The Green Fairy Book
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Title: The Green Fairy Book
Editor: Andrew Lang
Illustrator: H. J. Ford
Release date: August 29, 2010 [eBook #33571]
Language: English
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[Illustration]
THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK
THE FAIRY BOOK SERIES.
EDITED BY ANDREW LANG.
_Crown 8vo. gilt edges, 6s. each._
THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. With 138 Illustrations.
THE RED FAIRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations.
THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK. With 101 Illustrations.
THE GREY FAIRY BOOK. With 65 Illustrations.
THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK. With 104 Illustrations.
THE PINK FAIRY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations.
THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 54 other Illustrations.
THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 43 other Illustrations.
THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 42 other Illustrations.
THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations.
THE TRUE STORY BOOK. With 66 Illustrations.
THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations.
THE ANIMAL STORY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations.
THE RED BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES. With 65 Illustrations.
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. With 66 Illustrations.
THE BOOK OF ROMANCE. With 8 Coloured Plates, and 44 other Illustrations.
THE RED ROMANCE BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 44 other Illustrations.
LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 39 Paternoster Row, London;
New York and Bombay.
[Illustration: GORGONZOLA FLIES OFF ON HER DRAGON]
THE
GREEN FAIRY BOOK
EDITED BY
ANDREW LANG
[Illustration]
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_
SEVENTH IMPRESSION
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
89 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1906
_All rights reserved_
_TO
STELLA MARGARET ALLEYNE
THE
GREEN FAIRY BOOK
IS DEDICATED_
_TO THE FRIENDLY READER_
This is the third, and probably the last, of the Fairy Books of many
colours. First there was the _Blue Fairy Book_; then, children, you
asked for more, and we made up the _Red Fairy Book_; and, when you
wanted more still, the _Green Fairy Book_ was put together. The stories
in all the books are borrowed from many countries; some are French, some
German, some Russian, some Italian, some Scottish, some English, one
Chinese. However much these nations differ about trifles, they all agree
in liking fairy tales. The reason, no doubt, is that men were much like
children in their minds long ago, long, long ago, and so before they
took to writing newspapers, and sermons, and novels, and long poems,
they told each other stories, such as you read in the fairy books. They
believed that witches could turn people into beasts, that beasts could
speak, that magic rings could make their owners invisible, and all the
other wonders in the stories. Then, as the world became grown-up, the
fairy tales which were not written down would have been quite forgotten
but that the old grannies remembered them, and told them to the little
grandchildren: and when they, in their turn, became grannies, they
remembered them, and told them also. In this way these tales are older
than reading and writing, far older than printing. The oldest fairy
tales ever written down were written down in Egypt, about Joseph's time,
nearly three thousand five hundred years ago. Other fairy stories Homer
knew, in Greece, nearly three thousand years ago, and he made them all
up into a poem, the _Odyssey_, which I hope you will read some day. Here
you will find the witch who turns men into swine, and the man who bores
out the big foolish giant's eye, and the cap of darkness, and the shoes
of swiftness, that were worn later by Jack the Giant-Killer. These fairy
tales are the oldest stories in the world, and as they were first made
by men who were childlike for their own amusement, so they amuse
children still, and also grown-up people who have not forgotten how they
once were children.
Some of the stories were made, no doubt, not only to amuse, but to teach
goodness. You see, in the tales, how the boy who is kind to beasts, and
polite, and generous, and brave, always comes best through his trials,
and no doubt these tales were meant to make their hearers kind,
unselfish, courteous, and courageous. This is the moral of them. But,
after all, we think more as we read them of the diversion than of the
lesson. There are grown-up people now who say that the stories are not
good for children, because they are not true, because there are no
witches, nor talking beasts, and because people are killed in them,
especially wicked giants. But probably you who read the tales know very
well how much is true and how much is only make-believe, and I never yet
heard of a child who killed a very tall man merely because Jack killed
the giants, or who was unkind to his stepmother, if he had one, because,
in fairy tales, the stepmother is often disagreeable. If there are
frightful monsters in fairy tales, they do not frighten you now, because
that kind of monster is no longer going about the world, whatever he may
have done long, long ago. He has been turned into stone, and you may see
his remains in museums. Therefore, I am not afraid that you will be
afraid of the magicians and dragons; besides, you see that a really
brave boy or girl was always their master, even in the height of their
power.
Some of the tales here, like _The Half-Chick_, are for very little
children; others for older ones. The longest tales, like _Heart of Ice_,
were not invented when the others were, but were written in French, by
clever men and women, such as Madame d'Aulnoy, and the Count de Caylus,
about two hundred years ago. There are not many people now, perhaps
there are none, who can write really good fairy tales, because they do
not believe enough in their own stories, and because they want to be
wittier than it has pleased Heaven to make them.
So here we give you the last of the old stories, for the present, and
hope you will like them, and feel grateful to the Brothers Grimm, who
took them down from the telling of old women, and to M. Sebillot and M.
Charles Marelles, who have lent us some tales from their own French
people, and to Mr. Ford, who drew the pictures, and to the ladies, Miss
Blackley, Miss Alma Alleyne, Miss Eleanor Sellar, Miss May Sellar, Miss
Wright, and Mrs. Lang, who translated many of the tales out of French,
German, and other languages.
If we have a book for you next year, it shall not be a fairy book. What
it is to be is a secret, but we hope that it will not be dull. So
good-bye, and when you have read a fairy book, lend it to other children
who have none, or tell them the stories in your own way, which is a very
pleasant mode of passing the time.
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
_The Blue Bird_ 1
_The Half-Chick_ 27
_The Story of Caliph Stork_ 32
_The Enchanted Watch_ 43
_Rosanella_ 48
_Sylvain and Jocosa_ 56
_Fairy Gifts_ 64
_Prince Narcissus and the Princess Potentilla_ 68
_Prince Featherhead and the Princess Celandine_ 85
_The Three Little Pigs_ 100
_Heart of Ice_ 106
_The Enchanted Ring_ 137
_The Snuff-box_ 145
_The Golden Blackbird_ 151
_The Little Soldier_ 157
_The Magic Swan_ 175
_The Dirty Shepherdess_ 180
_The Enchanted Snake_ 186
_The Biter Bit_ 194
_King Kojata_ 202
_Prince Fickle and Fair Helena_ 216
_Puddocky_ 222
_The Story of Hok Lee and the Dwarfs_ 229
_The Story of the Three Bears_ 234
_Prince Vivien and the Princess Placida_ 238
_Little One-eye, Little Two-eyes, and Little Three-eyes_ 262
_Jorinde and Joringel_ 271
_Allerleirauh; or, the Many-furred Creature_ 276
_The Twelve Huntsmen_ 282
_Spindle, Shuttle, and Needle_ 286
_The Crystal Coffin_ 290
_The Three Snake-leaves_ 296
_The Riddle_ 300
_Jack my Hedgehog_ 304
_The Golden Lads_ 311
_The White Snake_ 319
_The Story of a Clever Tailor_ 324
_The Golden Mermaid_ 328
_The War of the Wolf and the Fox_ 339
_The Story of the Fisherman and his Wife_ 343
_The Three Musicians_ 353
_The Three Dogs_ 360
_THE BLUE BIRD_
Once upon a time there lived a King who was immensely rich. He had broad
lands, and sacks overflowing with gold and silver; but he did not care a
bit for all his riches, because the Queen, his wife, was dead. He shut
himself up in a little room and knocked his head against the walls for
grief, until his courtiers were really afraid that he would hurt
himself. So they hung feather-beds between the tapestry and the walls,
and then he could go on knocking his head as long as it was any
consolation to him without coming to much harm. All his subjects came to
see him, and said whatever they thought would comfort him: some were
grave, even gloomy with him; and some agreeable, even gay; but not one
could make the least impression upon him. Indeed, he hardly seemed to
hear what they said. At last came a lady who was wrapped in a black
mantle, and seemed to be in the deepest grief. She wept and sobbed until
even the King's attention was attracted; and when she said that, far
from coming to try and diminish his grief, she, who had just lost a good
husband, was come to add her tears to his, since she knew what he must
be feeling, the King redoubled his lamentations. Then he told the
sorrowful lady long stories about the good qualities of his departed
Queen, and she in her turn recounted all the virtues of her departed
husband; and this passed the time so agreeably that the King quite
forgot to thump his head against the feather-beds, and the lady did not
need to wipe the tears from her great blue eyes as often as before. By
degrees they came to talking about other things in which the King took
an interest, and in a wonderfully short time the whole kingdom was
astonished by the news that the King was married again--to the sorrowful
lady.
[Illustration]
Now the King had one daughter, who was just fifteen years old. Her name
was Fiordelisa, and she was the prettiest and most charming Princess
imaginable, always gay end merry. The new Queen, who also had a
daughter, very soon sent for her to come to the Palace. Turritella, for
that was her name, had been brought up by her godmother, the Fairy
Mazilla, but in spite of all the care bestowed upon her, she was
neither beautiful nor gracious. Indeed, when the Queen saw how
ill-tempered and ugly she appeared beside Fiordelisa she was in despair,
and did everything in her power to turn the King against his own
daughter, in the hope that he might take a fancy to Turritella. One day
the King said that it was time Fiordelisa and Turritella were married,
so he would give one of them to the first suitable Prince who visited
his Court. The Queen answered:
'My daughter certainly ought to be the first to be married; she is older
than yours, and a thousand times more charming!'
The King, who hated disputes, said, 'Very well, it's no affair of mine,
settle it your own way.'
Very soon after came the news that King Charming, who was the most
handsome and magnificent Prince in all the country round, was on his way
to visit the King. As soon as the Queen heard this, she set all her
jewellers, tailors, weavers, and embroiderers to work upon splendid
dresses and ornaments for Turritella, but she told the King that
Fiordelisa had no need of anything new, and the night before the King
was to arrive, she bribed her waiting woman to steal away all the
Princess's own dresses and jewels, so that when the day came, and
Fiordelisa wished to adorn herself as became her high rank, not even a
ribbon could she find.
However, as she easily guessed who had played her such a trick, she made
no complaint, but sent to the merchants for some rich stuffs. But they
said that the Queen had expressly forbidden them to supply her with any,
and they dared not disobey. So the Princess had nothing left to put on
but the little white frock she had been wearing the clay before; and
dressed in that, she went down when the time of the King's arrival came,
and sat in a corner hoping to escape notice. The Queen received her
guest with great ceremony, and presented him to her daughter, who was
gorgeously attired, but so much splendour only made her ugliness more
noticeable, and the King, after one glance at her, looked the other way.
The Queen, however, only thought that he was bashful, and took pains to
keep Turritella in full view. King Charming then asked if there was not
another Princess, called Fiordelisa.
'Yes,' said Turritella, pointing with her finger, 'there she is, trying
to keep out of sight because she is not smart.'
At this Fiordelisa blushed, and looked so shy and so lovely, that the
King was fairly astonished. He rose, and bowing low before her, said--
'Madam, your incomparable beauty needs no adornment.'
'Sire,' answered the Princess, 'I assure you that I am not in the habit
of wearing dresses as crumpled and untidy as this one, so I should have
been better pleased if you had not seen me at all.'
'Impossible!' cried King Charming. 'Wherever such a marvellously
beautiful Princess appears I can look at nothing else.'
Here the Queen broke in, saying sharply--
[Illustration]
'I assure you, Sire, that Fiordelisa is vain enough already. Pray make
her no more flattering speeches.'
The King quite understood that she was not pleased, but that did not
matter to him, so he admired Fiordelisa to his heart's content, and
talked to her for three hours without stopping.
The Queen was in despair, and so was Turritella, when they saw how much
the King preferred Fiordelisa. They complained bitterly to the King, and
begged and teased him, until he at last consented to have the Princess
shut up somewhere out of sight while King Charming's visit lasted. So
that night, as she went to her room, she was seized by four masked
figures, and carried up into the topmost room of a high tower, where
they left her in the deepest dejection. She easily guessed that she was
to be kept out of sight for fear the King should fall in love with her;
but then, how disappointing that was, for she already liked him very
much, and would have been quite willing to be chosen for his bride! As
King Charming did not know what had happened to the Princess, he looked
forward impatiently to meeting her again, and he tried to talk about her
with the courtiers who were placed in attendance on him. But by the
Queen's orders they would say nothing good of her, but declared that she
was vain, capricious, and bad-tempered; that she tormented her
waiting-maids, and that, in spite of all the money that the King gave
her, she was so mean that she preferred to go about dressed like a poor
shepherdess, rather than spend any of it. All these things vexed the
King very much, and he was silent.
'It is true,' thought he, 'that she was very poorly dressed, but then
she was so ashamed that it proves that she was not accustomed to be so.
I cannot believe that with that lovely face she can be as ill-tempered
and contemptible as they say. No, no, the Queen must be jealous of her
for the sake of that ugly daughter of hers, and so these evil reports
are spread.'
The courtiers could not help seeing that what they had told the King did
not please him, and one of them cunningly began to praise Fiordelisa,
when he could talk to the King without being heard by the others.
King Charming thereupon became so cheerful, and interested in all he
said, that it was easy to guess how much he admired the Princess. So
when the Queen sent for the courtiers and questioned them about all they
had found out, their report confirmed her worst fears. As to the poor
Princess Fiordelisa, she cried all night without stopping.
'It would have been quite bad enough to be shut up in this gloomy tower
before I had ever seen King Charming,' she said; 'but now when he is
here, and they are all enjoying themselves with him, it is too unkind.'
The next day the Queen sent King Charming splendid presents of jewels
and rich stuffs, and among other things an ornament made expressly in
honour of the approaching wedding. It was a heart cut out of one huge
ruby, and was surrounded by several diamond arrows, and pierced by one.
A golden true-lover's knot above the heart bore the motto, 'But one can
wound me,' and the whole jewel was hung upon a chain of immense pearls.
Never, since the world has been a world, had such a thing been made, and
the King was quite amazed when it was presented to him. The page who
brought it begged him to accept it from the Princess, who chose him to
be her knight.
'What!' cried he, 'does the lovely Princess Fiordelisa deign to think of
me in this amiable and encouraging way?'
'You confuse the names, Sire,' said the page hastily. 'I come on behalf
of the Princess Turritella.'
'Oh, it is Turritella who wishes me to be her knight,' said the King
coldly. 'I am sorry that I cannot accept the honour.' And he sent the
splendid gifts back to the Queen and Turritella, who were furiously
angry at the contempt with which they were treated. As soon as he
possibly could, King Charming went to see the King and Queen, and as he
entered the hall he looked for Fiordelisa, and every time anyone came in
he started round to see who it was, and was altogether so uneasy and
dissatisfied that the Queen saw it plainly. But she would not take any
notice, and talked of nothing but the entertainments she was planning.
The Prince answered at random, and presently asked if he was not to have
the pleasure of seeing the Princess Fiordelisa.
'Sire,' answered the Queen haughtily, 'her father has ordered that she
shall not leave her own apartments until my daughter is married.'
'What can be the reason for keeping that lovely Princess a prisoner?'
cried the King in great indignation.
'That I do not know,' answered the Queen; 'and even if I did, I might
not feel bound to tell you.'
The King was terribly angry at being thwarted like this. He felt certain
that Turritella was to blame for it, so casting a furious glance at her
he abruptly took leave of the Queen, and returned to his own apartments.
There he said to a young squire whom he had brought with him: 'I would
give all I have in the world to gain the good will of one of the
Princess's waiting-women, and obtain a moment's speech with Fiordelisa.'
'Nothing could be easier,' said the young squire; and he very soon made
friends with one of the ladies, who told him that in the evening
Fiordelisa would be at a little window which looked into the garden,
where he could come and talk to her. Only, she said, he must take very
great care not to be seen, as it would be as much as her place was worth
to be caught helping King Charming to see the Princess. The squire was
delighted, and promised all she asked; but the moment he had run off to
announce his success to the King, the false waiting-woman went and told
the Queen all that had passed. She at once determined that her own
daughter should be at the little window; and she taught her so well all
she was to say and do, that even the stupid Turritella could make no
mistake.
The night was so dark that the King had not a chance of finding out the
trick that was being played upon him, so he approached the window with
the greatest delight, and said everything that he had been longing to
say to Fiordelisa to persuade her of his love for her. Turritella
answered as she had been taught, that she was very unhappy, and that
there was no chance of her being better treated by the Queen until her
daughter was married. And then the King entreated her to marry him; and
thereupon he drew his ring from his finger and put it upon Turritella's,
and she answered him as well as she could. The King could not help
thinking that she did not say exactly what he would have expected from
his darling Fiordelisa, but he persuaded himself that the fear of being
surprised by the Queen was making her awkward and unnatural. He would
not leave her until she had promised to see him again the next night,
which Turritella did willingly enough. The Queen was overjoyed at the
success of her stratagem, and promised herself that all would now be as
she wished; and sure enough, as soon as it was dark the following night
the King came, bringing with him a chariot which had been given him by
an Enchanter who was his friend. This chariot was drawn by flying frogs,
and the King easily persuaded Turritella to come out and let him put her
into it, then mounting beside her he cried triumphantly--
'Now, my Princess, you are free; where will it please you that we shall
hold our wedding?'
And Turritella, with her head muffled in her mantle, answered that the
Fairy Mazilla was her godmother, and that she would like it to be at her
castle. So the King told the Frogs, who had the map of the whole world
in their heads, and very soon he and Turritella were set down at the
castle of the Fairy Mazilla. The King would certainly have found out his
mistake the moment they stepped into the brilliantly lighted castle, but
Turritella held her mantle more closely round her, and asked to see the
Fairy by herself, and quickly told her all that had happened, and how
she had succeeded in deceiving King Charming.
'Oho! my daughter,' said the Fairy, 'I see we have no easy task before
us. He loves Fiordelisa so much that he will not be easily pacified. I
feel sure he will defy us!' Meanwhile the King was waiting in a splendid
room with diamond walls, so clear that he could see the Fairy and
Turritella as they stood whispering together, and he was very much
puzzled.
'Who can have betrayed us?' he said to himself. 'How comes our enemy
here? She must be plotting to prevent our marriage. Why doesn't my
lovely Fiordelisa make haste and come back to me?'
But it was worse than anything he had imagined when the Fairy Mazilla
entered, leading Turritella by the hand, and said to him--
'King Charming, here is the Princess Turritella to whom you have
plighted your faith. Let us have the wedding at once.'
'I!' cried the King. 'I marry that little creature! What do you take me
for? I have promised her nothing!'
'Say no more. Have you no respect for a Fairy?' cried she angrily.
'Yes, madam,' answered the King, 'I am prepared to respect you as much
as a Fairy can be respected, if you will give me back my Princess.'
'Am I not here?' interrupted Turritella. 'Here is the ring you gave me.
With whom did you talk at the little window, if it was not with me?'
'What!' cried the King angrily, 'have I been altogether deceived and
deluded? Where is my chariot? Not another moment will I stay here.'
'Oho,' said the Fairy, 'not so fast.' And she touched his feet, which
instantly became as firmly fixed to the floor as if they had been nailed
there.
'Oh! do whatever you like with me,' said the King; 'you may turn me to
stone, but I will marry no one but Fiordelisa.'
And not another word would he say, though the Fairy scolded and
threatened, and Turritella wept and raged for twenty days and twenty
nights. At last the Fairy Mazilla said furiously (for she was quite
tired out by his obstinacy), 'Choose whether you will marry my
goddaughter, or do penance seven years for breaking your word to her.'
And then the King cried gaily: 'Pray do whatever you like with me, as
long as you deliver me from this ugly scold!'
'Scold!' cried Turritella angrily. 'Who are you, I should like to know,
that you dare to call me a scold? A miserable King who breaks his word,
and goes about in a chariot drawn by croaking frogs out of a marsh!'
'Let us have no more of these insults,' cried the Fairy. 'Fly from that
window, ungrateful King, and for seven years be a Blue Bird.' As she
spoke the King's face altered, his arms turned to wings, his feet to
little crooked black claws. In a moment he had a slender body like a
bird, covered with shining blue feathers, his beak was like ivory, his
eyes were bright as stars, and a crown of white feathers adorned his
head.
As soon as the transformation was complete the King uttered a dolorous
cry and fled through the open window, pursued by the mocking laughter of
Turritella and the Fairy Mazilla. He flew on until he reached the
thickest part of the wood, and there, perched upon a cypress tree, he
bewailed his miserable fate. 'Alas! in seven years who knows what may
happen to my darling Fiordelisa!' he said. 'Her cruel stepmother may
have married her to someone else before I am myself again, and then what
good will life be to me?'
In the meantime the Fairy Mazilla had sent Turritella back to the Queen,
who was all anxiety to know how the wedding had gone off. But when her
daughter arrived and told her all that had happened she was terribly
angry, and of course all her wrath fell upon Fiordelisa. 'She shall have
cause to repent that the King admires her,' said the Queen, nodding her
head meaningly, and then she and Turritella went up to the little room
in the tower where the Princess was imprisoned. Fiordelisa was immensely
surprised to see that Turritella was wearing a royal mantle and a
diamond crown, and her heart sank when the Queen said: 'My daughter is
come to show you some of her wedding presents, for she is King
Charming's bride, and they are the happiest pair in the world, he loves
her to distraction.' All this time Turritella was spreading out lace,
and jewels, and rich brocades, and ribbons before Fiordelisa's unwilling
eyes, and taking good care to display King Charming's ring, which she
wore upon her thumb. The Princess recognised it as soon as her eyes fell
upon it, and after that she could no longer doubt that he had indeed
married Turritella. In despair she cried, 'Take away these miserable
gauds! what pleasure has a wretched captive in the sight of them?' and
then she fell insensible upon the floor, and the cruel Queen laughed
maliciously, and went away with Turritella, leaving her there without
comfort or aid. That night the Queen said to the King, that his daughter
was so infatuated with King Charming, in spite of his never having shown
any preference for her, that it was just as well she should stay in the
tower until she came to her senses. To which he answered that it was her
affair, and she could give what orders she pleased about the Princess.
When the unhappy Fiordelisa recovered, and remembered all she had just
heard, she began to cry bitterly, believing that King Charming was lost
to her for ever, and all night long she sat at her open window sighing
and lamenting; but when it was dawn she crept away into the darkest
corner of her little room and sat there, too unhappy to care about
anything. As soon as night came again she once more leaned out into the
darkness and bewailed her miserable lot.
Now it happened that King Charming, or rather the Blue Bird, had been
flying round the palace in the hope of seeing his beloved Princess, but
had not dared to go too near the windows for fear of being seen and
recognised by Turritella. When night fell he had not succeeded in
discovering where Fiordelisa was imprisoned, and, weary and sad, he
perched upon a branch of a tall fir tree which grew close to the tower,
and began to sing himself to sleep. But soon the sound of a soft voice
lamenting attracted his attention, and listening intently he heard it
say--
'Ah! cruel Queen! what have I ever done to be imprisoned like this? And
was I not unhappy enough before, that you must needs come and taunt me
with the happiness your daughter is enjoying now she is King Charming's
bride?'
The Blue Bird, greatly surprised, waited impatiently for the dawn, and
the moment it was light flew off to see who it could have been who spoke
thus. But he found the window shut, and could see no one. The next
night, however, he was on the watch, and by the clear moonlight he saw
that the sorrowful lady at the window was Fiordelisa herself.
'My Princess! have I found you at last?' said he, alighting close to
her.
'Who is speaking to me?' cried the Princess in great surprise.
'Only a moment since you mentioned my name, and now you do not know me,
Fiordelisa,' said he sadly. 'But no wonder, since I am nothing but a
Blue Bird, and must remain one for seven years.'
'What! Little Blue Bird, are you really the powerful King Charming?'
said the Princess, caressing him.
'It is too true,' he answered. 'For being faithful to you I am thus
punished. But believe me, if it were for twice as long I would bear it
joyfully rather than give you up.'
'Oh! what are you telling me?' cried the Princess. 'Has not your bride,
Turritella, just visited me, wearing the royal mantle and the diamond
crown you gave her? I cannot be mistaken, for I saw your ring upon her
thumb.'
Then the Blue Bird was furiously angry, and told the Princess all that
had happened, how he had been deceived into carrying off Turritella, and
how, for refusing to marry her, the Fairy Mazilla had condemned him to
be a Blue Bird for seven years.
The Princess was very happy when she heard how faithful her lover was,
and would never have tired of hearing his loving speeches and
explanations, but too soon the sun rose, and they had to part lest the
Blue Bird should be discovered. After promising to come again to the
Princess's window as soon as it was dark, he flew away, and hid himself
in a little hole in the fir-tree, while Fiordelisa remained devoured by
anxiety lest he should be caught in a trap, or eaten up by an eagle.
But the Blue Bird did not long stay in his hiding-place. He flew away,
and away, until he came to his own palace, and got into it through a
broken window, and there he found the cabinet where his jewels were
kept, and chose out a splendid diamond ring as a present for the
Princess. By the time he got back, Fiordelisa was sitting waiting for
him by the open window, and when he gave her the ring, she scolded him
gently for having run such a risk to get it for her.
'Promise me that you will wear it always!' said the Blue Bird. And the
Princess promised on condition that he should come and see her in the
day as well as by night. They talked all night long, and the next
morning the Blue Bird flew off to his kingdom, and crept into his palace
through the broken window, and chose from his treasures two bracelets,
each cut out of a single emerald. When he presented them to the
Princess, she shook her head at him reproachfully, saying--
'Do you think I love you so little that I need all these gifts to remind
me of you?'
And he answered--
'No, my Princess; but I love you so much that I feel I cannot express
it, try as I may. I only bring you these worthless trifles to show that
I have not ceased to think of you, though I have been obliged to leave
you for a time.' The following night he gave Fiordelisa a watch set in a
single pearl. The Princess laughed a little when she saw it, and said--
[Illustration]
'You may well give me a watch, for since I have known you I have lost
the power of measuring time. The hours you spend with me pass like
minutes, and the hours that I drag through without you seem years to
me.'
'Ah, Princess, they cannot seem so long to you as they do to me!' he
answered. Day by day he brought more beautiful things for the
Princess--diamonds, and rubies, and opals; and at night she decked
herself with them to please him, but by day she hid them in her straw
mattress. When the sun shone the Blue Bird, hidden in the tall fir-tree,
sang to her so sweetly that all the passers-by wondered, and said that
the wood was inhabited by a spirit. And so two years slipped away, and
still the Princess was a prisoner, and Turritella was not married. The
Queen had offered her hand to all the neighbouring Princes, but they
always answered that they would marry Fiordelisa with pleasure, but not
Turritella on any account. This displeased the Queen terribly.
'Fiordelisa must be in league with them, to annoy me!' she said. 'Let us
go and accuse her of it.'
So she and Turritella went up into the tower. Now it happened that it
was nearly midnight, and Fiordelisa, all decked with jewels, was sitting
at the window with the Blue Bird, and as the Queen paused outside the
door to listen she heard the Princess and her lover singing together a
little song he had just taught her. These were the words:--
'Oh! what a luckless pair are we,
One in a prison, and one in a tree.
All our trouble and anguish came
From our faithfulness spoiling our enemies' game.
But vainly they practise their cruel arts,
For nought can sever our two fond hearts.'
They sound melancholy perhaps, but the two voices sang them gaily
enough, and the Queen burst open the door, crying, 'Ah! my Turritella,
there is some treachery going on here!'
As soon as she saw her, Fiordelisa, with great presence of mind, hastily
shut her little window, that the Blue Bird might have time to escape,
and then turned to meet the Queen, who overwhelmed her with a torrent of
reproaches.
'Your intrigues are discovered, Madam,' she said furiously; 'and you
need not hope that your high rank will save you from the punishment you
deserve.'
'And with whom do you accuse me of intriguing, Madam?' said the
Princess. 'Have I not been your prisoner these two years, and who have I
seen except the gaolers sent by you?'
While she spoke the Queen and Turritella were looking at her in the
greatest surprise, perfectly dazzled by her beauty and the splendour of
her jewels, and the Queen said:
'If one may ask, Madam, where did you get all these diamonds? Perhaps
you mean to tell me that you have discovered a mine of them in the
tower!'
'I certainly did find them here,' answered the Princess.
'And pray,' said the Queen, her wrath increasing every moment, 'for
whose admiration are you decked out like this, since I have often seen
you not half as fine on the most important occasions at Court?'
'For my own,' answered Fiordelisa. 'You must admit that I have had
plenty of time on my hands, so you cannot be surprised at my spending
some of it in making myself smart.'
'That's all very fine,' said the Queen suspiciously. 'I think I will
look about, and see for myself.'
So she and Turritella began to search every corner of the little room,
and when they came to the straw mattress out fell such a quantity of
pearls, diamonds, rubies, opals, emeralds, and sapphires, that they were
amazed, and could not tell what to think. But the Queen resolved to hide
somewhere a packet of false letters to prove that the Princess had been
conspiring with the King's enemies, and she chose the chimney as a good
place. Fortunately for Fiordelisa this was exactly where the Blue Bird
had perched himself, to keep an eye upon her proceedings, and try to
avert danger from his beloved Princess, and now he cried:
'Beware, Fiordelisa! Your false enemy is plotting against you.'
This strange voice so frightened the Queen that she took the letter and
went away hastily with Turritella, and they held a council to try and
devise some means of finding out what Fairy or Enchanter was favouring
the Princess. At last they sent one of the Queen's maids to wait upon
Fiordelisa, and told her to pretend to be quite stupid, and to see and
hear nothing, while she was really to watch the Princess day and night,
and keep the Queen informed of all her doings.
Poor Fiordelisa, who guessed she was sent as a spy, was in despair, and
cried bitterly that she dared not see her dear Blue Bird for fear that
some evil might happen to him if he were discovered.
The days were so long, and the nights so dull, but for a whole month she
never went near her little window, lest he should fly to her as he used
to do.
However, at last the spy, who had never taken her eyes off the Princess
day or night, was so overcome with weariness that she fell into a deep
sleep, and as soon as the Princess saw that, she flew to open her window
and cried softly:
'Blue Bird, blue as the sky,
Fly to me now, there's nobody by.'
And the Blue Bird, who had never ceased to flutter round within sight
and hearing of her prison, came in an instant. They had so much to say,
and were so overjoyed to meet once more, that it scarcely seemed to them
five minutes before the sun rose, and the Blue Bird had to fly away.
But the next night the spy slept as soundly as before, so that the Blue
Bird came, and he and the Princess began to think they were perfectly
safe, and to make all sorts of plans for being happy as they were before
the Queen's visit. But, alas! the third night the spy was not quite so
sleepy, and when the Princess opened her window and cried as usual:
'Blue Bird, blue as the sky,
Fly to me now, there's nobody nigh,'
she was wide awake in a moment, though she was sly enough to keep her
eyes shut at first. But presently she heard voices, and peeping
cautiously, she saw by the moonlight the most lovely blue bird in the
world, who was talking to the Princess, while she stroked and caressed
it fondly.
The spy did not lose a single word of the conversation, and as soon as
the day dawned, and the Blue Bird had reluctantly said good-bye to the
Princess, she rushed off to the Queen, and told her all she had seen and
heard.
Then the Queen sent for Turritella, and they talked it over, and very
soon came to the conclusion than this Blue Bird was no other than King
Charming himself.
'Ah! that insolent Princess!' cried the Queen. 'To think that when we
supposed her to be so miserable, she was all the while as happy as
possible with that false King. But I know how we can avenge ourselves!'
So the spy was ordered to go back and pretend to sleep as soundly as
ever, and indeed she went to bed earlier than usual, and snored as
naturally as possible, and the poor Princess ran to the window and
cried:
'Blue Bird, blue as the sky,
Fly to me now, there's nobody by!'
But no bird came. All night long she called, and waited, and listened,
but still there was no answer, for the cruel Queen had caused the fir
tree to be hung all over with knives, swords, razors, shears,
bill-hooks, and sickles, so that when the Blue Bird heard the Princess
call, and flew towards her, his wings were cut, and his little black
feet clipped off, and all pierced and stabbed in twenty places, he fell
back bleeding into his hiding place in the tree, and lay there groaning
and despairing, for he thought the Princess must have been persuaded to
betray him, to regain her liberty.
'Ah! Fiordelisa, can you indeed be so lovely and so faithless?' he
sighed, 'then I may as well die at once!' And he turned over on his side
and began to die. But it happened that his friend the Enchanter had been
very much alarmed at seeing the Frog chariot come back to him without
King Charming, and had been round the world eight times seeking him, but
without success. At the very moment when the King gave himself up to
despair, he was passing through the wood for the eighth time, and
called, as he had done all over the world:
'Charming! King Charming! Are you here?'
The King at once recognised his friend's voice, and answered very
faintly:
'I am here.'
The Enchanter looked all round him, but could see nothing, and then the
King said again:
'I am a Blue Bird.'
Then the Enchanter found him in an instant, and seeing his pitiable
condition, ran hither and thither without a word, until he had collected
a handful of magic herbs, with which, and a few incantations, he
speedily made the King whole and sound again.
'Now,' said he, 'let me hear all about it. There must be a Princess at
the bottom of this.'
'There are two!' answered King Charming, with a wry smile.
And then he told the whole story, accusing Fiordelisa of having betrayed
the secret of his visits to make her peace with the Queen, and indeed
saying a great many hard things about her fickleness and her deceitful
beauty, and so on. The Enchanter quite agreed with him, and even went
further, declaring that all Princesses were alike, except perhaps in the
matter of beauty, and advised him to have done with Fiordelisa, and
forget all about her. But, somehow or other, this advice did not quite
please the King.
'What is to be done next?' said the Enchanter, 'since you still have
five years to remain a Blue Bird.'
'Take me to your palace,' answered the King; 'there you can at least
keep me in a cage safe from cats and swords.'
'Well, that will be the best thing to do for the present,' said his
friend. 'But I am not an Enchanter for nothing. I'm sure to have a
brilliant idea for you before long.'
[Illustration]
In the meantime Fiordelisa, quite in despair, sat at her window day and
night calling her dear Blue Bird in vain, and imagining over and over
again all the terrible things that could have happened to him, until she
grew quite pale and thin. As for the Queen and Turritella, they were
triumphant; but their triumph was short, for the King, Fiordelisa's
father, fell ill and died, and all the people rebelled against the Queen
and Turritella, and came in a body to the palace demanding Fiordelisa.
The Queen came out upon the balcony with threats and haughty
words, so that at last they lost their patience, and broke open the
doors of the palace, one of which fell back upon the Queen and
killed her. Turritella fled to the Fairy Mazilla, and all the nobles
of the kingdom fetched the Princess Fiordelisa from her prison in
the tower, and made her Queen. Very soon, with all the care and
attention they bestowed upon her, she recovered from the effects of
her long captivity and looked more beautiful than ever, and was able
to take counsel with her courtiers, and arrange for the governing of
her kingdom during her absence. And then, taking a bagful of
jewels, she set out all alone to look for the Blue Bird, without
telling anyone where she was going.
Meanwhile, the Enchanter was taking care of King Charming, but as his
power was not great enough to counteract the Fairy Mazilla's, he at last
resolved to go and see if he could make any kind of terms with her for
his friend; for you see, Fairies and Enchanters are cousins in a sort of
way, after all; and after knowing one another for five or six hundred
years and falling out, and making it up again pretty often, they
understand one another well enough. So the Fairy Mazilla received him
graciously. 'And what may you be wanting, Gossip?' said she.
'You can do a good turn for me if you will,' he answered. 'A King, who
is a friend of mine, was unlucky enough to offend you----'
'Aha! I know who you mean,' interrupted the Fairy. 'I am sorry not to
oblige you, Gossip, but he need expect no mercy from me unless he will
marry my goddaughter, whom you see yonder looking so pretty and
charming. Let him think over what I say.'
The Enchanter hadn't a word to say, for he thought Turritella really
frightful, but he could not go away without making one more effort for
his friend the King, who was really in great danger as long as he lived
in a cage. Indeed, already he had met with several alarming accidents.
Once the nail on which his cage was hung had given way, and his
feathered Majesty had suffered much from the fall, while Madam Puss, who
happened to be in the room at the time, had given him a scratch in the
eye which came very near blinding him. Another time they had forgotten
to give him any water to drink, so that he was nearly dead with thirst;
and the worst thing of all was that he was in danger of losing his
kingdom, for he had been absent so long that all his subjects believed
him to be dead. So considering all these things the Enchanter agreed
with the Fairy Mazilla that she should restore the King to his natural
form, and should take Turritella to stay in his palace for several
months, and if, after the time was over, he still could not make up his
mind to marry her, he should once more be changed into a Blue Bird.
Then the Fairy dressed Turritella in a magnificent gold and silver robe,
and they mounted together upon a flying Dragon, and very soon reached
King Charming's palace, where he, too, had just been brought by his
faithful friend the Enchanter.
Three strokes of the Fairy's wand restored his natural form, and he was
as handsome and delightful as ever, but he considered that he paid
dearly for his restoration when he caught sight of Turritella, and the
mere idea of marrying her made him shudder.
Meanwhile, Queen Fiordelisa, disguised as a poor peasant girl, wearing a
great straw hat that concealed her face, and carrying an old sack over
her shoulder, had set out upon her weary journey, and had travelled far,
sometimes by sea and sometimes by land; sometimes on foot, and sometimes
on horseback, but not knowing which way to go. She feared all the time
that every step she took was leading her farther from her lover. One day
as she sat, quite tired and sad, on the bank of a little brook, cooling
her white feet in the clear running water, and combing her long hair
that glittered like gold in the sunshine, a little bent old woman passed
by, leaning on a stick. She stopped, and said to Fiordelisa:
'What, my pretty child, are you all alone?'
'Indeed, good mother, I am too sad to care for company,' she answered;
and the tears ran down her cheeks.
'Don't cry,' said the old woman, 'but tell me truly what is the matter.
Perhaps I can help you.'
The Queen told her willingly all that had happened, and how she was
seeking the Blue Bird. Thereupon the little old woman suddenly stood up
straight, and grew tall, and young, and beautiful, and said with a smile
to the astonished Fiordelisa:
'Lovely Queen, the King whom you seek is no longer a bird. My sister
Mazilla has given his own form back to him, and he is in his own
kingdom. Do not be afraid, you will reach him, and will prosper. Take
these four eggs; if you break one when you are in any great difficulty,
you will find aid.'
[Illustration]
So saying, she disappeared, and Fiordelisa, feeling much encouraged, put
the eggs into her bag and turned her steps towards Charming's kingdom.
After walking on and on for eight days and eight nights, she came at
last to a tremendously high hill of polished ivory, so steep that it was
impossible to get a foothold upon it. Fiordelisa tried a thousand times,
and scrambled and slipped, but always in the end found herself exactly
where she started from. At last she sat down at the foot of it in
despair, and then suddenly bethought herself of the eggs. Breaking one
quickly, she found in it some little gold hooks, and with these fastened
to her feet and hands, she mounted the ivory hill without farther
trouble, for the little hooks saved her from slipping. As soon as she
reached the top a new difficulty presented itself, for all the other
side, and indeed the whole valley, was one polished mirror, in which
thousands and thousands of people were admiring their reflections. For
this was a magic mirror, in which people saw themselves just as they
wished to appear, and pilgrims came to it from the four corners of the
world. But nobody had ever been able to reach the top of the hill, and
when they saw Fiordelisa standing there, they raised a terrible outcry,
declaring that if she set foot upon their glass she would break it to
pieces. The Queen, not knowing what to do, for she saw it would be
dangerous to try to go down, broke the second egg, and out came a
chariot, drawn by two white doves, and Fiordelisa got into it, and was
floated softly away. After a night and a day the doves alighted outside
the gate of King Charming's kingdom. Here the Queen got out of the
chariot, and kissed the doves and thanked them, and then with a beating
heart she walked into the town, asking the people she met where she
could see the King. But they only laughed at her, crying:
'See the King? And pray, why do you want to see the King, my little
kitchen-maid? You had better go and wash your face first, your eyes are
not clear enough to see him!' For the Queen had disguised herself, and
pulled her hair down about her eyes, that no one might know her. As they
would not tell her, she went on farther, and presently asked again, and
this time the people answered that to-morrow she might see the King
driving through the streets with the Princess Turritella, as it was said
that at last he had consented to marry her. This was indeed terrible
news to Fiordelisa. Had she come all this weary way only to find
Turritella had succeeded in making King Charming forget her?
She was too tired and miserable to walk another step, so she sat down in
a doorway and cried bitterly all night long. As soon as it was light she
hastened to the palace, and after being sent away fifty times by the
guards, she got in at last, and saw the thrones set in the great hall
for the King and Turritella, who was already looked upon as Queen.
Fiordelisa hid herself behind a marble pillar, and very soon saw
Turritella make her appearance, richly dressed, but as ugly as ever, and
with her came the King, more handsome and splendid even than Fiordelisa
had remembered him. When Turritella had seated herself upon the throne,
the Queen approached her.
'Who are you, and how dare you come near my high-mightiness, upon my
golden throne?' said Turritella, frowning fiercely at her.
'They call me the little kitchen-maid,' she replied, 'and I come to
offer some precious things for sale,' and with that she searched in her
old sack, and drew out the emerald bracelets King Charming had given
her.
'Ho, ho!' said Turritella, 'those are pretty bits of glass. I suppose
you would like five silver pieces for them.'
'Show them to someone who understands such things, Madam,' answered the
Queen; 'after that we can decide upon the price.'
Turritella, who really loved King Charming as much as she could love
anybody, and was always delighted to get a chance of talking to him, now
showed him the bracelets, asking how much he considered them worth. As
soon as he saw them he remembered those he had given to Fiordelisa, and
turned very pale and sighed deeply, and fell into such sad thought that
he quite forgot to answer her. Presently she asked him again, and then
he said, with a great effort:
'I believe these bracelets are worth as much as my kingdom. I thought
there was only one such pair in the world; but here, it seems, is
another.'
Then Turritella went back to the Queen, and asked her what was the
lowest price she would take for them.
'More than you would find it easy to pay, Madam,' answered she; 'but if
you will manage for me to sleep one night in the Chamber of Echoes, I
will give you the emeralds.'
'By all means, my little kitchen-maid,' said Turritella, highly
delighted.
The King did not try to find out where the bracelets had come from, not
because he did not want to know, but because the only way would have
been to ask Turritella, and he disliked her so much that he never spoke
to her if he could possibly avoid it. It was he who had told Fiordelisa
about the Chamber of Echoes, when he was a Blue Bird. It was a little
room below the King's own bed-chamber, and was so ingeniously built that
the softest whisper in it was plainly heard in the King's room.
Fiordelisa wanted to reproach him for his faithlessness, and could not
imagine a better way than this. So when, by Turritella's orders, she was
left there she began to weep and lament, and never ceased until
daybreak.
The King's pages told Turritella, when she asked them, what a sobbing
and sighing they had heard, and she asked Fiordelisa what it was all
about. The Queen answered that she often dreamed and talked aloud.
But by an unlucky chance the King heard nothing of all this, for he took
a sleeping draught every night before he lay down, and did not wake up
until the sun was high.
The Queen passed the day in great disquietude.
'If he did hear me,' she said, 'could he remain so cruelly indifferent?
But if he did not hear me, what can I do to get another chance? I have
plenty of jewels, it is true, but nothing remarkable enough to catch
Turritella's fancy.'
Just then she thought of the eggs, and broke one, out of which came a
little carriage of polished steel ornamented with gold, drawn by six
green mice. The coachman was a rose-coloured rat, the postilion a grey
one, and the carriage was occupied by the tiniest and most charming
figures, who could dance and do wonderful tricks. Fiordelisa clapped her
hands and danced for joy when she saw this triumph of magic art, and as
soon as it was evening, went to a shady garden-path down which she knew
Turritella would pass, and then she made the mice galop, and the tiny
people show off their tricks, and sure enough Turritella came, and the
moment she saw it all cried:
'Little kitchen-maid, little kitchen-maid, what will you take for your
mouse-carriage?'
And the Queen answered:
'Let me sleep once more in the Chamber of Echoes.'
[Illustration]
'I won't refuse your request, poor creature,' said Turritella
condescendingly.
And then she turned to her ladies and whispered:
'The silly creature does not know how to profit by her chances; so much
the better for me.'
When night came Fiordelisa said all the loving words she could think of,
but alas! with no better success than before, for the King slept heavily
after his draught. One of the pages said:
'This peasant girl must be crazy;' but another answered:
'Yet what she says sounds very sad and touching.'
As for Fiordelisa, she thought the King must have a very hard heart if
he could hear how she grieved and yet pay her no attention. She had but
one more chance, and on breaking the last egg she found to her great
delight that it contained a more marvellous thing than ever. It was a
pie made of six birds, cooked to perfection, and yet they were all
alive, and singing and talking, and they answered questions and told
fortunes in the most amusing way. Taking this treasure Fiordelisa once
more set herself to wait in the great hall through which Turritella was
sure to pass, and as she sat there one of the King's pages came by, and
said to her:
'Well, little kitchen-maid, it is a good thing that the King always
takes a sleeping draught, for if not he would be kept awake all night by
your sighing and lamenting.'
Then Fiordelisa knew why the King had not heeded her, and taking a
handful of pearls and diamonds out of her sack, she said, 'If you can
promise me that to-night the King shall not have his sleeping draught, I
will give you all these jewels.'
'Oh! I promise that willingly,' said the page.
At this moment Turritella appeared, and at the first sight of the
savoury pie, with the pretty little birds all singing and chattering,
she cried:--
'That is an admirable pie, little kitchen-maid. Pray what will you take
for it?'
'The usual price,' she answered. 'To sleep once more in the Chamber of
Echoes.'
'By all means, only give me the pie,' said the greedy Turritella. And
when night was come, Queen Fiordelisa waited until she thought everybody
in the palace would be asleep, and then began to lament as before.
'Ah, Charming!' she said, 'what have I ever done that you should forsake
me and marry Turritella? If you could only know all I have suffered, and
what a weary way I have come to seek you.'
Now the page had faithfully kept his word, and given King Charming a
glass of water instead of his usual sleeping draught, so there he lay
wide awake, and heard every word Fiordelisa said, and even recognised
her voice, though he could not tell where it came from.
'Ah, Princess!' he said, 'how could you betray me to our cruel enemies
when I loved you so dearly?'
Fiordelisa heard him, and answered quickly:
'Find out the little kitchen-maid, and she will explain everything.'
Then the King in a great hurry sent for his pages and said:
'If you can find the little kitchen-maid, bring her to me at once.'
'Nothing could be easier, Sire,' they answered, 'for she is in the
Chamber of Echoes.'
[Illustration]
The King was very much puzzled when he heard this. How could the lovely
Princess Fiordelisa be a little kitchen-maid? or how could a little
kitchen-maid have Fiordelisa's own voice? So he dressed hastily, and ran
down a little secret staircase which led to the Chamber of Echoes.
There, upon a heap of soft cushions, sat his lovely Princess. She had
laid aside all her ugly disguises and wore a white silken robe, and her
golden hair shone in the soft lamp-light. The King was overjoyed at the
sight, and rushed to throw himself at her feet, and asked her a thousand
questions without giving her time to answer one. Fiordelisa was equally
happy to be with him once more, and nothing troubled them but the
remembrance of the Fairy Mazilla. But at this moment in came the
Enchanter, and with him a famous Fairy, the same in fact who had given
Fiordelisa the eggs. After greeting the King and Queen, they said that
as they were united in wishing to help King Charming, the Fairy Mazilla
had no longer any power against him, and he might marry Fiordelisa as
soon as he pleased. The King's joy may be imagined, and as soon as it
was day the news was spread through the palace, and everybody who saw
Fiordelisa loved her directly. When Turritella heard what had happened
she came running to the King, and when she saw Fiordelisa with him she
was terribly angry, but before she could say a word the Enchanter and
the Fairy changed her into a big brown owl, and she floated away out of
one of the palace windows, hooting dismally. Then the wedding was held
with great splendour, and King Charming and Queen Fiordelisa lived
happily ever after.
L'Oiseau Bleu. Par Mme. d'Auluoy.
_THE HALF-CHICK_
Once upon a time there was a handsome black Spanish hen, who had a large
brood of chickens. They were all fine, plump little birds, except the
youngest, who was quite unlike his brothers and sisters. Indeed, he was
such a strange, queer-looking creature, that when he first chipped his
shell his mother could scarcely believe her eyes, he was so different
from the twelve other fluffy, downy, soft little chicks who nestled
under her wings. This one looked just as if he had been cut in two. He
had only one leg, and one wing, and one eye, and he had half a head and
half a beak. His mother shook her head sadly as she looked at him and
said:
'My youngest born is only a half-chick. He can never grow up a tall
handsome cock like his brothers. They will go out into the world and
rule over poultry yards of their own; but this poor little fellow will
always have to stay at home with his mother.' And she called him Medio
Pollito, which is Spanish for half-chick.
Now though Medio Pollito was such an odd, helpless-looking little thing,
his mother soon found that he was not at all willing to remain under her
wing and protection. Indeed, in character he was as unlike his brothers
and sisters as he was in appearance. They were good, obedient chickens,
and when the old hen chicked after them, they chirped and ran back to
her side. But Medio Pollito had a roving spirit in spite of his one leg,
and when his mother called to him to return to the coop, he pretended
that he could not hear, because he had only one ear.
When she took the whole family out for a walk in the fields, Medio
Pollito would hop away by himself, and hide among the Indian corn. Many
an anxious minute his brothers and sisters had looking for him, while
his mother ran to and fro cackling in fear and dismay.
As he grew older he became more self-willed and disobedient, and his
manner to his mother was often very rude, and his temper to the other
chickens very disagreeable.
One day he had been out for a longer expedition than usual in the
fields. On his return he strutted up to his mother with the peculiar
little hop and kick which was his way of walking, and cocking his one
eye at her in a very bold way he said:
'Mother, I am tired of this life in a dull farmyard, with nothing but a
dreary maize field to look at. I'm off to Madrid to see the King.'
'To Madrid, Medio Pollito!' exclaimed his mother; 'why, you silly chick,
it would be a long journey for a grown-up cock, and a poor little thing
like you would be tired out before you had gone half the distance. No,
no, stay at home with your mother, and some day, when you are bigger, we
will go a little journey together.'
But Medio Pollito had made up his mind, and he would not listen to his
mother's advice, nor to the prayers and entreaties of his brothers and
sisters.
'What is the use of our all crowding each other up in this poky little
place?' he said. 'When I have a fine courtyard of my own at the King's
palace, I shall perhaps ask some of you to come and pay me a short
visit,' and scarcely waiting to say good-bye to his family, away he
stumped down the high road that led to Madrid.
'Be sure that you are kind and civil to everyone you meet,' called his
mother, running after him; but he was in such a hurry to be off, that he
did not wait to answer her, or even to look back.
A little later in the day, as he was taking a short cut through a field,
he passed a stream. Now the stream was all choked up, and overgrown with
weeds and water-plants, so that its waters could not flow freely.
'Oh! Medio Pollito,' it cried, as the half-chick hopped along its banks,
'do come and help me by clearing away these weeds.'
'Help you, indeed!' exclaimed Medio Pollito, tossing his head, and
shaking the few feathers in his tail. 'Do you think I have nothing to do
but to waste my time on such trifles? Help yourself, and don't trouble
busy travellers. I am off to Madrid to see the King,' and hoppity-kick,
hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito.
A little later he came to a fire that had been left by some gipsies in
a wood. It was burning very low, and would soon be out.
'Oh! Medio Pollito,' cried the fire, in a weak, wavering voice as the
half-chick approached, 'in a few minutes I shall go quite out, unless
you put some sticks and dry leaves upon me. Do help me, or I shall die!'
'Help you, indeed!' answered Medio Pollito. 'I have other things to do.
Gather sticks for yourself, and don't trouble me. I am off to Madrid to
see the King,' and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio
Pollito.
The next morning, as he was getting near Madrid, he passed a large
chestnut tree, in whose branches the wind was caught and entangled. 'Oh!
Medio Pollito,' called the wind, 'do hop up here, and help me to get
free of these branches. I cannot come away, and it is so uncomfortable.'
'It is your own fault for going there,' answered Medio Pollito. 'I can't
waste all my morning stopping here to help you. Just shake yourself off,
and don't hinder me, for I am off to Madrid to see the King,' and
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito in great glee,
for the towers and roofs of Madrid were now in sight. When he entered
the town he saw before him a great splendid house, with soldiers
standing before the gates. This he knew must be the King's palace, and
he determined to hop up to the front gate and wait there until the King
came out. But as he was hopping past one of the back windows the King's
cook saw him:
'Here is the very thing I want,' he exclaimed, 'for the King has just
sent a message to say that he must have chicken broth for his dinner,'
and opening the window he stretched out his arm, caught Medio Pollito,
and popped him into the broth-pot that was standing near the fire. Oh!
how wet and clammy the water felt as it went over Medio Pollito's head,
making his feathers cling to his side.
'Water, water!' he cried in his despair, 'do have pity upon me, and do
not wet me like this.'
'Ah! Medio Pollito,' replied the water, 'you would not help me when I
was a little stream away on the fields, now you must be punished.'
Then the fire began to burn and scald Medio Pollito, and he danced and
hopped from one side of the pot to the other, trying to get away from
the heat, and crying out in pain:
'Fire, fire! do not scorch me like this; you can't think how it hurts.'
'Ah! Medio Pollito,' answered the fire, 'you would not help me when I
was dying away in the wood. You are being punished.'
At last, just when the pain was so great that Medio Pollito thought he
must die, the cook lifted up the lid of the pot to see if the broth was
ready for the King's dinner.
'Look here!' he cried in horror, 'this chicken is quite useless.
It is burnt to a cinder. I can't send it up to the royal table;' and
opening the window he threw Medio Pollito out into the street. But the
wind caught him up, and whirled him through the air so quickly that
Medio Pollito could scarcely breathe, and his heart beat against his
side till he thought it would break.
[Illustration]
'Oh, wind!' at last he gasped out, 'if you hurry me along like this you
will kill me. Do let me rest a moment, or----' but he was so breathless
that he could not finish his sentence.
'Ah! Medio Pollito,' replied the wind, 'when I was caught in the
branches of the chestnut tree you would not help me; now you are
punished.' And he swirled Medio Pollito over the roofs of the houses
till they reached the highest church in the town, and there he left him
fastened to the top of the steeple.
And there stands Medio Pollito to this day. And if you go to Madrid, and
walk through the streets till you come to the highest church, you will
see Medio Pollito perched on his one leg on the steeple, with his one
wing drooping at his side, and gazing sadly out of his one eye over the
town.
Spanish Tradition.
_THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK_
I.
Caliph Chasid, of Bagdad, was resting comfortably on his divan one fine
afternoon. He was smoking a long pipe, and from time to time he sipped a
little coffee which a slave handed to him, and after each sip he stroked
his long beard with an air of enjoyment. In short, anyone could see that
the Caliph was in an excellent humour. This was, in fact, the best time
of day in which to approach him, for just now he was pretty sure to be
both affable and in good spirits, and for this reason the Grand Vizier
Mansor always chose this hour in which to pay his daily visit.
He arrived as usual this afternoon, but, contrary to his usual custom,
with an anxious face. The Caliph withdrew his pipe for a moment from his
lips and asked, 'Why do you look so anxious, Grand Vizier?'
The Grand Vizier crossed his arms on his breast and bent low before his
master as he answered:
'Oh, my Lord! whether my countenance be anxious or not I know not, but
down below, in the court of the palace, is a pedlar with such beautiful
things that I cannot help feeling annoyed at having so little money to
spare.'
The Caliph, who had wished for some time past to give his Grand Vizier a
present, ordered his black slave to bring the pedlar before him at once.
The slave soon returned, followed by the pedlar, a short stout man with
a swarthy face, and dressed in very ragged clothes. He carried a box
containing all manner of wares--strings of pearls, rings, richly mounted
pistols, goblets, and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier inspected
everything, and the Caliph chose some handsome pistols for himself and
Mansor, and a jewelled comb for the Vizier's wife. Just as the pedlar
was about to close his box, the Caliph noticed a small drawer, and asked
if there was anything else in it for sale. The pedlar opened the drawer
and showed them a box containing a black powder, and a scroll written in
strange characters, which neither the Caliph nor the Mansor could read.
'I got these two articles from a merchant who had picked them up in the
street at Mecca,' said the pedlar. 'I do not know what they may contain,
but as they are of no use to me, you are welcome to have them for a
trifle.'
[Illustration]
The Caliph, who liked to have old manuscripts in his library, even
though he could not read them, purchased the scroll and the box, and
dismissed the pedlar. Then, being anxious to know what might be the
contents of the scroll, he asked the Vizier if he did not know of anyone
who might be able to decipher it.
'Most gracious Lord and master,' replied the Vizier, 'near the great
Mosque lives a man called Selim the learned, who knows every language
under the sun. Send for him; it may be that he will be able to interpret
these mysterious characters.'
The learned Selim was summoned immediately.
'Selim,' said the Caliph, 'I hear you are a scholar. Look well at this
scroll and see whether you can read it. If you can, I will give you a
robe of honour; but if you fail, I will order you to receive twelve
strokes on your cheeks, and five-and-twenty on the soles of your feet,
because you have been falsely called Selim the learned.'
Selim prostrated himself and said, 'Be it according to your will, oh
master!' Then he gazed long at the scroll. Suddenly he exclaimed: 'May I
die, oh, my Lord, if this isn't Latin!'
'Well,' said the Caliph, 'if it is Latin, let us hear what it means.'
So Selim began to translate: 'Thou who mayest find this, praise Allah
for his mercy. Whoever shall snuff the powder in this box, and at the
same time shall pronounce the word "Mutabor!" can transform himself into
any creature he likes, and will understand the language of all animals.
When he wishes to resume the human form, he has only to bow three times
towards the east, and to repeat the same word. Be careful, however, when
wearing the shape of some beast or bird, not to laugh, or thou wilt
certainly forget the magic word and remain an animal for ever.'
When Selim the learned had read this, the Caliph was delighted. He made
the wise man swear not to tell the matter to anyone, gave him a splendid
robe, and dismissed him. Then he said to his Vizier, 'That's what I call
a good bargain, Mansor. I am longing for the moment when I can become
some animal. To-morrow morning I shall expect you early; we will go into
the country, take some snuff from my box, and then hear what is being
said in air, earth, and water.'
II.
Next morning Caliph Chasid had barely finished dressing and
breakfasting, when the Grand Vizier arrived, according to orders, to
accompany him in his expedition. The Caliph stuck the snuff-box in his
girdle, and, having desired his servants to remain at home, started off
with the Grand Vizier only in attendance. First they walked through the
palace gardens, but they looked in vain for some creature which could
tempt them to try their magic power. At length the Vizier suggested
going further on to a pond which lay beyond the town, and where he had
often seen a variety of creatures, especially storks, whose grave,
dignified appearance and constant chatter had often attracted his
attention.
The Caliph consented, and they went straight to the pond. As soon as
they arrived they remarked a stork strutting up and down with a stately
air, hunting for frogs, and now and then muttering something to itself.
At the same time they saw another stork far above in the sky flying
towards the same spot.
'I would wager my beard, most gracious master,' said the Grand Vizier,
'that these two long legs will have a good chat together. How would it
be if we turned ourselves into storks?'
'Well said,' replied the Caliph; 'but first let us remember carefully
how we are to become men once more. True! Bow three times towards the
east and say "Mutabor!" and I shall be Caliph and you my Grand Vizier
again. But for Heaven's sake don't laugh or we are lost!'
As the Caliph spoke he saw the second stork circling round his head and
gradually flying towards the earth. Quickly he drew the box from his
girdle, took a good pinch of the snuff, and offered one to Mansor, who
also took one, and both cried together 'Mutabor!'
Instantly their legs shrivelled up and grew thin and red; their smart
yellow slippers turned to clumsy stork's feet, their arms to wings;
their necks began to sprout from between their shoulders and grew a yard
long; their beards disappeared, and their bodies were covered with
feathers.
'You've got a fine long bill, Sir Vizier,' cried the Caliph, after
standing for some time lost in astonishment. 'By the beard of the
Prophet I never saw such a thing in all my life!'
'My very humble thanks,' replied the Grand Vizier, as he bent his long
neck; 'but, if I may venture to say so, your Highness is even handsomer
as a stork than as a Caliph. But come, if it so pleases you, let us go
near our comrades there and find out whether we really do understand the
language of storks.'
Meantime the second stork had reached the ground. It first scraped its
bill with its claw, stroked down its feathers, and then advanced towards
the first stork. The two newly made storks lost no time in drawing near,
and to their amazement overheard the following conversation:
'Good morning, Dame Longlegs. You are out early this morning!'
'Yes, indeed, dear Chatterbill! I am getting myself a morsel of
breakfast. May I offer you a joint of lizard or a frog's thigh?'
'A thousand thanks, but I have really no appetite this morning. I am
here for a very different purpose. I am to dance to-day before my
father's guests, and I have come to the meadow for a little quiet
practice.'
Thereupon the young stork began to move about with the most wonderful
steps. The Caliph and Mansor looked on in surprise for some time; but
when at last she balanced herself in a picturesque attitude on one leg,
and flapped her wings gracefully up and down, they could hold out no
longer; a prolonged peal burst from each of their bills, and it was some
time before they could recover their composure. The Caliph was the first
to collect himself. 'That was the best joke,' said he, 'I've ever seen.
It's a pity the stupid creatures were scared away by our laughter, or no
doubt they would have sung next!'
[Illustration]
Suddenly, however, the Vizier remembered how strictly they had been
warned not to laugh during their transformation. He at once communicated
his fears to the Caliph, who exclaimed, 'By Mecca and Medina! it would
indeed prove but a poor joke if I had to remain a stork for the
remainder of my days! Do just try and remember the stupid word, it has
slipped my memory.'
'We must bow three times eastwards and say "Mu . . . mu . . . mu . . ."'
They turned to the east and fell to bowing till their bills touched the
ground, but, oh horror--the magic word was quite forgotten, and however
often the Caliph bowed and however touchingly his Vizier cried 'Mu . . .
mu . . .' they could not recall it, and the unhappy Chasid and Mansor
remained storks as they were.
III.
The two enchanted birds wandered sadly on through the meadows. In their
misery they could not think what to do next. They could not rid
themselves of their new forms; there was no use in returning to the town
and saying who they were; for who would believe a stork who announced
that he was a Caliph; and even if they did believe him, would the people
of Bagdad consent to let a stork rule over them?
So they lounged about for several days, supporting themselves on fruits,
which, however, they found some difficulty in eating with their long
bills. They did not much care to eat frogs or lizards. Their one comfort
in their sad plight was the power of flying, and accordingly they often
flew over the roofs of Bagdad to see what was going on there.
During the first few days they noticed signs of much disturbance and
distress in the streets, but about the fourth day, as they sat on the
roof of the palace, they perceived a splendid procession passing below
them along the street. Drums and trumpets sounded, a man in a scarlet
mantle, embroidered in gold, sat on a splendidly caparisoned horse
surrounded by richly dressed slaves; half Bagdad crowded after him, and
they all shouted, 'Hail, Mirza, the Lord of Bagdad!'
The two storks on the palace roof looked at each other, and Caliph
Chasid said, 'Can you guess now, Grand Vizier, why I have been
enchanted? This Mirza is the son of my deadly enemy, the mighty magician
Kaschnur, who in an evil moment vowed vengeance on me. Still I will not
despair! Come with me, my faithful friend; we will go to the grave of
the Prophet, and perhaps at that sacred spot the spell may be loosed.'
They rose from the palace roof, and spread their wings toward Medina.
But flying was not quite an easy matter, for the two storks had had but
little practice as yet.
'Oh, my Lord!' gasped the Vizier, after a couple of hours, 'I can get on
no longer; you really fly too quick for me. Besides, it is nearly
evening, and we should do well to find some place in which to spend the
night.'
Chasib listened with favour to his servant's suggestion, and perceiving
in the valley beneath them a ruin which seemed to promise shelter they
flew towards it. The building in which they proposed to pass the night
had apparently been formerly a castle. Some handsome pillars still stood
amongst the heaps of ruins, and several rooms, which yet remained in
fair preservation, gave evidence of former splendour. Chasid and his
companion wandered along the passages seeking a dry spot, when suddenly
Mansor stood still.
'My Lord and master,' he whispered, 'if it were not absurd for a Grand
Vizier, and still more for a stork, to be afraid of ghosts, I should
feel quite nervous, for someone, or something close by me, has sighed
and moaned quite audibly.'
The Caliph stood still and distinctly heard a low weeping sound which
seemed to proceed from a human being rather than from any animal. Full
of curiosity he was about to rush towards the spot from whence the
sounds of woe came, when the Vizier caught him by the wing with his
bill, and implored him not to expose himself to fresh and unknown
dangers. The Caliph, however, under whose stork's breast a brave heart
beat, tore himself away with the loss of a few feathers, and hurried
down a dark passage. He saw a door which stood ajar, and through which
he distinctly heard sighs, mingled with sobs. He pushed open the door
with his bill, but remained on the threshold, astonished at the sight
which met his eyes. On the floor of the ruined chamber--which was but
scantily lighted by a small barred window--sat a large screech owl. Big
tears rolled from its large round eyes, and in a hoarse voice it uttered
its complaints through its crooked beak. As soon as it saw the Caliph
and his Vizier--who had crept up meanwhile--it gave vent to a joyful
cry. It gently wiped the tears from its eyes with its spotted brown
wings, and to the great amazement of the two visitors, addressed them in
good human Arabic.
'Welcome, ye storks! You are a good sign of my deliverance, for it was
foretold me that a piece of good fortune should befall me through a
stork.'
When the Caliph had recovered from his surprise, he drew up his feet
into a graceful position, bent his long neck, and said: 'Oh, screech
owl! from your words I am led to believe that we see in you a companion
in misfortune. But, alas! your hope that you may attain your deliverance
through us is but a vain one. You will know our helplessness when you
have heard our story.'
The screech owl begged him to relate it, and the Caliph accordingly told
him what we already know.
IV.
When the Caliph had ended, the owl thanked him and said: 'You hear my
story, and own that I am no less unfortunate than yourselves. My father
is the King of the Indies. I, his only daughter, am named Lusa. That
magician Kaschnur, who enchanted you, has been the cause of my
misfortunes too. He came one day to my father and demanded my hand for
his son Mirza. My father--who is rather hasty--ordered him to be thrown
downstairs. The wretch not long after managed to approach me under
another form, and one day, when I was in the garden, and asked for some
refreshment, he brought me--in the disguise of a slave--a draught which
changed me at once to this horrid shape. Whilst I was fainting with
terror he transported me here, and cried to me with his awful voice:
"There shall you remain, lonely and hideous, despised even by the
brutes, till the end of your days, or till some one of his own free will
asks you to be his wife. Thus do I avenge myself on you and your proud
father."
'Since then many months have passed away. Sad and lonely do I live like
any hermit within these walls, avoided by the world and a terror even to
animals; the beauties of nature are hidden from me, for I am blind by
day, and it is only when the moon sheds her pale light on this spot that
the veil falls from my eyes and I can see.' The owl paused, and once
more wiped her eyes with her wing, for the recital of her woes had drawn
fresh tears from her.
The Caliph fell into deep thought on hearing this story of the Princess.
'If I am not much mistaken,' said he, 'there is some mysterious
connection between our misfortunes, but how to find the key to the
riddle is the question.'
The owl answered: 'Oh, my Lord! I too feel sure of this, for in my
earliest youth a wise woman foretold that a stork would bring me some
great happiness, and I think I could tell you how we might save
ourselves.' The Caliph was much surprised, and asked her what she meant.
'The Magician who has made us both miserable,' said she, 'comes once a
month to these ruins. Not far from this room is a large hall where he is
in the habit of feasting with his companions. I have often watched them.
They tell each other all about their evil deeds, and possibly the magic
word which you have forgotten may be mentioned.'
'Oh, dearest Princess!' exclaimed the Caliph, 'say, when does he come,
and where is the hall?'
The owl paused a moment and then said: 'Do not think me unkind, but I
can only grant your request on one condition.'
'Speak, speak!' cried Chasid; 'command, I will gladly do whatever you
wish!'
'Well,' replied the owl, 'you see I should like to be free too; but this
can only be if one of you will offer me his hand in marriage.'
The storks seemed rather taken aback by this suggestion, and the Caliph
beckoned to his Vizier to retire and consult with him.
When they were outside the door the Caliph said: 'Grand Vizier, this is
a tiresome business. However, you can take her.'
'Indeed!' said the Vizier; 'so that when I go home my wife may scratch
my eyes out! Besides, I am an old man, and your Highness is still young
and unmarried, and a far more suitable match for a young and lovely
Princess.'
'That's just where it is,' sighed the Caliph, whose wings drooped in a
dejected manner; 'how do you know she is young and lovely? I call it
buying a pig in a poke.'
They argued on for some time, but at length, when the Caliph saw plainly
that his Vizier would rather remain a stork to the end of his days than
marry the owl, he determined to fulfil the condition himself. The owl
was delighted. She owned that they could not have arrived at a better
time, as most probably the magicians would meet that very night.
She then proceeded to lead the two storks to the chamber. They passed
through a long dark passage till at length a bright ray of light shone
before them through the chinks of a half-ruined wall. When they reached
it the owl advised them to keep very quiet. Through the gap near which
they stood they could with ease survey the whole of the large hall. It
was adorned with splendid carved pillars; a number of coloured lamps
replaced the light of day. In the middle of the hall stood a round
table covered with a variety of dishes, and about the table was a divan
on which eight men were seated. In one of these bad men the two
recognised the pedlar who had sold the magic powder. The man next him
begged him to relate all his latest doings, and amongst them he told the
story of the Caliph and his Vizier.
[Illustration]
'And what kind of word did you give them?' asked another old sorcerer.
'A very difficult Latin word; it is "Mutabor."'
V.
As soon as the storks heard this they were nearly beside themselves with
joy. They ran at such a pace to the door of the ruined castle that the
owl could scarcely keep up with them. When they reached it the Caliph
turned to the owl, and said with much feeling: 'Deliverer of my friend
and myself, as a proof of my eternal gratitude, accept me as your
husband.' Then he turned towards the east. Three times the storks bowed
their long necks to the sun, which was just rising over the mountains.
'Mutabor!' they both cried, and in an instant they were once more
transformed. In the rapture of their newly-given lives master and
servant fell laughing and weeping into each other's arms. Who shall
describe their surprise when they at last turned round and beheld
standing before them a beautiful lady exquisitely dressed!
With a smile she held out her hand to the Caliph, and asked: 'Do you not
recognise your screech owl?'
It was she! The Caliph was so enchanted by her grace and beauty, that he
declared being turned into a stork had been the best piece of luck which
had ever befallen him. The three set out at once for Bagdad.
Fortunately, the Caliph found not only the box with the magic powder,
but also his purse in his girdle; he was, therefore, able to buy in the
nearest village all they required for their journey, and so at last they
reached the gates of Bagdad.
Here the Caliph's arrival created the greatest sensation. He had been
quite given up for dead, and the people were greatly rejoiced to see
their beloved ruler again.
Their rage with the usurper Mirza, however, was great in proportion.
They marched in force to the palace and took the old magician and his
son prisoners. The Caliph sent the magician to the room where the
Princess had lived as an owl, and there had him hanged. As the son,
however, knew nothing of his father's acts, the Caliph gave him his
choice between death and a pinch of the magic snuff. When he chose the
latter, the Grand Vizier handed him the box. One good pinch, and the
magic word transformed him to a stork. The Caliph ordered him to be
confined in an iron cage, and placed in the palace gardens.
Caliph Chasid lived long and happily with his wife the Princess. His
merriest time was when the Grand Vizier visited him in the afternoon;
and when the Caliph was in particularly high spirits he would condescend
to mimic the Vizier's appearance when he was a stork. He would strut
gravely, and with well-stiffened legs, up and down the room, chattering,
and showing how he had vainly bowed to the east and cried 'Mu . . . Mu . . .'
The Caliphess and her children were always much entertained by this
performance; but when the Caliph went on nodding and bowing, and calling
'Mu . . . mu . . .' too long, the Vizier would threaten laughingly to
tell the Caliphess the subject of the discussion carried on one night
outside the door of Princess Screech Owl.
_THE ENCHANTED WATCH_
Once upon a time there lived a rich man who had three sons. When they
grew up, he sent the eldest to travel and see the world, and three years
passed before his family saw him again. Then he returned, magnificently
dressed, and his father was so delighted with his behaviour, that he
gave a great feast in his honour, to which all the relations and friends
were invited.
When the rejoicings were ended, the second son begged leave of his
father to go in his turn to travel and mix with the world. The father
was enchanted at the request, and gave him plenty of money for his
expenses, saying, 'If you behave as well as your brother, I will do
honour to you as I did to him.' The young man promised to do his best,
and his conduct during three years was all that it should be. Then he
went home, and his father was so pleased with him that his feast of
welcome was even more splendid than the one before.
The third brother, whose name was Jenik, or Johnnie, was considered the
most foolish of the three. He never did anything at home except sit over
the stove and dirty himself with the ashes; but he also begged his
father's leave to travel for three years. 'Go if you like, you idiot;
but what good will it do you?'
The youth paid no heed to his father's observations as long as he
obtained permission to go. The father saw him depart with joy, glad to
get rid of him, and gave him a handsome sum of money for his needs.
Once, as he was making one of his journeys, Jenik chanced to cross a
meadow where some shepherds were just about to kill a dog. He entreated
them to spare it, and to give it to him instead, which they willingly
did, and he went on his way, followed by the dog. A little further on he
came upon a cat, which someone was going to put to death. He implored
its life, and the cat followed him. Finally, in another place, he saved
a serpent, which was also handed over to him, and now they made a party
of four--the dog behind Jenik, the cat behind the dog, and the serpent
behind the cat.
Then the serpent said to Jenik, 'Go wherever you see me go,' for in the
autumn, when all the serpents hide themselves in their holes, this
serpent was going in search of his king, who was king of all the snakes.
Then he added: 'My king will scold me for my long absence, everyone else
is housed for the winter, and I am very late. I shall have to tell him
what danger I have been in, and how, without your help, I should
certainly have lost my life. The king will ask what you would like in
return, and be sure you beg for the watch which hangs on the wall. It
has all sorts of wonderful properties, you only need to rub it to get
whatever you like.'
[Illustration]
No sooner said than done. Jenik became the master of the watch, and the
moment he got out he wished to put its virtues to the proof. He was
hungry, and thought it would be delightful to eat in the meadow a loaf
of new bread and a steak of good beef washed down by a flask of wine, so
he scratched the watch, and in an instant it was all before him. Imagine
his joy!
Evening soon came, and Jenik rubbed his watch, and thought it would be
very pleasant to have a room with a comfortable bed and a good supper.
In an instant they were all before him. After supper he went to bed and
slept till morning, as every honest man ought to do. Then he set forth
for his father's house, his mind dwelling on the feast that would be
awaiting him. But as he returned in the same old clothes in which he
went away, his father flew into a great rage, and refused to do anything
for him. Jenik went to his old place near the stove, and dirtied himself
in the ashes without anybody minding.
The third day, feeling rather dull, he thought it would be nice to see a
three-story house filled with beautiful furniture, and with vessels of
silver and gold. So he rubbed the watch, and there it all was. Jenik
went to look for his father, and said to him: 'You offered me no feast
of welcome, but permit me to give one to you, and come and let me show
you my plate.'
The father was much astonished, and longed to know where his son had got
all this wealth. Jenik did not reply, but begged him to invite all their
relations and friends to a grand banquet.
So the father invited all the world, and everyone was amazed to see such
splendid things, so much plate, and so many fine dishes on the table.
After the first course Jenik prayed his father to invite the King, and
his daughter the Princess. He rubbed his watch and wished for a carriage
ornamented with gold and silver, and drawn by six horses, with harness
glittering with precious stones. The father did not dare to sit in this
gorgeous coach, but went to the palace on foot. The King and his
daughter were immensely surprised with the beauty of the carriage, and
mounted the steps at once to go to Jenik's banquet. Then Jenik rubbed
his watch afresh, and wished that for six miles the way to the house
should be paved with marble. Who ever felt so astonished as the King?
Never had he travelled over such a gorgeous road.
When Jenik heard the wheels of the carriage, he rubbed his watch and
wished for a still more beautiful house, four stories high, and hung
with gold, silver, and damask; filled with wonderful tables, covered
with dishes such as no king had ever eaten before. The King, the Queen,
and the Princess were speechless with surprise. Never had they seen such
a splendid palace, nor such a high feast! At dessert the King asked
Jenik's father to give him the young man for a son-in-law. No sooner
said than done! The marriage took place at once, and the King returned
to his own palace, and left Jenik with his wife in the enchanted house.
Now Jenik was not a very clever man, and at the end of a very short time
he began to bore his wife. She inquired how he managed to build palaces
and to get so many precious things. He told her all about the watch, and
she never rested till she had stolen the precious talisman. One night
she took the watch, rubbed it, and wished for a carriage drawn by four
horses; and in this carriage she at once set out for her father's
palace. There she called to her own attendants, bade them follow her
into the carriage, and drove straight to the sea-side. Then she rubbed
her watch, and wished that the sea might be crossed by a bridge, and
that a magnificent palace might arise in the middle of the sea. No
sooner said than done. The Princess entered the house, rubbed her watch,
and in an instant the bridge was gone.
Left alone, Jenik felt very miserable. His father, mother, and brothers,
and, indeed, everybody else, all laughed at him. Nothing remained to him
but the cat and dog whose lives he had once saved. He took them with him
and went far away, for he could no longer live with his family. He
reached at last a great desert, and saw some crows flying towards a
mountain. One of them was a long way behind, and when he arrived his
brothers inquired what had made him so late. 'Winter is here,' they
said, 'and it is time to fly to other countries.' He told them that he
had seen in the middle of the sea the most wonderful house that ever was
built.
On hearing this, Jenik at once concluded that this must be the
hiding-place of his wife. So he proceeded directly to the shore with his
dog and his cat. When he arrived on the beach, he said to the dog: 'You
are an excellent swimmer, and you, little one, are very light; jump on
the dog's back and he will take you to the palace. Once there, he will
hide himself near the door, and you must steal secretly in and try to
get hold of my watch.'
No sooner said than done. The two animals crossed the sea; the dog hid
near the house, and the cat stole into the chamber. The Princess
recognised him, and guessed why he had come; and she took the watch down
to the cellar and locked it in a box. But the cat wriggled its way into
the cellar, and the moment the Princess turned her back, he scratched
and scratched till he had made a hole in the box. Then he took the watch
between his teeth, and waited quietly till the Princess came back.
Scarcely had she opened the door when the cat was outside, and the
watch into the bargain.
The cat was no sooner beyond the gates than she said to the dog:
'We are going to cross the sea; be very careful not to speak to me.'
The dog laid this to heart and said nothing; but when they approached
the shore he could not help asking, 'Have you got the watch?'
The cat did not answer--he was afraid that he might let the talisman
fall. When they touched the shore the dog repeated his question.
'Yes,' said the cat.
And the watch fell into the sea. Then our two friends began each to
accuse the other, and both looked sorrowfully at the place where their
treasure had fallen in. Suddenly a fish appeared near the edge of the
sea. The cat seized it, and thought it would make them a good supper.
'I have nine little children,' cried the fish. 'Spare the father of a
family!'
'Granted,' replied the cat; 'but on condition that you find our watch.'
The fish executed his commission, and they brought the treasure back to
their master. Jenik rubbed the watch and wished that the palace, with
the Princess and all its inhabitants, should be swallowed up in the sea.
No sooner said than done. Jenik returned to his parents, and he and his
watch, his cat and his dog, lived together happily to the end of their
days.
Deulin.
_ROSANELLA_
Everybody knows that though the fairies live hundreds of years they do
sometimes die, and especially as they are obliged to pass one day in
every week under the form of some animal, when of course they are liable
to accident. It was in this way that death once overtook the Queen of
the Fairies, and it became necessary to call a general assembly to elect
a new sovereign. After much discussion, it appeared that the choice lay
between two fairies, one called Surcantine and the other Paridamie; and
their claims were so equal that it was impossible without injustice to
prefer one to the other. Under these circumstances it was unanimously
decided that whichever of the two could show to the world the greatest
wonder should be Queen; but it was to be a special kind of wonder, no
moving of mountains or any such common fairy tricks would do.
Surcantine, therefore, resolved that she would bring up a Prince whom
nothing could make constant. While Paridamie decided to display to
admiring mortals a Princess so charming that no one could see her
without falling in love with her. They were allowed to take their own
time, and meanwhile the four oldest fairies were to attend to the
affairs of the kingdom.
Now Paridamie had for a long time been very friendly with King
Bardondon, who was a most accomplished Prince, and whose court was the
model of what a court should be. His Queen, Balanice, was also charming;
indeed it is rare to find a husband and wife so perfectly of one mind
about everything. They had one little daughter, whom they had named
'Rosanella,' because she had a little pink rose printed upon her white
throat. From her earliest infancy she had shown the most astonishing
intelligence, and the courtiers knew her smart sayings by heart, and
repeated them on all occasions. In the middle of the night following the
assembly of fairies, Queen Balanice woke up with a shriek, and when her
maids of honour ran to see what was the matter, they found she had had a
frightful dream.
'I thought,' said she, 'that my little daughter had changed into a
bouquet of roses, and that as I held it in my hand a bird swooped down
suddenly and snatched it from me and carried it away.'
'Let some one run and see that all is well with the Princess,' she
added.
[Illustration]
So they ran; but what was their dismay when they found that the cradle
was empty; and though they sought high and low, not a trace of Rosanella
could they discover. The Queen was inconsolable, and so, indeed, was the
King, only being a man he did not say quite so much about his feelings.
He presently proposed to Balanice that they should spend a few days at
one of their palaces in the country; and to this she willingly agreed,
since her grief made the gaiety of the capital distasteful to her. One
lovely summer evening, as they sat together on a shady lawn shaped like
a star, from which radiated twelve splendid avenues of trees, the Queen
looked round and saw a charming peasant-girl approaching by each path,
and what was still more singular was that everyone carried something in
a basket which appeared to occupy her whole attention. As each drew near
she laid her basket at Balanice's feet, saying:
'Charming Queen, may this be some slight consolation to you in your
unhappiness!'
The Queen hastily opened the baskets, and found in each a lovely
baby-girl, about the same age as the little Princess for whom she
sorrowed so deeply. At first the sight of them renewed her grief; but
presently their charms so gained upon her that she forgot her melancholy
in providing them with nursery-maids, cradle-rockers, and
ladies-in-waiting, and in sending hither and thither for swings and
dolls and tops, and bushels of the finest sweetmeats.
Oddly enough, every baby had upon its throat a tiny pink rose. The Queen
found it so difficult to decide on suitable names for all of them, that
until she could settle the matter she chose a special colour for
everyone, by which it was known, so that when they were all together
they looked like nothing so much as a nosegay of gay flowers. As they
grew older it became evident that though they were all remarkably
intelligent, and profited equally by the education they received, yet
they differed one from another in disposition, so much so that they
gradually ceased to be known as 'Pearl,' or 'Primrose,' or whatever
might have been their colour, and the Queen instead would say:
'Where is my Sweet?' or 'my Beautiful,' or 'my Gay.'
Of course, with all these charms they had lovers by the dozen. Not only
in their own court, but princes from afar, who were constantly arriving,
attracted by the reports which were spread abroad; but these lovely
girls, the first Maids of Honour, were as discreet as they were
beautiful, and favoured no one.
But let us return to Surcantine. She had fixed upon the son of a king
who was cousin to Bardondon, to bring up as her fickle Prince. She had
before, at his christening, given him all the graces of mind and body
that a prince could possibly require; but now she redoubled her efforts,
and spared no pains in adding every imaginable charm and fascination. So
that whether he happened to be cross or amiable, splendidly or simply
attired, serious or frivolous, he was always perfectly irresistible! In
truth, he was a charming young fellow, since the Fairy had given him the
best heart in the world as well as the best head, and had left nothing
to be desired but--constancy. For it cannot be denied that Prince
Mirliflor was a desperate flirt, and as fickle as the wind; so much so,
that by the time he arrived at his eighteenth birthday there was not a
heart left for him to conquer in his father's kingdom--they were all his
own, and he was tired of everyone! Things were in this state when he was
invited to visit the court of his father's cousin, King Bardondon.
Imagine his feelings when he arrived and was presented at once to twelve
of the loveliest creatures in the world, and his embarrassment was
heightened by the fact that they all liked him as much as he liked each
one of them, so that things came to such a pass that he was never happy
a single instant without them. For could he not whisper soft speeches to
Sweet, and laugh with Joy, while he looked at Beauty? And in his more
serious moments what could be pleasanter than to talk to Grave upon some
shady lawn, while he held the hand of Loving in his own, and all the
others lingered near in sympathetic silence? For the first time in his
life he really loved, though the object of his devotion was not one
person, but twelve, to whom he was equally attached, and even Surcantine
was deceived into thinking that this was indeed the height of
inconstancy. But Paridamie said not a word.
In vain did Prince Mirliflor's father write commanding him to return,
and proposing for him one good match after another. Nothing in the world
could tear him from his twelve enchantresses.
One day the Queen gave a large garden-party, and just as the guests were
all assembled, and Prince Mirliflor was as usual dividing his attentions
between the twelve beauties, a humming of bees was heard. The
Rose-maidens, fearing their stings, uttered little shrieks, and fled all
together to a distance from the rest of the company. Immediately, to the
horror of all who were looking on, the bees pursued them, and, growing
suddenly to an enormous size, pounced each upon a maiden and carried her
off into the air, and in an instant they were all lost to view. This
amazing occurrence plunged the whole court into the deepest affliction,
and Prince Mirliflor, after giving way to the most violent grief at
first, fell gradually into a state of such deep dejection that it was
feared if nothing could rouse him he would certainly die. Surcantine
came in all haste to see what she could do for her darling, but he
rejected with scorn all the portraits of lovely princesses which she
offered him for his collection. In short, it was evident that he was in
a bad way, and the Fairy was at her wits' end. One day, as he wandered
about absorbed in melancholy reflections, he heard sudden shouts and
exclamations of amazement, and if he had taken the trouble to look up he
could not have helped being as astonished as everyone else, for through
the air a chariot of crystal was slowly approaching which glittered in
the sunshine. Six lovely maidens with shining wings drew it by
rose-coloured ribbons, while a whole flight of others, equally
beautiful, were holding long garlands of roses crossed above it, so as
to form a complete canopy. In it sat the Fairy Paridamie, and by her
side a Princess whose beauty positively dazzled all who saw her. At the
foot of the great staircase they descended, and proceeded to the Queen's
apartments, though everyone had run together to see this marvel, till it
was quite difficult to make a way through the crowd; and exclamations of
wonder rose on all sides at the loveliness of the strange Princess.
'Great Queen,' said Paridamie, 'permit me to restore to you your
daughter Rosanella, whom I stole out of her cradle.'
After the first transports of joy were over the Queen said to Paridamie:
'But my twelve lovely ones, are they lost to me for ever? Shall I never
see them again?'
But Paridamie only said:
'Very soon you will cease to miss them!' in a tone that evidently meant
'Don't ask me any more questions.' And then mounting again into her
chariot she swiftly disappeared.
The news of his beautiful cousin's arrival was soon carried to the
Prince, but he had hardly the heart to go and see her. However, it
became absolutely necessary that he should pay his respects, and he had
scarcely been five minutes in her presence before it seemed to him that
she combined in her own charming person all the gifts and graces which
had so attracted him in the twelve Rose-maidens whose loss he had so
truly mourned; and after all it is really more satisfactory to make love
to one person at a time. So it came to pass that before he knew where he
was he was entreating his lovely cousin to marry him, and the moment the
words had left his lips, Paridamie appeared, smiling and triumphant, in
the chariot of the Queen of the Fairies, for by that time they had all
heard of her success, and declared her to have earned the kingdom. She
had to give a full account of how she had stolen Rosanella from her
cradle, and divided her character into twelve parts, that each might
charm Prince Mirliflor, and when once more united might cure him of his
inconstancy once and for ever.
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS CARRIED OFF BY THE BEES]
And as one more proof of the fascination of the whole Rosanella, I may
tell you that even the defeated Surcantine sent her a wedding gift, and
was present at the ceremony which took place as soon as the guests could
arrive. Prince Mirliflor was constant for the rest of his life. And
indeed who would not have been in his place? As for Rosanella, she loved
him as much as all the twelve beauties put together, so they reigned in
peace and happiness to the end of their long lives.
By the Comte de Caylus.
_SYLVAIN AND JOCOSA_
Once upon a time there lived in the same village two children, one
called Sylvain and the other Jocosa, who were both remarkable for beauty
and intelligence. It happened that their parents were not on terms of
friendship with one another, on account of some old quarrel, which had,
however, taken place so long ago, that they had quite forgotten what it
was all about, and only kept up the feud from force of habit. Sylvain
and Jocosa for their parts were far from sharing this enmity, and indeed
were never happy when apart. Day after day they fed their flocks of
sheep together, and spent the long sunshiny hours in playing, or resting
upon some shady bank. It happened one day that the Fairy of the Meadows
passed by and saw them, and was so much attracted by their pretty faces
and gentle manners that she took them under her protection, and the
older they grew the dearer they became to her. At first she showed her
interest by leaving in their favourite haunts many little gifts such as
they delighted to offer one to the other, for they loved each other so
much that their first thought was always, 'What will Jocosa like?' or,
'What will please Sylvain?' And the Fairy took a great delight in their
innocent enjoyment of the cakes and sweetmeats she gave them nearly
every day. When they were grown up she resolved to make herself known to
them, and chose a time when they were sheltering from the noonday sun in
the deep shade of a flowery hedgerow. They were startled at first by the
sudden apparition of a tall and slender lady, dressed all in green, and
crowned with a garland of flowers. But when she spoke to them sweetly,
and told them how she had always loved them, and that it was she who had
given them all the pretty things which it had so surprised them to find,
they thanked her gratefully, and took pleasure in answering the
questions she put to them. When she presently bade them farewell, she
told them never to tell anyone else that they had seen her. 'You will
often see me again,' added she, 'and I shall be with you frequently,
even when you do not see me.' So saying she vanished, leaving them in a
state of great wonder and excitement. After this she came often, and
taught them numbers of things, and showed them many of the marvels of
her beautiful kingdom, and at last one day she said to them, 'You know
that I have always been kind to you; now I think it is time you did
something for me in your turn. You both remember the fountain I call my
favourite? Promise me that every morning before the sun rises you will
go to it and clear away every stone that impedes its course, and every
dead leaf or broken twig that sullies its clear waters. I shall take it
as a proof of your gratitude to me if you neither forget nor delay this
duty, and I promise that so long as the sun's earliest rays find my
favourite spring the clearest and sweetest in all my meadows, you two
shall not be parted from one another.'
[Illustration]
Sylvain and Jocosa willingly undertook this service, and indeed felt
that it was but a very small thing in return for all that the fairy had
given and promised to them. So for a long time the fountain was tended
with the most scrupulous care, and was the clearest and prettiest in all
the country round. But one morning in the spring, long before the sun
rose, they were hastening towards it from opposite directions, when,
tempted by the beauty of the myriads of gay flowers which grew thickly
on all sides, they paused each to gather some for the other.
'I will make Sylvain a garland,' said Jocosa, and 'How pretty Jocosa
will look in this crown!' thought Svlvain.
Hither and thither they strayed, led ever farther and farther, for the
brightest flowers seemed always just beyond them, until at last they
were startled by the first bright rays of the rising sun. With one
accord they turned and ran towards the fountain, reaching it at the same
moment, though from opposite sides. But what was their horror to see its
usually tranquil waters seething and bubbling, and even as they looked
down rushed a mighty stream, which entirely engulfed it, and Sylvain and
Jocosa found themselves parted by a wide and swiftly-rushing river. All
this had happened with such rapidity that they had only time to utter a
cry, and each to hold up to the other the flowers they had gathered; but
this was explanation enough. Twenty times did Sylvain throw himself into
the turbulent waters, hoping to be able to swim to the other side, but
each time an irresistible force drove him back upon the bank he had just
quitted, while, as for Jocosa, she even essayed to cross the flood upon
a tree which came floating down torn up by the roots, but her efforts
were equally useless. Then with heavy hearts they set out to follow the
course of the stream, which had now grown so wide that it was only with
difficulty they could distinguish each other. Night and day, over
mountains and through valleys, in cold or in heat, they struggled on,
enduring fatigue and hunger and every hardship, and consoled only by the
hope of meeting once more--until three years had passed, and at last
they stood upon the cliffs where the river flowed into the mighty sea.
And now they seemed farther apart than ever, and in despair they tried
once more to throw themselves into the foaming waves. But the Fairy of
the Meadows, who had really never ceased to watch over them, did not
intend that they should be drowned at last, so she hastily waved her
wand, and immediately they found themselves standing side by side upon
the golden sand. You may imagine their joy and delight when they
realised that their weary struggle was ended, and their utter
contentment as they clasped each other by the hand. They had so much to
say that they hardly knew where to begin, but they agreed in blaming
themselves bitterly for the negligence which had caused all their
trouble; and when she heard this the Fairy immediately appeared to them.
They threw themselves at her feet and implored her forgiveness, which
she granted freely, and promised at the same time that now their
punishment was ended she would always befriend them. Then she sent for
her chariot of green rushes, ornamented with May dew-drops, which she
particularly valued and always collected with great care; and ordered
her six short-tailed moles to carry them all back to the well-known
pastures, which they did in a remarkably short time; and Sylvain and
Jocosa were overjoyed to see their dearly-loved home once more after all
their toilful wanderings. The Fairy, who had set her mind upon securing
their happiness, had in their absence quite made up the quarrel between
their parents, and gained their consent to the marriage of the faithful
lovers; and now she conducted them to the most charming little cottage
that can be imagined, close to the fountain, which had once more resumed
its peaceful aspect, and flowed gently down into the little brook which
enclosed the garden and orchard and pasture which belonged to the
cottage. Indeed, nothing more could have been thought of, either for
Sylvain and Jocosa or for their flocks; and their delight satisfied even
the Fairy who had planned it all to please them. When they had explored
and admired until they were tired they sat down to rest under the
rose-covered porch, and the Fairy said that to pass the time until the
wedding guests whom she had invited could arrive she would tell them a
story. This is it:
The Yellow Bird
Once upon a time a Fairy, who had somehow or other got into mischief,
was condemned by the High Court of Fairyland to live for several years
under the form of some creature, and at the moment of resuming her
natural appearance once again to make the fortune of two men. It was
left to her to choose what form she would take, and because she loved
yellow she transformed herself into a lovely bird with shining golden
feathers such as no one had ever seen before. When the time of her
punishment was at an end the beautiful yellow bird flew to Bagdad, and
let herself be caught by a Fowler at the precise moment when
Badi-al-Zaman was walking up and down outside his magnificent summer
palace. This Badi-al-Zaman--whose name means 'Wonder-of-the-World'--was
looked upon in Bagdad as the most fortunate creature under the sun,
because of his vast wealth. But really, what with anxiety about his
riches and being weary of everything, and always desiring something he
had not, he never knew a moment's real happiness. Even now he had come
out of his palace, which was large and splendid enough for fifty kings,
weary and cross because he could find nothing new to amuse him. The
Fowler thought that this would be a favourable opportunity for offering
him the marvellous bird, which he felt certain he would buy the instant
he saw it. And he was not mistaken, for when Badi-al-Zaman took the
lovely prisoner into his own hands, he saw written under its right wing
the words, 'He who eats my head will become a king,' and under its left
wing, 'He who eats my heart will find a hundred gold pieces under his
pillow every morning.' In spite of all his wealth he at once began to
desire the promised gold, and the bargain was soon completed. Then the
difficulty arose as to how the bird was to be cooked; for among all his
army of servants not one could Badi-al-Zaman trust. At last he asked the
Fowler if he were married, and on hearing that he was he bade him take
the bird home with him and tell his wife to cook it.
[Illustration]
'Perhaps,' said he, 'this will give me an appetite, which I have not had
for many a long day, and if so your wife shall have a hundred pieces of
silver.'
The Fowler with great joy ran home to his wife, who speedily made a
savoury stew of the Yellow Bird. But when Badi-al-Zaman reached the
cottage and began eagerly to search in the dish for its head and its
heart he could not find either of them, and turned to the Fowler's wife
in a furious rage. She was so terrified that she fell upon her knees
before him and confessed that her two children had come in just before
he arrived, and had so teased her for some of the dish she was preparing
that she had presently given the head to one and the heart to the other,
since these morsels are not generally much esteemed; and Badi-al-Zaman
rushed from the cottage vowing vengeance against the whole family. The
wrath of a rich man is generally to be feared, so the Fowler and his
wife resolved to send their children out of harm's way; but the wife, to
console her husband, confided to him that she had purposely given them
the head and heart of the bird because she had been able to read what
was written under its wings. So, believing that their children's
fortunes were made, they embraced them and sent them forth, bidding them
get as far away as possible, to take different roads, and to send news
of their welfare. For themselves, they remained hidden and disguised in
the town, which was really rather clever of them; but very soon
afterwards Badi-al-Zaman died of vexation and annoyance at the loss of
the promised treasure, and then they went back to their cottage to wait
for news of their children. The younger, who had eaten the heart of the
Yellow Bird, very soon found out what it had done for him, for each
morning when he awoke he found a purse containing a hundred gold pieces
under his pillow. But, as all poor people may remember for their
consolation, nothing in the world causes so much trouble or requires so
much care as a great treasure. Consequently, the Fowler's son, who spent
with reckless profusion and was supposed to be possessed of a great
hoard of gold, was before very long attacked by robbers, and in trying
to defend himself was so badly wounded that he died.
The elder brother, who had eaten the Yellow Bird's head, travelled a
long way without meeting with any particular adventure, until at last he
reached a large city in Asia, which was all in an uproar over the
choosing of a new Emir. All the principal citizens had formed themselves
into two parties, and it was not until after a prolonged squabble that
they agreed that the person to whom the most singular thing happened
should be Emir. Our young traveller entered the town at this juncture,
with his agreeable face and jaunty air, and all at once felt something
alight upon his head, which proved to be a snow-white pigeon. Thereupon
all the people began to stare, and to run after him, so that he
presently reached the palace with the pigeon upon his head and all the
inhabitants of the city at his heels, and before he knew where he was
they made him Emir, to his great astonishment.
As there is nothing more agreeable than to command, and nothing to which
people get accustomed more quickly, the young Emir soon felt quite at
his ease in his new position; but this did not prevent him from making
every kind of mistake, and so misgoverning the kingdom that at last the
whole city rose in revolt and deprived him at once of his authority and
his life--a punishment which he richly deserved, for in the days of his
prosperity he disowned the Fowler and his wife, and allowed them to die
in poverty.
'I have told you this story, my dear Sylvain and Jocosa,' added the
Fairy, 'to prove to you that this little cottage and all that belongs to
it is a gift more likely to bring you happiness and contentment than
many things that would at first seem grander and more desirable. If you
will faithfully promise me to till your fields and feed your flocks,
and will keep your word better than you did before, I will see that you
never lack anything that is really for your good.'
Sylvain and Jocosa gave their faithful promise, and as they kept it they
always enjoyed peace and prosperity. The Fairy had asked all their
friends and neighbours to their wedding, which took place at once with
great festivities and rejoicings, and they lived to a good old age,
always loving one another with all their hearts.
By the Comte de Caylus.
_FAIRY GIFTS_
It generally happens that people's surroundings reflect more or less
accurately their minds and dispositions, so perhaps that is why the
Flower Fairy lived in a lovely palace, with the most delightful garden
you can imagine, full of flowers, and trees, and fountains, and
fish-ponds, and everything nice. For the Fairy herself was so kind and
charming that everybody loved her, and all the young princes and
princesses who formed her court, were as happy as the day was long,
simply because they were near her. They came to her when they were quite
tiny, and never left her until they were grown up and had to go away
into the great world; and when that time came she gave to each whatever
gift he asked of her. But it is chiefly of the Princess Sylvia that you
are going to hear now. The Fairy loved her with all her heart, for she
was at once original and gentle, and she had nearly reached the age at
which the gifts were generally bestowed. However, the Fairy had a great
wish to know how the other princesses who had grown up and left her,
were prospering, and before the time came for Sylvia to go herself, she
resolved to send her to some of them. So one day her chariot, drawn by
butterflies, was made ready, and the Fairy said: 'Sylvia, I am going to
send you to the court of Iris; she will receive you with pleasure for my
sake as well as for your own. In two months you may come back to me
again, and I shall expect you to tell me what you think of her.'
Sylvia was very unwilling to go away, but as the Fairy wished it she
said nothing--only when the two months were over she stepped joyfully
into the butterfly chariot, and could not get back quickly enough to the
Flower-Fairy, who, for her part, was equally delighted to see her again.
[Illustration]
'Now, child,' said she, 'tell me what impression you have received.'
'You sent me, madam,' answered Sylvia, 'to the Court of Iris, on whom
you had bestowed the gift of beauty. She never tells anyone, however,
that it was your gift, though she often speaks of your kindness in
general. It seemed to me that her loveliness, which fairly dazzled me at
first, had absolutely deprived her of the use of any of her other gifts
or graces. In allowing herself to be seen, she appeared to think that
she was doing all that could possibly be required of her. But,
unfortunately, while I was still with her she became seriously ill, and
though she presently recovered, her beauty is entirely gone, so that she
hates the very sight of herself, and is in despair. She entreated me to
tell you what had happened, and to beg you, in pity, to give her beauty
back to her. And, indeed, she does need it terribly, for all the things
in her that were tolerable, and even agreeable, when she was so pretty,
seem quite different now she is ugly, and it is so long since she
thought of using her mind or her natural cleverness, that I really don't
think she has any left now. She is quite aware of all this herself, so
you may imagine how unhappy she is, and how earnestly she begs for your
aid.'
'You have told me what I wanted to know,' cried the Fairy, 'but alas! I
cannot help her; my gifts can be given but once.'
Some time passed in all the usual delights of the Flower-Fairy's palace,
and then she sent for Sylvia again, and told her she was to stay for a
little while with the Princess Daphne, and accordingly the butterflies
whisked her off, and set her down in quite a strange kingdom. But she
had only been there a very little time before a wandering butterfly
brought a message from her to the Fairy, begging that she might be sent
for as soon as possible, and before very long she was allowed to return.
'Ah! madam,' cried she, 'what a place you sent me to that time!'
'Why, what was the matter?' asked the Fairy. 'Daphne was one of the
princesses who asked for the gift of eloquence, if I remember rightly.'
'And very ill the gift of eloquence becomes a woman,' replied Sylvia,
with an air of conviction. 'It is true that she speaks well, and her
expressions are well chosen; but then she never leaves off talking, and
though at first one may be amused, one ends by being wearied to death.
Above all things she loves any assembly for settling the affairs of her
kingdom, for on those occasions she can talk and talk without fear of
interruption; but, even then, the moment it is over she is ready to
begin again about anything or nothing, as the case may be. Oh! how glad
I was to come away I cannot tell you.'
The Fairy smiled at Sylvia's unfeigned disgust at her late experience;
but after allowing her a little time to recover she sent her to the
Court of the Princess Cynthia, where she left her for three months. At
the end of that time Sylvia came back to her with all the joy and
contentment that one feels at being once more beside a dear friend. The
Fairy, as usual, was anxious to hear what she thought of Cynthia, who
had always been amiable, and to whom she had given the gift of pleasing.
'I thought at first,' said Sylvia, 'that she must be the happiest
Princess in the world; she had a thousand lovers who vied with one
another in their efforts to please and gratify her. Indeed, I had nearly
decided that I would ask a similar gift.'
'Have you altered your mind, then?' interrupted the Fairy.
'Yes, indeed, madam,' replied Sylvia; 'and I will tell you why. The
longer I stayed the more I saw that Cynthia was not really happy. In her
desire to please everyone she ceased to be sincere, and degenerated
into a mere coquette; and even her lovers felt that the charms and
fascinations which were exercised upon all who approached her without
distinction were valueless, so that in the end they ceased to care for
them, and went away disdainfully.'
'I am pleased with you, child,' said the Fairy; 'enjoy yourself here for
awhile and presently you shall go to Phyllida.'
Sylvia was glad to have leisure to think, for she could not make up her
mind at all what she should ask for herself, and the time was drawing
very near. However, before very long the Fairy sent her to Phyllida, and
waited for her report with unabated interest.
'I reached her court safely,' said Sylvia, 'and she received me with
much kindness, and immediately began to exercise upon me that brilliant
wit which you had bestowed upon her. I confess that I was fascinated by
it, and for a week thought that nothing could be more desirable; the
time passed like magic, so great was the charm of her society. But I
ended by ceasing to covet that gift more than any of the others I have
seen, for, like the gift of pleasing, it cannot really give
satisfaction. By degrees I wearied of what had so delighted me at first,
especially as I perceived more and more plainly that it is impossible to
be constantly smart and amusing without being frequently ill-natured,
and too apt to turn all things, even the most serious, into mere
occasions for a brilliant jest.'
The Fairy in her heart agreed with Sylvia's conclusions, and felt
pleased with herself for having brought her up so well.
But now the time was come for Sylvia to receive her gift, and all her
companions were assembled; the Fairy stood in the midst and in the usual
manner asked what she would take with her into the great world.
Sylvia paused for a moment, and then answered: 'A quiet spirit.' And the
Fairy granted her request.
This lovely gift makes life a constant happiness to its possessor, and
to all who are brought into contact with her. She has all the beauty of
gentleness and contentment in her sweet face; and if at times it seems
less lovely through some chance grief or disquietude, the hardest thing
that one ever hears said is:
'Sylvia's dear face is pale to-day. It grieves one to see her so.'
And when, on the contrary, she is gay and joyful, the sunshine of her
presence rejoices all who have the happiness of being near her.
By the Comte de Caylus.
_PRINCE NARCISSUS AND THE PRINCESS POTENTILLA_
Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who, though it is a very
long while since they died, were much the same in their tastes and
pursuits as people nowadays. The King, who was called Cloverleaf, liked
hunting better than anything else; but he nevertheless bestowed as much
care upon his kingdom as he felt equal to--that is to say, he never made
an end of folding and unfolding the State documents. As to the Queen,
she had once been very pretty, and she liked to believe that she was so
still, which is, of course, always made quite easy for queens. Her name
was Frivola, and her one occupation in life was the pursuit of
amusement. Balls, masquerades, and picnics followed one another in rapid
succession, as fast as she could arrange them, and you may imagine that
under these circumstances the kingdom was somewhat neglected. As a
matter of fact, if anyone had a fancy for a town, or a province, he
helped himself to it; but as long as the King had his horses and dogs,
and the Queen her musicians and her actors, they did not trouble
themselves about the matter. King Cloverleaf and Queen Frivola had but
one child, and this Princess had from her very babyhood been so
beautiful, that by the time she was four years old the Queen was
desperately jealous of her, and so fearful that when she was grown up
she would be more admired than herself, that she resolved to keep her
hidden away out of sight. To this end she caused a little house to be
built not far beyond the Palace gardens, on the bank of a river. This
was surrounded by a high wall, and in it the charming Potentilla was
imprisoned. Her nurse, who was dumb, took care of her, and the
necessaries of life were conveyed to her through a little window in the
wall, while guards were always pacing to and fro outside, with orders to
cut off the head of anyone who tried to approach, which they would
certainly have done without thinking twice about it. The Queen told
everyone, with much pretended sorrow, that the Princess was so ugly, and
so troublesome, and altogether so impossible to love, that to keep her
out of sight was the only thing that could be done for her. And this
tale she repeated so often, that at last the whole court believed it.
Things were in this state, and the Princess was about fifteen years old
when Prince Narcissus, attracted by the report of Queen Frivola's gay
doings, presented himself at the court. He was not much older than the
Princess, and was as handsome a Prince as you would see in a day's
journey, and really, for his age, not so very scatter-brained. His
parents were a King and Queen, whose story you will perhaps read some
day. They died almost at the same time, leaving their kingdom to the
eldest of their children, and commending their youngest son, Prince
Narcissus, to the care of the Fairy Melinette. In this they did very
well for him, for the Fairy was as kind as she was powerful, and she
spared no pains in teaching the little Prince everything it was good for
him to know, and even imparted to him some of her own Fairy lore. But as
soon as he was grown up she sent him out to see the world for himself,
though all the time she was secretly keeping watch over him, ready to
help in any time of need. Before he started she gave him a ring which
would render him invisible when he put it on his finger. These rings
seem to be quite common; you must often have heard of them, even if you
have never seen one. It was in the course of the Prince's wanderings, in
search of experience of men and things, that he came to the court of
Queen Frivola, where he was extremely well received. The Queen was
delighted with him, so were all her ladies; and the King was very polite
to him, though he did not quite see why the whole court was making such
a fuss over him.
[Illustration]
Prince Narcissus enjoyed all that went on, and found the time pass very
pleasantly. Before long, of course, he heard the story about the
Princess Potentilla, and, as it had by that time been repeated many
times, and had been added to here and there, she was represented as such
a monster of ugliness that he was really quite curious to see her, and
resolved to avail himself of the magic power of his ring to accomplish
his design. So he made himself invisible, and passed the guard without
their so much as suspecting that anyone was near. Climbing the wall was
rather a difficulty, but when he at length found himself inside it he
was charmed with the peaceful beauty of the little domain it enclosed,
and still more delighted when he perceived a slender, lovely maiden
wandering among the flowers. It was not until he had sought vainly for
the imaginary monster that he realised that this was the Princess
herself, and by that time he was deeply in love with her, for indeed it
would have been hard to find anyone prettier than Potentilla, as she sat
by the brook, weaving a garland of blue forget-me-nots to crown her
waving golden locks, or to imagine anything more gentle than the way she
tended all the birds and beasts who inhabited her small kingdom, and who
all loved and followed her. Prince Narcissus watched her every movement,
and hovered near her in a dream of delight, not daring as yet to appear
to her, so humble had he suddenly become in her presence. And when
evening came, and the nurse fetched the Princess into her little house,
he felt obliged to go back to Frivola's palace, for fear his absence
should be noticed and someone should discover his new treasure. But he
forgot that to go back absent, and dreamy, and indifferent, when he had
before been gay and ardent about everything, was the surest way of
awakening suspicion; and when, in response to the jesting questions
which were put to him upon the subject, he only blushed and returned
evasive answers, all the ladies were certain that he had lost his heart,
and did their utmost to discover who was the happy possessor of it. As
to the Prince, he was becoming day by day more attached to Potentilla,
and his one thought was to attend her, always invisible, and help her in
everything she did, and provide her with everything that could possibly
amuse or please her. And the Princess, who had learnt to find diversion
in very small things in her quiet life, was in a continual state of
delight over the treasures which the Prince constantly laid where she
must find them. Then Narcissus implored his faithful friend Melinette to
send the Princess such dreams of him as should make her recognise him as
a friend when he actually appeared before her eyes; and this device was
so successful that the Princess quite dreaded the cessation of these
amusing dreams, in which a certain Prince Narcissus was such a
delightful lover and companion. After that he went a step further and
began to have long talks with the Princess--still, however, keeping
himself invisible, until she begged him so earnestly to appear to her
that he could no longer resist, and after making her promise that, no
matter what he was like, she would still love him, he drew the ring from
his finger, and the Princess saw with delight that he was as handsome as
he was agreeable. Now, indeed, they were perfectly happy, and they
passed the whole long summer day in Potentilla's favourite place by the
brook, and when at last Prince Narcissus had to leave her it seemed to
them both that the hours had gone by with the most amazing swiftness.
The Princess stayed where she was, dreaming of her delightful Prince,
and nothing could have been further from her thoughts than any trouble
or misfortune, when suddenly, in a cloud of dust and shavings, by came
the enchanter Grumedan, and unluckily he chanced to catch sight of
Potentilla. Down he came straightway and alighted at her feet, and one
look at her charming blue eyes and smiling lips quite decided him that
he must appear to her at once, though he was rather annoyed to remember
that he had on only his second-best cloak. The Princess sprang to her
feet with a cry of terror at this sudden apparition, for really the
Enchanter was no beauty. To begin with, he was very big and clumsy, then
he had but one eye, and his teeth were long, and he stammered badly;
nevertheless, he had an excellent opinion of himself, and mistook the
Princess's cry of terror for an exclamation of delighted surprise. After
pausing a moment to give her time to admire him, the Enchanter made her
the most complimentary speech he could invent, which, however, did not
please her at all, though he was extremely delighted with it himself.
Poor Potentilla only shuddered and cried:
'Oh! where is my Narcissus?'
To which he replied with a self-satisfied chuckle: 'You want a
narcissus, madam? Well, they are not rare; you shall have as many as you
like.'
Whereupon he waved his wand, and the Princess found herself surrounded
and half buried in the fragrant flowers. She would certainly have
betrayed that this was not the kind of narcissus she wanted, but for the
Fairy Melinette, who had been anxiously watching the interview, and now
thought it quite time to interfere. Assuming the Prince's voice, she
whispered in Potentilla's ear:
'We are menaced by a great danger, but my only fear is for you, my
Princess. Therefore I beg you to hide what you really feel, and we will
hope that some way out of the difficulty may present itself.'
The Princess was much agitated by this speech, and feared lest the
Enchanter should have overheard it; but he had been loudly calling her
attention to the flowers, and chuckling over his own smartness in
getting them for her; and it was rather a blow to him when she said very
coldly that they were not the sort she preferred, and she would be glad
if he would send them all away. This he did, but afterwards wished to
kiss the Princess's hand as a reward for having been so obliging; but
the Fairy Melinette was not going to allow anything of that kind. She
appeared suddenly, in all her splendour, and cried:
'Stay, Grumedan; this Princess is under my protection, and the smallest
impertinence will cost you a thousand years of captivity. If you can win
Potentilla's heart by the ordinary methods I cannot oppose you, but I
warn you that I will not put up with any of your usual tricks.'
This declaration was not at all to the Enchanter's taste; but he knew
that there was no help for it, and that he would have to behave well,
and pay the Princess all the delicate attentions he could think of,
though they were not at all the sort of thing he was used to. However,
he decided that to win such a beauty it was quite worth while; and
Melinette, feeling that she could now leave the Princess in safety,
hurried off to tell Prince Narcissus what was going forward. Of course,
at the very mention of the Enchanter as a rival he was furious, and I
don't know what foolish things he would not have done if Melinette had
not been there to calm him down. She represented to him what a powerful
enchanter Grumedan was, and how, if he were provoked, he might avenge
himself upon the Princess, since he was the most unjust and churlish of
all the enchanters, and had often before had to be punished by the Fairy
Queen for some of his ill-deeds. Once he had been imprisoned in a tree,
and was only released when it was blown down by a furious wind; another
time he was condemned to stay under a big stone at the bottom of a
river, until by some chance the stone should be turned over; but nothing
could ever really improve him. The Fairy finally made Narcissus promise
that he would remain invisible when he was with the Princess, since she
felt sure that this would make things easier for all of them. Then began
a struggle between Grumedan and the Prince, the latter under the name of
Melinette, as to which could best delight and divert the Princess and
win her approbation. Prince Narcissus first made friends with all the
birds in Potentilla's little domain, and taught them to sing her name
and her praises, with all their sweetest trills and most touching
melodies, and all day long to tell her how dearly he loved her.
Grumedan, thereupon, declared that there was nothing new about that,
since the birds had sung since the world began, and all lovers had
imagined that they sang for them alone. Therefore he said he would
himself write an opera that should be absolutely a novelty and something
worth hearing. When the time came for the performance (which lasted five
weary hours) the Princess found to her dismay that the 'opera' consisted
of this more than indifferent verse, chanted with all their might by ten
thousand frogs:
'Admirable Potentilla,
Do you think it kind or wise
In this sudden way to kill a
Poor Enchanter with your eyes?'
Really, if Narcissus had not been there to whisper in her ear and divert
her attention, I don't know what would have become of poor Potentilla,
for though the first repetition of this absurdity amused her faintly,
she nearly died of weariness before the time was over. Luckily Grumedan
did not perceive this, as he was too much occupied in whipping up the
frogs, many of whom perished miserably from fatigue, since he did not
allow them to rest for a moment. The Prince's next idea for Potentilla's
amusement was to cause a fleet of boats exactly like those of Cleopatra,
of which you have doubtless read in history, to come up the little
river, and upon the most gorgeously decorated of these reclined the
great Queen herself, who, as soon as she reached the place where
Potentilla sat in rapt attention, stepped majestically on shore and
presented the Princess with that celebrated pearl of which you have
heard so much, saying:
'You are more beautiful than I ever was. Let my example warn you to make
a better use of your beauty!'
And then the little fleet sailed on, until it was lost to view in the
windings of the river. Grumedan was also looking on at the spectacle,
and said very contemptuously:
'I cannot say I think these marionettes amusing. What a to-do to make
over a single pearl! But if you like pearls, madam, why, _I_ will soon
gratify you.'
So saying, he drew a whistle from his pocket, and no sooner had he blown
it than the Princess saw the water of the river bubble and grow muddy,
and in another instant up came hundreds of thousands of great oysters,
who climbed slowly and laboriously towards her and laid at her feet all
the pearls they contained.
'Those are what I call pearls,' cried Grumedan in high glee. And truly
there were enough of them to pave every path in Potentilla's garden and
leave some to spare! The next day Prince Narcissus had prepared for the
Princess's pleasure a charming arbour of leafy branches, with couches of
moss and grassy floor and garlands everywhere, with her name written in
different-coloured blossoms. Here he caused a dainty little banquet to
be set forth, while hidden musicians played softly, and the silvery
fountains splashed down into their marble basins, and when presently the
music stopped a single nightingale broke the stillness with his
delicious chant.
'Ah!' cried the Princess, recognising the voice of one of her
favourites, 'Philomel, my sweet one, who taught you that new song?'
And he answered: 'Love, my Princess.'
Meanwhile the Enchanter was very ill-pleased with the entertainment,
which he declared was dullness itself.
'You don't seem to have any idea in these parts beyond little squeaking
birds!' said he. 'And fancy giving a banquet without so much as an ounce
of plate!'
So the next day, when the Princess went out into her garden, there stood
a summer-house built of solid gold, decorated within and without with
her initials and the Enchanter's combined. And in it was spread an
enormous repast, while the table so glittered with golden cups and
plates, flagons and dishes, candlesticks and a hundred other things
beside, that it was hardly possible to look steadily at it. The
Enchanter ate like six ogres, but the Princess could not touch a morsel.
Presently Grumedan remarked with a grin:
'I have provided neither musicians nor singers; but as you seem fond of
music I will sing to you myself.'
Whereupon he began, with a voice like a screech-owl's, to chant the
words of his 'opera,' only this time happily not at such a length, and
without the frog accompaniment. After this the Prince again asked the
aid of his friends the birds, and when they had assembled from all the
country round he tied about the neck of each one a tiny lamp of some
brilliant colour, and when darkness fell he made them go through a
hundred pretty tricks before the delighted Potentilla, who clapped her
little hands with delight when she saw her own name traced in points of
light against the dark trees, or when the whole flock of sparks grouped
themselves into bouquets of different colours, like living flowers.
Grumedan leaning back in his arm-chair, with one knee crossed over the
other and his nose in the air, looked on disdainfully.
'Oh! if you like fireworks, Princess,' said he; and the next night all
the will-o'-the-wisps in the country came and danced on the plain, which
could be seen from the Princess's windows, and as she was looking out,
and rather enjoying the sight, up sprang a frightful volcano, pouring
out smoke and flames which terrified her greatly, to the intense
amusement of the Enchanter, who laughed like a pack of wolves
quarrelling. After this, as many of the will-o'-the-wisps as could get
in crowded into Potentilla's garden, and by their light the tall
yew-trees danced minuets until the Princess was weary and begged to be
excused from looking at anything more that night. But, in spite of
Potentilla's efforts to behave politely to the tiresome old Enchanter,
whom she detested, he could not help seeing that he failed to please
her, and then he began to suspect very strongly that she must love
someone else, and that somebody besides Melinette was responsible for
all the festivities he had witnessed. So after much consideration he
devised a plan for finding out the truth. He went to the Princess
suddenly, and announced that he was most unwillingly forced to leave
her, and had come to bid her farewell. Potentilla could scarcely hide
her delight when she heard this, and his back was hardly turned before
she was entreating Prince Narcissus to make himself visible once more.
The poor Prince had been getting quite thin with anxiety and annoyance,
and was only too delighted to comply with her request. They greeted one
another rapturously, and were just sitting down to talk over everything
cosily, and enjoy the Enchanter's discomfiture together, when out he
burst in a fury from behind a bush. With his huge club he aimed a
terrific blow at Narcissus, which must certainly have killed him but for
the adroitness of the Fairy Melinette, who arrived upon the scene just
in time to snatch him up and carry him off at lightning speed to her
castle in the air. Poor Potentilla, however, had not the comfort of
knowing this, for at the sight of the Enchanter threatening her beloved
Prince she had given one shriek and fallen back insensible. When she
recovered her senses she was more than ever convinced that he was dead,
since even Melinette was no longer near her, and no one was left to
defend her from the odious old Enchanter.
[Illustration]
To make matters worse, he seemed to be in a very bad temper, and came
blustering and raging at the poor Princess.
'I tell you what it is, madam,' said he: 'whether you love this
whipper-snapper Prince or not doesn't matter in the least. You are going
to marry me, so you may as well make up your mind to it; and I am going
away this very minute to make all the arrangements. But in case you
should get into mischief in my absence, I think I had better put you to
sleep.'
So saying, he waved his wand over her, and in spite of her utmost
efforts to keep awake she sank into a profound and dreamless slumber.
As he wished to make what he considered a suitable entry into the King's
palace, he stepped outside the Princess's little domain, and mounted
upon an immense chariot with great solid wheels, and shafts like the
trunk of an oak-tree, but all of solid gold. This was drawn with great
difficulty by forty-eight strong oxen; and the Enchanter reclined at his
ease, leaning upon his huge club, and holding carelessly upon his knee a
tawny African lion, as if it had been a little lapdog. It was about
seven o'clock in the morning when this extraordinary chariot reached the
palace gates; the King was already astir, and about to set off on a
hunting expedition; as for the Queen, she had only just gone off into
her first sleep, and it would have been a bold person indeed who
ventured to wake her.
The King was greatly annoyed at having to stay and see a visitor at such
a time, and pulled off his hunting boots again with many grimaces.
Meantime the Enchanter was stumping about in the hall, crying:
'Where is this King? Let him be told that I must see him and his wife
also.'
The King, who was listening at the top of the staircase, thought this
was not very polite; however, he took counsel with his favourite
huntsman, and, following his advice, presently went down to see what was
wanted of him. He was struck with astonishment at the sight of the
chariot, and was gazing at it, when the Enchanter strode up to him,
exclaiming:
'Shake hands, Cloverleaf, old fellow! Don't you know me?'
'No, I can't say I do,' replied the King, somewhat embarrassed.
'Why, I am Grumedan, the Enchanter,' said he, 'and I am come to make
your fortune. Let us come in and talk things over a bit.'
Thereupon he ordered the oxen to go about their business, and they
bounded off like stags, and were out of sight in a moment. Then, with
one blow of his club, he changed the massive chariot into a perfect
mountain of gold pieces.
'Those are for your lackeys,' said he to the King, 'that they may drink
my health.'
Naturally a great scramble ensued, and at last the laughter and shouting
awoke the Queen, who rang for her maids to ask the reason of such an
unwonted hurly-burly. When they said that a visitor was asking for her,
and then proceeded each one to tell breathlessly a different tale of
wonder, in which she could only distinguish the words, 'oxen,' 'gold,'
'club,' 'giant,' 'lion,' she thought they were all out of their minds.
Meanwhile the King was asking the Enchanter to what he was indebted for
the honour of this visit, and on his replying that he would not say
until the Queen was also present, messenger after messenger was
dispatched to her to beg her immediate attendance. But Frivola was in a
very bad humour at having been so unceremoniously awakened, and declared
that she had a pain in her little finger, and that nothing should induce
her to come.
When the Enchanter heard this he insisted that she must come.
'Take my club to her Majesty,' said he, 'and tell her that if she smells
the end of it she will find it wonderfully reviving.'
So four of the King's strongest men-at-arms staggered off with it; and
after some persuasion the Queen consented to try this novel remedy. She
had hardly smelt it for an instant when she declared herself to be
perfectly restored; but whether that was due to the scent of the wood or
to the fact that as soon as she touched it out fell a perfect shower of
magnificent jewels, I leave you to decide. At any rate, she was now all
eagerness to see the mysterious stranger, and hastily throwing on her
royal mantle, popped her second-best diamond crown over her night-cap,
put a liberal dab of rouge upon each cheek, and holding up her largest
fan before her nose--for she was not used to appearing in broad
daylight--she went mincing into the great hall. The Enchanter waited
until the King and Queen had seated themselves upon their throne, and
then, taking his place between them, he began solemnly:
[Illustration: GRUMEDAN'S LION FETCHES IN THE PRINCESS]
'My name is Grumedan. I am an extremely well-connected Enchanter; my
power is immense. In spite of all this, the charms of your daughter
Potentilla have so fascinated me that I cannot live without her. She
fancies that she loves a certain contemptible puppy called Narcissus;
but I have made very short work with him. I really do not care whether
you consent to my marriage with your daughter or not, but I am bound to
ask your consent, on account of a certain meddling Fairy called
Melinette, with whom I have reason for wishing to keep on good terms.'
The King and Queen were somewhat embarrassed to know what answer to make
to this terrible suitor, but at last they asked for time to talk over
the matter: since, they said, their subjects might think that the heir
to the throne should not be married with as little consideration as a
dairymaid.
'Oh! take a day or two if you like,' said the Enchanter; 'but in the
meantime, I am going to send for your daughter. Perhaps you will be able
to induce her to be reasonable.'
So saying, he drew out his favourite whistle, and blew one ear-piercing
note--whereupon the great lion, who had been dozing in the sunny
courtyard, come bounding in on his soft, heavy feet. 'Orion,' said the
Enchanter, 'go and fetch me the Princess, and bring her here at once. Be
gentle now!'
At these words Orion went off at a great pace, and was soon at the other
end of the King's gardens. Scattering the guards right and left, he
cleared the wall at a bound, and seizing the sleeping Princess, he threw
her on to his back, where he kept her by holding her robe in his teeth.
Then he trotted gently back, and in less than five minutes stood in the
great hall before the astonished King and Queen.
The Enchanter held his club close to the Princess's charming little
nose, whereupon she woke up and shrieked with terror at finding herself
in a strange place with the detested Grumedan. Frivola, who had stood
by, stiff with displeasure at the sight of the lovely Princess, now
stepped forward, and with much pretended concern proposed to carry off
Potentilla to her own apartments that she might enjoy the quiet she
seemed to need. Really her one idea was to let the Princess be seen by
as few people as possible; so, throwing a veil over her head, she led
her away and locked her up securely. All this time Prince Narcissus,
gloomy and despairing, was kept a prisoner by Melinette in her castle
in the air, and in spite of all the splendour by which he was
surrounded, and all the pleasures which he might have enjoyed, his one
thought was to get back to Potentilla. The Fairy, however, left him
there, promising to do her very best for him, and commanding all her
swallows and butterflies to wait upon him and do his bidding. One day,
as he paced sadly to and fro, he thought he heard a voice he knew
calling to him, and sure enough there was the faithful Philomel,
Potentilla's favourite, who told him all that had passed, and how the
sleeping Princess had been carried off by the Lion to the great grief of
all her four-footed and feathered subjects, and how, not knowing what to
do, he had wandered about until he heard the swallows telling one
another of the Prince who was in their airy castle and had come to see
if it could be Narcissus. The Prince was more distracted than ever, and
tried vainly to escape from the castle, by leaping from the roof into
the clouds; but every time they caught him, and rolling softly up,
brought him back to the place from which he started, so at last he gave
up the attempt and waited with desperate patience for the return of
Melinette. Meanwhile matters were advancing rapidly in the court of King
Cloverleaf, for the Queen quite made up her mind that such a beauty as
Potentilla must be got out of the way as quickly as possible. So she
sent for the Enchanter secretly, and after making him promise that he
would never turn herself and King Cloverleaf out of their kingdom, and
that he would take Potentilla far away, so that never again might she
set eyes upon her, she arranged the wedding for the next day but one.
You may imagine how Potentilla lamented her sad fate, and entreated to
be spared. All the comfort she could get out of Frivola was, that if she
preferred a cup of poison to a rich husband she would certainly provide
her with one.
When, then, the fatal day came the unhappy Potentilla was led into the
great hall between the King and Queen, the latter wild with envy at the
murmurs of admiration which rose on all sides at the loveliness of the
Princess. An instant later in came Grumedan by the opposite door. His
hair stood on end, and he wore a huge bag-purse and a cravat tied in a
bow, his mantle was made of a shower of silver coins with a lining of
rose colour, and his delight in his own appearance knew no bounds. That
any Princess could prefer a cup of poison to himself never for an
instant occurred to him. Nevertheless, that was what did happen, for
when Queen Frivola in jest held out the fatal cup to the Princess, she
took it eagerly, crying:
[Illustration]
'Ah! beloved Narcissus, I come to thee!' and was just raising it to her
lips when the window of the great hall burst open, and the Fairy
Melinette floated in upon a glowing sunset cloud, followed by the Prince
himself.
All the court looked on in dazzled surprise, while Potentilla, catching
sight of her lover, dropped the cup and ran joyfully to meet him.
The Enchanter's first thought was to defend himself when he saw
Melinette appear, but she slipped round to his blind side, and catching
him by the eyelashes dragged him off to the ceiling of the hall, where
she held him kicking for a while just to give him a lesson, and then
touching him with her wand she imprisoned him for a thousand years in a
crystal ball which hung from the roof. 'Let this teach you to mind what
I tell you another time,' she remarked severely. Then turning to the
King and Queen, she begged them to proceed with the wedding, since she
had provided a much more suitable bridegroom. She also deprived them of
their kingdom, for they had really shown themselves unfit to manage it,
and bestowed it upon the Prince and Princess, who, though they were
unwilling to take it, had no choice but to obey the Fairy. However, they
took care that the King and Queen were always supplied with everything
they could wish for.
Prince Narcissus and Princess Potentilla lived long and happily, beloved
by all their subjects. As for the Enchanter, I don't believe he has been
let out yet.
La Princesse Pimprenella et Le Prince Romarin.
_PRINCE FEATHERHEAD AND THE PRINCESS CELANDINE_
Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen, who were the best
creatures in the world, and so kind-hearted that they could not bear to
see their subjects want for anything. The consequence was they gradually
gave away all their treasures, till they positively had nothing left to
live upon; and this coming to the ears of their neighbour, King Bruin,
he promptly raised a large army and marched into their country. The poor
King, having no means of defending his kingdom, was forced to disguise
himself with a false beard, and carrying his only son, the little Prince
Featherhead, in his arms, and accompanied only by the Queen, to make the
best of his way into the wild country. They were lucky enough to escape
the soldiers of King Bruin, and at last, after unheard-of fatigues and
adventures, they found themselves in a charming green valley, through
which flowed a stream clear as crystal and overshadowed by beautiful
trees. As they looked round them with delight, a voice said suddenly:
'Fish, and see what you will catch.' Now the King had always loved
fishing, and never went anywhere without a fish-hook or two in his
pocket, so he drew one out hastily, and the Queen lent him her girdle to
fasten it to, and it had hardly touched the water before it caught a big
fish, which made them an excellent meal--and not before they needed it,
for they had found nothing until then but a few wild berries and roots.
They thought that for the present they could not do better than stay in
this delightful place, and the King set to work, and soon built a bower
of branches to shelter them; and when it was finished the Queen was so
charmed with it that she declared nothing was lacking to complete her
happiness but a flock of sheep, which she and the little Prince might
tend while the King fished. They soon found that the fish were not only
abundant and easily caught, but also very beautiful, with glittering
scales of every imaginable hue; and before long the King discovered
that he could teach them to talk and whistle better than any parrot.
Then he determined to carry some to the nearest town and try to sell
them; and as no one had ever before seen any like them the people
flocked about him eagerly and bought all he had caught, so that
presently not a house in the city was considered complete without a
crystal bowl full of fish, and the King's customers were very particular
about having them to match the rest of the furniture, and gave him a
vast amount of trouble in choosing them. However, the money he obtained
in this way enabled him to buy the Queen her flock of sheep, as well as
many of the other things which go to make life pleasant, so that they
never once regretted their lost kingdom. Now it happened that the Fairy
of the Beech-Woods lived in the lovely valley to which chance had led
the poor fugitives, and it was she who had, in pity for their forlorn
condition, sent the King such good luck to his fishing, and generally
taken them under her protection. This she was all the more inclined to
do as she loved children, and little Prince Featherhead, who never
cried and grew prettier day by day, quite won her heart. She made the
acquaintance of the King and the Queen without at first letting them
know that she was a fairy, and they soon took a great fancy to her, and
even trusted her with the precious Prince, whom she carried off to her
palace, where she regaled him with cakes and tarts and every other good
thing. This was the way she chose of making him fond of her; but
afterwards, as he grew older, she spared no pains in educating and
training him as a prince should be trained. But unfortunately, in spite
of all her care, he grew so vain and frivolous that he quitted his
peaceful country life in disgust, and rushed eagerly after all the
foolish gaieties of the neighbouring town, where his handsome face and
charming manners speedily made him popular. The King and Queen deeply
regretted this alteration in their son, but did not know how to mend
matters, since the good old Fairy had made him so self-willed.
[Illustration]
Just at this time the Fairy of the Beech-Woods received a visit from an
old friend of hers called Saradine, who rushed into her house so
breathless with rage that she could hardly speak.
'Dear, dear! what _is_ the matter?' said the Fairy of the Beech-Woods
soothingly.
'The matter!' cried Saradine. 'You shall soon hear all about it. You
know that, not content with endowing Celandine, Princess of the Summer
Islands, with everything she could desire to make her charming, I
actually took the trouble to bring her up myself; and now what does she
do but come to me with more coaxings and caresses than usual to beg a
favour. And what do you suppose this favour turns out to be--when I have
been cajoled, into promising to grant it? Nothing more nor less than a
request that I will take back all my gifts--"since," says my young
madam, "if I have the good fortune to please you, how am I to know that
it is really I, myself? And that's how it will be all my life long,
whenever I meet anybody. You see what a weariness my life will be to me
under these circumstances, and yet I assure you I am not ungrateful to
you for all your kindness!" I did all I could,' continued Saradine, 'to
make her think better of it, but in vain; so after going through the
usual ceremony for taking back my gifts, I'm come to you for a little
peace and quietness. But, after all, I have not taken anything of
consequence from this provoking Celandine. Nature had already made her
so pretty, and given her such a ready wit of her own, that she will do
perfectly well without me. However, I thought she deserved a little
lesson, so to begin with I have whisked her off into the desert, and
there left her!'
'What! all alone, and without any means of existence?' cried the
kind-hearted old Fairy. 'You had better hand her over to me. I don't
think so very badly of her after all. I'll just cure her vanity by
making her love someone better than herself. Really, when I come to
consider of it, I declare the little minx has shown more spirit and
originality in the matter than one expects of a princess.'
[Illustration]
Saradine willingly consented to this arrangement, and the old Fairy's
first care was to smooth away all the difficulties which surrounded the
Princess, and lead her by the mossy path overhung with trees to the
bower of the King and Queen, who still pursued their peaceful life in
the valley.
They were immensely surprised at her appearance, but her charming face,
and the deplorably ragged condition to which the thorns and briers had
reduced her once elegant attire, speedily won their compassion; they
recognised her as a companion in misfortune, and the Queen welcomed her
heartily, and begged her to share their simple repast. Celandine
gracefully accepted their hospitality, and soon told them what had
happened to her. The King was charmed with her spirit, while the Queen
thought she had indeed been daring thus to go against the Fairy's
wishes.
'Since it has ended in my meeting you,' said the Princess, 'I cannot
regret the step I have taken, and if you will let me stay with you, I
shall be perfectly happy.'
The King and Queen were only too delighted to have this charming
Princess to supply the place of Prince Featherhead, whom they saw but
seldom, since the Fairy had provided him with a palace in the
neighbouring town, where he lived in the greatest luxury, and did
nothing but amuse himself from morning to night. So Celandine stayed,
and helped the Queen to keep house, and very soon they loved her dearly.
When the Fairy of the Beech-Woods came to them, they presented the
Princess to her, and told her story, little thinking that the Fairy knew
more about Celandine than they did. The old Fairy was equally delighted
with her, and often invited her to visit her Leafy Palace, which was the
most enchanting place that could be imagined, and full of treasures.
Often she would say to the Princess, when showing her some wonderful
thing:
'This will do for a wedding gift some day.' And Celandine could not help
thinking that it was to her that the Fairy meant to give the two blue
wax-torches which burned without ever getting smaller, or the diamond
from which more diamonds were continually growing, or the boat that
sailed under water, or whatever beautiful or wonderful thing they might
happen to be looking at. It is true that she never said so positively,
but she certainly allowed the Princess to believe it, because she
thought a little disappointment would be good for her. But the person
she really relied upon for curing Celandine of her vanity was Prince
Featherhead. The old Fairy was not at all pleased with the way he had
been going on for some time, but her heart was so soft towards him that
she was unwilling to take him away from the pleasures he loved, except
by offering him something better, which is not the most effectual mode
of correction, though it is without doubt the most agreeable.
However, she did not even hint to the Princess that Featherhead was
anything but absolutely perfect, and talked of him so much that when at
last she announced that he was coming to visit her, Celandine made up
her mind that this delightful Prince would be certain to fall in love
with her at once, and was quite pleased at the idea. The old Fairy
thought so too, but as this was not at all what she wished, she took
care to throw such an enchantment over the Princess that she appeared to
Featherhead quite ugly and awkward, though to every one else she looked
just as usual. So when he arrived at the Leafy Palace, more handsome and
fascinating even than ever she had been led to expect, he hardly so much
as glanced at the Princess, but bestowed all his attention upon the old
Fairy, to whom he seemed to have a hundred things to say. The Princess
was immensely astonished at his indifference, and put on a cold and
offended air, which, however, he did not seem to observe. Then as a last
resource she exerted all her wit and gaiety to amuse him, but with no
better success, for he was of an age to be more attracted by beauty than
by anything else, and though he responded politely enough, it was
evident that his thoughts were elsewhere. Celandine was deeply
mortified, since for her part the Prince pleased her very well, and for
the first time she bitterly regretted the fairy gifts she had been
anxious to get rid of. Prince Featherhead was almost equally puzzled,
for he had heard nothing from the King and Queen but the praises of this
charming Princess, and the fact that they had spoken of her as so very
beautiful only confirmed his opinion that people who live in the country
have no taste. He talked to them of his charming acquaintances in the
town, the beauties he had admired, did admire, or thought he was going
to admire, until Celandine, who heard it all, was ready to cry with
vexation. The Fairy too was quite shocked at his conceit, and hit upon a
plan for curing him of it. She sent to him by an unknown messenger a
portrait of Princess Celandine as she really was, with this inscription:
'All this beauty and sweetness, with a loving heart and a great kingdom,
might have been yours but for your well-known fickleness.'
This message made a great impression upon the Prince, but not so much as
the portrait. He positively could not tear his eyes away from it, and
exclaimed aloud that never, never had he seen anything so lovely and so
graceful. Then he began to think that it was too absurd that he, the
fascinating Featherhead, should fall in love with a portrait; and, to
drive away the recollections of its haunting eyes, he rushed back to the
town; but somehow everything seemed changed. The beauties no longer
pleased him, their witty speeches had ceased to amuse; and indeed, for
their parts, they found the Prince far less amiable than of yore, and
were not sorry when he declared that, after all, a country life suited
him best, and went back to the Leafy Palace. Meanwhile, the Princess
Celandine had been finding the time pass but slowly with the King and
Queen, and was only too pleased when Featherhead re-appeared. She at once
noticed the change in him, and was deeply curious to find the reason of
it. Far from avoiding her, he now sought her company and seemed to take
pleasure in talking to her, and yet the Princess did not for a moment
flatter herself with the idea that he was in love with her, though it
did not take her long to decide that he certainly loved someone. But one
day the Princess, wandering sadly by the river, spied Prince Featherhead
fast asleep in the shade of a tree, and stole nearer to enjoy the
delight of gazing at his dear face unobserved. Judge of her astonishment
when she saw that he was holding in his hand a portrait of herself! In
vain did she puzzle over the apparent contradictoriness of his
behaviour. Why did he cherish her portrait while he was so fatally
indifferent to herself? At last she found an opportunity of asking him
the name of the Princess whose picture he carried about with him always.
[Illustration]
'Alas! how can I tell you?' replied he.
'Why should you not?' said the Princess timidly. 'Surely there is
nothing to prevent you.'
'Nothing to prevent me!' repeated he, 'when my utmost efforts have
failed to discover the lovely original. Should I be so sad if I could
but find her? But I do not even know her name.'
More surprised than ever, the Princess asked to be allowed to see the
portrait, and after examining it for a few minutes returned it,
remarking shyly that at least the original had every cause to be
satisfied with it.
'That means that you consider it flattered,' said the Prince severely.
'Really, Celandine, I thought better of you, and should have expected
you to be above such contemptible jealousy. But all women are alike!'
'Indeed, I meant only that it was a good likeness,' said the Princess
meekly.
'Then you know the original,' cried the Prince, throwing himself on his
knees beside her. 'Pray tell me at once who it is, and don't keep me in
suspense!'
'Oh! don't you see that it is meant for me?' cried Celandine.
The Prince sprang to his feet, hardly able to refrain from telling her
that she must be blinded by vanity to suppose she resembled the lovely
portrait even in the slightest degree; and after gazing at her for an
instant with icy surprise, turned and left her without another word, and
in a few hours quitted the Leafy Palace altogether.
Now the Princess was indeed unhappy, and could no longer bear to stay in
a place where she had been so cruelly disdained. So, without even
bidding farewell to the King and Queen, she left the valley behind her,
and wandered sadly away, not caring whither. After walking until she was
weary, she saw before her a tiny house, and turned her slow steps
towards it. The nearer she approached the more miserable it appeared,
and at length she saw a little old woman sitting upon the door-step, who
said grimly:
'Here comes one of these fine beggars who are too idle to do anything
but run about the country!'
'Alas! madam,' said Celandine, with tears in her pretty eyes, 'a sad
fate forces me to ask you for shelter.'
'Didn't I tell you what it would be?' growled the old hag. 'From
shelter we shall proceed to demand supper, and from supper money to take
us on our way. Upon my word, if I could be sure of finding some one
every day whose head was as soft as his heart, I wouldn't wish for a
more agreeable life myself! But I have worked hard to build my house and
secure a morsel to eat, and I suppose you think that I am to give away
everything to the first passer-by who chooses to ask for it. Not at all!
I wager that a fine lady like you has more money than I have. I must
search her, and see if it is not so,' she added, hobbling towards
Celandine with the aid of her stick.
'Alas! madam,' replied the Princess, 'I only wish I had. I would give it
to you with all the pleasure in life.'
'But you are very smartly dressed for the kind of life you lead,'
continued the old woman.
'What!' cried the Princess, 'do you think I am come to beg of you?'
'I don't know about that,' answered she; 'but at any rate you don't seem
to have come to bring me anything. But what is it that you do want?
Shelter? Well, that does not cost much; but after that comes supper, and
that I can't hear of. Oh dear no! Why, at your age one is always ready
to eat; and now you have been walking, and I suppose you are ravenous?'
'Indeed no, madam,' answered the poor Princess, 'I am too sad to be
hungry.'
'Oh, well! if you will promise to go on being sad, you may stay for the
night,' said the old woman mockingly.
Thereupon she made the Princess sit down beside her, and began fingering
her silken robe, while she muttered 'Lace on top, lace underneath! This
must have cost you a pretty penny! It would have been better to save
enough to feed yourself, and not come begging to those who want all they
have for themselves. Pray, what may you have paid for these fine
clothes?'
'Alas! madam,' answered the Princess, 'I did not buy them, and I know
nothing about money.'
'What _do_ you know, if I may ask?' said the old dame.
'Not much; but indeed I am very unhappy,' cried Celandine, bursting into
tears, 'and if my services are any good to you----'
'Services!' interrupted the hag crossly. 'One has to pay for services,
and I am not above doing my own work.'
'Madam, I will serve you for nothing,' said the poor Princess, whose
spirits were sinking lower and lower. 'I will do anything you please;
all I wish is to live quietly in this lonely spot.'
'Oh! I know you are only trying to take me in,' answered she; 'and if I
do let you serve me, is it fitting that you should be so much better
dressed than I am? If I keep you, will you give me your clothes and wear
some that I will provide you with? It is true that I am getting old and
may want someone to take care of me some day.'
[Illustration]
'Oh! for pity's sake, do what you please with my clothes,' cried poor
Celandine miserably.
And the old woman hobbled off with great alacrity, and fetched a little
bundle containing a wretched dress, such as the Princess had never even
seen before, and nimbly skipped round, helping her to put it on instead
of her own rich robe, with many exclamations of:
'Saints!--what a magnificent lining! And the width of it! It will make
me four dresses at least. Why, child, I wonder you could walk under such
a weight, and certainly in my house you would not have had room to turn
round.'
So saying, she folded up the robe, and put it by with great care, while
she remarked to Celandine:
'That dress of mine certainly suits you to a marvel; be sure you take
great care of it.'
When supper-time came she went into the house, declining all the
Princess's offers of assistance, and shortly afterwards brought out a
very small dish, saying:
'Now let us sup.'
Whereupon she handed Celandine a small piece of black bread and
uncovered the dish, which contained two dried plums.
'We will have one between us,' continued the old dame; 'and as you are
the visitor, you shall have the half which contains the stone; but be
very careful that you don't swallow it, for I keep them against the
winter, and you have no idea what a good fire they make. Now, you take
my advice which won't cost you anything--and remember that it is always
more economical to buy fruit with stones on this account.'
Celandine, absorbed in her own sad thoughts, did not even hear this
prudent counsel, and quite forgot to eat her share of the plum, which
delighted the old woman, who put it by carefully for her breakfast,
saying:
'I am very much pleased with you, and if you go on as you have begun, we
shall do very well, and I can teach you many useful things which people
don't generally know. For instance, look at my house! It is built
entirely of the seeds of all the pears I have eaten in my life. Now,
most people throw them away, and that only shows what a number of things
are wasted for want of a little patience and ingenuity.'
But Celandine did not find it possible to be interested in this and
similar pieces of advice. And the old woman soon sent her to bed, for
fear the night air might give her an appetite. She passed a sleepless
night; but in the morning the old dame remarked:
'I heard how well you slept. After such a night you cannot want any
breakfast; so while I do my household tasks you had better stay in bed,
since the more one sleeps the less one need eat; and as it is market-day
I will go to town and buy a pennyworth of bread for the week's eating.'
And so she chattered on, but poor Celandine did not hear or heed her;
she wandered out into the desolate country to think over her sad fate.
However, the good Fairy of the Beech-Woods did not want her to be
starved, so she sent her an unlooked-for relief in the shape of a
beautiful white cow, which followed her back to the tiny house. When the
old woman saw it her joy knew no bounds.
[Illustration]
'Now we can have milk and cheese and butter!' cried she. 'Ah! how good
milk is! What a pity it is so ruinously expensive!' So they made a
little shelter of branches for the beautiful creature, which was quite
gentle, and followed Celandine about like a dog when she took it out
every day to graze. One morning as she sat by a little brook, thinking
sadly, she suddenly saw a young stranger approaching, and got up
quickly, intending to avoid him. But Prince Featherhead, for it was he,
perceiving her at the same moment, rushed towards her with every
demonstration of joy: for he had recognised her, not as the Celandine
whom he had slighted, but as the lovely Princess whom he had sought
vainly for so long. The fact was that the Fairy of the Beech-Woods,
thinking she had been punished enough, had withdrawn the enchantment
from her, and transferred it to Featherhead, thereby in an instant
depriving him of the good looks which had done so much towards making
him the fickle creature he was. Throwing himself down at the Princess's
feet, he implored her to stay, and at least speak to him, and she at
last consented, but only because he seemed to wish it so very much.
After that he came every day in the hope of meeting her again, and often
expressed his delight at being with her. But one day, when he had been
begging Celandine to love him, she confided to him that it was quite
impossible, since her heart was already entirely occupied by another.
'I have,' said she, 'the unhappiness of loving a Prince who is fickle,
frivolous, proud, incapable of caring for anyone but himself, who has
been spoilt by flattery, and, to crown all, who does not love me.'
'But' cried Prince Featherhead, 'surely you cannot care for so
contemptible and worthless a creature as that.'
'Alas! but I do care,' answered the Princess, weeping.
'But where can his eyes be,' said the Prince, 'that your beauty makes no
impression upon him? As for me, since I have possessed your portrait I
have wandered over the whole world to find you, and, now we have met, I
see that you are ten times lovelier than I could have imagined, and I
would give all I own to win your love.'
'My portrait?' cried Celandine with sudden interest. 'Is it possible
that Prince Featherhead can have parted with it?'
'He would part with his life sooner, lovely Princess,' answered he; 'I
can assure you of that, for _I_ am Prince Featherhead.'
At the same moment the Fairy of the Beech-Woods took away the
enchantment, and the happy Princess recognised her lover, now truly
hers, for the trials they had both undergone had so changed and improved
them that they were capable of a real love for each other. You may
imagine how perfectly happy they were, and how much they had to hear and
to tell. But at length it was time to go back to the little house, and
as they went along Celandine remembered for the first time what a ragged
old dress she was wearing, and what an odd appearance she must present.
But the Prince declared that it became her vastly, and that he thought
it most picturesque. When they reached the house the old woman received
them very crossly.
'I declare,' said she, 'that it's perfectly true: wherever there is a
girl you may be sure that a young man will appear before long! But don't
imagine that I'm going to have you here--not a bit of it; be off with
you, my fine fellow!'
Prince Featherhead was inclined to be angry at this uncivil reception,
but he was really too happy to care much, so he only demanded, on
Celandine's behalf, that the old dame should give her back her own
attire, that she might go away suitably dressed.
This request roused her to fury, since she had counted upon the
Princess's fine robes to clothe her for the rest of her life, so that it
was some time before the Prince could make himself heard to explain that
he was willing to pay for them. The sight of a handful of gold pieces
somewhat mollified her, however, and after making them both promise
faithfully that on no consideration would they ask for the gold back
again, she took the Princess into the house and grudgingly doled out to
her just enough of her gay attire to make her presentable, while the
rest she pretended to have lost. After this they found that they were
very hungry, for one cannot live on love, any more than on air, and then
the old woman's lamentations were louder than before. 'What!' she cried,
'feed people who were as happy as all that! Why, it was simply ruinous!'
But as the Prince began to look angry, she, with many sighs and
mutterings, brought out a morsel of bread, a bowl of milk, and six
plums, with which the lovers were well content: for as long as they
could look at one another they really did not know what they were
eating. It seemed as if they would go on for ever with their
reminiscences, the Prince telling how he had wandered all over the world
from beauty to beauty, always to be disappointed when he found that no
one resembled the portrait; the Princess wondering how it was he could
have been so long with her and yet never have recognised her, and over
and over again pardoning him for his cold and haughty behaviour to her.
'For,' she said, 'you see, Featherhead, I love you, and love makes
everything right! But we cannot stay here,' she added; 'what are we to
do?'
The Prince thought they had better find their way to the Fairy of the
Beech-Woods and put themselves once more under her protection, and they
had hardly agreed upon this course when two little chariots wreathed
with jasmine and honeysuckle suddenly appeared, and, stepping into them,
they were whirled away to the Leafy Palace. Just before they lost sight
of the little house they heard loud cries and lamentations from the
miserly old dame, and, looking round, perceived that the beautiful cow
was vanishing in spite of her frantic efforts to hold it fast. And they
afterwards heard that she spent the rest of her life in trying to put
the handful of gold the Prince had thrown to her into her money-bag. For
the Fairy, as a punishment for her avarice, caused it to slip out again
as fast as she dropped it in.
The Fairy of the Beech-Woods ran to welcome the Prince and Princess with
open arms, only too delighted to find them so much improved that she
could, with a clear conscience, begin to spoil them again. Very soon the
Fairy Saradine also arrived, bringing the King and Queen with her.
Princess Celandine implored her pardon, which she graciously gave;
indeed the Princess was so charming she could refuse her nothing. She
also restored to her the Summer Islands, and promised her protection in
all things. The Fairy of the Beech-Woods then informed the King and
Queen that their subjects had chased King Bruin from the throne, and
were waiting to welcome them back again; but they at once abdicated in
favour of Prince Featherhead, declaring that nothing could induce them
to forsake their peaceful life, and the Fairies undertook to see the
Prince and Princess established in their beautiful kingdoms. Their
marriage took place the next day, and they lived happily ever
afterwards, for Celandine was never vain and Featherhead was never
fickle any more.
_Le Prince Muguet et la Princesse Zaza._
_THE THREE LITTLE PIGS_
There was once upon a time a pig who lived with her three children on a
large, comfortable, old-fashioned farmyard. The eldest of the little
pigs was called Browny, the second Whitey, and the youngest and best
looking Blacky. Now Browny was a very dirty little pig, and I am sorry
to say spent most of his time rolling and wallowing about in the mud. He
was never so happy as on a wet day, when the mud in the farmyard got
soft, and thick, and slab. Then he would steal away from his mother's
side, and finding the muddiest place in the yard, would roll about in it
and thoroughly enjoy himself. His mother often found fault with him for
this, and would shake her head sadly and say: 'Ah, Browny! some day you
will be sorry that you did not obey your old mother.' But no words of
advice or warning could cure Browny of his bad habits.
[Illustration]
Whitey was quite a clever little pig, but she was greedy. She was always
thinking of her food, and looking forward to her dinner; and when the
farm girl was seen carrying the pails across the yard, she would rise up
on her hind legs and dance and caper with excitement. As soon as the
food was poured into the trough she jostled Blacky and Browny out of the
way in her eagerness to get the best and biggest bits for herself. Her
mother often scolded her for her selfishness, and told her that some day
she would suffer for being so greedy and grabbing.
Blacky was a good, nice little pig, neither dirty nor greedy. He had
nice dainty ways (for a pig), and his skin was always as smooth and
shining as black satin. He was much cleverer than Browny and Whitey, and
his mother's heart used to swell with pride when she heard the farmer's
friends say to each other that some day the little black fellow would be
a prize pig.
Now the time came when the mother pig felt old and feeble and near her
end. One day she called the three little pigs round her and said:
'My children, I feel that I am growing old and weak, and that I shall
not live long. Before I die I should like to build a house for each of
you, as this dear old sty in which we have lived so happily will be
given to a new family of pigs, and you will have to turn out. Now,
Browny, what sort of a house would you like to have?'
'A house of mud,' replied Browny, looking longingly at a wet puddle in
the corner of the yard.
'And you, Whitey?' said the mother pig in rather a sad voice, for she
was disappointed that Browny had made so foolish a choice.
'A house of cabbage,' answered Whitey, with a mouth full, and scarcely
raising her snout out of the trough in which she was grubbing for some
potato-parings.
'Foolish, foolish child!' said the mother pig, looking quite distressed,
'And you, Blacky?' turning to her youngest son, 'what sort of a house
shall I order for you?'
'A house of brick, please mother, as it will be warm in winter, and cool
in summer, and safe all the year round.'
'That is a sensible little pig,' replied his mother, looking fondly at
him. 'I will see that the three houses are got ready at once. And now
one last piece of advice. You have heard me talk of our old enemy the
fox. When he hears that I am dead, he is sure to try and get hold of
you, to carry you off to his den. He is very sly and will no doubt
disguise himself, and pretend to be a friend, but you must promise me
not to let him enter your houses on any pretext whatever.'
And the little pigs readily promised, for they had always had a great
fear of the fox, of whom they had heard many terrible tales. A short
time afterwards the old pig died, and the little pigs went to live in
their own houses.
Browny was quite delighted with his soft mud walls and with the clay
floor, which soon looked like nothing but a big mud pie. But that was
what Browny enjoyed, and he was as happy as possible, rolling about all
day and making himself in such a mess. One day, as he was lying half
asleep in the mud, he heard a soft knock at his door, and a gentle voice
said:
'May I come in, Master Browny? I want to see your beautiful new house.'
'Who are you?' said Browny, starting up in great fright, for though the
voice sounded gentle, he felt sure it was a feigned voice, and he feared
it was the fox.
'I am a friend come to call on you,' answered the voice.
'No, no,' replied Browny, 'I don't believe you are a friend. You are the
wicked fox, against whom our mother warned us. I won't let you in.'
'Oho! is that the way you answer me?' said the fox, speaking very
roughly in his natural voice. 'We shall soon see who is master here,'
and with his paws he set to work and scraped a large hole in the soft
mud walls. A moment later he had jumped through it, and catching Browny
by the neck, flung him on his shoulders and trotted off with him to his
den.
The next day, as Whitey was munching a few leaves of cabbage out of the
corner of her house, the fox stole up to her door, determined to carry
her off to join her brother in his den. He began speaking to her in the
same feigned gentle voice in which he had spoken to Browny; but it
frightened her very much when he said:
'I am a friend come to visit you, and to have some of your good cabbage
for my dinner.'
'Please don't touch it,' cried Whitey in great distress. 'The cabbages
are the walls of my house, and if you eat them you will make a hole, and
the wind and rain will come in and give me a cold. Do go away; I am sure
you are not a friend, but our wicked enemy the fox.' And poor Whitey
began to whine and to whimper, and to wish that she had not been such a
greedy little pig, and had chosen a more solid material than cabbages
for her house. But it was too late now, and in another minute the fox
had eaten his way through the cabbage walls, and had caught the
trembling, shivering Whitey, and carried her off to his den.
The next day the fox started off for Blacky's house, because he had made
up his mind that he would get the three little pigs together in his den,
and then kill them, and invite all his friends to a feast. But when he
reached the brick house, he found that the door was bolted and barred,
so in his sly manner he began, 'Do let me in, dear Blacky. I have
brought you a present of some eggs that I picked up in a farmyard on my
way here.'
[Illustration]
'No, no, Mister Fox,' replied Blacky, 'I am not going to open my door to
you. I know your cunning ways. You have carried off poor Browny and
Whitey, but you are not going to get me.'
At this the fox was so angry that he dashed with all his force against
the wall, and tried to knock it down. But it was too strong and
well-built; and though the fox scraped and tore at the bricks with his
paws he only hurt himself, and at last he had to give it up, and limp
away with his fore-paws all bleeding and sore.
'Never mind!' he cried angrily as he went off, 'I'll catch you another
day, see if I don't, and won't I grind your bones to powder when I have
got you in my den!' and he snarled fiercely and showed his teeth.
Next day Blacky had to go into the neighbouring town to do some
marketing and to buy a big kettle. As he was walking home with it slung
over his shoulder, he heard a sound of steps stealthily creeping after
him. For a moment his heart stood still with fear, and then a happy
thought came to him. He had just reached the top of a hill, and could
see his own little house nestling at the foot of it among the trees. In
a moment he had snatched the lid off the kettle and had jumped in
himself. Coiling himself round he lay quite snug in the bottom of the
kettle, while with his fore-leg he managed to put the lid on, so that he
was entirely hidden. With a little kick from the inside he started the
kettle off, and down the hill it rolled full tilt; and when the fox came
up, all that he saw was a large black kettle spinning over the ground at
a great pace. Very much disappointed, he was just going to turn away,
when he saw the kettle stop close to the little brick house, and in a
moment later Blacky jumped out of it and escaped with the kettle into
the house, when he barred and bolted the door, and put the shutter up
over the window.
'Oho!' exclaimed the fox to himself, 'you think you will escape me that
way, do you? We shall soon see about that, my friend,' and very quietly
and stealthily he prowled round the house looking for some way to climb
on to the roof.
In the meantime Blacky had filled the kettle with water, and having put
it on the fire, sat down quietly waiting for it to boil. Just as the
kettle was beginning to sing, and steam to come out of the spout, he
heard a sound like a soft, muffled step, patter, patter, patter
overhead, and the next moment the fox's head and fore-paws were seen
coming down the chimney. But Blacky very wisely had not put the lid on
the kettle, and, with a yelp of pain, the fox fell into the boiling
water, and before he could escape, Blacky had popped the lid on, and the
fox was scalded to death.
As soon as he was sure that their wicked enemy was really dead, and
could do them no further harm, Blacky started off to rescue Browny and
Whitey. As he approached the den he heard piteous grunts and squeals
from his poor little brother and sister who lived in constant terror of
the fox killing and eating them. But when they saw Blacky appear at the
entrance to the den their joy knew no bounds. He quickly found a sharp
stone and cut the cords by which they were tied to a stake in
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