic seized him, and he
scrambled up the bank again. In a minute or two he plucked up courage
to go a little further into the river, but again its width frightened
him, and a second time he turned back. However, he felt rather ashamed
of his cowardice, as it was quite clear that his ball could support
him, and on his third trial he got safely to the other side.

Once there he replaced the ball in the bag, and looked carefully round
him. The door of the Bad One’s hut was open, and he saw that the
ceiling was supported by great wooden beams, from which hung the bags
of gold and the little bridge. He saw, too, the Bad One sitting in the
midst of his treasures eating his dinner, and drinking something out of
a horn. It was plain to the boy that he must invent some plan of
getting the Bad One out of the way, or else he would never be able to
steal the gold or the bridge.

What should he do? Give horrible shrieks as if he were in pain? But the
Bad One would not care whether he were murdered or not! Call him by his
name? But the Bad One was very cunning, and would suspect some trick.
He must try something better than that! Then suddenly an idea came to
him, and he gave a little jump of joy. “Oh, how stupid of me not to
think of that before!” said he, and he wished with all his might that
the Bad One should become very hungry—so hungry that he could not wait
a moment for fresh food to be brought to him. And sure enough at that
instant the Bad One called out to his servant, “You did not bring food
that would satisfy a sparrow Fetch some more at once, for I am
perfectly starving.” Then, without giving the woman time to go to the
larder, he got up from his chair, and rolled, staggering from hunger,
towards the kitchen.

Directly the door had closed on the Bad One the boy ran in, pulled down
a bag of gold from the beam, and tucked it under his left arm. Next he
unhooked the little bridge and put it under his right. He did not try
to escape, as most boys of his age would have done, for the wisdom put
into his mind by the good spirits taught him that before he could reach
the river and make use of the bridge the Bad One would have tracked him
by his footsteps and been upon him. So, making himself very small and
thin, he hid himself behind a pile of buffalo skins in the corner,
first tearing a slit through one of them, so that he could see what was
going on.

He had hardly settled himself when the servant entered the room, and,
as she did so, the last bag of gold on the beam fell to the ground—for
they had begun to fall directly the boy had taken the first one. She
cried to her master that someone had stolen both the bag and the
bridge, and the Bad One rushed in, mad with anger, and bade her go and
seek for footsteps outside, that they might find out where the thief
had gone. In a few minutes she returned, saying that he must be in the
house, as she could not see any footsteps leading to the river, and
began to move all the furniture in the room, without discovering Ball
Carrier.

“But he must be here somewhere,” she said to herself, examining for the
second time the pile of buffalo skins; and Ball-Carrier, knowing that
he could not possibly escape now, hastily wished that the Bad One
should be unable to eat any more food at present.

“Ah, there is a slit in this one,” cried the servant, shaking the skin;
“and here he is.” And she pulled out Ball-Carrier, looking so lean and
small that he would hardly have made a mouthful for a sparrow.

“Was it you who took my gold and bridge?” asked the Bad One.

“Yes,” answered Ball-Carrier, “it was I who took them.”

The Bad One made a sign to the woman, who inquired where he had hidden
them. He lifted his left arm where the gold was, and she picked up a
knife and scraped his skin so that no gold should be left sticking to
it.

“What have you done with the bridge?” said she. And he lifted his right
arm, from which she took the bridge, while the Bad One looked on, well
pleased. “Be sure that he does not run away,” chuckled he. “Boil some
water, and get him ready for cooking, while I go and invite my friends
the water-demons to the feast.”

The woman seized Ball-Carrier between her finger and thumb, and was
going to carry him to the kitchen, when the boy spoke:

“I am very lean and small now,” he said, “hardly worth the trouble of
cooking; but if you were to keep me two days, and gave me plenty of
food, I should get big and fat. As it is, your friends the water-demons
would think you meant to laugh at them, when they found that I was the
feast.”

“Well, perhaps you are right,” answered the Bad One; “I will keep you
for two days.” And he went out to visit the water-demons.

Meanwhile the servant, whose name was Lung Woman, led him into a little
shed, and chained him up to a ring in the wall. But food was given him
every hour, and at the end of two days he was as fat and big as a
Christmas turkey, and could hardly move his head from one side to the
other.

“He will do now,” said the Bad One, who came constantly to see how he
was getting on. “I shall go and tell the water-demons that we expect
them to dinner to-night. Put the kettle on the fire, but be sure on no
account to taste the broth.”

Lung-Woman lost no time in obeying her orders. She built up the fire,
which had got very low, filled the kettle with water, and passing a
rope which hung from the ceiling through the handle, swung it over the
flames. Then she brought in Ball-Carrier, who, seeing all these
preparations, wished that as long as he was in the kettle the water
might not really boil, though it would hiss and bubble, and also, that
the spirits would turn the water into fat.

The kettle soon began to sing and bubble, and Ball Carrier was lifted
in. Very soon the fat which was to make the sauce rose to the surface,
and Ball-Carrier, who was bobbing about from one side to the other,
called out that Lung-Woman had better taste the broth, as he though
that some salt should be added to it. The servant knew quite well that
her master had forbidden her to do any thing of the kind, but when once
the idea was put into her head, she found the smell from the kettle so
delicious that she unhooked a long ladle from the wall and plunged it
into the kettle.

“You will spill it all, if you stand so far off,” said the boy; “why
don’t you come a little nearer?” And as she did so he cried to the
spirits to give him back his usual size and strength and to make the
water scalding hot Then he gave the kettle a kick, which upset all the
boiling water upon her, and jumping over her body he seized once more
the gold and the bridge, picked up his club and bow and arrows, and
after setting fire to the Bad One’s hut, ran down to the river, which
he crossed safely by the help of the bridge.

The hut, which was made of wood, was burned to the ground before the
Bad One came back with a large crowd of water-demons. There was not a
sign of anyone or anything, so he started for the river, where he saw
Ball Carrier sitting quietly on the other side. Then the Bad One knew
what had happened, and after telling the water demons that there would
be no feast after all, he called to Ball-Carrier, who was eating an
apple.

“I know your name now,” he said, “and as you have ruined me, and I am
not rich any more, will you take me as your servant?”

“Yes, I will, though you have tried to kill me,” answered Ball-Carrier,
throwing the bridge across the water as he spoke. But when the Bad One
was in the midst of the stream, the boy wished it to become small; and
the Bad One fell into the water and was drowned, and the world was rid
of him.

[U.S.. Bureau of Ethnology.]




How Ball-carrier Finished His Task


After Ball-Carrier had managed to drown the Bad One so that he could
not do any more mischief, he forgot the way to his grandmother’s house,
and could not find it again, though he searched everywhere. During this
time he wandered into many strange places, and had many adventures; and
one day he came to a hut where a young girl lived. He was tired and
hungry and begged her to let him in and rest, and he stayed a long
while, and the girl became his wife. One morning he saw two children
playing in front of the hut, and went out to speak to them. But as soon
as they saw him they set up cries of horror and ran away. “They are the
children of my sister who has been on a long journey,” replied his
wife, “and now that she knows you are my husband she wants to kill
you.”

“Oh, well, let her try,” replied Ball-Carrier. “It is not the first
time people have wished to do that. And here I am still, you see!”

“Be careful,” said the wife, “she is very cunning.” But at this moment
the sister-in-law came up.

“How do you do, brother-in-law? I have heard of you so often that I am
very glad to meet you. I am told that you are more powerful than any
man on earth, and as I am powerful too, let us try which is the
strongest.”

“That will be delightful,” answered he. “Suppose we begin with a short
race, and then we will go on to other things.”

“That will suit me very well,” replied the woman, who was a witch. “And
let us agree that the one who wins shall have the right to kill the
other.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Ball-Carrier; and I don’t think we shall find a
flatter course than the prairie itself—no one knows how many miles it
stretches. We will run to the end and back again.”

This being settled they both made ready for the race, and Ball-Carrier
silently begged the good spirits to help him, and not to let him fall
into the hands of this wicked witch.

“When the sun touches the trunk of that tree we will start,” said she,
as they both stood side by side. But with the first step Ball-Carrier
changed himself into a wolf and for a long way kept ahead. Then
gradually he heard her creeping up behind him, and soon she was in
front. So Ball-Carrier took the shape of a pigeon and flew rapidly past
her, but in a little while she was in front again and the end of the
prairie was in sight. “A crow can fly faster than a pigeon,” thought
he, and as a crow he managed to pass her and held his ground so long
that he fancied she was quite beaten. The witch began to be afraid of
it too, and putting out all her strength slipped past him. Next he put
on the shape of a hawk, and in this form he reached the bounds of the
prairie, he and the witch turning homewards at the moment.

Bird after bird he tried, but every time the witch gained on him and
took the lead. At length the goal was in sight, and Ball-Carrier knew
that unless he could get ahead now he would be killed before his own
door, under the eyes of his wife. His eyes had grown dim from fatigue,
his wings flapped wearily and hardly bore him along, while the witch
seemed as fresh as ever. What bird was there whose flight was swifter
than his? Would not the good spirits tell him? Ah, of course he knew;
why had he not thought of it at first and spared himself all that
fatigue? And the next instant a humming bird, dressed in green and
blue, flashed past the woman and entered the house. The witch came
panting up, furious at having lost the race which she felt certain of
winning; and Ball-Carrier, who had by this time changed back into his
own shape, struck her on the head and killed her.

For a long while Ball-Carrier was content to stay quietly at home with
his wife and children, for he was tired of adventures, and only did
enough hunting to supply the house with food. But one day he happened
to eat some poisonous berries that he had found in the forest, and grew
so ill that he felt he was going to die.

“When I am dead do not bury me in the earth,” he said, “but put me over
there, among that clump of trees.” So his wife and her three children
watched by him as long as he was alive, and after he was dead they took
him up and laid the body on a platform of stakes which they had
prepared in the grove. And as they returned weeping to the hut they
caught a glimpse of the ball rolling away down the path back to the old
grandmother. One of the sons sprang forward to stop it, for
Ball-Carrier had often told them the tale of how it had helped him to
cross the river, but it was too quick for him, and they had to content
themselves with the war club and bow and arrows, which were put
carefully away.

By-and-by some travellers came past, and the chief among them asked
leave to marry Ball-Carrier’s daughter. The mother said she must have a
little time to think over it, as her daughter was still very young; so
it was settled that the man should go away for a month with his
friends, and then come back to see if the girl was willing.

Now ever since Ball-Carrier’s death the family had been very poor, and
often could not get enough to eat. One morning the girl, who had had no
supper and no breakfast, wandered off to look for cranberries, and
though she was quite near home was astonished at noticing a large hut,
which certainly had not been there when last she had come that way. No
one was about, so she ventured to peep in, and her surprise was
increased at seeing, heaped up in one corner, a quantity of food of all
sorts, while a little robin redbreast stood perched on a beam looking
down upon her.

“It is my father, I am sure,” she cried; and the bird piped in answer.

From that day, whenever they wanted food they went to the hut, and
though the robin could not speak, he would hop on their shoulders and
let them feed him with the food they knew he liked best.

When the man came back he found the girl looking so much prettier and
fatter than when he had left her, that he insisted that they should be
married on the spot. And the mother, who did not know how to get rid of
him, gave in.

The husband spent all his time in hunting, and the family had never had
so much meat before; but the man, who had seen for himself how poor
they were, noticed with amazement that they did not seem to care about
it, or to be hungry. “They must get food from somewhere,” he thought,
and one morning, when he pretended to be going out to hunt, he hid in a
thicket to watch. Very soon they all left the house together, and
walked to the other hut, which the girl’s husband saw for the first
time, as it was hid in a hollow. He followed, and noticed that each one
went up to the redbreast, and shook him by the claw; and he then
entered boldly and shook the bird’s claw too. The whole party
afterwards sat down to dinner, after which they all returned to their
own hut.

The next day the husband declared that he was very ill, and could not
eat anything; but this was only a presence so that he might get what he
wanted. The family were all much distressed, and begged him to tell
them what food he fancied.

“Oh! I could not eat any food,” he answered every time, and at each
answer his voice grew fainter and fainter, till they thought he would
die from weakness before their eyes.

“There must be some thing you could take, if you would only say what it
is,” implored his wife.

“No, nothing, nothing; except, perhaps—but of course that is
impossible!”

“No, I am sure it is not,” replied she; “you shall have it, I
promise—only tell me what it is.”

“I think—but I could not ask you to do such a thing. Leave me alone,
and let me die quietly.”

“You shall not die,” cried the girl, who was very fond of her husband,
for he did not beat her as most girls’ husbands did. “Whatever it is, I
will manage to get it for you.”

“Well, then, I think, if I had that—redbreast, nicely roasted, I could
eat a little bit of his wing!”

The wife started back in horror at such a request; but the man turned
his face to the wall, and took no notice, as he thought it was better
to leave her to herself for a little.

Weeping and wringing her hands, the girl went down to her mother. The
brothers were very angry when they heard the story, and declared that,
if any one were to die, it certainly should not be the robin. But all
that night the man seemed getting weaker and weaker, and at last, quite
early, the wife crept out, and stealing to the hut, killed the bird,
and brought him home to her husband.

Just as she was going to cook it her two brothers came in. They cried
out in horror at the sight, and, rushing out of the hut, declared they
would never see her any more. And the poor girl, with a heavy heart,
took the body of the redbreast up to her husband.

But directly she entered the room the man told her that he felt a great
deal better, and that he would rather have a piece of bear’s flesh,
well boiled, than any bird, however tender. His wife felt very
miserable to think that their beloved redbreast had been sacrificed for
nothing, and begged him to try a little bit.

“You felt so sure that it would do you good before,” said she, “that I
can’t help thinking it would quite cure you now.” But the man only flew
into a rage, and flung the bird out of the window. Then he got up and
went out.

Now all this while the ball had been rolling, rolling, rolling to the
old grandmother’s hut on the other side of the world, and directly it
rolled into her hut she knew that her grandson must be dead. Without
wasting any time she took a fox skin and tied it round her forehead,
and fastened another round her waist, as witches always do when they
leave their own homes. When she was ready she said to the ball: “Go
back the way you came, and lead me to my grandson.” And the ball
started with the old woman following.

It was a long journey, even for a witch, but, like other things, it
ended at last; and the old woman stood before the platform of stakes,
where the body of Ball-Carrier lay.

“Wake up, my grandson, it is time to go home,” the witch said. And
Ball-Carrier stepped down oft the platform, and brought his club and
bow and arrows out of the hut, and set out, for the other side of the
world, behind the old woman.

When they reached the hut where Ball-Carrier had fasted so many years
ago, the old woman spoke for the first time since they had started on
their way.

“My grandson, did you ever manage to get that gold from the Bad One?”

“Yes, grandmother, I got it.”

“Where is it?” she asked.

“Here, in my left arm-pit,” answered he.

So she picked up a knife and scraped away all the gold which had stuck
to his skin, and which had been sticking there ever since he first
stole it. After she had finished she asked again:

“My grandson, did you manage to get that bridge from the Bad One?”

“Yes, grandmother, I got that too,” answered he.

“Where is it?” she asked, and Ball-Carrier lifted his right arm, and
pointed to his arm-pit.

“Here is the bridge, grandmother,” said he.

Then the witch did something that nobody in the world could have
guessed that she would do. First, she took the gold and said to
Ball-carrier:

“My grandson, this gold must be hidden in the earth, for if people
think they can get it when they choose, they will become lazy and
stupid. But if we take it and bury it in different parts of the world
they will have to work for it if they want it, and then will only find
a little at a time.” And as she spoke, she pulled up one of the poles
of the hut, and Ball-Carrier saw that underneath was a deep, deep hole,
which seemed to have no bottom. Down this hole she poured all the gold,
and when it was out of sight it ran about all over the world, where
people that dig hard sometimes find it. And after that was done she put
the pole back again.

Next she lifted down a spade from a high shelf, where it had grown
quite rusty, and dug a very small hole on the opposite side of the
hut—very small, but very deep.

“Give me the bridge,” said she, “for I am going to bury it here. If
anyone was to get hold of it, and find that they could cross rivers and
seas without any trouble, they would never discover how to cross them
for themselves. I am a witch, and if I had chosen I could easily have
cast my spells over the Bad One, and have made him deliver them to you
the first day you came into my hut. But then you would never have
fasted, and never have planned how to get what you wanted, and never
have known the good spirits, and would have been fat and idle to the
end of your days. And now go; in that hut, which you can just see far
away, live your father and mother, who are old people now, and need a
son to hunt for them. You have done what you were set to do, and I need
you no more.”

Then Ball-Carrier remembered his parents and went back to them.

[From Bureau of Ethnology. “Indian Folklore.“]




The Bunyip


Long, long ago, far, far away on the other side of the world, some
young men left the camp where they lived to get some food for their
wives and children. The sun was hot, but they liked heat, and as they
went they ran races and tried who could hurl his spear the farthest, or
was cleverest in throwing a strange weapon called a boomerang, which
always returns to the thrower. They did not get on very fast at this
rate, but presently they reached a flat place that in time of flood was
full of water, but was now, in the height of summer, only a set of
pools, each surrounded with a fringe of plants, with bulrushes standing
in the inside of all. In that country the people are fond of the roots
of bulrushes, which they think as good as onions, and one of the young
men said that they had better collect some of the roots and carry them
back to the camp. It did not take them long to weave the tops of the
willows into a basket, and they were just going to wade into the water
and pull up the bulrush roots when a youth suddenly called out: “After
all, why should we waste our time in doing work that is only fit for
women and children? Let them come and get the roots for themselves; but
we will fish for eels and anything else we can get.”

This delighted the rest of the party, and they all began to arrange
their fishing lines, made from the bark of the yellow mimosa, and to
search for bait for their hooks. Most of them used worms, but one, who
had put a piece of raw meat for dinner into his skin wallet, cut off a
little bit and baited his line with it, unseen by his companions.

For a long time they cast patiently, without receiving a single bite;
the sun had grown low in the sky, and it seemed as if they would have
to go home empty-handed, not even with a basket of roots to show; when
the youth, who had baited his hook with raw meat, suddenly saw his line
disappear under the water. Something, a very heavy fish he supposed,
was pulling so hard that he could hardly keep his feet, and for a few
minutes it seemed either as if he must let go or be dragged into the
pool. He cried to his friends to help him, and at last, trembling with
fright at what they were going to see, they managed between them to
land on the bank a creature that was neither a calf nor a seal, but
something of both, with a long, broad tail. They looked at each other
with horror, cold shivers running down their spines; for though they
had never beheld it, there was not a man amongst them who did not know
what it was—the cub of the awful Bunyip!

All of a sudden the silence was broken by a low wail, answered by
another from the other side of the pool, as the mother rose up from her
den and came towards them, rage flashing from her horrible yellow eyes.
“Let it go! let it go!” whispered the young men to each other; but the
captor declared that he had caught it, and was going to keep it. “He
had promised his sweetheart,” he said, “that he would bring back enough
meat for her father’s house to feast on for three days, and though they
could not eat the little Bunyip, her brothers and sisters should have
it to play with.” So, flinging his spear at the mother to keep her
back, he threw the little Bunyip on to his shoulders, and set out for
the camp, never heeding the poor mother’s cries of distress.

By this time it was getting near sunset, and the plain was in shadow,
though the tops of the mountains were still quite bright. The youths
had all ceased to be afraid, when they were startled by a low rushing
sound behind them, and, looking round, saw that the pool was slowly
rising, and the spot where they had landed the Bunyip was quite
covered. “What could it be?” they asked one of another; “there was not
a cloud in the sky, yet the water had risen higher already than they
had ever known it do before.” For an instant they stood watching as if
they were frozen, then they turned and ran with all their might, the
man with the Bunyip running faster than all. When he reached a high
peak over-looking all the plain he stopped to take breath, and turned
to see if he was safe yet. Safe! why only the tops of the trees
remained above that sea of water, and these were fast disappearing.
They must run fast indeed if they were to escape. So on they flew,
scarcely feeling the ground as they went, till they flung themselves on
the ground before the holes scooped out of the earth where they had all
been born. The old men were sitting in front, the children were
playing, and the women chattering together, when the little Bunyip fell
into their midst, and there was scarcely a child among them who did not
know that something terrible was upon them. “The water! the water!”
gasped one of the young men; and there it was, slowly but steadily
mounting the ridge itself. Parents and children clung together, as if
by that means they could drive back the advancing flood; and the youth
who had caused all this terrible catastrophe, seized his sweetheart,
and cried: “I will climb with you to the top of that tree, and there no
waters can reach us.” But, as he spoke, something cold touched him, and
quickly he glanced down at his feet. Then with a shudder he saw that
they were feet no longer, but bird’s claws. He looked at the girl he
was clasping, and beheld a great black bird standing at his side; he
turned to his friends, but a flock of great awkward flapping creatures
stood in their place He put up his hands to cover his face, but they
were no more hands, only the ends of wings; and when he tried to speak,
a noise such as he had never heard before seemed to come from his
throat, which had suddenly become narrow and slender. Already the water
had risen to his waist, and he found himself sitting easily upon it,
while its surface reflected back the image of a black swan, one of
many.

Never again did the swans become men; but they are still different from
other swans, for in the night-time those who listen can hear them talk
in a language that is certainly not swan’s language; and there are even
sounds of laughing and talking, unlike any noise made by the swans whom
we know.

The little Bunyip was carried home by its mother, and after that the
waters sank back to their own channels. The side of the pool where she
lives is always shunned by everyone, as nobody knows when she may
suddenly put out her head and draw him into her mighty jaws. But people
say that underneath the black waters of the pool she has a house filled
with beautiful things, such as mortals who dwell on the earth have no
idea of. Though how they know I cannot tell you, as nobody has ever
seen it.

[From Journal of Anthropological-Institute.]




Father Grumbler


Once upon a time there lived a man who had nearly as many children as
there were sparrows in the garden. He had to work very hard all day to
get them enough to eat, and was often tired and cross, and abused
everything and everybody, so that people called him “Father Grumbler.”

By-and-by he grew weary of always working, and on Sundays he lay a long
while in bed, instead of going to church. Then after a time he found it
dull to sit so many hours by himself, thinking of nothing but how to
pay the rent that was owing, and as the tavern across the road looked
bright and cheerful, he walked in one day and sat down with his
friends. “It was just to chase away Care,” he said; but when he came
out, hours and hours after, Care came out with him.

Father Grumbler entered his house feeling more dismal than when he left
it, for he knew that he had wasted both his time and his money.

“I will go and see the Holy Man in the cave near the well,” he said to
himself, “and perhaps he can tell me why all the luck is for other
people, and only misfortunes happen to me.” And he set out at once for
the cave.

It was a long way off, and the road led over mountains and through
valleys; but at last he reached the cave where the Holy Man dwelt, and
knocked at the door.

“Who is there?” asked a voice from within.

“It is I, Holy Man, Father Grumbler, you know, who has as many children
as sparrows in the garden.”

“Well, and what is it that you want?”

“I want to know why other people have all the luck, and only
misfortunes happen to me!”

The Holy Man did not answer, but went into an inner cave, from which he
came out bearing something in his hand. “Do you see this basket?” said
he. “It is a magical basket, and if you are hungry you have only got to
say: ‘Little basket, little basket, do your duty,’ and you will eat the
best dinner you ever had in your life. But when you have had enough, be
sure you don’t forget to cry out: ‘That will do for to-day.’ Oh!—and
one thing more—you need not show it to everybody and declare that I
have give it to you. Do you understand?”

Father Grumbler was always accustomed to think of himself as so unlucky
that he did not know whether the Holy Man was not playing a trick upon
him; but he took the basket without being polite enough to say either
“Thank you,” or “Good-morning,” and went away. However, he only waited
till he was out of sight of the cave before he stooped down and
whispered: “Little basket, little basket, do your duty.”

Now the basket had a lid, so that he could not see what was inside, but
he heard quite clearly strange noises, as if a sort of scuffling was
going on. Then the lid burst open, and a quantity of delicious little
white rolls came tumbling out one after the other, followed by a stream
of small fishes all ready cooked. What a quantity there were to be
sure! The whole road was covered with them, and the banks on each side
were beginning to disappear. Father Grumbler felt quite frightened at
the torrent, but at last he remembered what the Holy Man had told him,
and cried at the top of his voice: “Enough! enough! That will do for
to-day!” And the lid of the basket closed with a snap.

Father Grumbler sighed with relief and happiness as he looked around
him, and sitting down on a heap of stones, he ate till he could eat no
more. Trout, salmon, turbot, soles, and a hundred other fishes whose
names he did not know, lay boiled, fried, and grilled within reach of
his hands. As the Holy Man had said, he had never eaten such a dinner;
still, when he had done, he shook his head, and grumbled; “Yes, there
is plenty to eat, of course, but it only makes me thirsty, and there is
not a drop to drink anywhere.”

Yet, somehow, he could never tell why, he looked up and saw the tavern
in front of him, which he thought was miles, and miles, and miles away.

“Bring the best wine you have got, and two glasses, good mother,” he
said as he entered, “and if you are fond of fish there is enough here
to feed the house. Only there is no need to chatter about it all over
the place. You understand? Eh?” And without waiting for an answer he
whispered to the basket: “Little basket, little basket, do your duty.”
The innkeeper and his wife thought that their customer had gone
suddenly mad, and watched him closely, ready to spring on him if he
became violent; but both instinctively jumped backwards, nearly into
the fire, as rolls and fishes of every kind came tumbling out of the
basket, covering the tables and chairs and the floor, and even
overflowing into the street.

“Be quick, be quick, and pick them up,” cried the man. “And if these
are not enough, there are plenty more to be had for the asking.”

The innkeeper and his wife did not need telling twice. Down they went
on their knees and gathered up everything they could lay hands on. But
busy though they seemed, they found time to whisper to each other:

“If we can only get hold of that basket it will make our fortune!”

So they began by inviting Father Grumbler to sit down to the table, and
brought out the best wine in the cellar, hoping it might loosen his
tongue. But Father Grumbler was wiser than they gave him credit for,
and though they tried in all manner of ways to find out who had given
him the basket, he put them off, and kept his secret to himself.
Unluckily, though he did not SPEAK, he did drink, and it was not long
before he fell fast asleep. Then the woman fetched from her kitchen a
basket, so like the magic one that no one, without looking very
closely, could tell the difference, and placed it in Father Grumbler’s
hand, while she hid the other carefully away.

It was dinner time when the man awoke, and, jumping up hastily, he set
out for home, where he found all the children gathered round a basin of
thin soup, and pushing their wooden bowls forward, hoping to have the
first spoonful. Their father burst into the midst of them, bearing his
basket, and crying:

“Don’t spoil your appetites, children, with that stuff. Do you see this
basket? Well, I have only got to say, ‘Little basket, little basket, do
your duty,’ and you will see what will happen. Now you shall say it
instead of me, for a treat.”

The children, wondering and delighted, repeated the words, but nothing
happened. Again and again they tried, but the basket was only a basket,
with a few scales of fish sticking to the bottom, for the innkeeper’s
wife had taken it to market the day before.

“What is the matter with the thing?” cried the father at last,
snatching the basket from them, and turning it all over, grumbling and
swearing while he did so, under the eyes of his astonished wife and
children, who did not know whether to cry or to laugh.

“It certainly smells of fish,” he said, and then he stopped, for a
sudden thought had come to him.

“Suppose it is not mine at all; supposing—Ah, the scoundrels!”

And without listening to his wife and children, who were frightened at
his strange conduct and begged him to stay at home, he ran across to
the tavern and burst open the door.

“Can I do anything for you, Father Grumbler?” asked the innkeeper’s
wife in her softest voice.

“I have taken the wrong basket—by mistake, of course,” said he. “Here
is yours, will you give me back my own?”

“Why, what are you talking about?” answered she. “You can see for
yourself that there is no basket here.”

And though Father Grumbler DID look, it was quite true that none was to
be seen.

“Come, take a glass to warm you this cold day,” said the woman, who was
anxious to keep him in a good temper, and as this was an invitation
Father Grumbler never refused, he tossed it off and left the house.

He took the road that led to the Holy Man’s cave, and made such haste
that it was not long before he reached it.

“Who is there?” said a voice in answer to his knock.

“It is me, it is me, Holy man. You know quite well. Father Grumbler,
who has as many children as sparrows in the garden.”

“But, my good man, it was only yesterday that I gave you a handsome
present.”

“Yes, Holy Man, and here it is. But something has happened, I don’t
know what, and it won’t work any more.”

“Well, put it down. I will go and see if I can find anything for you.”

In a few minutes the Holy Man returned with a cock under his arm.

“Listen to me,” he said, “whenever you want money, you only have to
say: ‘Show me what you can do, cock,’ and you will see some wonderful
things. But, remember, it is not necessary to let all the world into
the secret.”

“Oh no, Holy Man, I am not so foolish as that.”

“Nor to tell everybody that I gave it to you,” went on the Holy Man. “I
have not got these treasures by the dozen.”

And without waiting for an answer he shut the door.

As before, the distance seemed to have wonderfully shortened, and in a
moment the tavern rose up in front of Father Grumbler. Without stopping
to think, he went straight in, and found the innkeeper’s wife in the
kitchen making a cake.

“Where have you come from, with that fine red cock in your basket,”
asked she, for the bird was so big that the lid would not shut down
properly.

“Oh, I come from a place where they don’t keep these things by the
dozen,” he replied, sitting down in front of the table.

The woman said no more, but set before him a bottle of his favourite
wine, and soon he began to wish to display his prize.

“Show me what you can do, cock,” cried he. And the cock stood up and
flapped his wings three times, crowing “coquerico” with a voice like a
trumpet, and at each crow there fell from his beak golden drops, and
diamonds as large as peas.

This time Father Grumbler did not invite the innkeeper’s wife to pick
up his treasures, but put his own hat under the cock’s beak, so as to
catch everything he let fall; and he did not see the husband and wife
exchanging glances with each other which said, “That would be a
splendid cock to put with our basket.”

“Have another glass of wine?” suggested the innkeeper, when they had
finished admiring the beauty of the cock, for they pretended not to
have seen the gold or the diamonds. And Father Grumbler, nothing loth,
drank one glass after another, till his head fell forward on the table,
and once more he was sound asleep. Then the woman gently coaxed the
cock from the basket and carried it off to her own poultry yard, from
which she brought one exactly like it, and popped it in its place.

Night was falling when the man awoke, and throwing proudly some grains
of gold on the table to pay for the wine he had drunk, he tucked the
cock comfortably into his basket and set out for home.

His wife and all the children were waiting for him at the door, and as
soon as she caught sight of him she broke out:

“You are a nice man to go wasting your time and your money drinking in
that tavern, and leaving us to starve! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“You don’t know what you are talking of,” he answered. “Money? Why, I
have gold and diamonds now, as much as I want. Do you see that cock?
Well, you have only to say to him, ‘Show me what you can do, cock,’ and
something splendid will happen.”

Neither wife nor children were inclined to put much faith in him after
their last experience; however, they thought it was worth trying, and
did as he told them. The cock flew round the room like a mad thing, and
crowed till their heads nearly split with the noise; but no gold or
diamonds dropped on the brick floor—not the tiniest grain of either.

Father Grumbler stared in silence for an instant, and then he began to
swear so loudly that even his family, accustomed as they were to his
language, wondered at him.

At last he grew a little quieter, but remained as puzzled as ever.

“Can I have forgotten the words? But I KNOW that was what he said! And
I saw the diamonds with my own eyes!” Then suddenly he seized the cock,
shut it into the basket, and rushed out of the house.

His heavy wooden shoes clattered as he ran along the road, and he made
such haste that the stars were only just beginning to come out when he
reached the cave of the Holy Man.

“Who is that knocking?” asked a voice from within.

“It is me! It is me! Holy Man! you know! Father—”

“But, my good fellow, you really should give some one else a chance.
This is the third time you have been—and at such an hour, too!”

“Oh, yes, Holy Man, I know it is very late, but you will forgive me! It
is your cock—there is something the matter. It is like the basket.
Look!”

“THAT my cock? THAT my basket? Somebody has played you a trick, my good
man!”

“A trick?” repeated Father Grumbler, who began to understand what had
happened. “Then it must have been those two—”

“I warned you not to show them to anybody,” said the Holy Man. “You
deserve—but I will give you one more chance.” And, turning, he unhooked
something from the wall.

“When you wish to dust your own jacket or those of your friends,” he
said, “you have only got to say, ‘Flack, flick, switch, be quick,’ and
you will see what happens. That is all I have to tell you.” And,
smiling to himself, the Holy Man pushed Father Grumbler out of the
cave.

“Ah, I understand now,” muttered the good man, as he took the road
home; “but I think I have got you two rascals!” and he hurried on to
the tavern with his basket under his arm, and the cock and the switch
both inside.

“Good evening, friends!” he said, as he entered the inn. “I am very
hungry, and should be glad if you would roast this cock for me as soon
as possible. THIS cock and no other—mind what I say,” he went on. “Oh,
and another thing! You can light the fire with this basket. When you
have done that I will show you something I have in my bag,” and, as he
spoke, he tried to imitate the smile that the Holy Man had given HIM.

These directions made the innkeeper’s wife very uneasy. However, she
said nothing, and began to roast the cock, while her husband did his
best to make the man sleepy with wine, but all in vain.

After dinner, which he did not eat without grumbling, for the cock was
very tough, the man struck his hand on the table, and said: “Now listen
to me. Go and fetch my cock and my basket, at once. Do you hear?”

“Your cock, and your basket, Father Grumbler? But you have just—”

“MY cock and MY basket!” interrupted he. “And, if you are too deaf and
too stupid to understand what that means, I have got something which
may help to teach you.” And opening the bag, he cried: “Flack, flick,
switch, be quick.”

And flack! flick! like lightening a white switch sprang out of the bag,
and gave such hearty blows to the innkeeper and his wife, and to Father
Grumbler into the bargain, that they all jumped as high as feathers
when a mattress is shaken.

“Stop! stop! make it stop, and you shall have back your cock and
basket,” cried the man and his wife. And Father Grumbler, who had no
wish to go on, called out between his hops: “Stop then, can’t you? That
is enough for to-day!”

But the switch paid no attention, and dealt out its blows as before,
and MIGHT have been dealing them to this day, if the Holy Man had not
heard their cries and come to the rescue. “Into the bag, quick!” said
he, and the switch obeyed.

“Now go and fetch me the cock and the basket,” and the woman went
without a word, and placed them on the table.

“You have all got what you deserved,” continued the Holy Man, “and I
have no pity for any of you. I shall take my treasures home, and
perhaps some day I may find a man who knows how to make the best of the
chances that are given to him. But that will never be YOU,” he added,
turning to Father Grumbler.

[From Contes Populaires.]




The Story of the Yara


Down in the south, where the sun shines so hotly that everything and
everybody sleeps all day, and even the great forests seem silent,
except early in the morning and late in the evening—down in this
country there once lived a young man and a maiden. The girl had been
born in the town, and had scarcely ever left it; but the young man was
a native of another country, and had only come to the city near the
great river because he could find no work to do where he was.

A few months after his arrival, when the days were cooler, and the
people did not sleep so much as usual, a great feast was held a little
way out of the town, and to this feast everyone flocked from thirty
miles and more. Some walked and some rode, some came in beautiful
golden coaches; but all had on splendid dresses of red or blue, while
wreaths of flowers rested on their hair.

It was the first time that the youth had been present on such an
occasion, and he stood silently aside watching the graceful dances and
the pretty games played by the young people. And as he watched, he
noticed one girl, dressed in white with scarlet pomegranates in her
hair, who seemed to him lovelier than all the rest.

When the feast was over, and the young man returned home, his manner
was so strange that it drew the attention of all his friends.

Through his work next day the youth continued to see the girl’s face,
throwing the ball to her companions, or threading her way between them
as she danced. At night sleep fled from him, and after tossing for
hours on his bed, he would get up and plunge into a deep pool that lay
a little way in the forest.

This state of things went on for some weeks, then at last chance
favoured him. One evening, as he was passing near the house where she
lived, he saw her standing with her back to the wall, trying to beat
off with her fan the attacks of a savage dog that was leaping at her
throat. Alonzo, for such was his name, sprang forward, and with one
blow of his fist stretched the creature dead upon the road. He then
helped the frightened and half-fainting girl into the large cool
verandah where her parents were sitting, and from that hour he was a
welcome guest in the house, and it was not long before he was the
promised husband of Julia.

Every day, when his work was done, he used to go up to the house, half
hidden among flowering plants and brilliant creepers, where
humming-birds darted from bush to bush, and parrots of all colours, red
and green and grey, shrieked in chorus. There he would find the maiden
waiting for him, and they would spend an hour or two under the stars,
which looked so large and bright that you felt as if you could almost
touch them.

“What did you do last night after you went home?” suddenly asked the
girl one evening.

“Just the same as I always do,” answered he. “It was too hot to sleep,
so it was no use going to bed, and I walked straight of to the forest
and bathed in one of those deep dark pools at the edge of the river. I
have been there constantly for several months, but last night a strange
thing happened. I was taking my last plunge, when I heard—sometimes
from one side, and sometimes from another—the sound of a voice singing
more sweetly than any nightingale, though I could not catch any words.
I left the pool, and, dressing myself as fast as I could, I searched
every bush and tree round the water, as I fancied that perhaps it was
my friend who was playing a trick on me, but there was not a creature
to be seen; and when I reached home I found my friend fast asleep.”

As Julia listened her face grew deadly white, and her whole body
shivered as if with cold. From her childhood she had heard stories of
the terrible beings that lived in the forests and were hidden under the
banks of the rivers, and could only be kept off by powerful charms.
Could the voice which had bewitched Alonzo have come from one of these?
Perhaps, who knows, it might be the voice of the dreaded Yara herself,
who sought young men on the eve of their marriage as her prey.

For a moment the girl sat choked with fear, as these thoughts rushed
through her; then she said: “Alonzo, will you promise something?”

“What is that?” asked he.

“It is something that has to do with our future happiness.”

“Oh! it is serious, then? Well, of course I promise. Now tell me!”

“I want you to promise,” she answered, lowering her voice to a whisper,
“never to bathe in those pools again.”

“But why not, queen of my soul; have I not gone there always, and
nothing has harmed me, flower of my heart?”

“No; but perhaps something will. If you will not promise I shall go mad
with fright. Promise me.”

“Why, what is the matter? You look so pale! Tell me why you are so
frightened?”

“Did you not hear the song?” she asked, trembling.

“Suppose I did, how could that hurt me? It was the loveliest song I
ever heard!”

“Yes, and after the song will come the apparition; and after that—
after that—”

“I don’t understand. Well—after that?”

“After that—death.”

Alonzo stared at her. Had she really gone mad? Such talk was very
unlike Julia; but before he could collect his senses the girl spoke
again:

“That is the reason why I implore you never to go there again; at any
rate till after we are married.”

“And what difference will our marriage make?”

“Oh, there will be no danger then; you can go to bathe as often as you
like!”

“But tell me why you are so afraid?”

“Because the voice you heard—I know you will laugh, but it is quite
true—it was the voice of the Yara.”

At these words Alonzo burst into a shout of laughter; but it sounded so
harsh and loud that Julia shrank away shuddering. It seemed as if he
could not stop himself, and the more he laughed the paler the poor girl
became, murmuring to herself as she watched him:

“Oh, heaven! you have seen her! you have seen her! what shall I do?”

Faint as was her whisper, it reached the ears of Alonzo, who, though he
still could not speak for laughing, shook his head.

“You may not know it, but it is true. Nobody who has not seen the Yara
laughs like that.” And Julia flung herself on the ground weeping
bitterly.

At this sight Alonzo became suddenly grave, and kneeling by her side,
gently raised her up.

“Do not cry so, my angel,” he said, “I will promise anything you
please. Only let me see you smile again.”

With a great effort Julia checked her sobs, and rose to her feet.

“Thank you,” she answered. “My heart grows lighter as you say that! I
know you will try to keep your word and to stay away from the forest.
But—the power of the Yara is very strong, and the sound of her voice is
apt to make men forget everything else in the world. Oh, I have seen
it, and more than one betrothed maiden lives alone, broken-hearted. If
ever you should return to the pool where you first heard the voice,
promise me that you will at least take this with you.” And opening a
curiously carved box, she took out a sea-shell shot with many colours,
and sang a song softly into it. “The moment you hear the Yara’s voice,”
said she, “put this to your ear, and you will hear my song instead.
Perhaps—I do not know for certain—but perhaps, I may be stronger than
the Yara.”

It was late that night when Alonzo returned home. The moon was shining
on the distant river, which looked cool and inviting, and the trees of
the forest seemed to stretch out their arms and beckon him near. But
the young man steadily turned his face in the other direction, and went
home to bed.

The struggle had been hard, but Alonzo had his reward next day in the
joy and relief with which Julia greeted him. He assured her that having
overcome the temptation once the danger was now over; but she, knowing
better than he did the magic of the Yara’s face and voice, did not fail
to make him repeat his promise when he went away.

For three nights Alonzo kept his word, not because he believed in the
Yara, for he thought that the tales about her were all nonsense, but
because he could not bear the tears with which he knew that Julia would
greet him, if he confessed that he had returned to the forest. But, in
spite of this, the song rang in his ears, and daily grew louder.

On the fourth night the attraction of the forest grew so strong that
neither the thought of Julia nor the promises he had made her could
hold him back. At eleven o’clock he plunged into the cool darkness of
the trees, and took the path that led straight to the river. Yet, for
the first time, he found that Julia’s warnings, though he had laughed
at her at the moment, had remained in his memory, and he glanced at the
bushes with a certain sense of fear which was quite new to him.

When he reached the river he paused and looked round for a moment to
make sure that the strange feeling of some one watching him was fancy,
and he was really alone. But the moon shone brightly on every tree, and
nothing was to be seen but his own shadow; nothing was to be heard but
the sound of the rippling stream.

He threw off his clothes, and was just about to dive in headlong, when
something—he did not know what—suddenly caused him to look round. At
the same instant the moon passed from behind a cloud, and its rays fell
on a beautiful golden-haired woman standing half hidden by the ferns.

With one bound he caught up his mantle, and rushed headlong down the
path he had come, fearing at each step to feel a hand laid on his
shoulder. It was not till he had left the last trees behind him, and
was standing in the open plain, that he dared to look round, and then
he thought a figure in white was still standing there waving her arms
to and fro. This was enough; he ran along the road harder than ever,
and never paused till he was save in his own room.

With the earliest rays of dawn he went back to the forest to see
whether he could find any traces of the Yara, but though he searched
every clump of bushes, and looked up every tree, everything was empty,
and the only voices he heard were those of parrots, which are so ugly
that they only drive people away.

“I think I must be mad,” he said to himself, “and have dreamt all that
folly”; and going back to the city he began his daily work. But either
that was harder than usual, or he must be ill, for he could not fix his
mind upon it, and everybody he came across during the day inquired if
anything had happened to give him that white, frightened look.

“I must be feverish,” he said to himself; “after all, it is rather
dangerous to take a cold bath when one is feeling so hot.” Yet he knew,
while he said it, that he was counting the hours for night to come,
that he might return to the forest.

In the evening he went as usual to the creeper-covered house. But he
had better have stayed away, as his face was so pale and his manner so
strange, that the poor girl saw that something terrible had occurred.
Alonzo, however, refused to answer any of her questions, and all she
could get was a promise to hear everything the next day.

On pretence of a violent headache, he left Julia much earlier than
usual and hurried quickly home. Taking down a pistol, he loaded it and
put it in his belt, and a little before midnight he stole out on the
tips of his toes, so as to disturb nobody. Once outside he hastened
down the road which led to the forest.

He did not stop till he had reached the river pool, when holding the
pistol in his hand, he looked about him. At every little noise—the
falling of a leaf, the rustle of an animal in the bushes, the cry of a
night-bird—he sprang up and cocked his pistol in the direction of the
sound. But though the moon still shone he saw nothing, and by and by a
kind of dreamy state seemed to steal over him as he leant against a
tree.

How long he remained in this condition he could not have told, but
suddenly he awoke with a start, on hearing his name uttered softly.

“Who is that?” he cried, standing upright instantly; but only an echo
answered him. Then his eyes grew fascinated with the dark waters of the
pool close to his feet, and he looked at it as if he could never look
away.

He gazed steadily into the depths for some minutes, when he became
aware that down in the darkness was a bright spark, which got rapidly
bigger and brighter. Again that feeling of awful fear took possession
of him, and he tried to turn his eyes from the pool. But it was no use;
something stronger than himself compelled him to keep them there.

At last the waters parted softly, and floating on the surface he saw
the beautiful woman whom he had fled from only a few nights before. He
turned to run, but his feet were glued to the spot.

She smiled at him and held out her arms, but as she did so there came
over him the remembrance of Julia, as he had seen her a few hours
earlier, and her warnings and fears for the very danger in which he now
found himself.

Meanwhile the figure was always drawing nearer, nearer; but, with a
violent effort, Alonzo shook off his stupor, and taking aim at her
shoulder he pulled the trigger. The report awoke the sleeping echoes,
and was repeated all through the forest, but the figure smiled still,
and went on advancing. Again Alonzo fired, and a second time the bullet
whistled through the air, and the figure advanced nearer. A moment
more, and she would be at his side.

Then, his pistol being empty, he grasped the barrel with both hands,
and stood ready to use it as a club should the Yara approach and
closer. But now it seemed her turn to feel afraid, for she paused an
instant while he pressed forward, still holding the pistol above his
head, prepared to strike.

In his excitement he had forgotten the river, and it was not till the
cold water touched his feet that he stood still by instinct. The Yara
saw that he was wavering, and suffering herself to sway gently
backwards and forwards on the surface of the river, she began to sing.
The song floated through the trees, now far and now near; no one could
tell whence it came, the whole air seemed full of it. Alonzo felt his
senses going and his will failing. His arms dropped heavily to his
side, but in falling struck against the sea shell, which, as he had
promised Julia, he had always carried in his coat.

His dimmed mind was just clear enough to remember what she had said,
and with trembling fingers, that were almost powerless to grasp, he
drew it out. As he did so the song grew sweeter and more tender than
before, but he shut his ears to it and bent his head over the shell.
Out of its depths arose the voice of Julia singing to him as she had
sung when she gave him the shell, and though the notes sounded faint at
first, they swelled louder and louder till the mist which had gathered
about him was blown away.

Then he raised his head, feeling that he had been through strange
places, where he could never wander any more; and he held himself erect
and strong, and looked about him. Nothing was to be seen but the
shining of the river, and the dark shadows of the trees; nothing was to
be heard but the hum of the insects, as they darted through the night.

[Adapted from Folklore Bresilien.]




The Cunning Hare


In a very cold country, far across the seas, where ice and snow cover
the ground for many months in the year, there lived a little hare, who,
as his father and mother were both dead, was brought up by his
grandmother. As he was too young, and she was too old, to work, they
were very poor, and often did not have enough to eat.

One day, when the little fellow was hungrier than usual, he asked his
grandmother if he might go down to the river and catch a fish for their
breakfast, as the thaw had come and the water was flowing freely again.
She laughed at him for thinking that any fish would let itself be
caught by a hare, especially such a young one; but as she had the
rheumatism very badly, and could get no food herself, she let him go.
“If he does not catch a fish he may find something else,” she said to
herself. So she told her grandson where to look for the net, and how he
was to set it across the river; but just as he was starting, feeling
himself quite a man, she called him back.

“After all, I don’t know what is the use of your going, my boy! For
even if you should catch a fish, I have no fire to cook it with.”

“Let me catch my fish, and I will soon make you a fire,” he answered
gaily, for he was young, and knew nothing about the difficulties of
fire-making.

It took him some time to haul the net through bushes and over fields,
but at length he reached a pool in the river which he had often heard
was swarming with fish, and here he set the net, as his grandmother had
directed him.

He was so excited that he hardly slept all night, and at the very first
streak of dawn he ran as fast as ever he could down to the river. His
heart beat as quickly as if he had had dogs behind him, and he hardly
dared to look, lest he should be disappointed. Would there be even one
fish? And at this thought the pangs of hunger made him feel quite sick
with fear. But he need not have been afraid; in every mesh of the net
was a fine fat fish, and of course the net itself was so heavy that he
could only lift one corner. He threw some of the fish back into the
water, and buried some more in a hole under a stone, where he would be
sure to find them. Then he rolled up the net with the rest, put it on
his back and carried it home. The weight of the load caused his back to
ache, and he was thankful to drop it outside their hut, while he rushed
in, full of joy, to tell his grandmother. “Be quick and clean them!” he
said, “and I will go to those people’s tents on the other side of the
water.”

The old woman stared at him in horror as she listened to his proposal.
Other people had tried to steal fire before, and few indeed had come
back with their lives; but as, contrary to all her expectations, he had
managed to catch such a number of fish, she thought that perhaps there
was some magic about him which she did not know of, and did not try to
hinder him.

When the fish were all taken out, he fetched the net which he had laid
out to dry, folded it up very small, and ran down to the river, hoping
that he might find a place narrow enough for him to jump over; but he
soon saw that it was too wide for even the best jumper in the world.
For a few moments he stood there, wondering what was to be done, then
there darted into his head some words of a spell which he had once
heard a wizard use, while drinking from the river. He repeated them, as
well as he could remember, and waited to see what would happen. In five
minutes such a grunting and a puffing was heard, and columns of water
rose into the air, though he could not tell what had made them. Then
round the bend of the stream came fifteen huge whales, which he ordered
to place themselves heads to tails, like stepping stones, so that he
could jump from one to the other till he landed on the opposite shore.
Directly he got there he told the whales that he did not need them any
more, and sat down in the sand to rest.

Unluckily some children who were playing about caught sight of him, and
one of them, stealing softly up behind him, laid tight hold of his
ears. The hare, who had been watching the whales as they sailed down
the river, gave a violent start, and struggled to get away; but the boy
held on tight, and ran back home, as fast as he could go.

“Throw it in the pot,” said the old woman, as soon as he had told his
story; “put it in that basket, and as soon as the water boils in the
pot we will hang it over the fire!”

“Better kill it first,” said the old man; and the hare listened,
horribly frightened, but still looking secretly to see if there was no
hole through which he could escape, if he had a chance of doing so.
Yes, there was one, right in the top of the tent, so, shaking himself,
as if with fright, he let the end of his net unroll itself a little.

“I wish that a spark of fire would fall on my net,” whispered he; and
the next minute a great log fell forward into the midst of the tent,
causing every one to spring backwards. The sparks were scattered in
every direction, and one fell on the net, making a little blaze. In an
instant the hare had leaped through the hole, and was racing towards
the river, with men, women, and children after him. There was no time
to call back the whales, so, holding the net tight in his mouth, he
wished himself across the river. Then he jumped high into the air, and
landed safe on the other side, and after turning round to be sure that
there was no chance of anyone pursuing him, trotted happily home to his
grandmother.

“Didn’t I tell you I would bring you fire?” said he, holding up his
net, which was now burning briskly.

“But how did you cross the water?” inquired the old woman.

“Oh, I just jumped!” said he. And his grandmother asked him no more
questions, for she saw that he was wiser than she.

[“Indian Folk Tales.” Bureau of Ethnology.]




The Turtle and His Bride


There was once a turtle who lived among a great many people of
different kinds, in a large camp near a big river which was born right
up amongst the snows, and flowed straight away south till it reached a
sea where the water was always hot.

There were many other turtles in the camp, and this turtle was kind and
pleasant to them all, but he did not care for any of them very much,
and felt rather lonely.

At last he built himself a hut, and filled it with skins for seats, and
made it as comfortable as any hut for miles round; and when it was
quite finished he looked about among the young women to see which of
them he should ask to be his wife.

It took him some time to make up his mind, for no turtle likes being
hurried, but at length he found one girl who seemed prettier and more
industrious than the rest, and one day he entered her home, and said:
“Will you marry me?”

The young woman was so surprised at this question that she dropped the
beaded slipper she was making, and stared at the turtle. She felt
inclined to laugh—the idea was so absurd; but she was kind-hearted and
polite, so she looked as grave as she could, and answered:

“But how are you going to provide for a family? Why, when the camp
moves, you will not even be able to keep up with the rest!”

“I can keep up with the best of them,” replied the turtle, tossing his
head. But though he was very much offended he did not let the girl see
it, and begged and, prayed her so hard to marry him that, at last, she
consented, very unwillingly.

“You will have to wait till the spring, though,” she said; “I must make
a great many slippers and dresses for myself, as I shall not have much
time afterwards.”

This did not please the turtle; but he knew it was no use talking, so
all he answered was:

“I shall go to war and take some captives, and I shall be away several
months. And when I return I shall expect you to be ready to marry me.”

So he went back to his hut, and at once set about his preparations. The
first thing he did was to call all his relations together, and ask them
if they would come with him and make war on the people of a
neighbouring village. The turtles, who were tired of doing nothing,
agreed at once, and next day the whole tribe left the camp. The girl
was standing at the door of her hut as they passed, and laughed out
loud—they moved so slowly. Her lover, who was marching at the head,
grew very angry at this, and cried out:

“In four days from now you will be weeping instead of laughing, because
there will be hundreds of miles between you and me.”

“In four days,” replied the girl—who only promised to marry him in
order to get rid of him—“in four days you will hardly be out of sight.”

“Oh, I did not mean four days, but four YEARS,” answered the turtle,
hastily; “whatever happens I shall be back by then.”

The army marched on, till one day, when they felt as if they must have
got half round the earth, though they were scarcely four miles from the
camp, they found a large tree lying across their path. They looked at
it with dismay, and the oldest among them put their heads together to
see what was to be done.

“Can’t we manage to get past by the top?” asked one.

“Why, it would take us YEARS,” exclaimed another. “Just look at all
those tall green branches, spreading in every direction. If once we got
entangled in THEM, we should never get out again!”

“Well then, let us go round by the bottom,” said a third.

“How are we to do that, when the roots have made a deep hole, and above
that is a high bank?” replied a fourth. “No; the only way I can think
of, is to burn a large hole in the trunk.” And this they did, but the
trunk was very thick, and would not burn through.

“It is no use, we must give it up,” they agreed at last. “After all,
nobody need ever know! We have been away such a long while that we
might easily have had all sorts of adventures.” And so the whole
company turned homewards again.

They took even longer to go back than they had to come, for they were
tired and footsore with their journey. When they drew near the camp
they plucked up their courage, and began to sing a war-song. At this
the villagers came flocking to see what spoils the turtles had won,
but, as they approached, each turtle seized some one by the wrist,
exclaiming: “You are our spoils; you are our prisoners!”

“Now that I have got you I will keep you,” said the leader, who had
happened to seize his betrothed.

Everybody was naturally very angry at this behaviour, and the girl most
of all, and in her secret heart she determined to have her revenge.
But, just at present, the turtles were too strong, so the prisoners had
to put on their smartest slippers and their brightest clothes, and
dance a war dance while the turtles sang. They danced so long that it
seemed as if they would never stop, till the turtle who was leading the
singing suddenly broke into a loud chant:

Whoever comes here, will die, will die!

At this all the dancers grew so frightened that they burst through the
ring of their captors, and ran back to the village, the turtles
following—very slowly. On the way the chief turtle met a man, who said
to him:

“That woman who was to have been your wife has married another man!”

“Is that true?” said the turtle. “Then I must see him.”

But as soon as the villager was out of sight the turtle stopped, and
taking a bundle containing fringes and ornaments from his back, he hung
them about him, so that they rattled as he walked. When he was quite
close to the hut where the woman lived, he cried out:

“Here I am to claim the woman who promised to be my wife.”

“Oh, here is the turtle,” whispered the husband hurriedly; “what is to
be done now?”

“Leave that to me; I will manage him,” replied the wife, and at that
moment the turtle came in, and seized her by the wrist. “Come with me,”
he said sternly.

“You broke your promise,” answered she. “You said you would be back
soon, and it is more than a year since you went! How was I to know that
you were alive?”

At her words the husband took courage, and spoke hastily:

“Yes, you promised you would go to war and bring back some prisoners,
and you have not done it.”

“I DID go, and made many prisoners,” retorted the turtle angrily,
drawing out his knife. “Look here, if she won’t be MY wife, she sha’n’t
be YOURS. I will cut her in two; and you shall have one half, and I the
other.”

“But half a woman is no use to me,” answered the man. “If you want her
so much you had better take her.” And the turtle, followed by his
relations, carried her off to his own hut.

Now the woman saw she would gain nothing by being sulky, so she
pretended to be very glad to have got rid of her husband; but all the
while she was trying to invent a plan to deliver herself from the
turtle. At length she remembered that one of her friends had a large
iron pot, and when the turtle had gone to his room to put away his
fringes, she ran over to her neighbour’s and brought it back. Then she
filled it with water and hung it over the fire to boil. It was just
beginning to bubble and hiss when the turtle entered.

“What are you doing there?” asked he, for he was always afraid of
things that he did not understand.

“Just warming some water,” she answered. “Do you know how to swim?”

“Yes, of course I do. What a question! But what does it matter to you?”
said the turtle, more suspicious than ever.

“Oh, I only thought that after your long journey you might like to
wash. The roads are so muddy, after the winter’s rains. I could rub
your shell for you till it was bright and shining again.

“Well, I AM rather muddy. If one is fighting, you know, one cannot stop
to pick one’s way. I should certainly be more comfortable if my back
was washed.”

The woman did not wait for him to change his mind. She caught him up by
his shell and popped him straight into the pot, where he sank to the
bottom, and died instantly.

The other turtles, who were standing at the door, saw their leader
disappear, and felt it was their duty as soldiers to follow him; and,
springing into the pot, died too. All but one young turtle, who,
frightened at not seeing any of his friends come out again, went as
fast as he could to a clump of bushes, and from there made his way to
the river. His only thought was to get away as far as possible from
that dreadful hut; so he let the river carry him where it was going
itself, and at last, one day, he found himself in the warm sea, where,
if he is not dead, you may meet him still.

[Bureau of Ethnology.]




How Geirald The Coward Was Punished


Once upon a time there lived a poor knight who had a great many
children, and found it very hard to get enough for them to eat. One day
he sent his eldest son, Rosald, a brave and honest youth, to the
neighbouring town to do some business, and here Rosald met a young man
named Geirald, with whom he made friends.

Now Geirald was the son of a rich man, who was proud of the boy, and
had all his life allowed him to do whatever he fancied, and, luckily
for the father, he was prudent and sensible, and did not waste money,
as many other rich young men might have done. For some time he had set
his heart on travelling into foreign countries, and after he had been
talking for a little while to Rosald, he asked if his new friend would
be his companion on his journey.

“There is nothing I should like better,” answered Rosald, shaking his
head sorrowfully; “but my father is very poor, and he could never give
me the money.”

“Oh, if that is your only difficulty, it is all right,” cried Geirald.
“My father has more money than he knows what to do with, and he will
give me as much as I want for both of us; only, there is one thing you
must promise me, Rosald, that, supposing we have any adventures, you
will let the honour and glory of them fall to me.”

“Yes, of course, that is only fair,” answered Rosald, who never cared
about putting himself forward. “But I cannot go without telling my
parents. I am sure they will think me lucky to get such a chance.”

As soon as the business was finished, Rosald hastened home. His parents
were delighted to hear of his good fortune, and his father gave him his
own sword, which was growing rusty for want of use, while his mother
saw that his leather jerkin was in order.

“Be sure you keep the promise you made to Geirald,” said she, as she
bade him good-bye, “and, come what may, see that you never betray him.”

Full of joy Rosald rode off, and the next day he and Geirald started
off to seek adventures. To their disappointment their own land was so
well governed that nothing out of the common was very likely to happen,
but directly they crossed the border into another kingdom all seemed
lawlessness and confusion.

They had not gone very far, when, riding across a mountain, they caught
a glimpse of several armed men hiding amongst some trees in their path,
and remembered suddenly some talk they had heard of a band of twelve
robbers who lay in wait for rich travellers. The robbers were more like
savage beasts than men, and lived somewhere at the top of the mountain
in caves and holes in the ground. They were all called “Hankur,” and
were distinguished one from another by the name of a colour—blue, grey,
red, and so on, except their chief, who was known as Hankur the Tall.
All this and more rushed into the minds of the two young men as they
saw the flash of their swords in the moonlight.

“It is impossible to fight them—they are twelve to two,” whispered
Geirald, stopping his horse in the path. “We had much better ride back
and take the lower road. It would be stupid to throw away our lives
like this.”

“Oh, we can’t turn back,” answered Rosald, “we should be ashamed to
look anyone in the face again! And, besides, it is a grand opportunity
to show what we are made of. Let us tie up our horses here, and climb
up the rocks so that we can roll stones down on them.”

“Well, we might try that, and then we shall always have our horses,”
said Geirald. So they went up the rocks silently and carefully.

The robbers were lying all ready, expecting every moment to see their
victims coming round the corner a few yards away, when a shower of huge
stones fell on their heads, killing half the band. The others sprang up
the rock, but as they reached the top the sword of Rosald swung round,
and one man after another rolled down into the valley. At last the
chief managed to spring up, and, grasping Rosald by the waist, flung
away his sword, and the two fought desperately, their bodies swaying
always nearer the edge. It seemed as if Rosald, being the smaller of
the two, MUST fall over, when, with his left hand, he drew the robber’s
sword out of its sheath and plunged it into his heart. Then he took
from the dead man a beautiful ring set with a large stone, and put it
on his own finger.

The fame of this wonderful deed soon spread through the country, and
people would often stop Geirald’s horse, and ask leave to see the
robber’s ring, which was said to have been stolen from the father of
the reigning king. And Geirald showed them the ring with pride, and
listened to their words of praise, and no one would ever have guessed
anyone else had destroyed the robbers.

In a few days they left the kingdom and rode on to another, where they
thought they would stop through the remainder of the winter, for
Geirald liked to be comfortable, and did not care about travelling
through ice and snow. But the king would only grant them leave to stop
on condition that, before the winter was ended, they should give him
some fresh proof of the courage of which he had heard so much. Rosald’s
heart was glad at the king’s message, and as for Geirald, he felt that
as long as Rosald was there all would go well. So they both bowed low
and replied that it was the king’s place to command and theirs to obey.

“Well, then,” said his Majesty, “this is what I want you to do: In the
north-east part of my kingdom there dwells a giant, who has an iron
staff twenty yards long, and he is so quick in using it, that even
fifty knights have no chance against him. The bravest and strongest
young men of my court have fallen under the blows of that staff; but,
as you overcame the twelve robbers so easily, I feel that I have reason
to hope that you may be able to conquer the giant. In three days from
this you will set out.”

“We will be ready, your Majesty,” answered Rosald; but Geirald remained
silent.

“How can we possibly fight against a giant that has killed fifty
knights?” cried Geirald, when they were outside the castle. “The king
only wants to get rid of us! He won’t think about us for the next three
days—that is one comfort—so we shall have plenty of time to cross the
borders of the kingdom and be out of reach.”

“We mayn’t be able to kill the giant, but we certainly can’t run away
till we have tried,” answered Rosald. “Besides, think how glorious it
will be if we DO manage to kill him! I know what sort of weapon I shall
use. Come with me now, and I will see about it.” And, taking his friend
by the arm, he led him into a shop where he bought a huge lump of solid
iron, so big that they could hardly lift it between them. However, they
just managed to carry it to a blacksmith’s where Rosald directed that
it should be beaten into a thick club, with a sharp spike at one end.
When this was done to his liking he took it home under his arm.

Very early on the third morning the two young men started on their
journey, and on the fourth day they reached the giant’s cave before he
was out of bed. Hearing the sound of footsteps, the giant got up and
went to the entrance to see who was coming, and Rosald, expecting
something of the sort, struck him such a blow on the forehead that he
fell to the ground. Then, before he could rise to his feet again,
Rosald drew out his sword and cut off his head.

“It was not so difficult after all, you see,” he said, turning to
Geirald. And placing the giant’s head in a leathern wallet which was
slung over his back, they began their journey to the castle.

As they drew near the gates, Rosald took the head from the wallet and
handed it to Geirald, whom he followed into the king’s presence.

“The giant will trouble you no more,” said Geirald, holding out the
head. And the king fell on his neck and kissed him, and cried joyfully
that he was the “bravest knight in all the world, and that a feast
should be made for him and Rosald, and that the great deed should be
proclaimed throughout the kingdom.” And Geirald’s heart swelled with
pride, and he almost forgot that it was Rosald and not he, who had
slain the giant.

By-and-by a whisper went round that a beautiful lady who lived in the
castle would be present at the feast, with twenty-four lovely maidens,
her attendants. The lady was the queen of her own country, but as her
father and mother had died when she was a little girl, she had been
left in the care of this king who was her uncle.

She was now old enough to govern her own kingdom, but her subjects did
not like being ruled by a woman, and said that she must find a husband
to help her in managing her affairs. Prince after prince had offered
himself, but the young queen would have nothing to say to any of them,
and at last told her ministers that if she was to have a husband at all
she must choose him for herself, as she would certainly not marry any
of those whom they had selected for her. The ministers replied that in
that case she had better manage her kingdom alone, and the queen, who
knew nothing about business, got things into such a confusion that at
last she threw them up altogether, and went off to her uncle.

Now when she heard how the two young men had slain the giant, her heart
was filled with admiration of their courage, and she declared that if a
feast was held she would certainly be present at it.

And so she was; and when the feast was over she asked the king, her
guardian, if he would allow the two heroes who had killed the robbers
and slain the giant to fight a tourney the next day with one of her
pages. The king gladly gave his consent, and ordered the lists to be
made ready, never doubting that two great champions would be eager for
such a chance of adding to their fame. Little did he guess that Geirald
had done all he could to persuade Rosald to steal secretly out of the
castle during the night, “for,” said he, “I don’t believe they are
pages at all, but well-proved knights, and how can we, so young and
untried, stand up against them?”

“The honour will be all the higher if we gain the day,” answered
Rosald; but Geirald would listen to nothing, and only declared that he
did not care about honour, and would rather be alive than have every
honour in the world heaped upon him. Go he would, and as Rosald had
sworn to give him his company, he must come with him.

Rosald was much grieved when he heard these words, but he knew that it
was useless attempting to persuade Geirald, and turned his thoughts to
forming some plan to prevent this disgraceful flight. Suddenly his face
brightened. “Let us change clothes,” he said, “and I will do the
fighting, while you shall get the glory. Nobody will ever know.” And to
this Geirald readily consented.

Whether Geirald was right or not in thinking that the so-called page
was really a well-proved knight, it is certain that Rosald’s task was a
very hard one. Three times they came together with a crash which made
their horses reel; once Rosald knocked the helmet off his foe, and
received in return such a blow that he staggered in his saddle. Shouts
went up from the lookers-on, as first one and then the other seemed
gaining the victory; but at length Rosald planted his spear in the
armour which covered his adversary’s breast and bore him steadily
backward. “Unhorsed! unhorsed!” cried the people; and Rosald then
himself dismounted and helped his adversary to rise.

In the confusion that followed it was easy for Rosald to slip away and
return Geirald his proper clothes. And in these, torn and dusty with
the fight, Geirald answered the king’s summons to come before him.

“You have done what I expected you to do,” said he, “and now, choose
your reward.”

“Grant me, sire, the hand of the queen, your niece,” replied the young
man, bowing low, “and I will defend her kingdom against all her
enemies.”

“She could choose no better husband,” said the king, “and if she
consents I do.” And he turned towards the queen, who had not been
present during the fight, but had just slipped into a seat by his right
hand. Now the queen’s eyes were very sharp, and it seemed to her that
the man who stood before her, tall and handsome though he might be, was
different in many slight ways, and in one in particular, from the man
who had fought the tourney. How there could be any trickery she could
not understand, and why the real victor should be willing to give up
his prize to another was still stranger; but something in her heart
warned her to be careful. She answered: “You may be satisfied, uncle,
but I am not. One more proof I must have; let the two young men now
fight against each other. The man I marry must be the man who killed
the robbers and the giant, and overcame my page.” Geirald’s face grew
pale as he heard these words. He knew there was no escape from him now,
though he did not doubt for one moment that Rosald would keep his
compact loyally to the last. But how would it be possible that even
Rosald should deceive the watchful eyes of the king and his court, and
still more those of the young queen whom he felt uneasily had suspected
him from the first?

The tourney was fought, and in spite of Geirald’s fears Rosald managed
to hang back to make attacks which were never meant to succeed, and to
allow strokes which he could easily have parried to attain their end.
At length, after a great show of resistance, he fell heavily to the
ground. And as he fell he knew that it was not alone the glory that was
his rightfully which he gave up, but the hand of the queen that was
more precious still.

But Geirald did not even wait to see if he was wounded; he went
straight to the wall where the royal banner waved and claimed the
reward which was now his.

The crowd of watchers turned towards the queen, expecting to see her
stoop and give some token to the victor. Instead, to the surprise of
everyone, she merely smiled gracefully, and said that before she
bestowed her hand one more test must be imposed, but this should be the
last. The final tourney should be fought; Geirald and Rosald should
meet singly two knights of the king’s court, and he who could unhorse
his foe should be master of herself and of her kingdom. The combat was
fixed to take place at ten o’clock the following day.

All night long Geirald walked about his room, not daring to face the
fight that lay in front of him, and trying with all his might to
discover some means of escaping it. All night long he moved restlessly
from door to window; and when the trumpets sounded, and the combatants
rode into the field, he alone was missing. The king sent messengers to
see what had become of him, and he was found, trembling with fear,
hiding under his bed. After that there was no need of any further
proof. The combat was declared unnecessary, and the queen pronounced
herself quite satisfied, and ready to accept Rosald as her husband.

“You forgot one thing,” she said, when they were alone. “I recognized
my father’s ring which Hankur the Tall had stolen, on the finger of
your right hand, and I knew that it was you and not Geirald who had
slain the robber band. I was the page who fought you, and again I saw
the ring on your finger, though it was absent from his when he stood
before me to claim the prize. That was why I ordered the combat between
you, though your faith to your word prevented my plan being successful,
and I had to try another. The man who keeps his promise at all costs to
himself is the man I can trust, both for myself and for my people.”

So they were married, and returned to their own kingdom, which they
ruled well and happily. And many years after a poor beggar knocked at
the palace gates and asked for money, for the sake of days gone by—and
this was Geirald.

[From Neuislandischem Volksmärchen.]




Hábogi


Once upon a time there lived two peasants who had three daughters, and,
as generally happens, the youngest was the most beautiful and the best
tempered, and when her sisters wanted to go out she was always ready to
stay at home and do their work.

Years passed quickly with the whole family, and one day the parents
suddenly perceived that all three girls were grown up, and that very
soon they would be thinking of marriage.

“Have you decided what your husband’s name is to be?” said the father,
laughingly, to his eldest daughter, one evening when they were all
sitting at the door of their cottage. “You know that is a very
important point!”

“Yes; I will never wed any man who is not called Sigmund,” answered
she.

“Well, it is lucky for you that there are a great many Sigmunds in this
part of the world,” replied her father, “so that you can take your
choice! And what do YOU say?” he added, turning to the second.

“Oh, I think that there is no name so beautiful as Sigurd,” cried she.

“Then you won’t be an old maid either,” answered he. “There are seven
Sigurds in the next village alone! And you, Helga?”

Helga, who was still the prettiest of the three, looked up. She also
had her favourite name, but, just as she was going to say it, she
seemed to hear a voice whisper: “Marry no one who is not called
Hábogi.”

The girl had never heard of such a name, and did not like it, so she
determined to pay no attention; but as she opened her mouth to tell her
father that her husband must be called Njal, she found herself
answering instead: “If I do marry it will be to no one except Hábogi.”

“Who IS Hábogi?” asked her father and sisters; “We never heard of such
a person.”

“All I can tell you is that he will be my husband, if ever I have one,”
returned Helga; and that was all she would say.

Before very long the young men who lived in the neighbouring villages
or on the sides of the mountains, had heard of this talk of the three
girls, and Sigmunds and Sigurds in scores came to visit the little
cottage. There were other young men too, who bore different names,
though not one of them was called “Hábogi,” and these thought that they
might perhaps gain the heart of the youngest. But though there was more
than one “Njal” amongst them, Helga’s eyes seemed always turned another
way.

At length the two elder sisters made their choice from out of the
Sigurds and the Sigmunds, and it was decided that both weddings should
take place at the same time. Invitations were sent out to the friends
and relations, and when, on the morning of the great day, they were all
assembled, a rough, coarse old peasant left the crowd and came up to
the brides’ father.

“My name is Hábogi, and Helga must be my wife,” was all he said. And
though Helga stood pale and trembling with surprise, she did not try to
run away.

“I cannot talk of such things just now,” answered the father, who could
not bear the thought of giving his favourite daughter to this horrible
old man, and hoped, by putting it off, that something might happen. But
the sisters, who had always been rather jealous of Helga, were secretly
pleased that their bridegrooms should outshine hers.

When the feast was over, Hábogi led up a beautiful horse from a field
where he had left it to graze, and bade Helga jump up on its splendid
saddle, all embroidered in scarlet and gold. “You shall come back
again,” said he; “but now you must see the house that you are to live
in.” And though Helga was very unwilling to go, something inside her
forced her to obey.

The old man settled her comfortably, then sprang up in front of her as
easily as if he had been a boy, and, shaking the reins, they were soon
out of sight.

After some miles they rode through a meadow with grass so green that
Helga’s eyes felt quite dazzled; and feeding on the grass were a
quantity of large fat sheep, with the curliest and whitest wool in the
world.

“What lovely sheep! whose are they?” cried Helga.

“Your Hábogi’s,” answered he, “all that you see belongs to him; but the
finest sheep in the whole herd, which has little golden bells hanging
between its horns, you shall have for yourself.”

This pleased Helga very much, for she had never had anything of her
own; and she smiled quite happily as she thanked Hábogi for his
present.

They soon left the sheep behind them, and entered a large field with a
river running through it, where a number of beautiful grey cows were
standing by a gate waiting for a milk-maid to come and milk them.

“Oh, what lovely cows!” cried Helga again; “I am sure their milk must
be sweeter than any other cows. How I should like to have some! I
wonder to whom they belong?”

“To your Hábogi,” replied he; “and some day you shall have as much milk
as you like, but we cannot stop now. Do you see that big grey one, with
the silver bells between her horns? That is to be yours, and you can
have her milked every morning the moment you wake.”

And Helga’s eyes shone, and though she did not say anything, she
thought that she would learn to milk the cow herself.

A mile further on they came to a wide common, with short, springy turf,
where horses of all colours, with skins of satin, were kicking up their
heels in play. The sight of them so delighted Helga that she nearly
sprang from her saddle with a shriek of joy.

“Whose are they?” Oh! whose are they?” she asked. “How happy any man
must be who is the master of such lovely creatures!”

“They are your Hábogi’s,” replied he, “and the one which you think the
most beautiful of all you shall have for yourself, and learn to ride
him.”

At this Helga quite forgot the sheep and the cow.

“A horse of my own!” said she. “Oh, stop one moment, and let me see
which I will choose. The white one? No. The chestnut? No. I think,
after all, I like the coal-black one best, with the little white star
on his forehead. Oh, do stop, just for a minute.”

But Hábogi would not stop or listen. “When you are married you will
have plenty of time to choose one,” was all he answered, and they rode
on two or three miles further.

At length Hábogi drew rein before a small house, very ugly and
mean-looking, and that seemed on the point of tumbling to pieces.

“This is my house, and is to be yours,” said Hábogi, as he jumped down
and held out his arms to lift Helga from the horse. The girl’s heart
sank a little, as she thought that the man who possessed such wonderful
sheep, and cows, and horses, might have built himself a prettier place
to live in; but she did not say so. And, taking her arm, he led her up
the steps.

But when she got inside, she stood quite bewildered at the beauty of
all around her. None of her friends owned such things, not even the
miller, who was the richest man she knew. There were carpets
everywhere, thick and soft, and of deep rich colours; and the cushions
were of silk, and made you sleepy even to look at them; and curious
little figures in china were scattered about. Helga felt as if it would
take her all her life to see everything properly, and it only seemed a
second since she had entered the house, when Hábogi came up to her.

“I must begin the preparations for our wedding at once,” he said; “but
my foster-brother will take you home, as I promised. In three days he
will bring you back here, with your parents and sisters, and any guests
you may invite, in your company. By that time the feast will be ready.”

Helga had so much to think about, that the ride home appeared very
short. Her father and mother were delighted to see her, as they did not
feel sure that so ugly and cross-looking a man as Hábogi might not have
played her some cruel trick. And after they had given her some supper
they begged her to tell them all she had done. But Helga only told them
that they should see for themselves on the third day, when they would
come to her wedding.

It was very early in the morning when the party set out, and Helga’s
two sisters grew green with envy as they passed the flocks of sheep,
and cows, and horses, and heard that the best of each was given to
Helga herself; but when they caught sight of the poor little house
which was to be her home their hearts grew light again.

“I should be ashamed of living in such a place,” whispered each to the
other; and the eldest sister spoke of the carved stone over HER
doorway, and the second boasted of the number of rooms SHE had. But the
moment they went inside they were struck dumb with rage at the
splendour of everything, and their faces grew white and cold with fury
when they saw the dress which Hábogi had prepared for his bride—a dress
that glittered like sunbeams dancing upon ice.

“She SHALL not look so much finer than us,” they cried passionately to
each other as soon as they were alone; and when night came they stole
out of their rooms, and taking out the wedding-dress, they laid it in
the ash-pit, and heaped ashes upon it. But Hábogi, who knew a little
magic, and had guessed what they would do, changed the ashes into
roses, and cast a spell over the sisters, so that they could not leave
the spot for a whole day, and every one who passed by mocked at them.

The next morning when they all awoke the ugly tumble-down house had
disappeared, and in its place stood a splendid palace. The guests’ eyes
sought in vain for the bridegroom, but could only see a handsome young
man, with a coat of blue velvet and silver and a gold crown upon his
head.

“Who is that?” they asked Helga.

“That is my Hábogi,” said she.

[From Neuislandischem Volksmärchen.]




How the Little Brother Set Free His Big Brothers


In a small hut, right in the middle of the forest, lived a man, his
wife, three sons and a daughter. For some reason, all the animals
seemed to have left that part of the country, and food grew very
scarce; so, one morning, after a night of snow, when the tracks of
beasts might be easily seen, the three boys started off to hunt.

They kept together for some time, till they reached a place where the
path they had been following split into two, and one of the brothers
called his dog and went to the left, while the others took the trail to
the right. These had not gone far when their dogs scented a bear, and
drove him out from the thicket. The bear ran across a clearing, and the
elder brother managed to place an arrow right in his head.

They both took up the bear, and carried it towards home, meeting the
third at the spot where they had parted from him. When they reached
home they threw the bear down on the floor of the hut saying,

“Father, here is a bear which we killed; now we can have some dinner.”

But the father, who was in a bad temper, only said:

“When I was a young man we used to get two bears in one day.”

The sons were rather disappointed at hearing this, and though there was
plenty of meat to last for two or three days, they started off early in
the morning down the same trail that they had followed before. As they
drew near the fork a bear suddenly ran out from behind a tree, and took
the path on the right. The two elder boys and their dogs pursued him,
and soon the second son, who was also a good shot, killed him instantly
with an arrow. At the fork of the trail, on their way home, they met
the youngest, who had taken the left-hand road, and had shot a bear for
himself. But when they threw the two bears triumphantly on the floor of
the hut their father hardly looked at them, and only said:

“When I was a young man I used to get three bears in one day.”

The next day they were luckier than before, and brought back three
bears, on which their father told them that HE had always killed four.
However, that did not prevent him from skinning the bears and cooking
them in a way of his own, which he thought very good, and they all ate
an excellent supper.

Now these bears were the servants of the great bear chief who lived in
a high mountain a long way off. And every time a bear was killed his
shadow returned to the house of the bear chief, with the marks of his
wounds plainly to bee seen by the rest.

The chief was furious at the number of bears the hunters had killed,
and determined that he would find some way of destroying them. So he
called another of his servants, and said to him:

“Go to the thicket near the fork, where the boys killed your brothers,
and directly they or the dogs see you return here as fast as ever you
can. The mountain will open to let you in, and the hunters will follow
you. Then I shall have them in my power, and be able to revenge
myself.”

The servant bowed low, and started at once for the fork, where he hid
himself in the bushes.

By-and-by the boys came in sight, but this time there were only two of
them, as the youngest had stayed at home. The air was warm and damp,
and the snow soft and slushy, and the elder brother’s bowstring hung
loose, while the bow of the younger caught in a tree and snapped in
half. At that moment the dogs began to bark loudly, and the bear rushed
out of the thicket and set off in the direction of the mountain.
Without thinking that they had nothing to defend themselves with,
should the bear turn and attack them, the boys gave chase. The bear,
who knew quite well that he could not be shot, sometimes slackened his
pace and let the dogs get quite close; and in this way the elder son
reached the mountain without observing it, while his brother, who had
hurt his foot, was still far behind.

As he ran up, the mountain opened to admit the bear, and the boy, who
was close on his heels, rushed in after him, and did not know where he
was till he saw bears sitting on every side of him, holding a council.
The animal he had been chasing sank panting in their midst, and the
boy, very much frightened, stood still, letting his bow fall to the
ground.

“Why are you trying to kill all my servants?” asked the chief. “Look
round and see their shades, with arrows sticking in them. It was I who
told the bear to-day how he was to lure you into my power. I shall take
care that you shall not hurt my people any more, because you will
become a bear yourself.”

At this moment the second brother came up—for the mountain had been
left open on purpose to tempt him also—and cried out breathlessly:
“Don’t you see that the bear is lying close to you? Why don’t you shoot
him?” And, without waiting for a reply, pressed forward to drive his
arrow into the heart of the bear. But the elder one caught his raised
arm, and whispered: “Be quiet! can’t you tell where you are?” Then the
boy looked up and saw the angry bears about him. On the one side were
the servants of the chief, and on the other the servants of the chief’s
sister, who was sorry for the two youths, and begged that their lives
might be spared. The chief answered that he would not kill them, but
only cast a spell over them, by which their heads and bodies should
remain as they were, but their arms and legs should change into those
of a bear, so that they would go on all fours for the rest of their
lives. And, stooping over a spring of water, he dipped a handful of
moss in it and rubbed it over the arms and legs of the boys. In an
instant the transformation took place, and two creatures, neither beast
nor human stood before the chief.

Now the bear chief of course knew that the boys’ father would seek for
his sons when they did not return home, so he sent another of his
servants to the hiding-place at the fork of the trail to see what would
happen. He had not waited long, when the father came in sight, stooping
as he went to look for his sons’ tracks in the snow. When he saw the
marks of snow-shoes along the path on the right he was filled with joy,
not knowing that the servant had made some fresh tracks on purpose to
mislead him; and he hastened forward so fast that he fell headlong into
a pit, where the bear was sitting. Before he could pick himself up the
bear had quietly broken his neck, and, hiding the body under the snow,
sat down to see if anyone else would pass that way.

Meanwhile the mother at home was wondering what had become of her two
sons, and as the hours went on, and their father never returned, she
made up her mind to go and look for him. The youngest boy begged her to
let him undertake the search, but she would not hear of it, and told
him he must stay at home and take care of his sister. So, slipping on
her snow-shoes, she started on her way.

As no fresh snow had fallen, the trail was quite easy to find, and she
walked straight on, till it led her up to the pit where the bear was
waiting for her. He grasped her as she fell and broke her neck, after
which he laid her in the snow beside her husband, and went back to tell
the bear chief.

Hour after hour dragged heavily by in the forest hut, and at last the
brother and sister felt quite sure that in some way or other all the
rest of the family had perished. Day after day the boy climbed to the
top of a tall tree near the house, and sat there till he was almost
frozen, looking on all sides through the forest openings, hoping that
he might see someone coming along. Very soon all the food in the house
was eaten, and he knew he would have to go out and hunt for more.
Besides, he wished to seek for his parents.

The little girl did not like being left alone in the hut, and cried
bitterly; but her brother told her that there was no use sitting down
quietly to starve, and that whether he found any game or not he would
certainly be back before the following night. Then he cut himself some
arrows, each from a different tree, and winged with the feathers of
four different birds. He then made himself a bow, very light and
strong, and got down his snow-shoes. All this took some time, and he
could not start that day, but early next morning he called his little
dog Redmouth, whom he kept in a box, and set out.

After he had followed the trail for a great distance he grew very
tired, and sat upon the branch of a tree to rest. But Redmouth barked
so furiously that the boy thought that perhaps his parents might have
been killed under its branches, and stepping back, shot one of his
arrows at the root of the tree. Whereupon a noise like thunder shook it
from top to bottom, fire broke out, and in a few minutes a little heap
of ashes lay in the place where it had stood.

Not knowing quite what to make of it all, the boy continued on the
trail, and went down the right-hand fork till he came to the clump of
bushes where the bears used to hide.

Now, as was plain by his being able to change the shape of the two
brothers, the bear chief knew a good deal of magic, and he was quite
aware that the little boy was following the trail, and he sent a very
small but clever bear servant to wait for him in the bushes and to try
to tempt him into the mountain. But somehow his spells could not have
worked properly that day, as the bear chief did not know that Redmouth
had gone with his master, or he would have been more careful. For the
moment the dog ran round the bushes barking loudly, the little bear
servant rushed out in a fright, and set out for the mountains as fast
as he could.

The dog followed the bear, and the boy followed the dog, until the
mountain, the house of the great bear chief, came in sight. But along
the road the snow was so wet and heavy that the boy could hardly get
along, and then the thong of his snow-shoes broke, and he had to stop
and mend it, so that the bear and the dog got so far ahead that he
could scarcely hear the barking. When the strap was firm again the boy
spoke to his snow-shoes and said:

“Now you must go as fast as you can, or, if not, I shall lose the dog
as well as the bear.” And the snow-shoes sang in answer that they would
run like the wind.

As he came along, the bear chief’s sister was looking out of the
window, and took pity on this little brother, as she had on the two
elder ones, and waited to see what the boy would do, when he found that
the bear servant and the dog had already entered the mountain.

The little brother was certainly very much puzzled at not seeing
anything of either of the animals, which had vanished suddenly out of
his sight. He paused for an instant to think what he should do next,
and while he did so he fancied he heard Redmouth’s voice on the
opposite side of the mountain. With great difficulty he scrambled over
steep rocks, and forced a path through tangled thickets; but when he
reached the other side the sound appeared to start from the place from
which he had come. Then he had to go all the way back again, and at the
very top, where he stopped to rest, the barking was directly beneath
him, and he knew in an instant where he was and what had happened.

“Let my dog out at once, bear chief!” cried he. “If you do not, I shall
destroy your palace.” But the bear chief only laughed, and said
nothing. The boy was very angry at his silence, and aiming one of his
arrows at the bottom of the mountain, shot straight through it.

As the arrow touched the ground a rumbling was heard, and with a roar a
fire broke out which seemed to split the whole mountain into pieces.
The bear chief and all his servants were burnt up in the flames, but
his sister and all that belonged to her were spared because she had
tried to save the two elder boys from punishment.

As soon as the fire had burnt itself out the little hunter entered what
was left of the mountain, and the first thing he saw was his two
brothers—half bear, half boy.

“Oh, help us! help us!” cried they, standing on their hind legs as they
spoke, and stretching out their fore-paws to him.

“But how am I to help you?” asked the little brother, almost weeping.
“I can kill people, and destroy trees and mountains, but I have no
power over men.” And the two elder brothers came up and put their paws
on his shoulders, and they all three wept together.

The heart of the bear chief’s sister was moved when she saw their
misery, and she came gently up behind, and whispered:

“Little boy, gather some moss from the spring over there, and let your
brothers smell it.”

With a bound all three were at the spring, and as the youngest plucked
a handful of wet moss, the two others sniffed at it with all their
might. Then the bearskin fell away from them, and they stood upright
once more.

“How can we thank you? how can we thank you?” they stammered, hardly
able to speak; and fell at her feet in gratitude. But the bear’s sister
only smiled, and bade them go home and look after the little girl, who
had no one else to protect her.

And this the boys did, and took such good care of their sister that, as
she was very small, she soon forgot that she had ever had a father and
mother.

[From the Bureau of Ethnology, U.S.]




The Sacred Milk of Koumongoé


Far way, in a very hot country, there once lived a man and woman who
had two children, a son named Koane and a daughter called Thakane.

Early in the morning and late in the evenings the parents worked hard
in the fields, resting, when the sun was high, under the shade of some
tree. While they were absent the little girl kept house alone, for her
brother always got up before the dawn, when the air was fresh and cool,
and drove out the cattle to the sweetest patches of grass he could
find.

One day, when Koane had slept later than usual, his father and mother
went to their work before him, and there was only Thakane to be seen
busy making the bread for supper.

“Thakane,” he said, “I am thirsty. Give me a drink from the tree
Koumongoé, which has the best milk in the world.”

“Oh, Koane,” cried his sister, “you know that we are forbidden to touch
that tree. What would father say when he came home? For he would be
sure to know.”

“Nonsense,” replied Koane, “there is so much milk in Koumongoé that he
will never miss a little. If you won’t give it to me, I sha’n’t take
the cattle out. They will just have to stay all day in the hut, and you
know that they will starve.” And he turned from her in a rage, and sat
down in the corner.

After a while Thakane said to him: “It is getting hot, had you better
drive out the cattle now?”

But Koane only answered sulkily: “I told you I am not going to drive
them out at all. If I have to do without milk, they shall do without
grass.”

Thakane did not know what to do. She was afraid to disobey her parents,
who would most likely beat her, yet the beasts would be sure to suffer
if they were kept in, and she would perhaps be beaten for that too. So
at last she took an axe and a tiny earthen bowl, she cut a very small
hole in the side of Koumongoé, and out gushed enough milk to fill the
bowl.

“Here is the milk you wanted,” said she, going up to Koane, who was
still sulking in his corner.

“What is the use of that?” grumbled Koane; “why, there is not enough to
drown a fly. Go and get me three times as much!”

Trembling with fright, Thakane returned to the tree, and struck it a
sharp blow with the axe. In an instant there poured forth such a stream
of milk that it ran like a river into the hut.

“Koane! Koane!” cried she, “come and help me to plug up the hole. There
will be no milk left for our father and mother.” But Koane could not
stop it any more than Thakane, and soon the milk was flowing through
the hut downhill towards their parents in the fields below.

The man saw a white stream a long way off, and guessed what had
happened.

“Wife, wife,” he called loudly to the woman, who was working at a
little distance: “Do you see Koumongoé running fast down the hill? That
is some mischief of the children’s, I am sure. I must go home and find
out what is the matter.” And they both threw down their hoes and
hurried to the side of Koumongoé.

Kneeling on the grass, the man and his wife made a cup of their hands
and drank the milk from it. And no sooner had they done this, than
Koumongoé flowed back again up the hill, and entered the hut.

“Thakane,” said the parents, severely, when they reached home panting
from the heat of the sun, “what have you been doing? Why did Koumongoé
come to us in the fields instead of staying in the garden?”

“It was Koane’s fault,” answered Thakane. “He would not take the cattle
to feed until he drank some of the milk from Koumongoé. So, as I did
not know what else to do, I gave it to him.”

The father listened to Thakane’s words, but made no answer. Instead, he
went outside and brought in two sheepskins, which he stained red and
sent for a blacksmith to forge some iron rings. The rings were then
passed over Thakane’s arms and legs and neck, and the skins fastened on
her before and behind. When all was ready, the man sent for his
servants and said:

“I am going to get rid of Thakane.”

“Get rid of your only daughter?” they answered, in surprise. “But why?”

“Because she has eaten what she ought not to have eaten. She has
touched the sacred tree which belongs to her mother and me alone.” And,
turning his back, he called to Thakane to follow him, and they went
down the road which led to the dwelling of an ogre.

They were passing along some fields where the corn was ripening, when a
rabbit suddenly sprang out at their feet, and standing on its hind
legs, it sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

“You had better ask her,” replied the man, “she is old enough to give
you an answer.”

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoé to Koane, Koumongoé to the keeper of beasts; For
without Koumongoé they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoé
they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoé of
my father.

And when the rabbit heard that, he cried: “Wretched man! it is you whom
the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.”

But the father paid no heed to what the rabbit said, and only walked on
the faster, bidding Thakane to keep close behind him. By-and-by they
met with a troop of great deer, called elands, and they stopped when
they saw Thakane and sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

“You had better ask her, replied the man, “she is old enough to give
you an answer.”

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoé to Koane, Koumongoé to the keeper of beasts; For
without Koumongoé they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoé
they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoé of
my father.

And the elands all cried: “Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre should
eat, and not your beautiful daughter.”

By this time it was nearly dark, and the father said they could travel
no further that night, and must go to sleep where they were. Thakane
was thankful indeed when she heard this, for she was very tired, and
found the two skins fastened round her almost too heavy to carry. So,
in spite of her dread of the ogre, she slept till dawn, when her father
woke her, and told her roughly that he was ready to continue their
journey.

Crossing the plain, the girl and h

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