The Project Gutenberg eBook of French fairy tales
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Title: French fairy tales
Translator: Martha Ward Carey
Author of introduction, etc.: J. Franklin Jameson
Contributor: Paul Sébillot
Illustrator: E. Boyd Smith
Release date: August 10, 2026 [eBook #79327]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1887
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79327
Credits: Alan, Susan E. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRENCH FAIRY TALES ***
[Illustration: _Frontis. See page 159._
THE YOUNG LORD SAW A CHARMING GIRL SEATED AMONG THE BRANCHES.]
FRENCH
FAIRY TALES
TRANSLATED BY
M. CARY
ILLUSTRATED BY
E. BOYD SMITH
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1887 AND 1903, BY
THOMAS Y. CROWELL AND COMPANY
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The young readers into whose hands this book may come, will care little
for a preface which only keeps them from the entertainment which they
have learned unfailingly to expect from such stories. But their elders
have rights which the purveyors of folk-stories are bound to respect;
for these popular tales, or old wives’ fables, while losing none of
their popularity in the nursery, have descended thence, and found
a place also in the parlor and the study. They are like the rough
little box which the kind fairy has given to the little brother, and
at which his elders at first look with disdain, until, when it has
been opened, and fold after fold of rich stuff has tumbled out of it,
they value it highly, for all its outward roughness, and even would
despoil the youngest of his magic prize. The fairy stories, which had
hitherto been only food for childish entertainment, became, in the
hands of the brothers Grimm and the philologians and literary students
who succeeded them, the foundation of a science rich in conclusions
respecting portions of human history anterior to or unrepresented in
more artificial literary memorials.
It is not possible, in an introductory page or two, to say anything
of all that the study of such stories and of their transmission has
added to the sum of modern learning, nor of the light they throw on
peasant character; but it is only justice to readers who approach
these studies from this point of view, with a more or less scientific
interest in studies of folk-lore, to state the sources whence the tales
in this collection have been translated, and to attest the fidelity of
the translation. Of these stories,--derived from the French provinces
or, in one or two cases, colonies,--the first part, extending to page
192, have been selected and translated from the pages of the admirable
French folk-lore journal, “Mélusine,” of which the first volume
appeared in 1878, the second in 1884 and 1885, the third in 1886 and
1887; the remaining stories have been selected and translated from
Paul Sébillot’s “Contes des Provinces de la France” (Paris, 1884).
Scrupulous care has been taken to preserve a note of the sources of the
stories.
Naturally some slight verbal changes have here and there been
necessary; but these have been few in number. In all other passages,
a scrupulous fidelity to the original has been aimed at, and has, I
believe, been attained.
J. F. JAMESON.
Contents
PAGE
THE LEGEND OF THE LAKE OF ISSARLÈS 1
THE FAIRIES AND THE TWO HUNCHBACKS 6
THE SKILFUL THIEF 8
THE KING’S THREE SONS 23
THE HARE, THE BEAR, AND THE FOX 33
PAPA TIGER AND PAPA SHEEP 52
JOHN BIT-OF-A-MAN 60
LONG TIME 65
SKILFUL JOHN 69
THE TAILOR AND THE HURRICANE 72
THE BAKER’S THREE DAUGHTERS 85
YOU MUST NOT WORK ON SUNDAY 102
DESTINY 106
THE LITTLE ANT THAT WAS GOING TO JERUSALEM,
AND THE SNOW 110
THE MOST POWERFUL HUSBAND IN THE WORLD 114
THE NINE BROTHERS, WHO WERE CHANGED TO SHEEP,
AND THEIR SISTER 117
THE KING AND HIS THREE SONS 127
FANCH SCOUARNEC 130
THE ROEBUCK HUNT 148
PIERRE AND HELENE 153
THE THREE EGGS 166
THE THREE BROTHERS 176
THE COCK’S WIFE 189
THE CASTLE HUNG IN THE AIR 193
THE TWO SOLDIERS 204
THE THREE BROTHERS AND THE GIANT 210
THE FAIRY AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE EARTH 220
SISTER AND HALF-SISTER 232
THE FAIRIES’ SHIP 237
THE SHEPHERD WHO WON THE KING’S DAUGHTER BY A
SINGLE WORD 246
THE ENCHANTED RING 251
THE SIREN OF LA FRESNAYE 259
THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK 267
THE PRINCESS OF TRONKOLAINE 276
French Fairy Tales
THE LEGEND OF THE LAKE OF ISSARLÈS
Northwest of Ardèche, on the limits of Haute-Loire and Lozère, in the
commune of Issarlès, may be seen one of the largest lakes formed by the
volcanic craters of the Northern Cévennes. The origin of the lake is
thus told in a legend heard from an old woman of Sainte Eulalie, the
next commune to Issarlès.
There was, in old times, not far from where I live, a large parish with
houses scattered far apart in the rural portions, and containing only
one town, named Issarlès. One day a poor man came to this parish to
ask for alms. He began in the country. At the first house to which he
came, he cried, “Give me something, for I am hungry.” “Oh! my friend,
I have nothing for you,” answered the woman, pityingly. “Have you not
even a few potatoes in your pot?” said he. “Yes,” replied the woman,
“there are two, if you want them.” The poor man took one and departed.
Then he walked on, and came to another house. “Give me something, for
the love of God,” he cried. The woman rose, and said, “My friend, we
have no bread, but the dough is in the tray all ready; the oven is
almost warm enough; we shall soon bake it, and then we will give you
some sweet bread; sit down and wait.” The poor man said, “Your bread
is baked.” The woman said to her husband, “My husband, the poor man
says that our bread, which is in the tray, is already baked. How can
that be? We have not yet put it in the oven.” The husband looked into
the tray and saw the bread already baked, and near the large loaves he
saw a small sweet loaf. “What you have declared is really so,” said he
to the poor man; “the bread is baked without having been in the oven.
It is God’s doing. Sit down at our table, and eat with us.” The poor
man refused. “Then take,” said the husband, “the loaf that my wife
wished to prepare for you, and which is already baked as well as the
large loaves.” The poor man took the loaf, and before leaving, said to
the husband, “In a little while you will hear a great noise; don’t be
frightened.”
[Illustration: THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKES OF ISSARLÉS.]
At some distance from the house, the poor man met two little children
playing by the roadside. “What are you doing, my children?” “We are
playing.” “Are you hungry?” “No.” “If you want some sweet bread, I
will give you some.” “Hungry or not, we can eat it very well,” said
the children. The poor man divided his sweet loaf, and gave half of it
to each of the children, who ran off with it to their mother. “Mamma,
a poor man gave us each half a sweet loaf,” they cried. Their mother
scolded them. “Never take bread from beggars,” she said; “it is not
clean; I forbid your eating it.” “Mamma, it is very good; it is better
than our bread.” “I forbid your eating it; I do not know the person who
gave it to you,” and saying this, she took the pieces of bread from the
children’s hands and threw them into the chicken coop.
A few moments after, the poor man appeared at the door of this woman’s
house, which was at the entrance of the town. The children pointed him
out to their mother, who said, “You begging! you, who can give bread
to the children you find on the road! You had better keep your bread;
it is not fit food for my children. For me, I have nothing to give to
those who themselves can give.” The poor man went away; he entered the
town, begging from house to house, and everywhere was driven away. He
was about to leave the town, when in the suburbs, he saw two little
houses, and thought he would make one more attempt, by applying there.
A woman came out of the first house to which he went, and said, “I have
no bread, I have only leaven; do you want some? I will give you some.”
“I cannot eat leaven,” replied the poor man. Now, this woman told a
lie, for she had bread, but did not wish to give him any.
The poor man went a few steps further on, and soon came to the second
house. A woman was seated by the wall, milking a goat. “I am very
thirsty,” said the beggar; “would you give me a little milk?” “Ah! my
friend,” she answered, “I will give you all my goat’s milk, if you
want it.” “I do not want all the milk of your goat; a little will be
enough for me.” The woman went to get a glass; filled it with milk,
and offered it to the beggar, saying, “Will you dip some bread in it?”
“No; I am not hungry; I am only thirsty, and I have more than enough
to drink.” Then he drank, and as the woman continued to milk her goat,
Jesus drew near to her (for the beggar was Jesus), and said: “You will
soon hear a great noise, but no matter how loud it may be, or from what
direction it may come, do not move; continue milking your goat.”
At that very moment, a tremendous noise burst upon them. It was the
town of Issarlès sinking down into the yawning earth. The woman half
turned her head to see whence the noise came; she had no sooner done
so than she was swallowed up with the town. The ruins were immediately
covered up by a sheet of water.
On a clear day one may see to the bottom of the lake the ruins of the
town of Issarlès, and distinguish clearly by the side of a small house,
the last in the town, a woman, who with both her hands is milking a
goat. I have seen her many a time when I was passing along the shore.
VICTOR SMITH.
THE FAIRIES AND THE TWO HUNCHBACKS
A STORY OF PICARDY
Once there were three fairies who used to amuse themselves by dancing
round and round, and singing, “Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday.” One
day a little hunchback surprised them at this sport, and without
being afraid, he took them by the hand and began to dance with them,
repeating also, “Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday.” He danced so prettily
that the fairies were charmed, and to reward him took away his hunch.
Perfectly happy, he returned home, constantly singing as he went,
“Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday.” On the road he met another little
hunchback whom he knew. The latter was greatly astonished to see his
friend relieved of his hunch, and said: “How did you manage it? Your
hunch is gone.” “It is all very easy,” replied the other; “you have
only to go to a certain wood, when you will find some fairies; you must
dance with them and sing, ‘Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday,’ and they
will take away your hunch.”
“I will go, I will go at once,” cried the little hunchback, and
started immediately for the wood to which he had been directed, where,
sure enough, he found the three fairies. Without hesitating, he took
them by the hand and danced with them, repeating, “Sunday, Monday.”
But unhappily for him, he added, “Tuesday, Wednesday.” The fairies,
indignant, added to his hunch that of the first hunchback, so that he
was a fright to behold, so frightful that if you had seen him you would
have run away from him. And then?--And then the cock crew, and it was
day.
Told by Auguste Gourdin, miller, aged 63, at Warloy-Baillon (Somme).
HENRI CARNOY.
THE SKILFUL THIEF
A BRETON STORY
There was once upon a time a poor man who had two children, a boy and a
girl, Efflam and Hénori.
One day the father said to Efflam: “My son, now that you are grown up,
you should be able to get your own living and take care of yourself.
Suppose you go to Paris and seek your fortune.”
“Very well, father,” said Efflam; “I will go to Paris and seek my
fortune.”
And so the next day Efflam set out for Paris. He traveled and traveled,
always on foot. Once night surprised him in the midst of a deep forest.
He got up in a tree to wait for the morning, and to keep himself safe
from the wild beasts. Soon three robbers laden with booty stopped
under the tree. They lifted a large stone and deposited their booty
in a cavern whose entrance the stone had concealed. Then they seated
themselves under the tree to eat and drink, meanwhile talking of their
adventures. Efflam listened, and this is what he heard:--
“I,” said one of the robbers, “have a marvelous cloak which carries me
through the air, wherever I wish to go.”
“I,” said the second, “have a hat which renders me invisible, and when
I have it on my head I can go everywhere without being seen by any one.”
“And I,” said the third, “have some boots with which I can walk as
swiftly as the wind blows.”
“If I could have the cloak, the hat, and the boots, or only one of the
three,” said Efflam to himself, “that would easily make my fortune; but
how can I manage it?” Then he turned it over in his head, and hit upon
this plan: that, by letting himself down through the leafy branches,
he would fall into the midst of the robbers and shout, “Stop, thief!”
so as to make them believe that the devil or the police were at their
heels. No sooner said than done, and the three robbers, seized with
fright, ran off as fast as they could, leaving on the ground the cloak,
the hat, and the boots.
Efflam seized the three talismans, and, having put on the boots, he
soon found himself in Paris. As he was walking along the streets,
astonished at the beautiful things he saw on all sides, he noticed
a jeweler’s shop which seemed finer and richer than the others, and
was tempted to take from it a few articles of value. He put on his
magic hat, made his way into the shop without being perceived by any
one, and took everything he pleased. Afterward, in order to get ready
money, he sold in another shop the articles he had obtained in this
way. Meeting a soldier from his own country, he led him a gay life for
several days. When the money was all gone, Efflam was at no loss to
know how to get more. One day he saw at a market a vender of earthen
vases who was doing a good business, and put his money, as he received
it, into a wooden chest beside him. “I must take away his chest,” said
Efflam to himself, and putting on his hat, he easily carried off the
chest, took it where no one could see him, broke it open, took the
money which was in it, and once more lived a gay life while it lasted.
Another day, as he was taking a walk through one of the squares of
the city, he overheard three men talking together about the king’s
treasure. They were saying that they thought it a needless piece of
caution on the king’s part to place sentinels near the tower which
contained his treasure, because, since there were neither doors nor
windows to this tower, and the walls were so thick and solid, it was
impossible to make the slightest breach in it. “Very good,” said Efflam
to himself; “now I know where the king’s treasure is.” Then, addressing
the three men, he said, “So you think it impossible to steal the king’s
treasure?” “Why, yes,” they answered. “Well, I, for one, do not think
so.” And with that he left them. When night had come, he repaired to
the foot of the tower, and having spread his magic cloak on the ground,
he seated himself on it, put on his hat, and said, “Cloak, do your
duty, and bear me immediately into the king’s treasure-chamber.” This
was immediately done without being perceived by the guards or any one
else. He went out in the same manner, with his pockets filled with gold
and silver. The next night, and the next, and every night after that,
he returned to the attack, and always with the same success. Having
now become rich in a short time, he bought a palace, and sent for his
father and sister. On the day on which they were to arrive he went to
meet them with a fine carriage drawn by two horses. When he had got
about three miles from the city, seeing his father and sister coming
along the road on foot, and poorly clad, he ordered his coachman to
return to his house with one of the horses, and bring him a box which
he had forgotten and left on the table in his chamber, and which he
wanted very much. He would wait for him, he said, in a certain house by
the roadside.
The coachman unhitched one of the horses and set off. Efflam then took
his father and sister into the house by the roadside, gave them changes
of rich garments that he had brought for them in the carriage, and also
to each of them a purse filled with gold, so that the coachman, on his
return, should not take them for poor peasants, as they really were.
The coachman returned, and said to his master, “I did not find the box
in your chamber.” “Oh! I had it with me in my carriage and did not know
it.” Then they returned to the city.
One day the father asked his son how he had managed to get so rich, and
Efflam acknowledged to him that he had stolen the king’s treasure. “If
you wish,” said the old man, “I will go with you, and between us we can
bring away a larger sum.” “Very well,” said Efflam.
When night had come, they both placed themselves on the magic cloak,
put both their heads in the magic hat, and were transported into the
treasure-chamber; then they returned in the same manner, each bearing
his load of money.
But the king perceived that his treasure was being stolen, and was
very much astonished at it, for he never trusted any one with the key.
Moreover, he saw no traces of any attempt to break in. Then he set
traps around the vases which contained the silver and the gold, in
order to catch the thief. And sure enough, the next night the father
was caught. Finding he could not get away, and hoping at least to save
his son, he said to him, “Cut off my head and take it away from here,
with my clothes, so that I may not be recognized.” Efflam took his
advice, cut off his head, and took it away to bury it in his garden.
When the king came the next day to the treasure-chamber, he cried out
with joy, on seeing there the lifeless body: “Aha! my thief is taken
at last. Let us see who he is.” But neither he nor any one else could
identify the body without a head, so that he was even more puzzled
than ever. Then he published through the city that the thief had been
caught, and that his body would be dragged on a hurdle through all the
streets of the town. This was accordingly done, and four soldiers, two
before and two behind, accompanied the body, with orders to listen
attentively, and look well about them to see if any one cried or
groaned or appeared distressed as they passed along. Efflam ordered
his carriage early in the morning, and before setting out he told his
neighbors and all in his house, that he was going to take his father
to his own country, since he wished very much to return. This was to
explain the disappearance of the old man. On getting about a mile from
the city, he said to his servant as before, “Take one of the horses
and return with all speed to the city, and bring my father his purse
which he forgot when he came away.” The coachman took one of the
horses and departed. Then Efflam saw a postman coming along down the
road, and asked him if he was not very tired. “Not yet,” replied the
man; “but I shall be before I have made my rounds, for I have a long
way to go.” “If you wish,” said Efflam, “I will give you my horse and
carriage.” “You are joking with me, my lord.” “I am not joking with
you, and to prove it--here--take them.” Then Efflam got down from his
carriage and almost forced the postman to mount, while he returned to
the city quietly on foot. When he met his coachman coming again, he
said: “Again I gave you a useless ride: my father had his purse in his
pocket, and did not know it: at his age memory begins to fail. I have
given him my carriage and horse that he may return to his own country,
and I am hurrying back, for I have just remembered that I ought to be
at the house to-day.” Accordingly he mounted the horse the coachman had
ridden, and set off at a gallop. On reaching home he told his sister
the whole affair, and advised her not to cry, or groan, or appear sad,
nor even to remain out of sight, when the mutilated body of her father
should pass by on the hurdle; for if she showed the slightest sign of
grief, he would be lost, and she too. Soon the crowd was heard crying,
“Here is the thief who stole the king’s treasure!” All the people ran
to the doors of the houses, and a great crowd followed the headless
body, and no one could say who he was. When they passed by Efflam’s
house, he also was on his doorsteps, with his sister by his side. But
Hénori, not being able to endure the sight, uttered a cry and ran into
the house. Efflam followed her, and drawing his dagger he wounded her
hand with it. Two soldiers presented themselves and said, “We have
heard cries of grief in this house.” “Yes,” said Efflam; “it was my
sister, who had just cut herself with my knife, and was crying out;
see how it is bleeding.” And true enough, there was the poor girl all
bleeding and crying. The soldiers withdrew.
This plan not having succeeded, the king thought of another. He had the
body of the thief hung up on a nail fixed in the wall of his palace,
and set guards to watch near by, feeling sure that when night came the
friends and relatives of the thief would try to carry off his body.
When Efflam saw this, he disguised himself as a wine merchant, loaded
an ass with leather bottles of wine mixed with a narcotic, and went
with it, accompanied by his sister, along under that side of the palace
wall where the body of his father was suspended. With a movement of
his shoulder, he made the bottles fall off, and one of them, which
he had prepared for that purpose, came unstopped. He and his sister
began to cry and call for help. The guards ran to them, helped them
to reload their ass, and received for reward the bottle which had
become unstopped in falling, but which, nevertheless, was still more
than half full. Efflam and his sister then continued on their way. But
they retraced their steps about a half-hour later, and found the guards
stretched upon the ground and sleeping as soundly as if they were
dead. “All right,” said they. Then they went to a monastery near by
and pretended to sell them some excellent wine very cheap. By means of
the wine they made the monks all sleep soundly, from the abbot to the
porter, and took advantage of the opportunity to bury their father’s
body in holy ground in the cemetery of the monastery. Then they changed
the clothing of the monks and soldiers, so that the monks were dressed
as soldiers, and the soldiers as monks. Next morning, when the hour
for matins came, the monks dragged themselves to the chapel, only half
awake and not seeing very clearly. The first one who perceived the
singular dress of the abbot was at first utterly confounded. He rubbed
his eyes, thinking he did not see well. But as he continued to see
before him a soldier and not a monk, he touched his next neighbor with
his elbow and said, “Do you see how our abbot is dressed? What does
it mean?” The monk next him was in turn also greatly astonished, but,
looking at those who stood on each side of the abbot, they discovered
that they too were dressed like soldiers; then they looked at the
whole line of monks opposite them on the other side of the choir; and
at last they looked at each other, and found that all were in soldiers’
uniform. What could it mean? It was doubtless the work of the evil
spirit! Then the chant and prayers ceased, and they began trying to
unravel the mystery.
On the other hand, when the captain came in the morning to inspect
the soldiers set to guard the body of the thief, he also was greatly
astonished to find them all sleeping profoundly, and habited as monks.
Worse still, the body of the thief was gone. He flew into a great
passion, swore and raged, and kicked the soldiers till they awaked. The
report spread rapidly through the city that the body of the thief who
stole the king’s treasure had been carried off, and that the soldiers
set to guard it had been found in the morning dead drunk, and disguised
as monks; while the monks of the neighboring monastery, equally drunk,
wore the uniform of the soldiers. It was undoubtedly a fresh trick of
an accomplice of the thief who had been caught. It made a great stir in
the city, and every one laughed heartily.
“I am mocked again,” said the king, when he heard what had taken place.
“It must be acknowledged that this is a very skilful thief; but all
the same, I mean to find out how far his skill goes, for I hope soon
to foil it.” Then he caused notice to be given through the city that
he would the next day exhibit in the public square before his palace a
beautiful white goat of which he was very fond, and that if the thief
could succeed in taking it away, it should be his.
“That’s good,” said Efflam to himself when he heard the notice. “The
king’s white goat will be mine to-morrow before the sun goes down.”
Next day the white goat was in fact exhibited on the square in front of
the king’s palace, and a great crowd gathered, curious to know how the
thief would manage to take it away in spite of the soldiers who guarded
it. The king himself was on the balcony with the queen, and surrounded
by princes, generals, and courtiers.
Efflam put his magic hat on his head, and carried off the goat as
easily as possible, and without any one’s seeing or knowing anything
about it.
“I am mocked again!” cried the king, in vexation, when he saw that the
goat had disappeared. “But who can this man be? He must be a great
magician, for there is magic in all this. Never mind; I will not
acknowledge myself beaten, and I propose to know how far this will go.”
Efflam had killed the king’s goat as soon as he reached home, and told
his sister to use it for their own table as long as there was any of
it, advising her to cook it in the greatest secrecy, and not to give
the smallest portion of it to any other person, not even to a beggar.
Meanwhile the king thought of another means of testing the skill and
cunning of the thief. He sent for a blind beggar, and told him to go
and ask alms at the door of every house in the city, and to beg at each
door for a bit of meat, which he should taste as soon as he received
it. If any bit of goat’s flesh was given him, he should, with a piece
of white chalk, make a cross on the door of the house where he had
received it, and come at once and tell the king.
The beggar at once began his rounds. When he came to Efflam’s house,
Hénori, who had doubtless forgotten her brother’s warning, or had no
fear of being accused by a blind man who knew neither her nor her
house, gave him a morsel of the king’s goat. The blind man recognized
it as soon as he had tasted it, and, unknown to the young girl, who had
gone back into the house as soon as she had ministered to his need, he
marked the door with a white cross, and hastened at once to inform the
king. The latter sent four soldiers to search the house, the door of
which was marked with a white cross in chalk, with orders to bring to
him immediately the inmates of the house. But Efflam had noticed the
white cross on his door, and questioned his sister, to see if she had
disobeyed him in anything. Hénori told him she had indeed given the
remnant of their last meal to an old beggar who had excited her pity,
but there was nothing to be feared from him, for he was blind. Efflam,
without waiting to hear another word, got a bit of chalk and went all
about the city drawing crosses on all the doors. The soldiers stopped
at the first door where they saw a cross, exclaiming, “Here it is!”
They entered and found two old people, husband and wife, and requested
them to accompany them to the king’s palace. “What does the king want
with us?” they asked, filled with astonishment. “You have stolen his
treasure and his goat.” “How could we do it,” they cried, overcome with
fright, “old and feeble as we are? It is more than six months since we
have set foot out of our house.” The soldiers, seeing them so old and
so helpless, looked at each other, and said, “These are not the right
ones; that is evident: come, let us see if we do not find a cross on
some other door.” So they went out, and found with surprise that the
doors of all the houses in that quarter of the city were marked with
similar crosses; so they went and told the king.
“What a man this thief is!” said the king; and began to devise at once
some other means of catching him. The next day he caused notice to be
given throughout the city that he would expose his royal crown on the
public square in front of the palace, and that it should belong to the
person who could steal it without being caught. When Efflam heard that,
he said to himself, “His crown shall be mine as well as his goat.”
The royal crown was exhibited at the appointed time and place. A
considerable crowd had assembled on the square, curious to see if the
thief would succeed in carrying off this also. The king and his court
were on the balcony of the palace, and a large number of soldiers
mounted guard, with drawn swords, around the velvet cushion on which
the crown set. But all these precautions were vain; and Efflam, wearing
his magic hat, bore off the king’s crown as easily as he had carried
away the goat. The old monarch, perceiving at last that he had to
contend with the most cunning thief in his kingdom, who was evidently
a great magician besides, perceived that it was useless to contend
against him, and that it would be better to win him over and attach him
to himself, than to persecute him. He then proclaimed that he would
set his only daughter in the same place in the square where the white
goat and the royal crown had been exposed, and that if the thief should
succeed equally well in stealing her, he would give her to him for his
wife.
He was by this time quite certain that the thief would stand this last
test as well as all the others.
And true enough, Efflam bore off the princess in the same mysterious
fashion, without any one knowing what had become of her.
Then when the king had returned to his palace, Efflam repaired thither
also, accompanied by the princess, and reminded the old monarch of his
promise. The latter did not hesitate to keep his word, and the marriage
of Efflam and the princess was celebrated with pomp and solemnity.
Moreover, the king, who was a widower, took for his wife Hénori, the
sister of his son-in-law, and for a whole month there were holidays and
games and magnificent banquets every day.
Related in Breton, by Vincent Coat, a workman in a tobacco factory in
Morlaix, Aug. 20, 1876.
THE KING’S THREE SONS;
OR,
THE HUNCHBACK AND HIS TWO BROTHERS
A BRETON STORY
Once upon a time there was a king who had three sons, two of whom were
fine, handsome young men, and the third was a hunchback whose name was
Alain. This last was not beloved by his father, who sent him off to the
kitchen with the cooks, while the two older brothers ate with him at
his own table and went with him everywhere.
One day the old king sent for his three sons, and said to them:--
“You see I am getting old, my children, and I want to spend the rest
of my days in peace and quiet. I wish to give up my crown, with the
administration of my kingdom, to that one of you three who will bring
me the finest piece of linen. Set out, then, travel far away, and
return in a year and a day.”
Thereupon the three brothers started off on three different routes. The
two older brothers had each a fine horse to carry him, and pockets full
of gold and silver. They went first to see their sweethearts and bid
them good-by. But there they forgot their quest, and led gay lives as
long as their money lasted.
The hunchback, who had received from his father only a six-franc
piece, and no horse, walked and walked bravely on. When he was hungry
he gnawed a crust of bread, gathered hazel-nuts, whortleberries, and
wild mulberries from the bushes along the road, and drank out of the
hollow of his hand from the wayside springs. One day as he was crossing
a great moor he heard a clear, fresh voice singing an old song. He
stopped to listen, and said, “I must see who it is that sings like
that”; and he followed the sound of the voice.
He soon came upon a young girl of great beauty, who addressed him
thus,--
“Good morning, Alain, youngest son of the king of France.”
“You know me, then?” asked the astonished prince.
“Yes, I know you; I even know where you are going and what you seek;
your father has told you and your two brothers that he will give up his
crown and his kingdom to that one of you three who will bring him the
finest piece of linen: is it not so?”
“It is quite true,” replied Alain, more and more astonished.
“Well, your two brothers have gone to see their sweethearts, and are
having a good time with them, without caring anything about the search
for the fine linen. You, who have no lady-love, have resolutely set to
work, and you deserve to succeed. Come with me to my castle, and I will
tell you what to do.”
Alain followed her to what she called her castle, but which was only a
miserable hut of mud and clay. He remained there some time with her,
and, before he left, she gave him a little box, not larger than his
fist, and said to him,--
“It is time for you to return home; take this little box, and present
yourself with confidence before your father.”
Alain returned with his box. When he reached the court of his father’s
palace, he saw his two brothers at the windows, quite happy and content
with themselves. They had returned, with their horses laden with fine
pieces of linen.
“See! Alain has come, too,” they cried; “he comes without the smallest
piece of linen, as ugly and miserable as when he set out, and has not
even lost his hunch by the way!”
The two elder brothers then spread out their linens before their
father. They were very fine and expensive.
“And you, Alain,” said his father, “do you refuse to compete? for you
have brought nothing.”
Then Alain drew the small box from his pocket, and presented it to his
father, saying,--
“Take this box, my father, and open it.”
The old king took the box, opened it, and immediately there fell out
of it a piece of white linen, smooth to the touch, soft and shining as
silk. And for more than an hour, piece after piece fell out, so that
the box seemed inexhaustible.
“Alain has won!” said the king. “My crown is his!”
“There is sorcery in this,” said the two elder brothers, much put out,
“and there must be three trials.”
“I agree,” said the king, who was much displeased at the idea of
leaving his crown to a hunchback.
“Give us another test,” they cried.
“Very well; to him who brings me the finest horse.”
And the three brothers set out, each by himself. The two older ones
went, as before, to see their lady-loves, and the hunchback took once
more the road across the moor, where he had met the beautiful young
girl who had gained him his first victory. When, after much trouble,
he reached it, he heard the same voice singing its song. “All’s well,”
said he, comforted and full of hope. And he hastened toward the
singer’s clay house.
“Good morning,” said he, as he entered; “I have come to see you again.”
“Good morning, young son of the king,” replied the young girl; “I know
why you have come! Your brothers, beaten in the first contest, have
demanded that there shall be three, and the second test is to bring to
your father the finest horse.”
“That is true; but how can I get a fine horse without money?”
“You got the finest linen without money; why should you not also have
the finest horse without money? Remain here with me until the time
comes to return, and do not be at all uneasy.”
Alain took courage, and remained with the young girl. When the day
arrived, she gave him another box, bidding him be sure not to open it
until he should be in the courtyard of his father’s palace.
Then he departed. But he had not gone far when he yielded to curiosity.
He opened his box to see what was in it; and immediately a beautiful
horse jumped out,--swift as lightning,--and disappeared in a moment.
And now, our young man began to cry. What should he do now? He resolved
to return to the young girl, as he had not gotten very far from her
house, and tell her of his misfortune. His kind friend gave him a
second box, bidding him again not to open it until he should be in the
court-yard of his father’s palace, and holding it between his knees.
This time he did not open it. When he reached the court of the palace,
his two brothers had been there already some time, and each of them had
a magnificent horse, of which he was very proud. When they saw Alain
arrive, they cried,--
“Here is the hunchback, at last; but he has no horse!”
“I have a box, as before,” answered Alain, drawing his box from his
pocket.
“Your fine horse is in that, no doubt,” said they.
“Perhaps,” said Alain.
“Open it, then, that we may see your mouse.”
Alain put his box between his knees, opened it, and immediately he
found himself in the saddle on a superb horse with a golden bridle on
his head, fiery and spirited, and with sparks flying from his four
feet, his nostrils, and his eyes.
“Alain has won it this time, too,” cried the old king, filled with
astonishment; and his victory was indeed so apparent that his brothers
did not dream of disputing it. But they cried out spitefully: “Now for
the third trial. What shall it be, father?”
“Well,” said the king, “this time to him who shall bring me the most
beautiful princess.”
Then the three brothers set out again at once. The two elder ones
went as before to see their fair ladies, and Alain returned to his
mysterious friend in the great moor.
“Good morning, young son of the king,” said she, seeing him return.
“Your father has said that his crown shall be given to that one of his
three sons who shall bring him the most beautiful princess.”
“Yes,” said the prince, “and I do not even know a princess.”
“That makes no difference; stay here with me until the time comes to
present yourself to your father, and have faith in me.”
So Alain remained again with his friend, and when the time was come,
she said to him:--
“Here is a hen with a linen cloth on her back; return with it to your
father’s house, and be very sure not to lose the hen and the linen
also.”
“But shall I have no princess, then?”
“Go on with your hen, and trust me for the rest.”
So Alain set out with the hen. But as he was going through a dark
forest, she flew away, and then he began to cry. Two princesses, one
more beautiful than the other, suddenly appeared beside him. “Why do
you weep thus?” said one of them to him.
“I have lost my hen!” said Alain.
“If that is all, be comforted; I will find her for you.”
And sure enough, the hen came back at a sign from the princess, and she
still had her linen on her back. The most beautiful of the princesses
touched her with the end of a white wand she had in her hand, and
immediately she was changed into a fine gilded carriage drawn by six
superb horses. Alain saw his hunch suddenly disappear, and found
himself a very handsome young man, with magnificent princely clothes,
and seated in the coach by the side of the less beautiful of the two
princesses. The other, the more beautiful one, was seated on the
coachman’s seat, holding the reins and driving the coach. They repaired
in this state to the king’s palace. The two elder brothers had already
arrived there, and were waiting for the hunchback at the windows, each
having by his side a beautiful princess of whom he was very proud.
When Alain entered the court-yard with his splendid, shining coach and
his two companions, it seemed as if the sun himself had driven in there
in his chariot. The two elder brothers and their princesses, dazzled by
so much light and beauty, and bursting with envy at seeing the state in
which their youngest brother returned, covered their faces with their
hands. The old king, formerly so cross and full of pains, brightened
up again, and slowly descended to the court to receive Alain and his
train.
“My crown and my kingdom are yours, my son Alain,” he cried.
Then he gave his hand to the princesses to help them alight and led
them into the palace. The two elder princes and their princesses hid
themselves for shame and envy.
However, they had to come to a great feast which the old king ordered
to be prepared, and to which he invited all the court and the great men
of his kingdom.
During the feast, Alain’s beautiful princess put into her apron a
bit of each of the dishes served to her; seeing this, his brothers’
princesses imitated her. When all arose from the table, she said that
she wished to make a little present to each guest, and even to the
servants. And putting her right hand into her apron, which, with her
left she held gathered up to her breast, she drew from it again and
again gold rings, pearls, diamonds, and flowers, and distributed them
freely, to the great astonishment and satisfaction of all.
The other two princesses wished to imitate her also in this; but, alas!
instead of gold rings, pearls, diamonds, and lovely, sweet-scented
flowers, they drew out of their aprons, only what they had put
there--meat, sausages, and such eatables. Their fine clothes were all
soiled by the grease and gravy which ran out of them. Attracted by the
general bursts of laughter, the dogs and cats pursued them and tore
their dresses to pieces. They ran away with their lovers, filled with
rage and confusion, and appeared no more.
Soon afterward the marriage of Alain and his beautiful princess was
celebrated, and the holidays and plays and feasts continued for a whole
month.
Told by Marguerite Philippe, July 21, 1871.
F. M. LUZEL.
THE HARE, THE BEAR, AND THE FOX
I
There was a young soldier named Hervé Laz-Bleiz. When he returned from
the war in far away lands, his father and mother were dead. He had no
brother, but he had a young sister named Hénori. Their parents had left
them, for their entire inheritance, a cow and two sheep. Hervé said to
Hénori,--
“Let us sell the cow and the sheep, and go to seek our fortunes
somewhere else, instead of remaining here in poverty.”
The cow and the sheep were sold; then the brother and sister set out on
their journey, by the grace of God. After having walked a long time and
gone very, very far, they found themselves one day in a great forest,
in the midst of which there was an old castle surrounded by high walls.
They gained entrance to the court, creeping in under the door, but saw
no one. The castle door stood open. They entered and found themselves
in a hall, but no one was there. But they saw on a table meals which
were quite hot, and the odor of them was delicious. They were very
hungry, and they looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes,
and their mouths watered. They remained silently standing, waiting for
some one to come, of whom they might ask hospitality.
But they waited in vain; no one came, and the castle appeared to be
abandoned. Seeing this, Hervé, who was not very timid, said to his
sister,--
“Upon my word, it is useless to wait longer, and it is a shame to let
such a good dinner get cold; let us seize the opportunity, and eat and
drink, and then we shall see what will happen.”
They seated themselves at the table, and ate and drank with good
appetites, without any one coming to interrupt them. Hénori, who was at
first much frightened, became quite brave when she had drank a glass or
two of the excellent wine she had found on the table; and as for Hervé,
who had drank much more, he already dreamed of being master of the
chateau, and thought it would be a great pity to leave a hotel when he
was so comfortable.
On rising from the table, the brother and sister went through the halls
and rooms. In the first room, they found heaps of gold and silver; in
the second, more gold and silver; in the third, there were guns, and
pieces of linen and stuff, goods, and men’s clothing of all shapes and
sizes.
“It is a den of robbers,” said Hervé, when he saw all this. “They have
gone off on some expedition, and will doubtless soon return. But since
we are here, and these are good arms, let us take possession of them
and all the treasure will be ours.”
And they began to prepare themselves, as well as possible, to stand a
siege. They barricaded the doors and window casements, loaded all the
guns, and sat down to wait.
About two or three o’clock in the morning the robbers returned, laden
with booty and all drunk. Hervé and Hénori, each stationed at a window
on the first floor, and having near them a great many guns all loaded,
began immediately to fire on them. The robbers threw themselves against
the door, raging and swearing. But they could not break it open, and
Hervé and his sister killed one with each discharge of their guns, so
that the number rapidly diminished. At last, seeing that their efforts
were in vain, all those who remained still unhurt, retired, leaving the
courtyard strewn with dead and wounded.
Hervé and Hénori passed the day in strengthening the barricades of the
doors and windows and reloading their guns, for they were sure the
robbers had gone to seek reinforcements, and would return to give them
another charge. And they were not mistaken, for they returned, having
mustered up some comrades. It was now broad daylight, so that Hervé
and his sister, each stationed at a window on the first floor, could
see clearly through the holes they had made in the shutters, and they
struck down one at each discharge of their guns. They shot so well that
they finally killed them all, except two or three wounded ones, who ran
away.
The next day there was a third attack. But this time the robbers were
all killed, every single one.
And now, Hervé and Hénori were in possession of the castle and all the
treasure it contained. However, they did not dare go out for several
days. But when they saw that no more robbers came to trouble them, they
grew bolder, and visited the gardens and all the apartments of the
castle, and everywhere they found treasures and provisions of every
kind. So, seeing that everything needful was provided, they determined
to take up their abode there.
The wood which surrounded the castle was full of all sorts of game.
Hervé went hunting there every day, often with his sister and sometimes
alone. One day when he went out alone, he ran across a fine hare and
aimed at it to kill it, when he was perfectly astonished to hear the
animal say to him, as plainly as if it had been a man,--
“Do not kill me, Hervé.”
“What! do you know me, you poor beast of the good God?”
“Yes, I know you, and I may perhaps be useful to you some day.”
“Very well! come with me then.”
And he went on, followed by the hare.
Farther on he saw a fox, and aimed at him also, but the fox said, as
the hare had done,--
“Do not kill me, Hervé, and I will pay you back some day.”
“Am I then known to all the beasts of this wood?” said Hervé, and he
lowered his gun and told the fox to follow him as well as the hare.
A little farther on he saw a bear and aimed at his jaw. But the bear
said to him, also,--
“Do not kill me, Hervé, and I will pay you back some day.”
“Good! come on; follow me and let us see what will happen.”
He continued to hunt until the evening, and killed so much game that,
not being able to carry it himself, he put it on the back of the bear.
Then they started on the road to the castle. On the way, the bear ate
the game, and the fox, seeing him, said to Hervé, “Master, the bear is
eating your game.” Hervé threatened to shoot the bear, who growled and
promised not to eat any more. When the four had reached the castle
walls the hare said to Hervé, “Master, do you know that your sister is
in her room with the chief of the robbers?”
“How can you say so? We killed all the robbers.”
“No matter, their chief still lives and he comes every day to see your
sister, while you are out hunting. Look out for them, for they are
thinking of betraying you and getting rid of you.”
“My sister loves me, and I do not believe a single word you tell me.”
“Your life is in danger, I assure you; but leave it to me: I will save
you.”
“Very well, I leave it to you, and we shall see.”
“When he knows that you are in the castle, he will hide himself
somewhere, so that he may strangle you in the night while you sleep.
But as soon as we enter, you, fox, who have such a good nose, you go
sniff all around to find where he is hid; then when you have found him,
come and tell me and we will see about it.”
They entered the castle. Hervé remained in the kitchen with the hare
and the bear, and the fox went on the search for the chief of the
robbers, sniffing and ferreting around everywhere with his pointed
snout. He discovered him in an empty cask and came to inform his
comrades.
“Go, bear,” said the hare, “go with the fox, and bring him to us.”
The bear mounted the stairs, following the fox and growling as he went.
He pulled the robber out of the cask, and taking him by one foot, he
dragged him down the stone stairway, his head falling heavily on each
step, and laid him at Hervé’s feet in the kitchen. When he saw the
latter, he ground his teeth and tried to throw himself on him. But the
bear prevented him and tore him to pieces at his master’s order. Then
Hénori was treated in the same manner.
Hervé continued to live in the castle with his three animals. Every day
they went out hunting and killed all the game they could wish.
II
One day the hare said suddenly,--
“I have just had something whispered in my ear!”
“What is it?” asked Hervé.
“The daughter of the king of England is about to be taken to a dragon
to be devoured by him; shall we go and deliver her?”
“That would be a very perilous undertaking,” said Hervé.
“Pshaw!” said the bear, “I will undertake it: you will see.”
“All four of us,” said the fox, “can surely see it well put through.”
“Let us go, then,” said Hervé.
“Let us go,” they all repeated at once.
So they all four set out together.
But the road was long, and Hervé, overcome with fatigue, could not walk
any farther. Then the bear took him on his back and they went on. At
last they reached England, and when they came to the suburbs of London,
they met the procession which was conducting the poor princess. All the
people of the land were there, and they were grieved and weeping as
though they were at a funeral. When they came to the edge of an immense
plain, all bare and desolate, all the people turned back and left the
poor princess to go on her way alone. The cavern of the dragon was in
the midst of this plain, and twice a day he threw out fire from his
seven mouths, and burned up all vegetation for several leagues around.
The poor princess, abandoned by all the world, went slowly on, sobbing
and shedding great tears. Hervé, who was provided with a horse, joined
her, followed by his three animals, and said to her,--
“Come with me in the croup, dear lady, and I will take you where you
are going.”
“Alas!” she replied, “I shall get there only too soon, and I do not
wish to run to my death.”
“Confide in me, mount to the croup on my horse, and I will save you
from the monster, with the aid of my three companions whom you see.”
And he showed her the three animals who were following him.
The princess mounted, and immediately Hervé put his horse at a gallop,
for already the dragon had begun to throw out fire.
The hare had told each one what to do. He had said to the bear,--
“You, bear, must drag the monster from his cavern; and you, fox, fill
your stomach with water so as to extinguish the fire which he will
throw on us, while I shall fight with my good saber.”
When they reached the opening of the cavern, the dragon said,--
“Here you are at last, daughter of the king of England! I was getting
impatient, and you have done well to come, for I should have reduced
your father’s whole kingdom to ashes if you had kept me waiting too
long. But I see that you have not come alone; so much the better, for I
shall eat you all.”
Then, addressing Hervé:--
“Throw me the princess first.”
“Come take her,” he replied.
“Throw her to me, I tell you, and at once!”
“Come take her, I tell you, if you want her.”
“Throw her to me, or I shall burn you to ashes.”
“Pshaw! I am not afraid of you.”
And addressing his companions:--
“Come, my friends, do your duty and work hard.”
Then the bear seized the monster and dragged him from his cave.
Immediately he began to throw fire from his seven mouths; but the fox
vomited over it torrents of water, and the hare, on his part, made such
frequent and terrible thrusts with his sword, that at last they killed
the seven heads. “Victory!” then cried Hervé and the princess.
They had conquered, in truth, but not without difficulty, and the
hare, the fox, and the bear, had their skins all torn and burned, and
they were overcome with fatigue. Hervé, himself, and the princess had
suffered somewhat, though they kept at a distance. Moreover, night was
approaching, and for many reasons they could not think of returning
to the city. They resolved then to pass the night in the open plain,
without shelter. Hervé, fearing the effect of a night spent in the open
air upon the princess, whose constitution appeared delicate, was much
troubled. Fortunately there were on the plain great masses of rocks
to which they repaired, and when the bear had rolled together several
bowlders so as to form quite a sheltering cavern, they all gathered
there to wait for the morning, except the horse, who was fastened
near by and slept on the sand. Then the hare served as a pillow for the
princess, and the bear slept at her feet to keep them warm. The fox
was a little indisposed from having drunk too much water, in spite of
having thrown it all up.
[Illustration: THE BEAR SEIZED THE MONSTER AND DRAGGED HIM FROM HIS
CAVE.]
Before going to sleep, though very much fatigued, they talked a little
over the events of the struggle and their plans for the future. It was
clearly understood that Hervé should marry the princess.
A charcoal-burner, who was passing by, heard a noise and stopped to
listen. He drew near the rocks, heard all their conversation, and
resolved to profit by it. When they were all fast asleep, he took away
the rock which closed the entrance to the grotto, entered softly, cut
off Hervé’s head, and carried off the princess. The hare, the fox, and
the bear were so broken down by fatigue that they heard not a sound.
When they woke next morning, and saw Hervé dead, with his head cut off,
and the princess nowhere to be seen, their astonishment was great.
“How is it, bear, that you who were at the feet of the princess did not
wake up?” said the hare.
“I was so weary,” replied the bear, “that I slept like a rock.”
“And you, fox, whose ear is so keen?”
“And you, yourself, hare, who served as a pillow for the princess?”
replied the fox.
“The first thing to be done,” said the hare, “is to put our master’s
head again upon his shoulders and bring him to life; then we will
see what has become of the princess. Fortunately I know how to make
an ointment which will bring the dead to life, but I shall need the
assistance of you both to do this. You, bear, must find and bring to me
the solitary worm which is hidden a thousand feet under the ground; and
you, fox, bring me a blackbird and a gray raven to make my ointment.”
“But that is not easy,” said the bear, “a thousand feet under the
ground.”
“Suppose you go look for them yourself,” said the fox.
“And would you know how to make the ointment? You wouldn’t, would you?”
“Go, then, each on your way, work, and do not return without bringing
me what I have ordered.”
So the bear went in one direction, growling, and the fox took another
road, grumbling.
The bear went all over the plain, with his nose to the earth, sniffing
everywhere. He stopped at last and began to dig up the earth. He dug
and dug till he came to the solitary worm, and he seized it eagerly and
carried it to the hare.
The fox had run to a forest which he had perceived from a distance,
mounting to it over a mass of rocks. He stretched himself on his back
in the bottom of a ravine, where there was a little running brook, his
four paws in the air and his mouth wide open, as if he were dead. Soon
a blackbird flew down upon him from a tree, hoping to regale himself.
But the make-believe snapped it up quickly and strangled it. He hid it
in a bush, went a little farther, and stretched himself under an old
oak, and pretended to be dead again. After a while a gray raven passed
by, crying, _Oak! oak!_ and seeing a dead fox, lighted on him, and was
caught like the blackbird.
Then the fox also took the fruit of his search to the hare, who
immediately set about preparing the ointment. And when it was finished
he said to the bear,--
“Come, bear, stand your master on his feet and keep him in that
position.”
The bear stood Hervé’s body up.
“Now, then, put his head in its place.”
The bear took his head, and put it on facing the wrong way.
“Idiot! see what you are doing!”
Then the hare himself put it on in the right way, rubbed the wound and
the whole body with his ointment, and the head grew again on the neck,
life returned little by little to the whole body, Hervé opened his
eyes, rubbed them as one does on awaking, and said, “How well I have
slept!” Then looking round and seeing only the hare, the fox, and the
bear,--
“Where is the princess?” he asked.
The hare told him all that had happened and he was greatly astonished.
But the disappearance of the princess vexed him very much.
“Be comforted,” said the hare to him, “we will find her again.”
The charcoal-burner carried her back to her father, the king of
England, and claimed to be her deliverer and the conqueror of the
dragon. The old king had promised the hand of his daughter to the man
who should deliver her from the monster, whoever he might be. But the
princess, who knew the treachery of the charcoal-burner, refuses to
take him for her husband, and declares it is not he to whom she owes
her life, although the impostor shows the seven heads of the dragon
which he has cut off and brought with him in a sack. He has the heads,
but the heads have no tongues in them, for “I cut them out myself and
here they are.” Then he showed them where he had put them in a corner
of the grotto, adding: “In spite of the resistance of the princess,
her father, finding the proofs quite sufficient, and wishing to keep
his word, has fixed to-morrow for the wedding. We have then no time
to lose, and we must set off at once.” So they all four started out
on the road to London. Hervé was on horseback, having in the croup
the tongues of the dragon in a bag; the hare, the fox, and the bear
followed him.
They stopped in a small wood near the king’s palace, and the hare said
to his companions, “You three remain here, and I will go and see what
is going on in the king’s palace.”
Then he crept into the palace and went even into the dining-hall,
where they were at table when he arrived. There had been feasting and
rejoicing every day since the return of the king’s daughter; not only
at the palace, but in the whole city.
The charcoal-burner was betrothed to the princess, and although she
steadily refused to take him for her husband, the marriage was to take
place the next day.
“Look! look! a hare!” cried the guests, astonished.
The servants went in pursuit of it and tried to catch it. About to be
overtaken, he jumped into the princess’s lap, and said in a low voice,--
“It is I! Hervé is still alive and loves you always!”
“What! is it you, poor animal?”
And she embraced him and gave him some sweetmeats.
The charcoal-burner, seeing this, cried,--
“Drive it away, this ugly beast.”
“What harm has he done?” said the princess, wrapping the hare in the
skirt of her gown.
“Drive it away quickly, I tell you; it is an infamous sorcerer.”
“A sorcerer?” cried the old king, much frightened.
“A sorcerer! put him out the door at once!”
And the servants, armed with brooms and sticks, set to work to drive
away the hare.
But the latter leaped lightly through the window, and rejoined his
companions in the woods.
The charcoal-burner urged the old king to have the marriage take place
the next morning. But the princess cried and implored her father so
constantly that the ceremony was deferred to the day after.
The hare had told Hervé, as well as the fox and the bear, what was
going on at the palace.
“I, too, will go there to-morrow,” said the fox.
“Take care you are not caught,” said the hare.
“Fear nothing, and be sure that I shall not return without having had a
taste of the feast and bringing you your share also.”
So the fox set out the next day, as he had said, at the hour for
dinner. He also got well into the dining-hall; but as soon as the
charcoal-burner saw him he rose and cried out,--
“See! the wicked sorcerer has come back again. Drive him out at once,
or something dreadful will happen to us!”
Then all the servants hunted down the poor animal with brooms and
sticks.
He leaped on the table, passed near the princess, and said to her,
“To-morrow we will all come; Hervé, the hare, the bear, and I.” Then he
jumped through the window. As he passed through the court he snapped up
a hen and ran off with her to the wood.
The next day the whole little company, Hervé, the hare, the fox and the
bear, went to the palace. The bear marched at the head, carrying Hervé
on his back. The others followed, and thus made their way into the
banquet hall.
Every one wished to escape from this sight, the charcoal-burner first
of all. But Hervé, raising his hand, said,--
“Stay! let no one go out for a moment, or he will have to deal with my
friend here.” And he pulled the bear’s ear, who growled.
“Do you believe, sire, that it is this ugly, charcoal-burner here, this
impostor, who has delivered your daughter from the dragon, and are you
willing to give him your daughter’s hand?”
“I am a man of my word,” said the king.
“Very well! the man who delivered your daughter from the monster is
not this charcoal-burner; it is I who have done it with the aid of my
friends;” and he pointed to his three animals.
The charcoal-burner was white as the cloth before him.
“He has given us his proofs,” replied the king; “he brought us the
seven heads of the dragon.”
“Very well; let me see these heads and I will expose the fraud.”
The king ordered the dragon’s heads to be brought, and a servant
emptied them from a bag on the flags of the hall.
“Open their mouths,” said Hervé then, “and see if they have tongues.”
The same servant opened the jaws of the seven heads, one after the
other, and not one had a tongue; all had been cut out.
“Where are the tongues?” said the king.
“Here they are,” said Hervé, throwing them on the table.
“Yes, it is indeed he who is my deliverer, and who shall be my
husband!” cried the princess, throwing herself on Hervé’s neck.
Seeing that everything was going against him, the charcoal-burner
wanted to go out, but the bear stopped the way.
Then the old king, addressing his servants, said angrily,--
“Seize this impostor and let him be burned!”
And they built an enormous pile of fagots, set it on fire, and threw
the charcoal-burner into the midst of the flames. Then Hervé married
the princess and they had holidays and magnificent banquets.
Told by Margaret Philip, of Pluzunet, 1873.
F. M. LUZEL.
PAPA TIGER AND PAPA SHEEP
A CREOLE STORY
A long, long time ago the sheep was feared by all the animals on the
savannas, and in the great forests. When he passed along the road,
walking slowly, his face grave and stern, with his long white beard and
his curved horns, it was frightful, and the animals who met him saluted
him politely, then ran away as fast as their legs could carry them. Had
he ever eaten any of his neighbors? The gossips of the country dared
not say so positively, but he looked so terrible, that, as they say, it
is better to believe it than to go to see. By degrees, from hearing it
said that he was to be feared, he finally came to believe it entirely
himself. Once when he was stooping over a brook to drink, he saw his
image in the stream, and jumped three feet back, frightened at the
sight of his beard and his horns.
A Tiger, which lived not far from Papa Sheep’s hut, plucked up all his
courage one day, and determined to make a formal visit to his neighbor.
He took with him his son, a little tiger already able to walk about.
As far off as he could see Papa Sheep, he saluted him very humbly, and
when he came near he asked after his family.
“Neighbor, I have come to pay my respects to you, and my wife would
have been pleased to pay her compliments to Madam Sheep if she had not
been kept at home by indisposition.”
Papa Sheep invited Papa Tiger to come into his house. While the two
fathers conversed gravely on the affairs of the country, little Tiger
went to play in the garden with little Sheep.
“Be very polite to little Sheep,” said his father to him, “or else he
will eat you.”
So the two children began to play together; after a moment or so little
Tiger jumped on little Sheep and threw him down head over heels. Then
little Sheep laughed.
“Bless me! what little teeth you have!” said little Tiger to him.
“It is so with all my family; Papa’s are all like mine,” said little
Sheep.
This remark made little Tiger reflect; and when the visit was over, and
father and son had left their hosts, little Tiger scarcely waited for
Papa Sheep to shut the door before he said to his father,--
“Papa, Papa, little Sheep has very small teeth, and he told me that his
father’s were no longer than his own.”
“Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, you rascal; if Papa Sheep should
hear us, he would eat us both up.”
Papa Tiger resolved, however, to know the truth of this matter.
Certainly, Papa Sheep had seemed to him very fat, and only the thought
of it made him lick his moustaches. But how could he see Papa Sheep’s
teeth? This was not easy. Papa Sheep scarcely ever opened his mouth to
speak, and his beard entirely covered his lower lip and chin. However,
the opportunity came to the Tiger as it does to all those who know
how to wait. The day that Papa Sheep and his son returned his visit,
while the children were playing outside, he was exceedingly polite to
Sheep, and gave him a bottle of his best wine, then a second, and a
third. Papa Sheep became extremely gay, and losing his seriousness, he
opened his mouth wide so as to enjoy his laugh. Then Papa Tiger saw his
guest’s little teeth. Without hesitation he jumped on the Sheep and
throttled him. Hearing his father scream, little Sheep ran off as fast
as he could, and reached his home before the Tiger, excited over his
first prey, had thought of following him.
All day long there were nothing but tears and groanings in the Sheep’s
hut. Mamma Sheep and her son cried until it was a pity to hear them.
Hearing the noise they made, the Queen of the Birds came flying from
the great forest near by, and lighting on the roof of the hut, she
asked Mamma Sheep the cause of her grief.
“Alas! kind lady, Papa Tiger has eaten up my poor husband! My child and
I do not dare to go out, for he will come prowling around here to eat
us also.”
Touched by her grief, the Queen of the Birds consoled her as well
as she could, and promised her a complete revenge. Then with a few
flaps of her wings she soon reached the neighboring forest. All the
birds of the great forest responded to her appeal; the large Aras,
with their brilliant plumage; the Cockatoos, with their white crests;
thousands of emerald Paroquets, with coral beaks; little scarlet and
green Humming-birds, looking like precious stones, to which God had
given wings. The Queen told them of the death of Papa Sheep. “Let us
swear to avenge our good neighbor,” cried she. “We swear it!” squalled,
whistled, and screamed the birds, each in his own language.
At this deafening noise, the Alligators ran to hide themselves in the
high grass, the Boas and Rattlesnakes ran hastily into the hollows of
the trees.
“Be confident!” said the Queen of the Birds. “To-morrow is Sunday; I
will give a great feast in the forest. As soon as high mass is over I
wish all the birds of the forest to assemble. My pretty Paroquets, fly
around and give the invitations. Get everything ready for the feast;
be prompt at the appointed hour, and obey me in everything. I will fly
over myself and invite Papa Tiger.”
Flattered by the visit of the Queen of the Birds, Papa Tiger promised
to come to the great ball in the forest. He put on his finest clothes,
curled his moustache, and before setting out he kissed his wife on her
lips, and his son on his two cheeks.
As soon as they saw him come the Queen of the Birds cried to all her
subjects,--
“Take your places quickly, form the quadrilles, and let each one of you
begin to dance, hiding his head under his wing. Music, play!”
And the orchestra played,--
“Tig, tig, malinboin
La chelema che tango
Redjoum
La chelema che tango!”
The Queen of the Birds flew down before Papa Tiger, and bade him
welcome. How splendid the feast was! Papa Tiger was dazzled by it! Long
lines of birds with rich plumage placed themselves opposite each other.
“The quadrille is beginning now,” said the Queen; “you shall be my
cavalier.” Papa Tiger stood up beside his partner, and the orchestra
played,--
“Tig, tig, malinboin
La chelema che tango
Redjoum
La chelema che tango!”
At once the birds, their heads under their wings, began to dance to
the music. The Queen also hid her head, and when Papa Tiger, proud,
and marching with his head high, was about to make the first turn, she
cried,--
“But, Papa Tiger, you don’t understand! It is the custom at my court,
that in order to take part in the dance, you must have no head. Look at
all my invited guests; they would consider they had been wanting in the
manners of distinguished society, indeed, in the simplest politeness,
if they dared raise their heads before their sovereign. So, my friend,
do as they do, and you will then be able to move with distinction in
the quadrille of the Queen of the Birds.”
Papa Tiger blushed red with shame.
“My Queen,” he cried, “I beg your pardon humbly for this breach of
etiquette. I am a wild hunter, accustomed to pass entire nights on the
watch, and I am ignorant of the customs of courts. Kindly promise me
a quadrille and I will return in a moment in the attitude that you
require.”
With a few bounds Papa Tiger was at home. He said to his wife,--
“My wife, in order to have the honor of dancing with the Queen of the
Birds, it is essential to have no head; I saw all the guests dancing in
that condition. It is the etiquette of the court. Take this axe and cut
off my head.”
“You have lost it already, my poor husband,” said Mamma Tiger. “Instead
of dancing with Queens, you would do better to stay at home with your
wife and children. I do not like husbands who leave their wives in the
lurch and pass the night at balls.”
“If you do not obey me,” growled the Tiger, in a rage at being scolded
by his wife, “I will strangle you this moment.”
Then Mamma Tiger seized the axe, and with one blow cut off her
husband’s head. It killed him outright, as you may imagine.
Two Paroquets, waiting in ambush, flew off rapidly to carry the news of
the Tiger’s death to the Queen of the Birds. Then the birds all took
their heads from under their wings; all the beasts of the forest were
brought in; each of them wished in his turn to embrace Mamma Sheep and
her son. After that, they formed a line to dance and the orchestra
began to play:--
“Tig, tig, malinboin
La chelema che tango
Redjoum
La chelema che tango!”
It would be impossible to tell you how they leaped, how they fluttered!
At last it was necessary to go away, for everything comes to an end in
this lower world; but before doing so, they took up a collection and
gave the money to little Sheep and his mother.
Sheep, and you children who hear me, let the death of Papa Sheep be a
lesson to you; it is better not to open your mouth than to laugh with
people you know nothing about.
LOYS BRUYERE.
JOHN BIT-OF-A-MAN
A STORY OF THE DISTRICT OF METZ
Once there was a woman who had a little son who was extremely small; so
very small that she named him John Bit-of-a-man. One day she called him
to her and said,--
“Come, take this to your father who is working down there in the
fields, and when you get to him, say: ‘See, father! here is your
buttered roll!’”
“I will, mother,” said John Bit-of-a-man; and all along the way he
repeated the words so as not to forget them: “See, father! here is your
buttered roll; see, father! here is your buttered roll!”
When he reached his father, who was occupied in repairing the ditches,
he took up his refrain: “See, father! here is your buttered roll.”
The good man, hearing some one speak, looked around him on every side,
but saw no one; at last, however, he spied little John Bit-of-a-man in
the grass at his feet.
“Ah!” said he, “it is you, is it? What do you want?”
“I have brought you a buttered roll,” said John Bit-of-a-man.
“You are very good, my child, to bring me this buttered roll;” and
taking it in his hands he ate it all up, without offering John
Bit-of-a-man a mite.
“The glutton! he did not give me any! The glutton! he did not give me
any!” groaned John Bit-of-a-man.
Some time after that, a lord passed by. He called to the laborer. “You
have a pretty little boy; will you sell him to me?”
“I will, gladly.”
“How much will you take?”
“A hundred crowns.”
“A hundred crowns you shall have.”
The bargain concluded, the lord put John Bit-of-a-man in his pocket
and went on his way. At the end of an hour, the child put his head out
of the pocket and begged his master to put him down on the ground for
a moment as he felt faint. The lord was good enough to listen to him,
and in a moment John Bit-of-a-man glided under a heap of leaves and his
master could not find him. John Bit-of-a-man, being free once more,
went back to his father.
A few days after that, the lord again passed by the laborer, who was
still repairing the ditches. “You have a pretty little boy there,” said
he; “will you sell him to me?”
“I will, gladly.”
“How much will you take?”
“A hundred crowns.”
“A hundred crowns you shall have.”
The bargain concluded, the lord clapped John Bit-of-a-man into his
pocket. At the end of an hour the child put his head out of the pocket
and begged his master to put him down on the ground awhile as he felt
cramped.
“Well, stay in my pocket and be cramped!” said the lord, who remembered
how he had been caught before.
When he reached his castle, he took John Bit-of-a-man out of his
pocket and put him in a basket which he suspended from the kitchen
ceiling, and told him to watch everything he saw going on, and tell him
faithfully all that he saw.
John Bit-of-a-man agreed to do this, and each day he told his master
all that he saw and heard.
One day our hero leaned his little head over the edge of the basket, so
he could see around him, and a servant saw him and said to him,--
“So it is you who watch us, you little wretch! It is you who tell the
master all that happens! Very well! you shall pay for it!”
Amid the applause of his companions, the servant took down the basket,
seized the poor little fellow by the hair, and threw him into the
horse-trough. That same day an ox went there to drink, and swallowed
him whole.
At the end of a week, the lord had the ox killed for a great feast
that he made; the entrails were thrown out into the road. An old woman
passing by saw the entrails. “Oh! what splendid entrails! What a pity
to throw them away!” and so saying, she clapped them into the basket
which she carried on her back. She had not taken many steps, when she
heard a noise that came from her basket saying,--
“Toc! toc!
The devil’s imp is in your basket!
Toc! toc!
The devil’s imp is in your basket!”
The old woman threw down her basket, and ran away frightened.
A hungry wolf came along who seized on the entrails with avidity, and
John Bit-of-a-man was once more swallowed alive.
As the wolf was crossing the plain, he heard a voice which came from
the inside of his body cry out,--
“Help! shepherd! help! here is the wolf that devours your sheep.”
“Be quiet! you cursed stomach; be quiet! cursed stomach!” said the wolf
in desperation.
“I will not hold my tongue until you have put me down at my father’s
door,” answered John Bit-of-a-man.
“Very well; I will go there,” said the wolf.
When they got there, John Bit-of-a-man got out of the wolf’s stomach,
and ran quickly into the house, passing by the cat’s hole; at the same
moment, seizing the wolf by the tail, he cried, “Come, father, come, I
have got the wolf by the tail.” His father ran to him, killed the wolf
with one stroke of his axe, and sold his skin.
Restored to his home again, John Bit-of-a-man lived ever after happy
and peaceful.
Told by Madam Richet, aged 77, at Woippy, near Metz.
NÉRÉE QUEPAT.
LONG TIME
A STORY OF CARAYAC (QUERCY)
Once upon a time there was a man who was not rich, but by dint of hard
work he had saved up a little sum. Every day when he went to his work,
he said to his wife,--
“Take care of this money. It is for the long time.”
The woman, as soon as he was gone, would take pleasure in counting
over the crowns and the sous. One day when she was alone in her house,
counting her money as usual, a beggar came by and asked her for charity.
“Alas! poor man,” said she, “we are very poor; I have nothing to give
you.”
“What!” said he, “and all those beautiful crowns and those sous that
you have there! Could you not give me some of those for charity?”
“I wish I could,” said the woman, “but we are keeping this for the long
time.”
“The long time?” said the beggar; “I am the long time.”
“Ah! if you are the long time, that is another thing. Take some, take
some.”
The beggar, not at all ashamed, pocketed the whole sum, leaving not a
farthing or a mite, and went away satisfied with his windfall, as you
may imagine.
The husband returned. “Long Time came,” said the wife, “and I gave him
the money that we saved for him.”
“Long Time? you miserable baggage!”
“Yes; a poor man who told me that he was Long Time. I have given him
all.”
“Ah! poor dunce! you let him steal the savings from you. Come, there is
nothing left for us to do, but take a wallet and go out ourselves and
beg from village to village. Take your clothes and let us go forth.”
The husband had nothing but what he had on, the wife not much more. He
went in front, she followed.
“Shut the door tight,” said the husband.
“Did you say carry it?”
“I said shut it.”
“Shall I carry it?”
“Yes, carry it.”
The obedient wife took the door off the hinges, put it on her
shoulders, and followed her husband towards the neighboring wood.
[Illustration: THE OBEDIENT WIFE FOLLOWED.]
Night came on. They heard the noise of a band of robbers, who were
coming in their direction. “Let us climb up into a tree to hide,” said
the husband.
“What shall I do with the door?” asked his wife.
“The door? Leave it there.”
“Shall I take it up?”
“Leave it there.”
“Shall I take it up?”
“Yes, take it up.”
She climbed up after her husband into a large old spreading oak-tree,
dragging the door after her. They were scarcely settled in the branches
when the robbers arrived at the foot of the tree, made a halt, opened
their provisions, lighted a fire, prepared their supper, counted the
booty they had taken during the day, and then began to eat and drink.
The wife, from the top branch, said in a low voice to her husband,--
“The door is going to fall!”
“Hold on to it, you miserable baggage, or we are lost.”
“Shall I let it go?”
“Hold on to it!”
“Shall I let it go?”
“Yes, let it go.”
The woman let go the door, which tumbled with a great crash from branch
to branch, and fell into the midst of the robbers and frightened them
so that they ran away as fast as they could, forgetting all their
plunder and never looking behind them.
The husband and wife came down, picked up the jewels, the pieces of
gold, and all the booty left by the robbers, and returned to their
house, rich for the rest of their lives.
MARCEL DEVIC.
SKILFUL JOHN
A STORY OF PICARDY
One day a poor man sent his son, Skilful John, to carry some buttered
rolls to his parents, who lived three miles off, telling him not to
stop by the way. John sauntered along the road and lost his way. Seeing
a light, he followed it and came to a little hut. He knocked at the
door.
“Tap! tap!
Open to a poor lost boy.
Tap! tap!
God therefor will have great joy.”
The door opened; an old woman with a grinning face appeared and asked,
“Who are you?”
“I am Skilful John; will you lodge me for the night?”
“If I lodge you, what will you pay me?”
“I will give you a piece of buttered roll.”
The old woman made him come in; he seated himself in a corner while the
old woman made him some broth.
“I bet,” said she to him after a few moments, “that with my old legs
I can reach my garden wall before you do. If I win, I will eat your
buttered roll; and if I lose, you shall keep your roll, and have my
broth into the bargain.”
“Very well,” said the child; and, darting out, he soon reached the
garden wall. But the old woman, instead of running, shut and bolted her
door and took possession of the buttered roll that John had left on his
bench. John knocked in vain; the door was not opened for him a second
time; and as it was raining very hard, he got into a bee-hive. In the
middle of the night some thieves came to steal the hives. John heard a
voice say,--
“Lift the hives, and take away the heaviest.”
As the hive in which John was, was one of the heaviest, it was taken
away by the thieves, who put it in a bag.
When the thieves came to a wood, they put down their burdens, John took
his knife, made a hole in the bag and escaped.
After wandering for some time, he met a shepherd who gave him a piece
of bread, and took him afterwards to sleep in the barn of a farmhouse.
During the night the floor fell in, and John woke up in a stable
astride of an ox. Just at that moment the thieves were busy unfastening
the oxen; seeing John, they took him and carried him away with them
to the forest. Not wishing to kill him, they shut him up in an old
cask and abandoned him to his unhappy fate. A pack of wolves came up
to devour the remains of the thieves’ repast: one of them passed near
the cask. John put his hand out of the bung-hole and seized him by his
tail. The frightened wolf fled through the woods, dragging behind him
the cask, which was soon broken into a thousand pieces. John, once more
set free, went wandering around till he came to a hut. It was the same
old woman’s hut. Its door was only latched. John entered softly; the
old woman, who was asleep, did not hear him. He took his buttered roll
and ate all there was left of the broth, then went out singing as loud
as he could,--
“Old woman! old woman!
I have eaten your broth.
Old woman! old woman!
I am sharp enough!”
Told in Picardy by Narcisso Dufaux, aged 48 years, a cap-maker at
Warloy-Baillon (Somme).
HENRI CARNOY.
THE TAILOR AND THE HURRICANE
A BRETON STORY
Once there was a tailor and his wife. Tailors’ wives are generally
lazy, and this one was like the rest. Her name was Jeanne ar Balc’h and
her husband’s name was Iann troad scarbet (John Cross-foot). In the
morning, as soon as Jean had gone out to his work, Jeanne got back into
bed, and when she rose again, about eleven or twelve o’clock, she went
to gossip in the village, and chatted from door to door like a magpie.
When Jean returned in the evening she was always at her spinning-wheel;
so he thought she had not left it the whole day.
One morning Jean said to Jeanne,--
“I shall not go out to-day, wife, for a day’s work, and we will both go
together to the market to sell the yarn; for you must have a great deal
by this time.”
Jeanne was greatly embarrassed at this; what should she do? She had not
three bobbins of yarn. She went to the house, of a neighboring gossip,
and told how it was.
“Tell your husband,” said the gossip, “that after having washed your
thread, you had put it to dry in the oven of the furnace, and that he,
not knowing of it, lighted the fire as usual and burned up all the
thread.”
Jeanne returned to her house, and told her husband, word for word, what
the gossip said.
“Fool!” cried Jean angrily; “you must have lost the little sense you
had, and I shall never be anything but poor with you. Now, to punish
you, you shall sow in the garden the half-bushel of flaxseed that we
have there; and this evening when I come home, the flax must be ripe,
reaped, retted, dried, and put in bundles in the barn.”
“But my poor husband,” said Jeanne, “how can you talk in such a way? No
one in the world can do this; and how can you expect me to do it?”
“You may manage it as you like,” answered Jean; “but it must be done
when I come back this evening, or woe to you!”
Then he went away as usual. Jeanne, much disturbed, ran at once to the
house of her gossiping neighbor.
“If you only knew, neighbor, what my husband has ordered me to do! He
must have lost his senses completely.”
“What has he ordered you to do?”
“What has he ordered me to do? He says that this evening when he turns
from his day’s work, I must have sown in our garden a half-bushel of
flaxseed, and that, moreover, the flax must be ripe, reaped, retted,
dried, and put in bundles in the barn! I should like to know if you do
not think he must have lost his senses to ask such an impossible thing
of me?” And she cried as she said this.
“Be comforted, neighbor,” said the other woman; “we will find out some
way of deceiving Jean yet; he thinks himself cunning, but he is only a
fool. This is what you must do. I have a little flax in my barn from
last year. Take two or three bundles of it, and scatter it over the
fields and meadows around, and hang some on the hedges and bushes, and
when he returns in the evening, you can tell him that you have done
all that he ordered you, but that a hurricane came while the flax was
drying in the meadow, and carried it all away; and as a proof of this
you can show him what is left hanging on the trees and bushes.”
This appeared to Jeanne to be an excellent plan; so she took three
bundles of her neighbor’s dry flax, and went and scattered it over the
fields and meadows, and hung it on the bushes and the branches of the
trees.
When Jean returned in the evening he asked at once,--
“Well, wife, have you done what I told you, this morning?”
“Certainly, I did just exactly what you told me; but we have no luck,
my poor husband.”
“Well, what has happened?”
“What has happened? Think of it! The flax, after being taken out of
the pond where it had been retted, was drying in the meadow, and I was
getting ready to pick it up and bind it in bundles to put it up in the
barn, when a hurricane came which has carried it all away.”
“Tut, tut, tut! I do not believe any such stories,” said Jean.
“But, my husband, this is not a story at all; come with me and I will
show you that it is the pure truth.”
And she led him to the field, where she pretended to have spread her
flax to dry, and showed it to him, scattered all over the neighboring
fields and meadows, or hanging on the bushes and branches of the trees.
Jean believed her then, and he exclaimed,--
“Very well! since it is the hurricane that has done all this damage, it
is he that shall pay for it, and I will go this moment and complain to
the master of the winds.”
Then he went into his house, took his _pennbaz_, a taste of barley
bread and some buttered rolls, and started off. He traveled a long
time; after going straight ahead, farther and farther off, he came,
one day, to the foot of a hill on which there was seated an old woman
as large as a giantess. Her white hair floated in the wind, and one
long, black tooth, the only one she had left, shook in her mouth.
“Good morning, grandmother!” said Jean.
“Good morning, my son,” answered the old woman; “what do you want?”
“I am looking for the dwelling-place of the winds.”
“Then, my son, you are at the end of your journey, for this is the
dwelling-place of the winds, and I am their mother. What do you want
with them?”
“I want to complain of the damage they have caused me.”
“What damage have they caused you? Tell me, and I will repay you if it
is possible.”
“Your son Hurricane has ruined me”; and he told the whole affair to the
old woman.
She said to him, “Come into my house, my son, and when my son the
Hurricane returns I will make him repay you.”
And she then descended the hill and took Jean to her house, which was
at the foot of it. It was a hut built of branches and clods of earth,
and the wind came in and blew through and through it. She gave him
something to eat, and told him not to be afraid of her son, when he
returned, although he might threaten to eat him up, for she would know
very well how to manage him.
Soon a terrible noise was heard; the trees cracked, small stones flew
through the air, and the wolves howled.
“That is my son the Hurricane, coming,” said the old woman.
Jean was so terribly frightened that he hid himself under the table.
The Hurricane came in muttering, sniffing the air, and cried out,--
“I smell the blood of a Christian! There is a Christian here, and I
must eat him up!”
“Do not think, my son, that I am going to let you eat up this pretty
little Christian; think rather of repaying him for the damage you have
done him,” said the old woman; and, taking Jean by the hand, she made
him come out from under the table.
The Hurricane, as soon as he saw him, opened his enormous mouth, and
sprang at him to swallow him. But his mother said to him, pointing with
her finger to a bag which was hanging from one of the beams of the
hut,--
“Do you want to be put in prison?” And he became calm immediately. Then
the tailor grew bold and said to him,--
“Good morning, Mr. Hurricane; you have ruined me.”
“How is that, my good man?” answered the Hurricane gently.
“You carried away all my flax from the meadow where my wife had spread
it to dry.”
“That is not true; and your wife is a liar and a good-for-nothing
creature. But as you are an honest man and a good workman, and because
in spite of all the trouble you take you will always be poor with such
a wife, I will reward you for the trouble you have taken in coming
here, and for your confidence in my justice. See! here is a mule, and
when you are in want of silver and gold you have only to spread a white
napkin under his mouth and say to him, ‘Mule, do your duty!’ and he
will furnish you with gold and silver as much as you want. But take
care not to let him be stolen from you, or you will find yourself poor
as before.”
Then the Hurricane gave him a mule which was in a corner of a hut,
and which was not at all different from an ordinary mule. The tailor
thanked the Hurricane, bade farewell to him and also to his mother, and
then went away, taking with him the precious animal.
When he had gone a considerable distance, as he was crossing a large
field, he wished to assure himself that his mule really possessed the
virtue which had been attributed to him. He spread his handkerchief
under his mouth and said, “Mule, do your duty!” And immediately pieces
of gold and silver fell in his handkerchief until it would not hold any
more. He filled his pockets with them, then he started again on his
way, singing, laughing, dancing, and jumping for joy, as if he were
foolish.
Toward sunset he stopped to pass the night in an inn by the roadside.
As he left his mule with the stable-boy, he charged him to take special
care of it and never to say to it, “Do your duty.” Poor Jean, as we
have seen, was none of the sharpest. After having supped comfortably,
eaten and drunk of the best there was in the house, he went to bed and
slept without anxiety till morning.
The stable-boy was astonished at Jean’s charging him not to say to
the mule, “Do your duty”; no traveler had ever told him such a thing.
“There is something back of this,” said he to himself.
This thought kept him from sleeping: he went to tell his master about
it. When all the household was asleep, the inn-keeper, his wife, and
the stable-boy, went to the stable, and going up to the mule the
stable-boy said,--
“Mule, do your duty!”
And pieces of gold and silver fell at once, making a ringing sound.
They were overcome with astonishment. After they had all three filled
their pockets, they put another mule in place of the tailor’s and hid
his in a room well fastened up, far from the stable.
The next day, Jean breakfasted well, paid his reckoning, and then set
out again on his journey, taking with him the mule which the stable-boy
brought him, and not dreaming of the trick that had been played on him.
As he had his pockets filled with gold and silver, he had no need,
during the rest of his journey, to say to his mule, “Do your duty.”
When he reached his home, his wife and children were ready to die of
hunger. On seeing him, Jeanne began to heap abuses upon him: “So here
you are at last, wicked, heartless man; you run off, no one knows
where, and leave your wife and children at home to die of hunger.”
And she shook her fist at him.
“Hold your tongue! wife,” said Jean, quietly, and with the air of a man
sure of his powers; “you will never again want for bread or anything
else; we are rich now, as you shall see! Take off your apron and spread
it on the ground under the mule’s mouth.”
Jeanne spread her apron on the ground and Jean said,--
“Mule, do your duty!”
But to his astonishment nothing fell in the apron. He said, a second
time, louder than before, thinking perhaps he had not heard,--
“Mule, do your duty!”
Still nothing; then a third time he cried still louder,--
“Mule, do your duty!”
But neither gold nor silver fell on the apron. Jeanne, now persuaded
that her husband was mocking her, seized a stick and darted at him.
Poor Jean, to get out of her way, ran out, and not daring to go into
his house, and not knowing just where his mule had been stolen, he
determined to go again to see the Hurricane.
When the latter saw him returning all cast down he said to him,--
“I know why you have come back; you let them steal your mule from you
at the first inn where you lodged on your way home. Here is a napkin,
and when you spread it on a table or even on the ground, saying to it,
‘Napkin, do your duty!’ it will furnish you immediately with all you
want to eat and drink. But take care not to let this be stolen also.”
“Do not be anxious! they shall steal my life first.”
Then he bade farewell to the Hurricane and his mother and set out on
his journey. He lodged, the first night, at the same inn as before.
There was a wedding feast going on when he arrived. He was heartily
welcomed and asked to sit at the table with the newly married pair,
to which he agreed with pleasure. Finding the repast not much to his
taste, or perhaps being anxious to excite the astonishment of the
guests and to pass for a great scholar or a magician, he drew his
napkin from his pocket, spread it on the table, and profoundly uttered
the words, “Napkin, do your duty!”
Immediately there was a magnificent repast, delicious meats, such
as are seen only on the tables of kings, and fine wines from all
countries. Intoxicated, as much by the praises as by the wine, Jean let
them steal away his napkin also, and the next day he was as poor and
destitute as ever.
This time he dared not show himself before his wife in such a
condition, and he thought that the only thing he could do was to go
again to the home of the mother of the winds. So he went there again,
but this time very much ashamed and cast down.
When the Hurricane saw him, he said to him,--
“You have let them steal away your napkin also, unfortunate man!”
“Have pity on me, Mr. Hurricane,” said the tailor, humbly; “my wife and
my children are dying of hunger at home, and I cannot go back to them
without taking them something.”
“I consent to come to your assistance one last time, for you are
not a wicked man”; and handing him a stick--“Here is a stick, and
when whoever has it in his hand says, ‘Stick, do your duty!’ he will
immediately begin to beat his master’s enemies, and nothing can stop it
until he cries, ‘Enough!’ With this stick, you can recover your mule
and your napkin.”
Jean thanked him and departed. He lodged at the same inn as before.
They welcomed him in the heartiest manner, in the hope of stealing
some other talisman from him. He invited the inn-keeper and his wife
and also the stable-boy to supper with him. When the repast was nearly
over, he said to his stick, which he had held constantly in his hand,
not being willing to be separated from it,--
“Stick, do your duty!”
And immediately the stick was in motion and beat the inn-keeper and his
wife and the stable-boy with all its might. All their efforts to stop
it were useless, and in vain they tried to hide themselves under the
table and other things; the stick reached them everywhere, and Jean
laughed and made a joke of it. “Pity! Mercy!” they cried to him, and he
said to them,--
“That will teach you to steal mules and napkins!”
“Pity! We will give them all back to you! You will kill us!”
“Enough!” cried Jean, at the end of half an hour of this exercise;
and the stick stopped striking, and Jean returned to his home with his
mule, napkin, and stick. If he has been wise enough to keep them, he
has nothing to complain of. For my part I have heard nothing of him
since that time.
Told by Barbe Tassel, of Plouaret (Côtes-du-Nord).
F. M. LUZEL.
THE BAKER’S THREE DAUGHTERS
OR,
THE DANCING WATER, THE SINGING APPLE, AND THE BIRD OF TRUTH
There was once an old baker who was a widower with three daughters.
One evening after supper they sat before the fire talking about their
loves. “Whom do you love, oldest sister?” asked the youngest.
“The king’s gardener,” she replied.
“And you?” she asked of the second sister.
“The king’s waiting-man.”
“Very well; as for me, I love the king’s son.”
“The king’s son! you are joking!” cried the other two.
“Certainly not, and I tell you, moreover, that we shall have three
children, the king’s son and I, two boys, each with a gold star on his
forehead, and a daughter with a silver star.”
The father, who had gone to bed, and who overheard the conversation of
his daughters, said to them then,--
“What sort of talk is this? You must be crazy! go to bed at once.”
So the three girls went to bed.
The king’s son was taking a walk that evening through the village,
accompanied by his waiting-man and his gardener. A shower came up,
and they went under the baker’s shed for shelter and overheard the
conversation of the three girls. The prince took down the name of the
baker, which was on his sign, and the next morning he sent to ask the
oldest daughter to come to the palace to speak to him.
“Do you remember,” said he to her, “what you said yesterday evening,
beside your fire, in your father’s house?” The young girl was very much
surprised and frightened. “Do not be afraid, my girl,” said he, “speak
boldly, for I have heard all; do you remember what you said?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“And you would be willing to marry my gardener?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Very well; go home and tell your second sister to come and talk with
me.”
When the latter came to the palace, the prince asked of her, as he had
done of her elder sister,--
“Do you remember what you said yesterday evening, beside your fire in
your father’s house?”
“Yes, sire, certainly,” she replied.
“And you would be willing to take my waiting-man for your husband?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Very well; go home and tell your youngest sister to come also and talk
with me.”
The latter came also in her turn, and the prince asked of her, as of
the other two, “Do you remember what you said yesterday evening, by the
fireside, in your father’s house?”
“I remember, sire,” she replied.
“And you would be willing to marry me?”
“Yes, with all my heart.”
“And you would have three children, as you said, two boys, each with a
gold star on his forehead, and a daughter with a silver star?”
“Yes, as truly as I have said it, sire.”
“Very well; then you shall be my wife. Now go home and tell your father
to come and talk with me.”
The young girl went home, very happy, and told her father to go to the
palace and talk with the king’s son.
“Why?” asked the old man; “I told you so; your foolish talk has come to
the prince’s ears, and now he has doubtless sent for me to punish me.”
“No, no, my father; go and fear nothing,” said his daughter.
The old baker went to the palace, sad and sighing, as if he were going
to his death. But when he heard the son of the king ask his three
daughters in marriage, one for his gardener, one for his waiting-man,
and the third for himself, he was as joyful and happy as before he had
been anxious and afraid.
The three weddings were celebrated at once, and for a whole month there
were feasts every day, dances, and all sorts of amusements.
The gardener and the waiting-man went to live in the city with their
wives, and the young prince remained with his, in his father’s palace.
The other two were jealous of the youngest sister because she was
a princess, and they tried every day to find some means to destroy
her. At last they consulted an old fairy. She told them that when the
princess’ baby was born they must bribe the old nurse to put a little
dog in the cradle instead of the baby and send the baby out on the
river. Then they recommended a nurse to their sister, who, they said,
was the best in the kingdom. The princess asked to see her and welcomed
her kindly. The baby that was born was a magnificent child, with a gold
star in the middle of his forehead. The nurse gave the poor little
creature to a man who was waiting at the door, to take it and leave it
on the shore of the Seine, which they tell me flows by Paris. Then she
put in his place in the cradle, a little dog that she had brought with
her. When the prince asked to see his child they showed him the little
dog.
“Ah! ah! what is this that you are showing me?” he cried.
“Alas! my prince,” replied the perfidious nurse, “God does all as it
pleases Him!”
“Ah! misery for me! But it is useless to complain, since it is the will
of God. Take care always of this poor creature.”
The husband of the baker’s oldest daughter, the king’s gardener, had a
beautiful garden on the shore of the river, and as he was walking in
it one day, he saw a basket which was floating on the water. He jumped
into his boat, caught the basket, and was very much astonished to find
in it a beautiful child with a gold star in the middle of his forehead.
“God be praised,” said he, “who sends me such a lovely child, for I
have none of my own.” And he carried it to his wife, who received it
with great joy, and took as much pleasure in caring for it as if it had
been her own child.
A year after, a second son was born to the princess, having also a gold
star in his forehead like the first. The perfidious nurse substituted a
little dog for him also, and the poor baby was put out on the water in
a basket as his brother had been.
The king (the prince had become king, his father having died) asked to
see the new-born son.
“Alas! another dog!” cried he, as soon as he saw it, and he turned away
his head and wept. “But since it is the will of God,” he added, “what
God does is well done.”
The gardener, who was fishing with hook and line in his garden, saw a
basket floating down the river. He caught it and hastened to carry to
his wife the beautiful child he found in it. The latter received it
joyfully, saying,--
“How delightful! Now we each have one, my husband and I!”
They chose a godfather and godmother, and the child was baptized.
A third child was born to the princess, and this time it was a little
girl, with a silver star in the middle of her forehead. The perfidious
nurse put a little dog in her place, too, and the poor thing was
exposed as her brothers had been. This time the king began to swear and
storm like one beside himself, when they showed him another little dog.
“They will call me,” said he, “the father of dogs! and not without
reason. But all this does not come from God; there is some mystery at
the bottom of it.” And he had the queen shut up in a tower, with only
bread and water for food, and a little book to read.
The gardener found another child floating on the water, and picked it
up and carried it home, as he had done the others.
“Enough children like that,” said his wife, seeing him come in with the
basket. “How is it that you find so many children?”
“Very well, wife, do not worry; be quiet. I will carry the child back
where I found it on the water; but it is a great pity; such a pretty
little girl!”
“It is a girl, do you say? Show her to me. Oh! the pretty little
angel, with a silver star in the middle of her forehead. We will keep
her, husband; we have sufficient means, and since God has given us no
children of our own, we will take these instead.”
Meanwhile the poor queen was in her tower, weeping and moaning night
and day, and no one came to see her. Her two sisters were happy with
their husbands.
By and by the gardener and his wife died. The king had their three
children brought to his palace, and as they were handsome children, and
well brought up, they pleased him very much. Every Sunday they were
seen in his pew at church,--at high mass,--having each a bandage round
his forehead to hide his star. Every one was astonished to see these
bandages, and asked, “What does it mean?”
One day, when the king was out hunting, an old woman came to the
kitchen of the palace, and said, “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! how cold I am!” And
she trembled and her teeth chattered.
“Come near the fire, grandmother,” said the young girl with the silver
star, who happened to be there.
“Blessings on you, my child. Ah! how beautiful you are! Ah! if you had
the dancing water, the singing apple, and the bird of truth, you would
not have your equal on the earth!”
“Yes, grandmother; but how can I get these marvelous things?”
“You have two brothers here who can get them for you.”
Then she went away without saying anything more.
From that moment the young girl could think of nothing but the words
of the old woman; she dreamed only of the dancing water, the singing
apple, and the bird of truth, and she was very sad.
“Why are you so sad?” asked her brothers.
“There is nothing the matter,” she replied.
“Yes, there is something the matter, and you must tell us what it is.”
“An old woman came to warm herself in the kitchen, and she said to me,
‘My child, if you had the dancing water, the singing apple, and the
bird of truth, you would not have your equal on the earth!’ And since
then I am always dreaming of the dancing water, the singing apple, and
the bird of truth. But how can I ever procure such marvelous things?”
“My little sister, I will find them for you if they are anywhere on
this earth,” said the elder brother.
“How can you do it, my poor brother?”
“Leave it to me, and do not be worried. See! here is a dagger, which
I give you; draw it from the scabbard several times a day for a whole
year and a day; as long as you can draw it out, no harm will have
happened to me; but when you cannot pull it out, alas! I shall be dead!”
Then he bade farewell to his sister and brother, and departed.
His sister often drew the dagger-blade from the scabbard, and it came
out easily. But alas! one day she could not draw it out, although she
tried her best. Then she began to cry.
“What is the matter, my dear little sister?” said her younger brother.
“Alas! poor brother, our older brother is dead!” And they both began to
cry.
“I must go and look for him.”
“Oh, no! do not go, my brother; stay here with me.”
“No, I must go, and I never will stop walking till I have found
my brother. Here! I give you this necklace; slip the beads around
constantly; when you come to one that will not move, then I also shall
be dead.” Then he said good-by to his sister and went away.
She, left all alone, was very sad and full of care. She constantly
slipped the beads on her necklace around and she saw with pleasure that
they moved easily. But alas! one day there was one that would not move.
“My God!” she cried, “my second brother is dead, also! What shall I do
now? I must go and seek for them, and I will never stop traveling until
I have found them, dead or alive.”
She bought a horse, dressed herself as a cavalier, and set out, without
saying anything to any one. She continued to go on and on till she
reached a great plain.
There she saw in an old hollow tree a little old man with a long white
beard.
“Good morning, daughter of the king of France!” said the little old man
with the white beard.
“Good morning, grandfather; but you surely take me for some one else,
for I am not the daughter of the king of France.”
“No, no, I am not mistaken, for I know you well.”
“But, grandfather, is not that long beard very much in your way?”
“It is, indeed, my child; I have worn it for five hundred years, and it
has been very much in my way, I assure you.”
“If you wish it, I will cut it off.”
“Oh, yes, do!”
She took her scissors out of her pocket and cut off the old man’s beard.
“My blessing on you, daughter of the king of France,” said he, “for
you have delivered me! A great many people have passed by here, during
these five hundred years, and no one has had pity on me but you, and
you shall never have reason to regret it. I know where you are going;
you are going to look for your two brothers. Listen to me well, and do
exactly what I tell you. Sixty miles from here you will find an inn by
the roadside. Alight there, eat, drink, and then leave your horse there
and say you will pay when you return. Soon after you leave this house,
you will come to a high mountain. You will have much difficulty in
climbing this mountain, and it will even be necessary sometimes to get
down on your hands and feet. A tremendous wind will soon rise; hail,
snow, ice, and a bitter cold will assail you; but take care and do not
lose courage, and continue to climb up as before. On each side of the
way you will see a great number of stone pillars. These are so many
persons, who, like you, have attempted to climb this mountain, but have
lost courage, and have been changed into pillars of stone. When you
reach the top, you will see a plain with a turf dotted with flowers,
as if in the month of May. Then you will see a golden seat under an
apple-tree. Sit down on this seat and pretend to be asleep, and you
will see a blackbird hop down the apple-tree from branch to branch, and
go into a cage which is under the tree. Then shut the cage quickly,
for it is the Bird of Truth. Then cut a branch of the apple-tree with
an apple on it; that will be the Singing Apple. And finally, draw a
phial full of water from the fountain under the tree, for that is the
fountain of the Dancing Water. Then you can come away. As you descend
the mountain, drop a drop of water from your phial on each pillar of
stone, and out of each pillar will rise a knight. Your two brothers
will rise also, like the others.”
The young girl thanked the little old man and continued her journey.
She did just exactly what she had been told. She ate and drank at the
inn, left her horse there, and began to climb the mountain. But the
cold became so intense that her limbs were almost frozen, and she came
near stopping and being changed to stone like the others. However, at
last she reached the top of the mountain. There the sky was clear,
and the air mild, as in the middle of summer. She seated herself on
the golden seat, under the apple-tree, and pretended to be asleep.
The blackbird hopped down the tree, from branch to branch, and went
into the cage. Then she got up at once and shut the cage; and the
blackbird, seeing himself caught, said,--
“You have caught me, daughter of the king of France! Many others,
before you, have tried to catch me, but none have succeeded. But you
have been guided by some one.”
Then she cut a branch of the apple-tree with an apple on it, filled
her phial with water from the fountain, and departed. As she went down
the mountain, she dropped a drop of water on each pillar of stone, and
out of them came princes, dukes, barons, and knights; her two brothers
arose also, the last two; but they did not recognize their sister; and
all crowded around her, some saying, “Give me the Dancing Water, young
knight”; and others,--“Give me the Singing Apple”; and others,--“Give
me the Bird of Truth.”
But she went quickly away, taking with her the water, the apple, and
the bird. As she passed the inn where she had left her horse, she paid
her reckoning, then turned quickly homeward and arrived there a long
time before her brothers. When the latter arrived, they embraced their
sister.
“Ah! my poor brothers,” said she to them, “how anxious I have been
about you. How long your journey has been! But God be praised, since I
have you back again!”
“Alas! yes, my poor sister, we were gone a long time, and we have done
no good by it; it is only by chance that we returned at all.”
“Why, have you not brought me the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and
the Bird of Truth?”
“Alas! no, poor sister; a young knight whom we did not know took them
away. Ah! what a handsome knight! We wish you could have seen him.”
The old king, who had no children (as he thought) loved his
sister-in-law’s children, and was glad to see them back again. He
ordered a great feast, to which he invited many people, princes, dukes,
marquises, barons, and generals. When the supper was nearly over the
young girl placed on the table the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple,
and the Bird of Truth, and told each of them to do his duty. And
immediately the water began to dance, the apple to sing, and the bird
to fly over the table. And all the people, in ecstacy, mouths and eyes
open, looked and listened at these wonders. They had never seen nor
heard anything like it.
“Whose are these wonderful things?” asked the king, when he could speak.
“Mine, sire,” said the young girl.
“And what are they?”
“The Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth.”
“And from whom did you get them?”
“I went, myself, to seek for them.”
Then the two brothers knew that it was their sister who had delivered
them. As for the king, he was almost beside himself with joy and
admiration.
“My crown and my kingdom,” he said, “for your wonderful things; and
you--you shall be queen.”
“Wait a moment, sire, till you have heard my bird speak; the Bird of
Truth, for he has important matters to reveal to you. Now, my little
bird, tell the truth.”
“I will indeed,” said the bird, “but let no one go out of the room.”
So they shut the doors. The wicked old nurse, and one of the king’s
sisters-in-law were there, and they were not at all comfortable when
they heard these words.
“Come, my bird, tell the truth now.” And this is what the bird said,--
“It is twenty years now, sire, since your wife was shut up in the
tower, abandoned by every one, and you have long believed her to be
dead. But she is not dead; no harm has happened to her, for she was
unjustly accused and cast into a dreary prison.”
Just here the nurse and the king’s sisters-in-law said they felt sick
and wanted to go out.
“No one shall go out yet,” said the king; “go on telling the truth,
little bird.”
“You have had two sons and a daughter, sire,” continued the bird,
“all three children of your wife, and here they are! Take off their
bandages, and you will see that each has a star in his forehead.”
The bandages were taken off, and they saw that each of the two young
men had a gold star on his forehead and the young girl had a silver
star.
“The authors of all this wickedness,” continued the bird, “are your two
sisters-in-law and the nurse, that sorceress of the devil. They made
you believe that your wife gave birth to dogs, and your poor children
were sent, as soon as they were born, to float on the waters of the
Seine. When the nurse learned that the children had been saved, and
were being brought up in your palace, she sought for other means of
destroying them. She went into the palace, one day, disguised as a
beggar, ready to die of cold and hunger, and inspired the princess with
a desire to possess the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird
of Truth. Her two brothers went, one after the other, to seek them for
her, and the sorceress knew very well that they would never return.
And they never would have returned, alas! if their sister had not
succeeded, after much trouble, in delivering them, and bringing away
the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth.”
The king fainted on hearing all this. When he came to himself, he went
himself to seek his queen in the tower, and returned to the festive
hall, leading her by the hand. She had not changed at all; she was
beautiful and gracious as ever. She ate and drank a little, then died
suddenly in her chair. The king, wild with grief and anger, ordered
that a furnace should be heated immediately and his sisters-in-law and
the old nurse thrown into it. It was done.
I do not know anything more of the princess and her two brothers. I
think they were all happily married. And as for the bird, it is not
told whether he continued always to tell the truth, but I presume that
he did, as he was not a man.
Told by Barbe Tassel, written down and translated into French by F. M.
Luzel. Plouaret, December, 1858.
YOU MUST NOT WORK ON SUNDAY
A STORY OF THE DISTRICT OF AMIENS
There was once upon a time a woodcutter and his wife who had an invalid
daughter; they had made all the pilgrimages in the neighborhood in
vain, and had become entirely discouraged. But it happened one evening
that Mathias (that was the woodcutter’s name), being belated in the
forest, came upon a noisy company of dwarfs, who insisted upon his
dancing with them. The dwarfs were singing,--
“The day is for working,
The day is for working;”
and they did not know how to sing anything else. Mathias said to
them,--“Your song has but little variety; it would be well to add
something to it.” “Add! add!” cried the dwarfs. And when they began to
sing again,--
“The day is for working,”
the woodcutter added,--
“And the night is for resting.”
Then there was a great commotion; a little old man, mounted on a colt,
appeared in the midst of the assembly; when silence was re-established
he addressed these words to the woodcutter,--
“You shall be rewarded for having added something to our song; I will
give you the choice between riches for yourself, and beauty, with
health, for your daughter.”
Mathias did not hesitate; he preferred the happiness of his child to
riches; and when he returned to his house, he found that she was in
good health and had become marvelously beautiful. This adventure caused
much stir in the country, and the baker’s wife, who had also an invalid
daughter, after having heard from the woodcutter, in detail, all that
had happened to him, resolved to go and find the dwarfs in the forest.
The latter seized her quickly by the petticoats and dragged her round
and round in their circle. After awhile, the dwarfs, seeing her out of
breath, gave her a moment to recover.
“It is my opinion, my joyous companions,” said she to them, “that your
song is too short.”
“Cheerly, woman, cheerly! Round we go!” shouted the dwarfs as they
again began their dance, singing,--
“The day is for working,
And the night is for resting.”
The baker’s wife added,--
“All the whole year long.”
She was going to go on, but moved her lips in vain; she could not speak
another word. At this moment, the ground opened, and out of the opening
came a young girl mounted on a goat.
“Choose,” said she, “between riches for yourself, and beauty, with
health, for your daughter.”
The baker’s wife was very avaricious; she chose riches, and when she
returned to her house she found her daughter dying. She became envious
of the happiness of the woodcutter, and as he owed her some money, she
threatened to sell his hut and all that he possessed.
In order to pay their debts, the woodcutter, his wife, and daughter,
went to work earnestly together in the forest. While Mathias cut the
wood, his wife and daughter made fagots of the twigs.
One Sunday our woodcutter left his wife and daughter at home and went
to work in the wood; but he was so overcome by fatigue that he fell
asleep; when he awoke he found himself surrounded by the company of
dwarfs who were singing,--
“The day is for working,
And the night is for resting.
All the whole year long.”
Mathias, who had been forced against his will to join in the dance,
cried out for spite,--
“Save Sunday alone,
Which God kept for his own.”
[Illustration: EACH DWARF THEN CAME AND PLACED A LARGE SACK AT MATHIAS’
FEET.]
At this moment the forest became illuminated; the little old man on the
colt appeared, followed by an immense crowd of dwarfs, and said to the
woodcutter, “By finishing our couplet you have broken the charm which
forced us to impose such hard tests on mankind; for your reward we give
you all our riches.” Each dwarf then came and placed a large sack at
Mathias’ feet. He gathered up as many of them as he could and returned
triumphantly to his house. But when he opened them he saw that they
contained only dry leaves!
“The dwarfs have mocked thee,” said his wife; “I shall sprinkle the
sacks with holy water, for one must purify what comes from the evil
one.”
No sooner said than done; but what was her astonishment to see the dry
leaves change into bright gold crowns!
The baker’s wife was paid immediately; she died of vexation a few days
after; the woodcutter and his wife lived ever after rich and happy.
Told in the Picard dialect by Fernand Delaunoy, aged 51 years, at
Warloy-Baillon (Somme).
HENRI CARNOY.
DESTINY
There was once a rich woman whose son was born when the moon was hung
(suspended from a cloud by one horn). As the child grew, the mother,
who knew he would be hung as soon as he was eighteen years old, became
sadder day by day, and could not look at him without sighing and
shedding tears. Seeing this, he wished to know the cause, and one day
he asked her,--
“Why do you weep so much, mother?”
“Never mind, my child; do not trouble yourself about it.”
But he insisted so much, that at last his mother said to him,--
“Alas! my poor child, you were born under a very unfortunate star.
A monk told me, the moment you came into the world, that you would
be hung at the age of eighteen because the moon was hung at the same
moment.”
“Pshaw! mother,” replied the child; “do not believe that; and,” he
added, “I will leave the country; I will go far away, and if it is the
will of God that what the monk told you should happen to me, at least
you will not have to blush for me.”
So he left his country and went far, far away. He came to a beautiful
castle and asked if they needed a servant there. He was taken as
assistant gardener. Day and night he prayed to God to avert his evil
fate. As he was a handsome young fellow, the young lady of the castle,
who saw him as she was walking in the garden, fell in love with him.
She passed most of her time in the garden, watching him work and
talking with him. At last she made known her feelings to him.
“I do not deserve such honor, my lady,” said the young man; “and
moreover, for another reason this cannot be. If you knew how sad my
destiny is!”
Then he told the young lady the monk’s prediction. But she only laughed
at it. Her love increased every day. She decided at last to tell her
father about it. The old lord got very angry. “What,” said he, “do you
wish to dishonor me? Marry a gardener, an adventurer? No one knows
where he comes from, or who he is!”
But the young lady was so persistent, that the old lord, who had no
child but her, and who could refuse her nothing, finally yielded, and
there was a grand wedding, with holidays, plays, and rejoicings of
every sort.
The first night after the wedding, the young husband went to sleep
early. The new wife did not sleep at all. Towards midnight she was
amazed to see her chamber suddenly illuminated. Then the window opened
and she saw some men with horrible faces come in, who put up a gallows
in the middle of the room. When their task was finished, they went
straight to the bed and took the newly married man,--who was still
asleep,--passed a rope around his neck, and fastened him to the gibbet.
One of the executioners rested his feet on his shoulders;--then, after
a little while they unfastened him from the gallows, put him back in
his bed, and then went away through the window.
The young woman saw all this, pale and horror-stricken,--she could
neither move nor speak a single word. Her husband was lying by her
side, motionless, cold as ice, and with the marks of the rope around
his neck.
Suddenly he awoke with a start, and cried out,--
“Oh! how my body is bruised! and how sore my throat is!”
Then his wife threw her arms around him and covered him with kisses,
exclaiming,--
“Oh! thank heaven, you are not really dead!”
“No, indeed, I am not dead, but I am so tired!”
“I thought you were dead. They hung you there, right before my eyes,
in the middle of the room!”
“Really? ah! God be praised! for my destiny is then accomplished and I
am released from my terrible fate. A monk told my mother that I should
be hung at the age of eighteen,--and I am eighteen years old this very
night!”
They lived together a long time, happy and fearing God, and had many
children.
Told by Marguerite Philippe, of Pluzunet (Côtes-du-Nord).
F. M. LUZEL.
THE LITTLE ANT THAT WAS GOING TO JERUSALEM, AND THE SNOW
There was once a little ant that was going to Jerusalem.
She met the snow and the snow cracked the paw of the little ant that
was going to Jerusalem.
“Oh! snow, how strong you are, to crack the paw of the little ant that
is going to Jerusalem!”
And the snow replied, “The sun that melts me is a great deal stronger.”
“Oh! sun, how strong you are, to melt the snow, that cracks the paw of
the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the sun replied, “The cloud that hides me is a great deal stronger.”
“Oh! cloud, how strong you are, to hide the sun, that melts the snow,
that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the cloud replied, “The wind that drives me away is a great deal
stronger.”
“Oh! wind, how strong you are, to drive away the cloud, that hides the
sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is
going to Jerusalem!”
And the wind replied, “The mountain that stops me is a great deal
stronger.”
“Oh! mountain, how strong you are, to stop the wind, that drives away
the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw
of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the mountain replied, “The mouse that bores through me is a great
deal stronger.”
“Oh! mouse, how strong you are, to bore through the mountain, that
stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that
melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to
Jerusalem!”
And the mouse replied, “The cat that eats me is a great deal stronger.”
“Oh! cat, how strong you are, to eat the mouse, that bores through the
mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides
the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant
that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the cat replied, “The dog that chases me is a great deal stronger.”
“Oh! dog, how strong you are, to chase the cat, that eats the mouse,
that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away
the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw
of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the dog replied, “The stick that beats me is a great deal
stronger.”
“Oh! stick, how strong you are, to beat the dog, that chases the cat,
that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the
wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the
snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the stick replied, “The fire that burns me is a great deal
stronger.”
“Oh! fire, how strong you are, to burn the stick, that beats the dog,
that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the
mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides
the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant
that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the fire replied, “The water that puts me out is a great deal
stronger.”
“Oh! water, how strong you are, to put out the fire, that burns the
stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse,
that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away
the cloud, that hides the sun that melts the snow, that cracks the paw
of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the water replied, “The cow that drinks me is a great deal
stronger.”
“Oh! cow, how strong you are, to drink the water, that puts out the
fire, that burns the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat,
that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the
wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the
snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
And the cow replied, “The man who kills me is a great deal stronger.”
“Oh! man, how strong you are, to kill the cow, that drinks the water,
that puts out the fire, that burns the stick, that beats the dog, that
chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain,
that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun,
that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is
going to Jerusalem!”
And the man replied, “God is much stronger, who can kill the man, that
killed the cow, that drinks the water, that puts out the fire, that
burns the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats
the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that
drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that
cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”
Told in 1876, by M. G. de la Landelle, the maritime novelist, who had
learned it in his childhood, at Montpellier.
F. M. LUZEL.
THE MOST POWERFUL HUSBAND IN THE WORLD
AN ARABIAN STORY
It is said that a monk, whose prayers were always answered, was one
day seated on the seashore, when he saw a kite fly holding in one of
its claws a little mouse, which escaped and fell on the monk. Touched
with compassion for the mouse, he took it, wrapped it up in a leaf, and
carried it home with him.
Fearing that his people would not be very eager to care for it, he
prayed his Lord to change it into a young girl; and immediately it
became a young girl gifted with great beauty. The monk led her to his
wife, and said to the latter,--
“Here is a girl who belongs to me, and I desire that you shall treat
her as my own child.”
When she had come to the age of womanhood, the monk said to her,--
“My dear daughter, you are quite grown up, and you absolutely must have
a husband; choose then, one to suit yourself, so that I may unite you
to him.”
“Since you leave me free to choose,” she replied, “I wish for my
husband, he who is the most powerful in the world.”
“Perhaps you would like the sun?” said he; and he went to find the sun,
and said to it,--
“O! thou who art so essentially great, I have a daughter who desires to
have for a husband he who is the most powerful in the world; would you
be willing to marry her?”
“I will show you some one who is more powerful than I,” said the
sun; “it is the cloud which obscures me, and makes my rays pale and
tarnishes the splendor of my fires.”
The monk went to the cloud and repeated to him the sun’s words.
“And I,” said the cloud, “I will show you some one more powerful than
I; go find the wind which makes me come and go, which drives me from
east to west.”
The monk went to find the wind, and said to him the same things which
he had said to the cloud; but the wind said to him also,--
“I will show you some one more powerful than I; it is the mountain that
I cannot move.”
Then the monk went to speak to the mountain, which made him this
reply,--
“I will show you some one more powerful than I; it is the rat, against
which I cannot defend myself, when he bores into me and makes his home
in me.”
At last the monk went and said to the rat,--
“Do you wish to marry my young daughter?”
“And how could I do so?” cried the rat. “My hole is narrow, and a rat
only marries a mouse.”
The monk then prayed his Lord to change the young girl into a mouse, as
she was before, and this to the entire contentment of the young girl.
Immediately she resumed her original shape, and she ran away with the
rat.
THE NINE BROTHERS, WHO WERE CHANGED TO SHEEP, AND THEIR SISTER
A BRETON STORY
There were once nine brothers and their sister, who were left orphans.
They were rich also, and lived in an old castle in the midst of a
forest. The sister, whose name was Lévénez, who was the oldest of the
ten children, undertook the direction of the house, when the old lord
died, and her brothers consulted and obeyed her in everything, as if
she had been their mother. They often went hunting in the woods, which
were full of all sorts of game. One day, following a roe, they came to
a hut built of branches of trees, wattled together with clods of dirt.
It was the first time they had seen it. Curious to know who could live
in it, they entered under pretence of asking for some water to quench
their thirst. They saw only an old woman with teeth as long as one’s
arm, and whose tongue went nine times round her body. Frightened at
this sight, they were about to run away, when the old woman said to
them,--
“What do you want, my children? Come in, and do not be so frightened; I
love children very much, especially when they are good and gentle like
you.”
“We should like a little water, if you please, grandmother,” said the
oldest, whose name was Goulven.
“Certainly, my children; I will give you some fresh, clear water, which
I drew this morning, from my fountain. But come in, and do not be
afraid, my poor dears.”
And the old woman gave them some water in a wooden porringer, and while
they drank it, she caressed them, stroking the soft curls of their
blond hair, and when they were ready to go, she said to them, “Now, my
children, you must pay me for the little service I have rendered you.”
“We have no money with us, grandmother,” replied the children, “but we
will ask our sister for some, and bring it to you to-morrow.”
“Oh! it is not money I want, my friends; but one of you,--the oldest,
perhaps, for the others are still very young,--must take me for his
wife.”
And turning to Goulven,--
“Will you, Goulven, take me to be your wife?”
The poor boy could not reply at once, the request seemed so strange to
him.
“Come, answer, will you have me for your little wife?” asked the
horrible old woman again, embracing him.
“I do not know,” said Goulven, confounded; “I will ask my sister.”
“Very well; to-morrow morning I will come myself to the castle, for
your answer.”
The poor children returned to the house, sad and trembling, and
hastened to tell their sister all that had happened.
“Shall I be obliged to marry that horrible old woman, sister?” asked
Goulven, weeping.
“No, my brother, you shall not marry her,” replied Lévénez; “I know
that we shall all have to suffer for it, but we will endure whatever
comes to us, and we will never abandon you.”
The next day, the sorceress came to the castle as she had promised. She
found Lévénez and her brothers in the garden.
“You know, doubtless, why I have come,” said she to Lévénez.
“Yes; my brother has told me everything,” said the young girl.
“And you are very willing that I should become your sister-in-law?”
“No; that cannot be.”
“Why not? Perhaps you do not know who I am, and what I can do.”
“I know that you can do a great deal of harm to my brothers and me; but
you cannot force me to consent to what you ask.”
“Think well of it, and repent quickly of this foolish resolution, while
there is yet time, or misery to you!” cried the sorceress, furious, and
her eyes shone like two burning coals.
Lévénez’s nine brothers trembled all over; but she, calm and resolute,
replied to these threats,--
“I have thought of it all, and I shall change nothing of all I have
said.”
Then the horrible old woman turned a wand, which she carried in her
hand, towards the castle, pronounced a magic sentence, and immediately
the castle fell to the ground with a great noise. Not one stone was
left upon another. Then turning the wand towards the nine brothers, who
were hiding behind their sister in great terror, she pronounced another
magic sentence and the nine brothers were immediately changed into nine
white sheep. Then she said to Lévénez, who still retained her natural
form,--
“Now, you can go and keep your sheep in this plain. And take care never
to tell any one that they are your brothers, or the same thing will
happen to you.” Then she went away, sneering.
The beautiful gardens of the castle, and the grand wood which
surrounded it, had been changed also, instantly, into a great arid and
desolate plain.
Poor Lévénez, left alone with her nine white sheep, pastured them on
the open plain, and never lost them from her sight a moment. She
sought for tufts of fresh grass, which they ate from her hand, and she
played with them, caressed them, embraced them, and talked to them as
if they understood her. And indeed they appeared to understand her.
One of them was larger than the others; it was Goulven, the oldest of
the brothers. Lévénez had built a shelter, a sort of hut, with stones,
clods of earth, moss and dry grasses, and at night, or when it rained,
she took refuge there with her sheep. But when the weather was fine,
she ran and played about in the sun with them, or sang songs, or
recited her prayers, to which they listened attentively, all ranged in
a circle around her. She had a very beautiful voice, clear and correct.
One day a young lord who was hunting in those parts, was astonished
to hear such a beautiful voice in a place so deserted. He stopped
to listen; then going in the direction from which it came, he soon
found himself in the presence of a lovely young girl, surrounded by
nine white sheep, who appeared to love her very much. He spoke to her
and was so struck with her sweetness, her wit, and her beauty, that
he wished to take her and her sheep away with him to his castle. She
refused to go. But the young lord could think of nothing but the pretty
shepherdess, and every day, under pretence of hunting, he went to see
her and talk with her in the great plain. At last he carried her away
with him to his castle, and they were married, and there were long
holidays and great feasting.
The nine sheep had been installed in the garden of the castle, and
Lévénez passed almost all her days there, playing with them, caressing
them, and talking to them as if they understood her; and they did
indeed seem to understand all that she said to them. Her husband was
astonished to see them so intelligent, and he asked himself if it were
possible that they could be real sheep.
Lévénez had an attendant who was the wife of the castle gardener, and
who was also the daughter of the old woman who had changed her brothers
into sheep; but of this she knew nothing. One day, when Lévénez was
leaning over the edge of a well which was in the garden, to see how
deep it was, her attendant took her by the feet and threw her down the
well. Then she ran to her mistress’ chamber, got into her bed, and drew
the curtains close around the bed and at the windows, and pretended
to be sick. The lord was absent at the moment. But on his return, not
finding his wife in the garden among her sheep as usual, he went to her
chamber.
“What is the matter, my sweetheart?” said he.
“I am very sick,” replied the traitress; and when he was about to open
the curtains, “Don’t open the curtains, I beg you; I cannot stand the
light.”
“Why are you alone? Where is your attendant?”
“I do not know; I have not seen her the whole day long.”
The lord looked for her in the castle, and then in the garden, and not
finding her, he returned to his wife, and said to her,--
“I do not know what has become of your attendant. I cannot find her
anywhere. Do you want anything? Perhaps you are hungry?”
“Oh, yes! I am very hungry.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“I must have a bit of that big white sheep in the garden.”
“What a strange notion! You who love your sheep so much, and this one
most of all!”
“That is the only thing that will soothe the frightful pain I suffer.
But do not make any mistake; I want a piece of the big white sheep, and
not of any other.”
The husband went to the garden and ordered the gardener to take the big
white sheep and kill it at once and put it on the kitchen spit.
So the gardener, who was conniving with the attendant, ran after the
white sheep. But it ran so fast round and round the well, bleating so
pitifully all the time, that he could not catch it. The lord, seeing
this, wanted to help him, and went up to the well. He was astonished to
hear moans and groans which seemed to come up from it. He leaned over
the opening and called out,--
“Who is there? is there any one down the well?”
And a gentle voice that he knew so well, answered him,--
“Yes, it is I, your wife, Lévénez.”
The lord, without waiting to hear more, quickly lowered the bucket into
the well and drew up his wife. She was all trembling and terrified.
Soon after this occurrence a child was born to them, a son, as
beautiful as the day.
Lévénez said it must be baptized at once.
“You may choose the godmother, if you wish, but I want my big white
sheep for the godfather,” said she to her husband.
“What! have a sheep for your son’s godfather?”
“I wish it, I tell you; do as I say and do not be uneasy about it.”
Not wishing to cross his young wife, and fearing lest he should make
her sick, the father consented, though grieved at his heart, that the
big white sheep should be his son’s godfather.
They went to church. The big white sheep, very happy, walked in front
with the father and the godmother, a young and beautiful princess. The
other eight sheep, his brothers, followed him. The whole procession
entered the church, to the great astonishment of the village people.
The father presented the child to the priest. The latter looked at the
godmother, but seeing no godfather, he asked,--
“Where is the godfather?”
“Here he is,” replied the father, pointing to the big white sheep.
“What! a sheep?”
“Yes, it seems so; but do not stop for a matter of form, but go on
without fear with the service.”
The priest made no more objections, such transformations being,
doubtless, common in his day, and proceeded to baptize the child.
The sheep then raised himself on his two hind legs, took his godson in
his two forelegs, with the assistance of the godmother, and all passed
off very well.
But as soon as the ceremony was over, the sheep godfather became a
handsome young man. He was Goulven, Lévénez’s oldest brother.
He told how he and his brothers had been changed into sheep by an old
sorceress because he had refused to marry her. His sister, the child’s
mother, could not tell of it lest the same fate should befall her; but
now the charm was broken, and the sorceress had no longer any power
over them.
“Are the sheep really your brothers?” asked the priest.
“Yes, they are my brothers, and the time has come for them also to
escape from the power of the sorceress, and return to their human form.
Lay your stole over them, say a prayer, and you will see them become
men again, as I have done.”
The priest followed his advice: he laid his stole on each of the sheep
successively, recited a prayer each time, and immediately they resumed
their original form.
Goulven then told of the terrible deed which had been done to his
sister by her attendant, the daughter of the sorceress.
So they returned to the castle determined to treat each one as she had
deserved.
They sent men to seek for the old sorceress in the wood where she
dwelt, and when they brought her, she and her daughter and the gardener
were torn to pieces by four horses and then thrown into a great fire
and burned to ashes.
Goulven and Lévénez lived after that peacefully and happily, and were
blessed, they say, with many children.
Told by Le Noac’h, of Gourin, at Merville, near Lorient, March 10,
1874.
F. M. LUZEL.
THE KING AND HIS THREE SONS
Once there was a king who had three sons. He wanted to lay aside his
crown. In his kingdom it was the custom to give it to the oldest; but
as this king loved his three children equally, he could not resolve
to obey this custom and exclude the youngest in advance. He wished
that each of his children should have equal chance to succeed him. He
decided that the crown should belong to whoever of his sons should
bring him the most beautiful flower. He called them together and said
to them,--
“The crown shall belong to the one who shall bring me the most
beautiful flower; go and search.”
The three sons started out, each his own way, after having agreed to
meet in a field well known to them. The first who reached the field
was the oldest. He brought a beautiful flower. The second arrived
next, with a flower still more beautiful. The oldest, seeing it, said
bitterly,--
“I shall not have the crown!”
The youngest came last. His flower was so beautiful that it eclipsed
those of his brothers.
“I shall not have the crown,” said the oldest to himself, angrily; and
seizing the knife which hung from his girdle, he struck his youngest
brother and killed him.
The father, grieved at not seeing his youngest child return, continued
to wait for him before resigning his crown. The younger was so much
afraid of the oldest that he dared not speak.
Several years had passed after the murder, when a shepherdess, who was
keeping her sheep in the field where the three brothers had had their
meeting, found a bone made like a flute.
She put it to her lips and blew. A voice came out of it which sang,--
“Blow softly, shepherdess,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from the girdle
Cruelly killed me.”
The king heard that the shepherdess had found a bone like a flute which
made harmonious sounds. He had it brought to him, put it to his mouth
and blew. The bone sang,--
“Blow softly, my father,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from the girdle
Cruelly killed me.”
The king called his younger son, handed him the bone and told him to
blow in it. The son blew; the bone sang,--
“Blow softly, my brother,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from the girdle
Cruelly killed me.”
The king called his oldest son, handed him the bone and told him to
blow in it. The son blew; the bone sang,--
“Blow softly, my brother,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from thy girdle
Cruelly killed me.”
At these words, “The knife from thy girdle,” the father understood it
all. He had his oldest son quartered at once.
Told at Fraisses (Loire) by Jacques Bayon, Aug. 19, 1877.
V. S.
FANCH SCOUARNEC
A BRETON STORY
A rich lord was returning, alone, on horseback, from Brest to Rennes.
At Brest, his footman had left him and sailed. He wished to get another
in his place, and as he went along he had already proposed to more
than one; but all had refused; his terms did not suit them. Between
Plounevez-Moëdec and Belle-Isle-en-Terre (doubtless on the bridge of
Saint-Elo) he saw by the roadside a little hut, the one door and window
of which stood open. He got down from his horse so as to walk up to it.
He went to the hut to ask for a fire to light his pipe. Holding his
horse by the bridle, he put his head in at the door, standing with one
foot inside and one out. His horse also put his head in through the
window, which, as I have said, was open. A boy of twelve or thirteen
years was alone in the hut, seated by the hearth-stone.
“Are you alone, my boy?” asked the traveler.
“No,” replied Fanch. (His name was Fanch Scouarnec.)
“But I see no one beside you.”
“It is nevertheless true, that there are in this house at this moment,
a man and a half and the head of a horse.”
“You love to joke I see, but give me a little fire to light my pipe.
Where is your father?”
“My father has gone hunting, and he will leave what he catches, and
bring back to the house what he does not catch.”
“That seems difficult; and where is your mother?”
“My mother has gone to the oven to bake some bread that has been eaten”
“Good, good, you are a real joker; and your sister?”
“My sister is crying for the joy of last year.”
“I do not understand any of it; but you, what are you doing there?”
“I,--I am watching some leap over others and catching a few.”
“Surely, I have never seen any one so full of joke as you; but will you
not explain it all to me?”
“There is nothing easier,” said Fanch, “and although you are a lord,
you are not of the sharpest, it seems to me. My father is like me; he
never goes out alone; he is always accompanied by a crowd of little
animals who love him so that they would like to eat him up. Once upon
a time, when there were too many of them, he seated himself down there
in the sun, and went hunting among the little beasts that I spoke of.
He left on the spot those he caught and brought to the house those he
did not catch. Do you understand me now?”
“Perfectly.”
“My mother borrowed some bread last month and she has gone to the oven
to bake some bread to return what she borrowed, so therefore you see
she has gone to bake some bread already eaten. My sister had a lover,
and her greatest happiness was to go walking with him at the hour for
the angelus, and dance with him on the new threshing-floors; but after
promising to marry her, he left her, and went away to France, and that
is the reason she is crying for the joy she had last year. And as for
me, I am busy cooking some peas in a pot, and when the pot boils the
peas leap over each other, and with my spoon I catch some of them and
eat them. Now, my lord, is it not all just as I said?”
“Yes, upon my word! But you have not explained your first answer.”
“You asked me if I was alone in the house; and I told you that I was
not alone, but that there were here a man and a half and the head of a
horse. Now, you see, you have your head, one foot, and half your body
inside the house, and I am entirely inside, that makes a man and a
half; and the horse’s head is the head of your horse which was in at
the window.”
“I see that there are bigger fools than you in the country; but tell me
now where this road goes.”
“That road, my lord, does not go anywhere; I have always seen it there.”
“I want to know to what place it leads; do you hear me?”
“Ah! that is different; it leads to Belle-Isle, to Louargat, to Bré, to
Guingamp, and even to Paris, they say.”
“Very well! Would you like to come with me and be my footman?”
“Perhaps, yes, when you have told me your terms.”
“I will give you a hundred crowns, and a bag full of farthings, when
you shall have served me for a year and a day; but on condition that
you do everything I command you, and that you shall never get angry, no
matter what is said to you, or what you are ordered to do; if you get
angry, you shall have a strip of skin taken off from your neck to your
heels, and be sent away without a penny.”
“The sum is tempting, a hundred crowns! but the conditions are hard.
The strip of skin makes me shiver. But now about your part, my lord?
Are you never to get angry either?”
“That is the bargain.”
“If you do, your skin shall be stripped off too?”
“Just so; it shall be done to the first one who gets angry.”
“Very well, it is a bargain; I will go with you, and I will go with you
now while my father and mother are away.”
So they both started off on horseback, for the lord was leading the
horse of the footman who had left him at Brest.
After traveling several days they came to the lord’s castle. At first
Fanch was set to take care of two children, four or five years old,
with the order never to contradict them and to do everything they
asked, if possible.
“Very well!” said Fanch; “that is not hard work to begin with.”
That evening when they were at the table (for Fanch ate with the master
and mistress of the house, so as to be always with the children), the
two little brats cried out,--
“I want to get down, I want to get down!”
“Come, Fanch, do you not hear?” said the lady.
“Yes, yes,” answered Fanch; and he took them away. He had only eaten
his soup, and when he came back into the room with the children, the
table was cleared away, there was nothing left on it.
“How is it there is nothing on the table?” asked he, after waiting a
while.
“There is a rule in my house,” replied the lord, “that whoever comes
after the table has been cleared away shall have nothing.”
“A bad rule!” he muttered.
“Are you not satisfied with it?”
“Oh! yes! I will not die for the loss of one poor meal; I was used to
that at my father’s house.”
“If you are not pleased, you can have your skin taken off.”
“I am pleased, I tell you.”
The next day at supper, Fanch had hardly begun to eat his soup, when
the little brats began to cry out,--
“I want to go.”
“Come, Fanch, do you not hear?”
And Fanch went to please the children.
“Come, children, make haste and go back!” said he to them.
But when he returned, there was nothing on the table.
“How is this,” said he: “must I go without supper two days together?”
“Are you dissatisfied, Fanch?”
“I did not say that; but the children could just as well stay and let
me eat in peace.”
“You promised to do everything the children asked, and if you are
displeased, you know--”
“Yes, yes, I am entirely satisfied.”
And Fanch went to bed again without eating anything.
“Ah!” said he, “this thing cannot go on; I must eat sometime; we will
see how it will be to-morrow.”
The next day the children began their song again.
“Ah!” cried Fanch, “this is no way to live; I must put an end to it.
You want to go, my little scamps? Very well, go to the devil! I want
some supper to-night, I do!” and he threw the two children out of the
window.
“Stop!” cried the master and mistress, rising, “this is too much! To
throw our children out of the window! Ah! you shall pay for it!”
“So then you are angry, master?” said Fanch quickly.
“I am not angry,” he replied, growing a little calmer, “but that is no
way to do; it is a mercy if my poor children are not crippled!”
“If you are angry, master, you know our conditions, and I will strip
off--”
“I tell you I am not angry, but I shall not trust my children with you
again.”
“Just as you like; I would rather do anything than mind children like a
nurse.”
That evening Fanch could eat comfortably. The next day the lord said,--
“Go to the blacksmith’s and have the horses’ feet shod.”
“Very well,” said Fanch; “I like that better than minding children.”
Then he went to the stable, cut off the horses’ feet with a hatchet,
put them in a wagon, and took them to the blacksmith. That evening when
he returned, the lord was in the court-yard of the castle.
“Here are your horses’ feet,” said Fanch; “see if they are well shod.”
“What have you done, you miserable creature?”
“Did you not tell me to have the horses’ feet shod?”
“You have ruined me, you wretch!”
“Why, master, you are angry, it seems to me!”
“Ah! it is enough to make me,--but you know very well that I do not get
angry very easily.”
“If you are angry, you know--I shall strip off your skin--”
“Go to your supper at once and say nothing of this to your mistress;
to-morrow I will see how I can employ you.”
The next day Fanch was sent to watch a great herd of beeves, in a
pasture which was by the side of the high road. A butcher passed along
the road. He went into the pasture and began to examine and feel the
beeves. “Fine beeves,” said he to himself. “They are fat as moles. I
have to furnish the meat at the castle, for the wedding of the young
lady, which will take place the coming week, and if I can get three or
four of these beeves, that will suit me exactly. Eh! boy!” cried he to
Fanch, who was lying under a beech-tree singing.
“What do you want?” he asked, without moving.
“Come here, so that I can speak to you.”
“Come yourself, if you want me.”
Then the butcher went to him, saying to himself,--
“He does not look like the sharpest kind of a fellow.”
“Will you sell me three or four of your beeves?”
“All, if you wish.”
“How much do you ask for them?”
“Five hundred crowns, and the tail of one of them!”
“Why, for goodness’ sake?”
“Do not bother about that; that is my business.”
“Very well, agreed! The bargain is made!”
And they shook hands with each other.
“And the money at once,” added Fanch.
The butcher, pleased with his bargain, counted the five hundred crowns
to him, and was about to go off with the beeves, when Fanch called
out,--
“But the tail? I must have the tail.”
“You insist upon that, do you?”
“Why, certainly, and nothing is concluded without it.”
Then the butcher cut off the tail of one of the beeves and gave it to
him.
When the butcher was gone with all the beeves, Fanch climbed up into
an oak-tree, with the tail, and began crying out with all his might,
“Help! help! help at once!”
They heard his cry at the castle, and sent a footman to see what was
the matter. Fanch, seeing the footman coming, called to him,--
“Run to the castle and tell the lord to come here as quickly as
possible, or all of his beeves will be lost.”
So the footman ran to the castle and said to the lord,--
“Come as fast as you can to the field, master, or all your beeves will
be lost.”
The lord ran to the field, and saw Fanch up in a tree, and apparently
holding on with all his might to the tail of a beef.
“What are you doing there, Fanch, and where are the beeves?”
“Come up here quickly, my poor master, come up quickly, or you will
lose them all! A terrible whirlwind came suddenly and carried them up
to the sky, each holding on to the other by the tail! I seized the
tail of the last one, and have been lifted up here. I am still holding
on, but for goodness’ sake make haste and come to my assistance, or I
shall have to let go; I cannot hold on any longer.”
So the lord went up and took hold of the tail also. But as soon as he
did so, Fanch let go, and his master fell to the ground, taking the
tail along.
“Alas! my poor master,” said he then, “we held on so long that the tail
is all that is left; the beeves have gone to heaven.”
The poor lord, all mangled and bleeding, swore and stormed.
“Miserable wretch, accursed rascal! you have almost killed me!”
“Why, master, are you angry?” asked Fanch quietly; he was still in the
tree.
“And who would not be angry?”
“Well, you know your conditions, and I shall strip off your skin.”
“But I did not say that I was angry, though indeed I think I had good
right to be. You will ruin me! I shall be thankful if you do not kill
me.”
Then the lord returned to his house, rubbing his back and trying to
think how he could get rid of such a rascal.
The next day he sent Fanch to take care of his hogs. A hog merchant
passed by on his way to the fair at Lannion.
“Will you sell me your hogs, my boy?” said he to Fanch.
“I should like nothing better,” he replied.
“How much will you take?”
“Two hundred crowns and the tail of one of them.”
“Agreed! It is a bargain!”
“And the money on the spot?”
“Yes, yes, on the spot.”
Then the merchant paid two hundred crowns and went away, taking the
hogs along.
There was a pond near by, part of which was all marshy and filled up
with grass and branches of trees. Fanch waded in up to his stomach,
and began to call out as loud as he could. He had stuck the large end
of the hog’s tail which he had, down in the mud, and was pretending to
pull it up with all his might, crying, “Help! help! help, quickly!” The
lord was walking in the wood, not far from the pond, and ran to his
assistance on hearing his cries.
“What is the matter now?” asked he, seeing Fanch in the mud up to his
stomach.
“Come quickly and help me, my poor master, or we shall lose all of
them. An animal unlike any I ever saw before,--a frightful creature,
a real demon, I believe,--came up out of the pond, when I was not
dreaming of such a thing, and then went back again dragging my hogs
after him, all holding on to each other by the tail. I caught the tail
of the last one, you see! Come help me to pull it up, for if we can
pull this one up, all the others will come after it. Come quickly, for
I am ready to let go.”
Then the lord went into the pond without hesitation, and began to pull
on the tail with Fanch. But the latter, letting go suddenly, he fell,
and sinking into the mud, was almost stifled.
“Alas! they are all lost! They are gone below!” cried Fanch.
The other, after getting out with great difficulty, swore and
threatened.
“Why, master, are you angry?” said Fanch to him, jeeringly.
“Leave me in peace, you villain! I wish you were in purgatory!”
“If you are angry, you have only to give me my hundred crowns, with the
bag of farthings, according to our agreement, and I will go whenever
you wish; but before I go, you know, I will strip off your skin from
your neck--”
“Who said I was angry? Though indeed I had great reason, I think; you
will ruin me utterly!”
“What could I do? I could not prevent the demon’s taking off your
hogs.”
“To-morrow I will give you another occupation, and as soon as the year
is ended you shall go, for you are good for nothing.”
“As you like; but when will my year be ended?”
“When the cuckoo sings.”
The next day the lord said to Fanch,--
“Take this gun and come with me into the woods; the poachers are
destroying all my game, and the poor people of the whole country
provide themselves with wood at my expense; I want to see after these
matters.”
“Very well,” said Fanch, “that suits me.”
And he put his gun on his shoulder, and followed his master to the
woods. At the edge of it they saw an old woman who had a great load on
her back.
“Fire at her!” said the lord to Fanch.
“Must I do it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if I kill her?”
“So much the worse for her! That will teach her to steal my wood.”
So Fanch fired, bang! and the old woman rolled over on the ground with
her load. They went to her.
“She is dead!” said the lord.
“Quite,” said Fanch, “unfortunately for you, for I should not like to
be in your place. This old woman has two sons,--two jolly fellows,
upon my word, and when they know that you have killed their mother,--”
“But it was you who killed her.”
“Yes, but by your order; I am your servant, and I must obey you, but
you will have to pay for it.”
“You frighten me; go quickly to the castle and bring me two shovels,
so we can bury her in the earth and no one will know anything about
it. You will find them in the passage near the chamber of my wife
and daughter. Put them in a bag, so that no one can see, and return
quickly.”
Fanch went to the castle and found the door of the lady’s room open,
where she was sitting with her daughter. He entered and said,--
“My master has ordered me to put both of you in a bag.”
“What is it you say, idiot? You must have lost your senses!”
“You shall hear him say it himself.”
And going to the window, he called out to the lord, who was waiting for
him below,--
“Both of them in a bag, shall I not, my lord?”
“Yes, both, and make haste.” (He meant the two shovels.)
“Do you hear? I must obey my master.”
And he seized upon the mother and daughter, and succeeded, not without
difficulty,--for they resisted as well as they could,--in shutting them
up in a bag. The lord, hearing the noise, and their screams, ran up to
see what was going on.
“What trick have you played on me now, miserable wretch, demon
incarnate?” cried he, seeing the bag rolling on the floor, and hearing
the screams that came out of it.
“Well, I put them in the bag; did you not tell me to bring you two
women in a bag?”
“Two women, idiot!”
“Bless me! I thought you said two women.”
“I have a good mind to run my sword through your body.”
“You are angry it seems to me, my master.”
“Angry, angry,--and who would not be in my place?”
“Oh! then I am going to strip off your skin.”
“But I am not angry at all. I said nothing of the sort; you know very
well that I have a good temper, and that I never get angry. But go, run
quickly to the woods, take two shovels in a bag,--you understand now,
two _shovels_,--and do what I told you.”
The lord then pulled his wife and daughter out of the bag, and
consulted with them upon some means of getting rid of Fanch as soon as
possible.
“It was agreed,” said the lady, “that his year should end when the
cuckoo began to sing.”
“Yes, but it is not yet time for the cuckoo to sing.”
“Pshaw! that boy is such a fool, he would never know what time of the
year the cuckoo ought to sing; to-morrow I will make the cuckoo sing
myself.”
The next day, just as Fanch was going to the wood with his gun on his
shoulder, he heard, “Cuckoo! cuckoo!” from a large oak-tree which was
near the gate of the court-yard.
“What is this?” said he; “does the cuckoo sing in the month of February
in this country? I will teach you in a moment, how to wait till the
right time comes to sing, vile bird!”
And he fired, bang! and the lady fell dead at his feet.
“Why, what a singular cuckoo!” said he.
“Ah! you demon!” cried the lord, “you have killed my wife! I will kill
you, too, as I would a dog.”
“Oh! this time you are angry, my master, you are very angry, and I
shall strip off your skin.”
“No, I am not angry, because I never get angry, myself. But from this
moment, you shall never have anything to do at the castle but eat,
drink, and go walking; for you would bring me to beggary!”
“Oh! delightful! that is just what I had wished for.”
One day the cuckoo sang at last in the month of May. They gave Fanch
his hundred crowns and his bag of farthings, and bade him farewell. And
he returned to his country, without having had his skin stripped off;
more fortunate than many others who had been before him at this castle;
for there was a room there where you could see a great number of skins
hung up against the wall.
With the five hundred crowns that he got for the beeves, the two
hundred crowns for the hogs, and the hundred crowns and the bag of
farthings for his wages, he found himself quite rich. Moreover, he
married one of the richest heiresses in his neighborhood, and for three
whole days there were holidays and feasts, to which all the people in
the neighborhood were invited, the poor as well as the rich.
Told in Breton by Barbe Tassel, Plouaret, December, 1868.
F. M. LUZEL.
THE ROEBUCK HUNT
AN IROQUOIS STORY
An old man lived in a cabin with his grandson, who was twenty years
old. They were the last survivors of a nation exterminated by the
sorceresses.
The young man was a good hunter, but he had one great trouble: his
grandfather forbade his hunting the roebuck, without giving him any
reason for this interdiction. One day, returning from the hunt sooner
than usual, the young man surprised his grandfather making soup of some
bones. Being questioned very narrowly on the subject, the old man told
the following story:--
“These bones that you have seen are the bones of a roebuck. When you
were born, our nation was numerous and powerful. But unfortunately
there were some young people who would not obey their chiefs. These
young people became more and more insolent, and were imitated by
others. The Lord of life became angry and sent the sorceresses to
destroy the cabins: you see that ours is the only one now remaining.
Our warriors were all killed or made prisoners. You were very small
then; I carried you away with me, far away, to a nation allied to
ours--a fortunate journey which saved our lives, or at least spared
us from slavery. But what do I say? Are we free? Alas! no, for the
sorceresses allowed us to live only on condition that we should never
hunt the roebuck, and never eat his flesh. The wolves have devoured a
roebuck, I gathered up the remains, these few naked bones; I could not
resist the desire to taste some soup made of the bones and to eat the
marrow of them.”
Hearing this story, the young man became very angry with the
sorceresses, and resolved to find them and punish them. His grandfather
then said to him.
“Since you are determined to go, listen to me. You will be obliged to
go through a forest at the end of which there is a place where there
are a great many wolves; throw to them the game you kill by the way,
and you will then be able to catch them. Soon after, you will come to
the country of the sorceresses; then, especially, you must be very
cautious. Take care not to touch a single ear when you come to their
field of Indian corn; or else immediately they will surprise you, and
you will be lost.”
The young man took leave of the old man, promising to follow his
instructions. All went well till just when he went to the sorceresses’
corn-field. The ripe ears made him covetous, and he had just put out
his hand when suddenly he heard some one whisper in his ear to go along
quietly and not touch a single ear. He had only gone a few steps when
he saw a skeleton leaning against the enclosure of the field, as if
put there to scare away the birds. It was one of the victims of the
sorceresses and the young warrior’s paternal uncle. He recognized his
nephew and called him by his name.
The latter coming up to him, his skeleton uncle told him everything
that he would have to do when he went into the presence of the
sorceresses. Furnished with these instructions, he arrived at the
dwelling of the sorceresses. He was well received, and they contended
as to who should bring him his pottage. The skeleton had told him this
beforehand; “Each sorceress,” he told him, “will bring you a plate of
corn boiled with meat; do not accept it, for if you do you make a fatal
engagement with them. Only one, the youngest of them, will not invite
you to eat out of her plate, and hers is really the corn and meat of
which you must partake: you must put the spoon in boldly; she will give
you a sweet smile, and by this you will be married. Meanwhile the other
sorceresses will wish to kill you, but your young wife will know very
well how to take care of you: you have only to follow our counsels.”
Everything happened as he said.
When evening came, the young sorceress said to her husband,--
“The great old woman will come to-night to kill you; but do not be
afraid, I will waken you in time.”
Sure enough, about midnight the great old woman came suddenly to the
bedside of the newly married pair, but, surprised at finding them
awake, she went away without having been able to execute her design.
At dawn of day the husband and wife arose, and the wife said to her
husband,--
“Go find your uncle; he has something to tell you,” and he went to him
immediately.
“My nephew,” said the skeleton to him, “what you must do now is to
seize upon the bag which is in the chamber of the great old woman.”
It was an enchanted bag which had shut up in it all the secrets of
sorcery, and he would have been entirely unable to take it away without
the aid of his wife, who showed him how to do it, and procured him
the assistance of a rat that helped him by cutting the string of the
bag with its teeth. As soon as this was done, the sorceresses uttered
cries of rage and despair. What did they see? Roebucks running here
and there in their cornfield; and ducks, each wearing a heart around
his neck. It was all over with the sorceresses; the newly married
husband, instructed by his wife, took the hearts, one after the other,
and broke them. They were the hearts of the sorceresses. The vengeance
was complete; but there was one more thing still to be done,--they must
free the prisoners. These numerous herds of roebucks wandering about
the country are a sign of good fortune.
“Do you see that tree near the lake?” said the wife to her husband;
“you must cut it down so that it will fall across the lake and serve as
a bridge.”
No sooner said than done; thousands of warriors rose up at once and
thanked their deliverer. Then began a triumphal march to their own
country; the emblem of the nation was erected, the recaptured roebuck
should be the family token of the children that should be born to the
young couple.
Ten days had scarcely passed since the grandfather and his grandson
had parted. Five days, thanks to the skill of the young sorceress,
was enough for the journey home. The joy of the old man on seeing his
grandson again and hearing the story of his adventures, can scarcely be
imagined. And the nation arose from its ruins and became more powerful
than before.
J. A. CUOQ.
PIERRE AND HÉLÈNE
A STORY OF LOWER BRITANNY
Once there were two orphans who lived in a village, a brother and a
sister; the brother’s name was Pierre, and the sister’s Hélène. Pierre
was married. The woman he married was wicked and jealous, and from the
moment she entered Pierre’s house she hated her sister-in-law; Hélène
was good.
A year passed, and Pierre became the father of a little girl.
“Hélène shall be her godmother!” said he.
“As you like,” said his wife, casting an angry glance upon the poor
girl.
Little Hélène grew; and when she began to say a few words she was
always lisping that of her good godmother. Pierre’s wicked wife was
very indignant at it.
“Hypocrite!” cried she in a rage, “is she going to deprive me of my
child’s affection as she has of my husband’s love? I will find some
sure means of driving this perfidious creature out of the house.”
One day she went to her husband. “See here,” said she, “it is I who do
all the work; your sister takes her pleasure when your wife is worn out
with fatigue; she folds her arms from morning to night while I do her
work and mine. Send her away, then, and you will see that everything
will go better in our household.”
Pierre was very sad at these words, for he loved Hélène tenderly.
“My sister,” said he to her the next day, “it is not right that you
should eat the bread that others have earned, and be idle yourself.”
“I milk, I bake the bread, I make the butter,” said Hélène; “what more
do you wish me to do?”
But the wicked woman could not restrain her hatred, and a few days
after this she said,--
“I cannot stand it any longer; she must go!”
And she ran to the stable and killed an ox.
“Pierre, Pierre!” cried she to her husband, “see what your sister
Hélène has done; she has killed one of your oxen.”
“My sister, why did you do this?” said Pierre to her, greatly mortified.
“I did not do it, brother,” answered Hélène sweetly.
The next day the second ox died.
“Pierre, Pierre!” cried the wicked woman, “see; your other ox is dead,
and it is Hélène who killed this one also.”
“I shall be ruined if I have no beasts to take into the fields,” said
Pierre to his sister, “and this is the second one of my oxen that you
have killed.”
“I did not do it, brother,” answered Hélène quietly.
The next day the horse was found dead in the stable.
“Pierre, Pierre! see what your sister has done. Next thing she will set
the house on fire.”
“Sister,” said Pierre, “how could you kill my horse? Do you wish me to
be obliged to beg my bread?”
“I did not do it, brother,” Hélène answered sadly.
“Pierre, Pierre!” cried the wicked woman, the day after, “come see
what your demon of a sister has done. Look at our child; I found her
smothered in her bed.”
Pierre tore out his hair in despair, and sent for Hélène, who had gone
out to her work early in the morning.
“Sister,” said he angrily, “you killed my oxen and my horse, and I
pardoned you; but now you have killed my child: you must leave this
house, and receive the punishment for your crimes!”
Then Pierre cut off Hélène’s two arms; and they prepared to go away.
“Where are you going to take me?” said Hélène.
“You will see,” said Pierre.
“Give me my mass-book, brother, and let my little dog go with me.”
Pierre took Hélène a long distance, and they came at last to a great
forest; the wind blew through the trees and made the leaves shake.
Suddenly a large oak-tree fell. Pierre took his sister in his arms and
placed her up among the branches; he opened the mass-book and laid it
on her lap, and the little dog played nimbly by his mistress’ side.
“Farewell, my sister!” said Pierre, turning away to wipe his tears.
“Farewell!” answered Hélène.
At that moment she saw that Pierre had hurt himself, and that there was
a thorn in his foot.
“Go on, brother,” said she to him; “some day I will come and take it
out.”
Pierre went on his way, and when he returned to his dwelling, he sat
down beside his hearth-stone; and suddenly the thorn grew immensely,
and a great tree sprang up from his foot and went up the chimney. He
was thus condemned to remain where he was seated and to wait till his
sister should come to set him free as she had promised him.
Hélène continued in the forest, seated in the top of the great tree,
and the wind turned the leaves of the mass-book she had on her knees.
Hélène prayed.
At the hour for meals, twice a day, the oak-tree bent down as if blown
down by the wind, and the little dog jumped to the ground and went to
look for his mistress’ breakfast.
There was in the neighborhood a castle where a young lord and his
mother lived.
Every day, for some time, the lady of the castle had remarked, on
sitting down to her table, that several of her dishes had been partly
consumed.
“See here!” said she to her astonished servants, “who is permitted to
eat of the meats before they are brought to the table? Is it proper
that my son and I should eat what our servants leave?”
“Madam,” said the steward, “I placed those meats there only a moment
ago, and I assure you they had not been touched.”
“Very well,” said the lady angrily; “find out as soon as possible who
this insolent creature is, who feeds upon our meats before we have
tasted them ourselves.”
The next day, at the dinner hour, the steward took his place near the
table, which was all served for dinner. Suddenly a little dog leaped
in at the open window; he held a handkerchief between his teeth.
With one bound he was on the table; and seizing several bits of meat,
some bread, and a few pieces of fruit, he fled away. The steward was
completely confounded.
“Well?” said the lady as she entered.
“I have seen him!” cried the steward; “I have seen him!”
“Who?” she asked.
And he explained all that had passed.
“You must follow it,” said the lady of the castle.
“I will try, madam.”
The next day, at the same hour, the steward took his place near the
table. The dog came in through the window and took his provision as
usual; then, seeing they were watching for him, he fled away rapidly.
The steward tried to follow him in vain; the little animal disappeared
in the forest.
“Leave it to me,” said the young lord; “I will find out where this dog
goes.”
And the next day he took the steward’s place. The window had been left
open purposely. At the usual hour the little dog appeared. The lord of
the castle did not interfere with him; but when he saw him take the
four corners of Hélène’s handkerchief between his teeth, he darted out
and ran in pursuit of the thief.
He followed the dog for several minutes; but soon worn out by the
useless chase, he threw himself at the foot of a tree, breathless, but
not discouraged.
“To-morrow,” said he resolutely, “to-morrow I will find out where this
dog goes.”
So the next day he had his horse saddled, and, taking his place under
the window, he waited. The little dog appeared, jumped on the table,
chose among the dishes that were served, a breakfast for his mistress;
but when he started as usual to return to his retreat, the gallop of a
horse resounded behind him.
The dog stopped suddenly; one of the oak-trees bent down just then,
and the intelligent little animal took his place near his mistress.
The young lord of the castle, looking up, saw a charming young girl
seated among the branches at the top of the tree. He was struck with
her beauty. A book was lying on her lap, and the wind turned the leaves
of it as she read; for oh, strange! the poor child had been deprived of
both her arms.
He questioned Hélène; and she answered his questions.
The lord of the castle heard all the young girl’s history. His heart
was moved with pity. He came to see her often; and one day he swore he
would have no one but her for his wife.
One day a carriage stopped at the foot of the oak-tree, which bent
down; and the young husband received his betrothed in his arms.
When the ceremony was over, the old lady of the castle, looking at the
young wife, said to herself,--
“So this is my son’s wife!” and an expression of hatred came over her
face. “Patience!” she added, in a low voice, “patience! the day will
come when she shall leave my house forever.”
A few months after, the young husband went away to the war.
One morning the crabbed old lady of the castle came into the young
wife’s room. Twin babies had just been born to her; and they were
resting quietly by her side in a gilded cradle.
“Ah!” she muttered with disgust, and went out. Her hand trembled with
anger as she dipped the pen into the ink and wrote the news to her
son:--
“Well,” said she, “your wife has brought two very ugly little children
into the world.”
The springtime came: but still the lord of the castle had sent no
tidings of himself.
“Your husband is dead,” said Hélène’s wicked mother-in-law to her one
day; “I do not wish you to be any longer under my roof. Go; neither you
nor your brats shall disgrace this castle any longer.”
“Alas, madam!” answered Hélène, “I can go away very well; but who will
carry my dear little ones?”
“You yourself,” said the horrible woman. “Do you suppose I would put my
servants at your service? They would refuse to go with a beggar like
you.”
“Alas!” replied Hélène, “I have no arms, as other mothers have, to
carry my poor children.”
“We will manage it,” said the hard-hearted mother-in-law.
And the next day Hélène left the castle, carrying the two innocent
little ones in a cloth which was tied round her waist.
She wandered a long time in the forest, followed by her little dog; and
when evening came on, weariness overcame her, and she was very thirsty.
A fountain flowed a few steps from her. Hélène sighed.
“Alas!” she thought, “if I only had one arm, I could catch some water
in the palm of my hand and quench my thirst.”
And as she uttered the words, a little bird, perched on the edge of the
fountain, began to twitter. He said, in his language,--
“Do not cry, poor Hélène.”
Hélène, astonished, stopped to listen to it; but the little bird
continued to sing. Hélène approached the fountain, and leaned over the
water; she tried to drink.
But before her lips could reach the water, one of her nurslings fell
into the fountain. Poor Hélène! who would give her little baby back to
her?
But the bird went on singing; and in its language it said,--
“Dip what there is left of your right arm into the fountain, and fear
nothing for your child.”
Hélène obeyed the little bird, and dipped what remained of her arm; and
at once a strong and active arm and a supple hand grew out in place of
the right arm and hand that she had lost.
Hélène picked up her child with delight; but at the same moment the
other dropped from the cloth that held it, and fell into the water, as
his brother had done. But the little bird kept on singing; and in its
joyous language it said,--
“Dip what remains to you of your left arm into the fountain, and fear
nothing for your child.”
Hélène dipped what there was left of her other arm, and immediately she
had a new left arm.
Hélène picked up her other child.
A cabin under the shade of an oak-tree sheltered Hélène and her
children. One day the two children were playing on the threshold. A
stranger passed by. He stopped before the two children.
“I, too,” cried he bitterly, “I would one day have been surrounded
by fair young ones; but Hélène has fled from my home.” When suddenly
Hélène appeared at the cabin door.
“It is she!” cried the stranger.
But he drew back as if struck by lightning. This woman had two arms,
and her fingers fondled her children’s hair. His Hélène had both arms
cut off.
Meanwhile, she had also recognized the stranger, and sprang towards him.
A few hours after, a magnificent carriage stopped at Pierre’s farm.
Hélène descended quickly from her carriage, and went into the house.
Poor Pierre was still seated beside the fire. He suffered terribly, and
his wicked wife never consoled him. When she heard the carriage stop,
and saw her sister-in-law get out of it, she suddenly disappeared.
“Where is your wife?” asked Hélène of her brother.
“I do not know,” answered Pierre. “Heaven has punished me for my crime,
for I have not had a day of happiness since I left you in the forest;
and my wife, who caused me to do such a deed, leaves me to my misery.”
At this moment they heard the voice of the wicked woman. “Hélène,” said
she, coming forward, and speaking in a sweet voice, “I hope you have
pardoned me; Heaven has punished us, and we are, as you see, very
unhappy. But come,” she added, leading the way to the upper story.
“I cannot,” said Hélène; “I must cure my brother first.”
“Come up, so that I may show you what Heaven has left me to console me
in my misfortune.”
Hélène, thinking her sister-in-law wished to show her a new baby,
started towards the winding stairway.
“Go first,” said Pierre’s wife, with hypocritical respect.
“No,” said Hélène; “I do not wish to go in front of you. I am always
poor Hélène, Pierre’s sister.”
The sister-in-law then went up first, and suddenly a loud noise was
heard; two steps of the stairway fell in with a great crash, and the
wicked woman fell into a pot of boiling water that she had prepared
for Hélène. She thought she had counted the steps, and was sure of the
success of her treachery; but hatred bewildered her, and made her the
victim of her own perfidy. Hélène turned away her head in horror and
descended the stair.
“My brother,” said she to Pierre, “Heaven has punished the crime; your
wife is dead: she fell into the snare she set for me. But you see I
have come to fulfill my promise. Show me your foot, and I will take
out the thorn which has caused you so much suffering.”
“Alas, my sister! this thorn is a great tree whose branches already
cover the roof of my dwelling,” said Pierre.
But as he spoke, Hélène touched her brother’s foot, and in a moment the
tree disappeared up the chimney, and fell with a crash on the other
side of the house.
MARGUERITE DE BELZ, “La Clef des Champs.”
THE THREE EGGS
A CREOLE STORY
Once upon a time there was a negro and his wife who lived in a village
on the shore of the Oyapok. They had a little girl who was much the
prettiest child that ever was seen. Obedient, intelligent, loving her
parents with all her soul, she was the joy and pride of her father and
mother. The whole family lived on the produce of the little field of
tapioca and potatoes which surrounded their hut.
When winter came, the torrents of rain caused the river to overflow,
and when the waters retired, all the plain, for a great distance, was
only a mass of gravel and stones. Poverty desolated the country. In the
negro’s hut there was soon scarcely a morsel of cassava; the provision
of potatoes diminished day by day. After having talked many times in a
low voice over their sad condition, after having wept over it, the poor
people resolved to go and leave their precious child to be lost in the
forest.
One morning they started out. As they went along, the mother and her
good man walked slowly, with great tears in their eyes; the little
girl went in front gathering berries that she found in the bushes.
Suddenly, not hearing her parents talking any longer, the child
called,--
“Mamma! mamma!”
No reply. Alas, poor little one! you are lost in this thick forest! The
more she tried to find her way, the more she went astray.
Night came; the foliage was so thick that she could not even see the
moon or the stars to guide her. The ferocious beasts howled terribly.
The child continued to walk on and on; her little feet were bleeding,
her teeth chattered with fright, she was faint from hunger and fatigue.
Soon, however, the trees became more scattered; a light shone in the
distance. The child went in the direction of the light. At last she saw
a cabin. She knocked at the door. “In the name of the good Virgin, open
to me,” she cried.
The door opened, creaking. An old witch, all wrinkled, appeared on the
threshold. “What do you want, my child?” said she, in a coarse voice.
“I am a poor little girl who has lost her parents in the great forest
below there; I am afraid of being eaten up by the ferocious beasts; let
me rest to-night in your house.”
The coarse voice answered,--
“Here, little one, raise your eyes. Do you see over the door those
three large pumpkins? In order to be able to enter my house, you must
catch them one by one on your head.”
“Ah, good mamma! if they fall on my head, surely they will crush me! I
am so little, they are so big!”
“Then, my child, I will catch them for you.” Then the old witch began
to sing in a melancholy tone,--
“Fall, fall, big pumpkins!
So she can come into my house.”
Then she leaned her poor old head forward and caught the three big
pumpkins on it, one after the other. Each time, her body bent and her
knees gave way.
As soon as the child came in, she asked for something to eat.
“Open this cupboard, little one; you will find two plates. In one there
is some good meat and some good fish; in the other there are only bones
and fish-bones. Put them in the fire, and when they are cooked, you can
give me whichever one you choose.”
The little one lighted the fire, warmed the two plates, and gave the
old witch the plate of meat and fish; she kept for herself the plate of
bones and fish-bones.
When the dinner was over, the old witch put the child to bed.
“To-morrow,” said she, “when you are well rested, we will go and bathe
in the river.”
Before going to sleep, the child kneeled down to pray, and thanked the
little Jesus for having rescued her from the dark night and the wicked
beasts.
As soon as it was day, the old witch and the child went to the river.
When they had taken their bath, the old witch said to the child,--
“Little one, rub me all over my body to make me clean.”
The child then looked at the witch’s back; it was covered with razors,
knives, pointed nails, pieces of broken glass. However, she did not
hesitate to rub the witch’s back and her old limbs as well as she
could. Soon her hands were all bloody. When the witch saw that, she
cried,--
“You are a good little girl; you have taken pity on a poor old woman;
give me your hands.”
The child held them to her; then she spat in her hands and said to
her,--
“Now rub yourself.”
Immediately the wounds disappeared.
“Now, my child, you must set out to go back to your parents. Here are
three eggs. When you encounter any obstacle along the way, you have
only to break an egg, and the obstacle will disappear. I only charge
you one thing: do not stop a moment, and if by chance, young people
meet you, and pay you compliments, do not listen to them, and continue
your journey without paying any attention to their fine speeches.”
Then the little one embraced the old witch, thanked her for her
goodness, and departed. After having traveled a long time, she came to
a large river. It was impossible to find a ford where she could cross
it. Then she broke her first egg. A boat appeared upon the river. She
began to sing,--
“Put me across, O boatman!
Put me across, O boatman!”
The boatman drew near, made her get into the boat, and put her across
to the other side of the river.
“Thanks, good boatman, for your kindness.”
“Good luck to you, miss.”
She went on her way. She traveled and traveled, and found herself at
last stopped by a great bare mountain.
“Mountain, open!” cried she, breaking her second egg.
The mountain opened; a beautiful road ran through it. Flowering shrubs
bordered the road; in the green trees, loaded with fruit, birds of a
thousand colors were singing. Suddenly joyous voices were heard; a
party of young people drew near, dancing and laughing.
“Oh! what a beautiful little girl that is going along the road! see
her beautiful hair,” said one. “Oh! what pretty little feet!” said
another. “Come play with us, young lady; we will take you to our
house; you shall be the absolute mistress of it, you shall do nothing
all day long; we will work for you. You will only have to look at
yourself in your mirror, comb your hair, and make yourself beautiful.”
But the little girl, remembering the counsels of the old witch, did not
even turn her head.
“Leave me alone,” said she; “I have promised not to stop till I have
found my parents again.”
Then she continued her journey and came to a plain. The mountain closed
up behind her, and became, as before, barren and desolate. After having
traveled a long time, the little girl came at last to a village. The
people were in a great commotion; the queen had just died. As soon as
the inhabitants saw the stranger, they surrounded her, and charmed with
her beauty and grace, they proposed to her to choose her to replace the
queen whom they had just lost. To all their entreaties she replied,--
“I can agree to reign over you only on one condition; that is, that you
shall take my father and mother for your sovereigns as soon as I have
found them. It is not right for the child to be above its parents.”
The people having accepted the condition, the child broke her third egg.
The egg was scarcely broken before the old negro and his wife were
seen to arrive at the end of the village, all covered with tatters,
thin, emaciated, and bent with grief and poverty. Seeing their
daughter, whom they believed lost forever, they shed abundant tears,
and were about to throw themselves at her feet to ask her pardon for
having abandoned her. But she did not give them time for this, and
throwing her arms around their necks, she embraced them tenderly. They
were proclaimed sovereigns of the country and lived happily with their
daughter ever after. They were good and charitable to the poor people,
for they had been poor themselves.
The news of this adventure was quickly spread around. It reached the
little village where the good little girl formerly lived. All their
neighbors were delighted; only one negro and his wife became extremely
jealous of them. These people had a wicked, cross-grained daughter, the
very image of her mother.
“My daughter, I want you to be queen also; I will go and lose you in
the forest. You are worth much more than that affected little thing;
and when you are queen, you can send for me and your father also, so
that we can pass the rest of our days in sleeping and doing nothing.”
Then they went into the forest and left their daughter there. Night
came, and the ferocious beasts began to howl! Ah! truly, the child was
much frightened, but, taking courage in the face of danger, she tried
to get out of the forest. Then she saw the light in the old witch’s
cabin. She went in that direction and came to the door.
“Open to me,” said she, thumping on it with all her might with her feet
and her fists; “I do not want to spend the night out of doors.”
The coarse voice answered,--
“Do you see those three enormous pumpkins? In order to enter my house,
you must catch them on your head.”
“Very well, catch them yourself, so I can come in.”
The witch, without saying anything, sang her song, and caught the
pumpkins on her poor old head.
As soon as she had come in, the little girl called out,--
“I am hungry; give me something to eat.”
Then the old witch put two dishes on the fire; one of good meat and
good fish, the other containing only bones and fish-bones. The child,
without thanking her, took all that was good, and paid no attention as
to what was left for the old woman.
When the morning came, they went to the river, and when she saw the
witch’s back, she said,--
“What, do you think I am going to rub your old back? It is all full of
broken glass and pieces of broken bottles.”
The witch dressed herself again, and when the time came to go away, she
gave the child three eggs.
“My child, take my advice; do not stop on the way until you have found
your parents; else some harm will happen. When you see any obstacle, or
when you want anything, break one of the eggs, and you will be quite
satisfied.”
Without even thanking the old witch, who had been so good, the child
went on her way.
Having reached the river, the breaking of the first egg brought the
boatman to her, and he put her across to the other shore. Then after
that the mountain stopped her way; so she broke her second egg, and the
mountain opened. A beautiful road bordered with flowers showed itself
to her. She followed it. Then the young people approached.
“Beautiful child, will you come and play with us? You will find in our
house mirrors in which you can see your whole figure. We will be your
slaves; one who is as pretty as you are should not work, but live to do
nothing and think of nothing but being amused.”
Blushing with pleasure and vanity, the child sprang towards the young
people; but she had scarcely crossed the road bordered with flowers
when the mountain closed up with a great noise and swallowed her up.
She was pitied by only one person,--the good little girl. Young ladies,
let this story be a lesson to you.
LOYS BRUEYRE.
THE THREE BROTHERS
OR
THE CAT, THE COCK, AND THE LADDER
A BRETON STORY
Once upon a time there were three brothers: the oldest was named Yvon;
the second Goulven; and the youngest, Guyon. Their mother was dead, and
they asked their father to give each of them the portion that would
fall to him, so that they might go out into the world to seek their
fortunes.
“I am very willing,” said the old man, “but you know that we are not
rich; a cat, a cock, and a ladder--these are all I have to give you.”
“Very well; let us draw straws,” replied the three brothers, “and see
what will fall to the lot of each of us.”
They drew straws, and the cat fell to Yvon, the cock to Goulven, and
the ladder to Guyon. Each took his property and began to get ready
to set out. Their father accompanied them to a place near by, where
four roads crossed and led in different directions, and then they bade
farewell to each other, and took each a different road, after having
appointed a meeting at the same place at the end of a year and a day.
The old man returned alone to his house, by the fourth road.
Yvon, to whom the cat had fallen, was led by his road to the seashore.
He followed the beach for a long time without coming to any dwelling.
He and his companion were obliged to live for several days on
shell-fish, and principally on mussels and lumpets, which cats love
above all things. They came at last to a mill, not far from which rose
the walls and towers of a castle high upon the cliff. Yvon entered the
mill, carrying the cat on his left arm. He saw there four men, in their
shirt-sleeves, armed with sticks and earnestly engaged in chasing the
mice which ran about in every direction, so as to hinder them from
cutting holes in the sacks and eating the flour.
“How much trouble you take for a small matter!” said he to them.
“How is it a small matter? Do you not see that if we should let them,
these vile beasts would eat both the wheat and the flour and would
reduce us to die of hunger?”
“Ah, well! here is a little animal” (and he showed them his cat) “that,
all by himself, in less than an hour, will do more work than you four
in a whole year; he will very soon get rid of all your mice.”
“This little animal? You are joking, doubtless; he does not seem at all
dangerous. What do you call him?” (In that country they had never seen
a cat.)
“He is called Mr. Cat. Do you wish to see him work?”
“Yes; let us see something of what he can do.”
Yvon let go his cat, which was very hungry. The mice, which were not
afraid of it, never having seen a cat, made no haste to run into their
holes, and it made a frightful slaughter of them. The four men watched
it work, in great astonishment, and in less than an hour the whole
threshing-floor of the mill was strewn with dead mice. There were heaps
of them in every direction. The men with the sticks and the miller
could not recover from their astonishment. One of them ran to the
castle, and said to the lord,--
“Make haste, my lord, and come to the mill; you will see there what you
have never seen before in your life.”
“What is it?” asked the lord.
“A man has arrived from some country, we know not where, bringing with
him a little animal that appears to be very mild and gentle, yet which
in the wink of an eye has killed all the mice against which we have had
so much trouble to defend your wheat and your flour.”
“I trust this may be true!” cried the lord.
He hastened to the mill, and seeing the great work of the cat, he stood
still, filled with admiration, his eyes and his mouth wide open. Then,
seeing on Yvon’s arm the author of all this carnage, which, well fed
and happy, and its eyes half closed, was making a continuous sound like
that of a wheel turned by the hand of a spinner, he asked,--
“And is it this animal, that looks so gentle and sweet, which has
worked so bravely?”
“Yes, my lord, it is indeed,” replied the four men armed with sticks.
“What a treasure such an animal must be! Ah! if I could only have it!
Will you sell it to me?” asked he of Yvon.
“Willingly,” replied Yvon, passing his hand down the back of his cat.
“How much will you take for it?”
“Six hundred crowns, with lodging for myself and good board in your
castle; for my friend, the cat, will not work well if I do not stay
with him.”
“Agreed! shake hands.”
And they shook hands.
Yvon was accordingly installed in the castle, having nothing to do
every day but eat, drink, go walking, and from time to time to make a
visit to his friend, the cat, at the mill. He had become the friend of
the lord, and also of his daughter; for he was a very handsome young
man. His acquaintance with the young girl became very intimate; and he
got from her all the gold and diamonds that he wanted. But the time
came when he thought it was most prudent for him to go away; so he
disappeared one night without saying anything, taking with him the best
horse in the castle stable to carry him, and all that he took away from
the old lord.
Now we will follow him no farther, since his fortune is made, but see
what has become of Goulven and his cock.
After having walked a long time, and getting farther and farther from
home, Goulven at last reached a country where there were no cocks. One
evening, about sunset, overcome with fatigue, he came to a beautiful
castle, and knocked at the door.
“What do you want?” asked the porter.
“Lodging for the night, if you please, for my little comrade and
myself.”
“Come in,” said the porter to him; “you may lodge here, for my master
is charitable.”
He ate in the kitchen with the servants, then went to sleep in the
stable with the stable-boys and wagoners, taking his cock with him.
In that country they were obliged to go each morning to look for the
day. So in the barn where he was with his cock, Goulven heard the
conversation of the stable-boys and wagoners. They were saying to each
other,--
“To-morrow morning we shall have trouble again when we go to look for
the day. Let us grease the axle-tree well, so that the wagon will run
more easily, and not break down, as it did the other day; for see how
many wagons are already broken, and many horses worked to death, and
the master is displeased, and says that we shall ruin him.”
“Yes, grease the axle-tree well before we go to bed.”
Goulven listened, astonished at what he heard; and, as the lord and the
servants had told him that they had never seen a bird like his cock,
the idea struck him that he might make something out of it; so that he
cried to the stable-boys and the wagoners,--
“Do not be so troubled and anxious, my friends. I will undertake your
task.”
“You will undertake to go yourself, all alone, to look for the day
to-morrow morning?”
“Yes; I and my companion.”
“But, unhappy man, if you do not bring it, or if you are late
returning, the master will have you hanged on the spot.”
“Let us alone, I tell you, and go to sleep quietly.”
Accordingly, the stable-boys and wagoners went to sleep without
greasing the wagon or making any of the usual preparations.
The cock crowed out from the loft about three o’clock in the morning.
“What is that?” cried the wagoners and stable-boys, awakened by this
song that they had never heard before.
“It is nothing,” replied Goulven; “do not disturb yourselves. My
comrade only announces that he is about to go in search of the day.” So
they went to sleep again.
About four o’clock the cock crowed again, and they woke up as before,
and cried,--
“What is it? what is it?”
“It is my comrade, telling you that he is coming with the day,” replied
Goulven; “get up and see.”
So they got up, and saw with astonishment that, sure enough, the day
had come without their having been to look for it with so much trouble.
They hastened to go and tell their master.
“Master, if you only knew--”
“What is it? What has happened that you should come to wake me so
early?”
“You know the stranger whom you lodged last night, with his little
animal that he called a cock?”
“Well, what has he done?”
“What has he done? Why, this little animal, that does not look as if he
were anything in particular, is stronger than all your horses together,
and will be able to spare you much expense, and us much trouble. Would
you believe it? he has brought us the day this morning all by himself,
without horses or wagons, while we slept quietly.
“It is impossible; you are mocking me!”
“Nothing is truer, however; and you have only to assure yourself of it
by keeping the man and his little animal at the castle and watching
with us to-night.”
“Very well; tell him to remain, so that I can see this thing.”
So they told the man with the cock to remain with his animal.
When evening came, after supper, the servants, the stable-boys, and
the wagoners went to sleep as usual, and Goulven climbed again to the
loft, with his cock, after having told them that they need not disturb
themselves at all, and that he would undertake to bring the day back
again at the appointed hour.
About three o’clock in the morning the lord, who had not gone to bed,
came also to the stable to see and hear for himself what took place.
The cock crowed the first time on the cock-loft.
“What is that?” asked the lord.
“It is my comrade, just setting out to look for the day,” replied
Goulven; “do not be disturbed. Wait quietly; he will not be slow in
returning.”
At four o’clock the cock crowed again.
“Why has the cock crowed?” asked the lord.
“Because he has just arrived, bringing the day back to us,” replied
Goulven. “Open the door, and go out, and you will see.”
The lord went out of the stable, and saw that day had really dawned,
all rosy and bright (it was the month of May), without his horses and
his iron-bound wagons having gone to look for it. He was filled with
amazement, and could not understand it. He called Goulven, and said to
him,--
“The wagons that they break for me, the horses they cripple for me,
going every morning to look for the dawn, are ruinous to me; if you
will sell me your little animal, you will do me a great service; how
much do you ask for it?”
“A thousand crowns,” replied Goulven, “and to remain with it at the
castle, well fed, well clothed, and having nothing to do but to go
walking for my pleasure where I will.”
“Agreed,” said the lord.
So Goulven lived at the castle, the happiest of men, having nothing
to do every day but eat, drink, sleep, and go out walking. The cock,
for his part, never failed to bring the day back at the proper hour,
and all were very well satisfied with their services. Goulven also
made love to the lord’s daughter, who had noticed him because he was
a handsome fellow, and having behaved just as Yvon had done under the
same circumstances, he ran away also, when he thought the moment had
come, taking with him not only the thousand crowns that he had gotten
for the cock, but handsome presents which he had received from the
young lady, and which he bore off on the best horse in the lord’s
stable.
Of the three brothers, we have already seen two entirely successful;
one with his cat, the other with his cock. Now let us see what became
of the third, Guyon, the man with the ladder.
After having walked a long time, going always straight before him, and
carrying his ladder on his shoulder, and having gone a great distance
from his own country, he found himself one day in front of a grand
castle, surrounded on all sides by high walls, and brambles and thorns.
At the window of one of the towers he saw a young lady of remarkable
beauty. He stopped to look at her; she smiled, and they soon began to
talk together. The lady told him that her husband, the lord of the
castle, was absent. He was a jealous wretch, who kept her a captive in
this tower with only a servant for company, and allowed her to receive
no one else. She had grown very weary of her tower and wished very
much to go out of it; but her lord had taken away the keys, and until
his return she was obliged to stay locked up. He was expected to return
the next day.
“I can come to you without a key, if you will permit it,” said Guyon.
“How can you, unless you change yourself to a bird? Into this castle,
no man but my husband ever enters, and if any other should succeed in
getting in, he would never go out alive.”
“We will see about that,” said Guyon.
Then he leaned his ladder against the wall. Alas! it was too short.
But the lady and her servant held the curtains out to him, and at
last he reached them, to their great joy. The next morning, early, he
departed by the same way by which he had come. As he had greatly amused
the young lady and her servant, to whom such good fortune had never
happened, they filled his pockets before he left with gold, jewels, and
diamonds.
As Guyon was going quietly along, carrying his ladder on his shoulder,
he met the lord returning, who said to him as he passed,--
“You appear much burdened and very much fatigued, my good man.”
“A little,” replied he; and each went on his way.
As soon as the lord had entered his castle, his wife, who knew
nothing, and who had never seen any other man but her husband near
enough to speak, made haste to tell him everything. To her great
astonishment, her lord was furious.
“How could he get into the tower?”
“With an instrument that he called a ladder. And he amused us very
much; and before he left, to reward him, we filled his pockets with
gold, jewels, and diamonds.”
“Ah! miserable woman, what do you say? You have given my gold and my
jewels and diamonds to this creature?”
And he was furious, and stamped his feet and pulled out his hair.
“I shall run after him, and if I catch him!--”
“Do him no harm, I beg you,” said the wife, who could not understand
her husband’s anger.
The latter took the best horse from his stable and was soon off at
great speed in pursuit of Guyon. But Guyon, who thought he would be
followed, looked behind him, from time to time; and as he saw him just
as he came near a house covered with slate which was by the roadside,
he placed his ladder against the wall, mounted to the roof, and began
to throw down the slate tiles, as a tiler does when repairing an old
roof. When the lord arrived in front of the house, he stopped his
horse, and addressing Guyon, said,--
“How now, tiler, have you seen a man go by who carried a ladder on his
shoulder?”
“Yes, indeed! my lord; he passed by only a moment ago.”
“Which way did he go?”
“He kept on straight along there; hold on, you can see him still from
here. Come up, and you will see him.”
Then Guyon descended, and the lord, leaving his horse, climbed upon
the roof. But as soon as he had done so, Guyon took away the ladder,
mounted the horse, taking his ladder with him, and set off at a full
gallop, leaving the lord swearing and storming on the roof.
At the end of a year and a day, exactly, the three brothers, mounted on
fine horses and dressed like lords, met at the cross-roads where they
had parted, and found their father waiting for them.
They had all three made their fortunes with the cat, the cock, and the
ladder; and they married rich women, and built three fine castles, one
for each, and a fourth, finer than the others, for their old father.
Told by Marguerite Philippe, September, 1873.
F. M. LUZEL.
THE COCK’S WIFE
A STORY OF THE DISTRICT OF METZ
Once upon a time there was a cock’s wife who was scratching with all
her might in a great heap of rubbish, and seemed deeply absorbed in her
task.
“You are very silly, Cock’s-wife,” said a man who passed by, “to waste
your time so, and wear out your feet so uselessly.”
“You are mistaken, my good fellow; I am not wasting my time, for I have
just found a purse with a hundred crowns.”
“Really?”
“See here!”
“Come, my good creature, lend me a hundred crowns; I will return them
in eight days.”
“Very well; here they are,” said the Cock’s-wife, putting the purse
into his hand:--she could never refuse to do a kindness.
At the end of the week, the Cock’s wife, seeing that her debtor did not
return, began to fear that she had been deceived, and indignant, she
started in the direction of the house where the fellow lived. As she
was going along, at a turn in the road she met a ladder.
“Where are you going, Cock’s-wife?” asked the ladder.
“I am going to a fellow’s house to get back a hundred crowns that I
lent him. Will you come with me?”
“Gladly!”
“Very well; get inside of me,” said the Cock’s-wife.
Cock’s-wife went on her way, and a little farther on she met a river.
“Where are you going, Cock’s-wife?” said the river.
“I am going to a fellow’s house to get back a hundred crowns that I
lent him. Will you come with me?”
“With pleasure,” replied the river.
“Very well; get inside of me,” said the Cock’s-wife.
The Cock’s-wife started off again; when in the midst of a wood she came
across a wolf.
“Where are you going, Cock’s-wife?” asked the wolf.
“I am going to a fellow’s house to get back a hundred crowns that I
lent him. Will you come with me?”
“I will.”
“Very well; get inside of me.”
In spite of the weight of her three companions, the Cock’s-wife got
safely to the end of her journey.
“Good morning, my man, good morning,” said she, as she entered: “I have
come to ask you to pay me my hundred crowns.”
The fellow, who had made up his mind not to pay his debt, fell upon the
Cock’s-wife, seized her by the wings, and threw her into a well near
the house. Although stunned by the fall, the poor creature did not lose
her senses.
“Ladder, ladder, come out of me,
Or I am a lost Cock’s-wife,”
cried she.
The ladder obeyed immediately; and the Cock’s-wife rapidly climbed the
ladder, and jumped out of the well.
The fellow, who had thought she was drowned, could not control his
anger when he saw her. He sprang on her again, and threw her into his
oven.
When she felt the heat of the flames, she cried in an eager voice,--
“River, river, come out of me,
Or I am a lost Cock’s wife.”
The river flowed out immediately and put out the fire.
The Cock’s-wife, rejoiced at having so happily escaped so many dangers,
was going away unsuspectingly, when she was again seized by the fellow.
“Ah! vile beast,” he screamed, “you thought to escape me, but you
shall not succeed;” and saying these words, he threw her violently
between the legs of his oxen standing close together in a narrow
stable, sure that they would certainly trample her.
“Wolf, wolf, come out of me,
Or I am a lost Cook’s wife.”
At this despairing appeal, the wolf jumped out, and in a few moments
killed the oxen, and then the man.
The Cock’s-wife took the hundred crowns, which she found hidden in
the fellow’s house, in the bottom of a desk, and after having warmly
thanked the ladder, the river, and the wolf, she returned to her own
country, where she led ever afterwards a peaceful and honored life.
Told by the widow Madame Richet, aged 77 years, at Woippy, near Metz.
NÉRÉE QUÉPAT.
THE CASTLE HUNG IN THE AIR
A SAILOR’S STORY
Once upon a time there was a fisherman whose only possessions consisted
of a little cabin by the seashore, his boat, and his nets. He had a son
who went fishing with him, and he was so good-looking that as he passed
along every one turned to look at him. He had also three daughters,
very nearly of the same age, and all three as beautiful as the day.
The fisherman, who was old, died; his son became the head of the
family, and at all eventides he went in his boat to fish, so as to get
something to eat for all his household.
One day as he was setting out to go to the strand, he saw before his
door three handsome lords, who asked his permission to enter his cabin
to rest themselves there a few moments, as they came from a distance
and were tired. He consented very willingly, and welcomed them to the
best that he had. They seated themselves in the cabin, and were so
struck with the beauty of the sisters that they all three fell in love
with them. A few days after, they married them, and the next day after
the wedding the three nobles, who were the king of Fishes, the king of
the Birds, and the king of the Rats and the Mice, wished to take their
wives away to their own kingdoms. Before leaving their brother-in-law,
they each made him a present. Two of them gave him large purses full
of gold, but the gift of the third was only an old snuff-box. The
fisherman put it into the pocket of his jacket, without even having a
desire to open it, for he thought that his brother-in-law had wished to
mock him.
The fisherman grew very lonely after his sisters were gone, and as he
had a well-filled purse, he dressed himself as a well-to-do countryman,
left his cabin, and went to Paris. For two years he led a gay life
there, as he wanted nothing, having his pockets full of money; but
he finished all the same by seeing his last crown; and when he had
nothing left but debts, his friends turned their backs on him, and he
was turned out of his house. Then he remembered his village and his
little cabin, and he resolved to return there and once more take up
his trade of fisherman. But when he came to the little creek where he
had left his boat, he saw it no longer; for the north wind had carried
it away, and he found only his grapnel and some bits of half-rotten
ground-tackling. He went into his cabin, which had also suffered much
from wind and weather, and began to fumble in the pocket of his jacket
to see if he could find there some five-franc pieces. But he turned his
pockets in vain, there was not even one poor penny; there was nothing
there but the old snuff-box that his brother-in-law had given him. He
was on the point of throwing it into a corner, but he thought that
perhaps it contained some tobacco, and he opened it. As soon as he had
raised the lid, he heard a small voice, which said to him,--
“Master, what do you want?”
“What do I want?” murmured the fisherman, much astonished at hearing
a voice, but seeing no one. “There are a great many things; at this
moment I would like a table with a good dinner on it.”
Immediately a table was set before him covered with bread and meats;
there were also bottles of wine, and even coffee and brandy were not
forgotten. The fisherman, who had fasted somewhat for some time, ate
with a good appetite; then, when he was no longer hungry, he opened his
snuff-box again, and ordered it to transport him to the chamber of the
king’s daughter. Immediately he rose gently above the clouds as if he
had been borne on the wings of the wind, and saw beside him a princess
as beautiful as the day, and who slept so quietly that one could
scarcely hear her breathe. In the morning he opened his snuff-box
again so as to return to his cabin before the princess was awake. For
three days he had himself served with good meals, and for three nights
he remained gazing upon the king’s daughter as she slept; but he would
not awaken her, lest he should frighten her and give her trouble.
However, the princess’ father causes it to be trumpeted throughout his
kingdom and in the neighboring countries that his daughter was of an
age to be married, and that he would give her to the one who should
bring him the greatest quantity of grain; for the harvest had been bad,
and his subjects were threatened with famine. Wagons were to be seen on
the roads coming from every direction, loaded with grain; and in all
the ports ships whose holds were filled with wheat. The young fisherman
was delighted to hear of the king’s promise, for he thought that,
thanks to his snuff-box, he should be able to become the husband of the
princess who pleased him so much.
He opened his snuff-box, and immediately he heard the small voice
saying,--
“Master, what do you want?”
“I would like thousands and thousands of wagons loaded with wheat, so
that no one could be able to carry as much to the king’s palace as I.”
Accordingly the roads were covered, farther than the eye could reach,
with wagons, and the fisherman took them to the king, who found that
he alone brought more grain than all the others together. Eight days
after, the fisherman married the princess, who was not sorry for it,
because he was a handsome fellow.
The day after the wedding he opened his snuff-box and asked of it a
beautiful castle which should be hung from the sky by four golden
chains, near the palace of his father-in-law. As soon as he had spoken,
he saw the castle in the sky, hanging from the clouds by four golden
chains. It was so beautiful that nothing had ever been seen equal to
it, and it shone as if it had been made entirely of gold. When the king
saw this beautiful palace which glistened in the sun, he asked his
son-in-law what it could be.
“Sire,” replied the fisherman, “it is my castle that my invisible
workmen have built this night above your garden. If you wish to come
and look over it, you will see that it is perfectly furnished.”
The king embraced his son-in-law, for he was charmed to see him with
such a beautiful castle; and when he had gone over it from the garret
to the cellar, he proposed to him to go hunting, and they both started
off.
Meanwhile one of the princess’s old lovers came to the castle hung
by the golden chains, and looking over it, he perceived in a corner
an old worn-out snuff-box. Very much astonished to see it in such
a place, he wished to open it to find out what there was inside;
immediately he heard a small voice, which said,--
“Master, what do you wish for?”
“What do I wish for?” replied the lord. “I wish that this castle may be
transported more than four hundred and fifty leagues from here.”
In a moment he felt the castle move, and he saw it pass over great
forests and vast seas, which it crossed in the wink of an eye. At last
he saw it stop in the midst of a country where, as far as the eye could
reach, not a living soul could be seen.
Returning from the hunt with his father-in-law, the young fisherman
came to a rising ground from whence he thought he should perceive his
castle; but was greatly surprised to see it no longer. He felt in his
pockets and found that his snuff-box was not there.
When the king learned that the castle where his daughter was had
disappeared, he got into a great rage, and swore upon his kingly word
that, if his son-in-law did not bring the princess back before two
months had passed, he would have him torn in pieces by four horses.
The fisherman was very sad at having lost his wife and his castle; but
he thought that his brothers-in-law would be able to help him, and he
set out to go and see them. He first went to find the king of the
Fishes. On entering the palace, he embraced his sister, who was as
happy as a princess should be; then he related his misfortune to his
brother-in-law, and asked him if he had not heard of a castle hung from
the sky by four golden chains.
“No,” replied the king of the Fishes; “I have not heard of it: but
wait, I think I can tell you in a moment where it is.”
He plunged into the sea, and assembled all his subjects from the whale
to the flea-of-the-sea, and asked them if they had not seen a castle
hung from the clouds by four golden chains; but they all declared
that it was the first time they had heard of it. As the king finished
questioning them, he saw an old porpoise come up, who had stood many
shots and many storms.
“And you, porpoise,” asked the king of him, “have you not seen the
castle hung in the air by four golden chains?”
“No,” he answered, “I have not seen it; but as I was playing on the
waves, I met an eagle who told me of a castle hung by four golden
chains; a marriage was to be celebrated there in eight days, and so
many meats were taken there for the guests that the eagle told me he
had never seen so many before.”
The king of the Fishes thanked the old porpoise; then he came out of
the sea and went to tell his brother-in-law all he had learned. The
fisherman was very glad of it, and set out at once to go to see his
other brother-in-law, the king of the Birds.
When he reached his palace, he embraced his sister, then told his
adventures to the king of the Birds, and asked him if he had not heard
of a castle hung in the air by four golden chains. The king assembled
his subjects, and asked them if they had seen the castle. The eagle
answered,--
“Yes, I have seen it; it shines like gold, and a marriage is to be
celebrated there in seven days. It will be a grand wedding, for already
there are so many meats of all sorts that yesterday I could eat as much
of them as I wanted.”
“Could you,” asked the king, “carry a man as far as that?”
“Yes,” answered the eagle; “but first I must eat a great deal, for the
way will be long.”
During the whole night the eagle was supplied with meats, and he
feasted until the break of day. In the morning he took the fisherman
on his back, and flew away to go to the castle hung in the air by four
golden chains.
For several hours the eagle flew over a great sea, so vast that neither
shores nor islands were to be seen, nothing but the sky and the sea;
but his strength began to fail, and he put the fisherman down on a
rock that the tide had just exposed to view; then he went off at a
single flight for the castle of the four golden chains, so as to fill
his stomach again with meats, and be able to take the man upon his back
again.
The fisherman remained alone upon the rock, and the time seemed long
to him, for the eagle did not return, and he knew that the high tide
would cover the rock. Meanwhile the tide rose higher and higher, and in
vain he looked with all his eyes; he did not see the eagle returning.
He stood upon the highest point of the rock; soon the water reached him
there; it bathed his feet, then his knees; it rose to his waist, then
to his shoulders, and still he saw nothing coming. Just at the moment
when the waves reached his chin, the eagle appeared, and having taken
him on his back, he put him down in the court-yard of the castle, where
the wedding was to be celebrated the next day.
The fisherman’s wife was at her window; she recognized her husband,
and was very glad to see him, for she loved him very much, and it was
against her will that she had been taken away. She found an opportunity
to speak to him secretly, and said to him,--
“The lord who carried me away never leaves the magic snuff-box, and
every evening when he goes to bed, he puts it under his pillow, so it
is difficult to take it without waking him. The eagle must go and find
the husband of your third sister, the one who commands the Rats and the
Mice, and tell him to order some of his subjects to come here. When the
lord is snoring, a little mouse will go and stuff his tail in his open
mouth; then he will cough, and while he is sitting up, you will be able
to secure the snuff-box.”
The eagle hastened to go to the country of the Rats and Mice, and
quickly returned, bringing on his back a little mouse, that looked
wise, as all mice do, and a big rat with a long tail.
The following night, as soon as the lord, who before going to bed had
put the magic snuff-box under his pillow, began to snore, the little
mouse stuffed her tail into his mouth; but it was not long enough to
reach to his throat, and without waking, the man squeezed it so tightly
that she thought he had chopped it off. She began to make a little
plaintive sound, and he loosened his teeth; then she ran to tell the
fisherman’s wife that she had not been able to succeed, because her
tail was too short. Then the lady ordered the big rat to try in his
turn; he took his aim so well that he stuffed his tail quite down the
lord’s throat. The latter wakened with a start, half strangled, and sat
up in bed, coughing and spitting as if he were ready to die.
Meanwhile the fisherman, who was hidden under the bed, had passed his
hand under the pillow and seized upon the snuff-box. He opened it
immediately and heard a small voice, which said,--
“Master, what do you wish for?”
“What do I wish for? I wish that my castle may be taken back again to
my father-in-law’s garden, to the place where it was before this rascal
stole my snuff-box from me.”
In a moment he felt that the castle was lifted and borne through the
air; he saw it cross over vast seas and through great forests in the
wink of an eye, and soon it stopped still in the king’s garden, in
front of the palace.
The king, who had just wakened, went to his window, and when he saw the
castle hung by four golden chains between heaven and earth, he rubbed
his eyes, thinking he was losing his sight; but he saw his son-in-law
and his daughter coming, and they embraced him and told him all that
had happened to them.
He was greatly rejoiced to see them again, and to punish him who had
carried off the snuff-box, he caused him to be torn in pieces by four
horses. There were great rejoicings in honor of the return of the
princess, and the fisherman lived happily with her. But he took care to
carry the magic snuff-box always with him.
PAUL SEBILLOT, “Contes Des Marins.”
THE TWO SOLDIERS
A LORRAINE STORY
Once upon a time there were two soldiers who were about sixty years
old. Being obliged to leave the service, they determined to return to
their country. As they were journeying along, they said one to the
other,--
“What are we going to do to get our living? We are too old to learn
a trade; if we beg our bread, we shall be told we are not too old to
work, and nothing will be given us.”
“Let us draw lots,” said one of them, “who will let his eyes be put
out, and we will go begging together.”
The other one thought it a good idea. The lot fell on the one who made
the proposition; his comrade put out his eyes, and, one leading the
other, they went from door to door begging their bread. A great deal
was given to them. But the blind man got but little good of it; his
companion kept all that was good for himself, and gave him only the
bones and crusts of hard bread.
“Alas!” said the unfortunate creature, “is it not enough to be blind?
Must I be so badly treated also?”
“If you complain again,” said the other, “I will leave you here.”
But the poor blind man could not help complaining. At last his
companion left him in a forest.
After having wandered all about, the blind man stopped at the foot of a
tree.
“What will become of me?” said he to himself, “night is coming, and the
wild beasts will devour me.”
He climbed up into a tree for safety. Towards eleven or twelve o’clock
four animals came to the same place,--the fox, the wild boar, the wolf,
and the roebuck.
“I know something,” said the fox; “but I will not tell it to any one.”
“I also know something,” said the wolf.
“And I also,” said the roebuck.
“Pshaw!” said the wild boar, “you, with your little horns, what do you
know?”
“Ah!” remarked the roebuck, “there is a great deal of wit in my little
brain and in my little horns.”
“Well,” said the wild boar, “let each one tell what he knows.”
The fox began,--
“There is a little river near here whose water will restore the sight
of the blind. I have had an eye put out several times in my life; I
bathed in that water, and I was healed.”
“I know that river too,” said the wolf; “I have known it longer than
you. The king’s daughter is very sick; she is promised in marriage to
the one who will cure her. To give her water of this river would be
quite sufficient to restore her health.”
The roebuck said in his turn,--
“The city of Lyons is in need of water, and they have promised fifteen
thousand francs to the one who shall be able to get a supply for it.
Now, if they would dig up the tree of liberty, they would find a
spring, and they would have an abundance of water.”
“I,” said the wild boar, “I know nothing.”
Thereupon the animals separated.
“Ah!” said the blind man to himself, “if I could only find that spring!”
He got down from the tree, and went groping through the country. At
last he came to the river. There he bathed his eyes, and he began to
see again; he bathed them again, and his sight was perfectly restored.
Then he went at once to the mayor of Lyons, and told him that if he
wanted water he had only to pull up the tree of liberty. Sure enough!
when the tree was dug up, they discovered a spring; and the city had as
much water as was necessary. The soldier received the promised fifteen
thousand francs, and went to see the king.
“Sire,” said he to him, “I have heard that your daughter is very sick;
and I have something that will cure her.”
And he told him of the water of the river. The king sent one of his
footmen immediately for some of the water. They made the princess drink
of it, they made her take baths of it, and she was cured.
The king said to the soldier,--
“Although you are a little old, you shall marry my daughter; or else,
if you prefer it, I will give you some money.”
The soldier preferred to marry the princess; he knew very well that
with the daughter he would have the money also. The marriage took place
without delay.
One day when the soldier was taking a walk in the garden, he saw a
man all in rags who was asking charity; he recognized at once his old
comrade.
“Were there not two of you begging formerly?” said he to him as he came
up to him. “Where is your companion?”
“He is dead,” answered the beggar.
“Tell the truth; you will not repent of it. What has become of him?”
“I abandoned him.”
“Why?”
“He was always complaining. It was always he who got the good pieces;
when we had bread, I gave him the crumbs, because he had no teeth, and
I ate the crusts; I gave him the meat, and kept the bones for myself.”
“It is a lie! you did just the opposite. Would you recognize your
companion?”
“I do not know.”
“Well, I am that companion.”
“But are you not the king?”
“Doubtless; but I am also your old comrade. Come in; I will tell you
all about it.”
When the beggar learned all that had happened to the blind man, he said
to him,--
“I would like to have the same luck. Take me therefore to that same
tree; perhaps the animals will come there again.”
“Willingly,” said the other; “I am willing to return you good for evil.”
He took the beggar to the tree; and the beggar climbed up into it.
About eleven or twelve o’clock, the four animals collected there again.
The fox said to the others,--
“What we said the other night was overheard; the king’s daughter is
cured, and the city of Lyons has water. Who, then, has revealed our
secrets?”
“It is not I,” said the wolf.
“Nor I,” said the roebuck.
“I am sure that it is the wild boar,” said the fox; “he had nothing to
say himself, and he went and told what the others said.”
“It is not true,” replied the wild boar.
“Take care!” said the fox; “we shall all three be against you.”
“I am not afraid of you,” said the wild boar, showing his teeth; “just
you meddle with me!”
Suddenly raising their eyes, they saw the beggar up in the tree.
“Oh! oh!” said they, “here is a man who is spying upon us.”
Immediately they set to work to root up the tree; then they seized upon
the man and devoured him.
EMMANUEL COSQUIN, “Contes Populaires Lorrains.”
THE THREE BROTHERS AND THE GIANT
A STORY OF PICARDY
A good woman had three children, all boys: the first was named Jean;
the second, Jeannot; and the third, Jeannois. These three children
passed for the sharpest in the canton, and the good woman was very
glad of it, as you may imagine. One fine day she went to the wood
with them to pick up some dead wood there, and make fagots of it for
the approaching winter. The children soon had enough of looking for
pieces of dead wood, and preferring to gather mulberries, nuts, and
dogberries, they left their mother and plunged into the coppice farther
and farther, until they did not hear the cries and calls of the good
woman, who after awhile, thinking they had returned to the village,
went back to her house.
Soon evening came on, and Jean, Jeannot, and Jeannois perceived with
terror that they were lost in the woods.
“What shall we do?” said Jean. “What shall we do?” said Jeannot. “What
shall we do?” added Jeannois.
They did not know what to do, and they began to hear the howling of the
foxes and wolves in the depth of the forest. At last Jean, the oldest,
had an inspiration. He climbed to the top of a great oak-tree which
grew near by, and turned in every direction so that he could observe
the neighborhood. He discovered a light which shone in the distance,
and having well observed the position of it, he came down from the oak
and walked with his brothers in the direction of the light.
After they had gone beyond the wood, they saw a palace before them, and
went and knocked at the door.
Tap! tap!
“Who is there at this hour?”
“We are three little children lost in the forest, and we want to pass
the night in this beautiful palace. Will you give us lodging here?”
A young woman half opened the door.
“Do you not know that this is the palace of the Giant of the Golden
Beard? He is out at this moment, but he will be back before long. If
you take my advice you will make haste and run away, for he might kill
you and eat you as he has done so many persons.”
“But, madam, we do not know which way to go this dark night. Hide us
safely somewhere, and to-morrow, at the break of day, we will go away
without the Giant’s suspecting anything of it.”
The woman was moved with pity, and let the children come into the
castle. She made them go down into the cellar, and gave them good cakes
to eat. Then, hearing the Giant’s step in the distance, she charged
the lost children to hide themselves well behind a big cask, and went
up-stairs as if nothing had happened.
The Giant of the Golden Beard had been on a long tramp and was dying of
thirst. He went down into the cellar to refresh himself, in spite of
his wife, who besought him to go to bed.
“I smell fresh meat here,” muttered the Giant as he came near the cask
behind which the children were cowering.
As he was very thirsty, he took out the bung, lifted the cask as if it
had been a straw and drank and drank through it. As he set the great
wine cask down on the ground he hurt little Jeannois, who could not
help uttering a cry.
“Ah! ah!” cried the Giant of the Golden Beard, “I was sure I smelt
fresh meat! It is good! it is good! I shall take you up-stairs and kill
you; I shall have an excellent breakfast to-morrow.”
He took the three unfortunate boys in one hand and brought them up into
the kitchen.
But the wife who had heard what the Giant had just said, had hastened
to hide his big knife, and her husband looked for it in vain: he could
not succeed in finding it.
“Very well! very well! You will lose nothing by waiting! Wife, put
these three children in my daughters’ room and give them a bed. I will
kill them to-morrow. The flesh will be fresher.”
The woman obeyed tremblingly, and every one went to bed.
“We are in a very bad place,” thought Jeannot. And he got down from his
bed to examine the Giant’s daughters, who were sleeping in the bed near
by.
The moon had risen, and Jeannot perceived that the young girls wore
a crown of gold on their heads, and that there were, as in their own
case, three of them.
“Suppose the Giant should get up and come to wring our necks during the
night,” thought Jeannot. “It is very possible, certainly. I am going to
take off the three crowns and put them on my head and my brothers’. The
Giant will perhaps be deceived.”
So he did what he had thought of, and went to bed again. He was just in
time. The Giant of the Golden Beard had drunk too much wine, and found
himself uncomfortable in his bed. To kill time, he determined to get up
and go and kill the three little boys whom chance had sent to him.
He went to the bed where the latter were pretending to be asleep and
took hold of Jean’s head.
“Idiot!” said he to himself, “I was about to kill my daughters. I have
mistaken the bed.” And he went to the other bed and wrung the necks of
his own children.
Then, satisfied with his work, he went to bed again.
Jean, Jeannot, and Jeannois dressed themselves hastily and escaped
through the window.
Imagine the anger and dismay of the Giant, when on waking the next
morning he saw what he had done during the night. He became more wicked
than before, and went about through the country killing the travelers,
murdering peasants, and setting at defiance the armies that the king
sent against him.
As for Jean, Jeannot, and Jeannois, not knowing which way to go, they
took at last a highway, which at the end of two days’ journey brought
them to the capital of the kingdom. They asked to speak to the king and
to tell him their adventures in the palace of the Giant of the Golden
Beard. The king appointed them to be pages from that day forth.
I told you that the Giant, made furious by the death of his children,
went about ravaging the kingdom. This went on for two or three years.
Many knights had gone forth to fight against him, and not one of them
had returned. The king also trembled in his palace, fearing that some
day this terrible man would take a fancy to come and attack him in his
city.
One day Jean, the oldest of the three pages, went to the king and asked
the hand of his eldest daughter, with the title of knight. The king
refused at first; then, on reflection, he said to the page,--
“I grant you what you desire, on condition that you show yourself
worthy of it. You have not forgotten that famous Giant of the Golden
Beard, who came near killing both yourself and your brothers. Very
well; bring me his golden beard, and I swear to you that I will make
you a knight and give you my daughter in marriage.”
Jean accepted these terms. The king wanted to give him arms like those
of the knights, but he refused them. He took the road his brothers and
he had taken before, and presented himself at the Giant’s castle. It
was broad daylight, and the page sounded the horn.
“What do you want?” asked the Man with the Golden Beard.
“I want to fight with you to-morrow morning. I have beaten all the
giants I have been able to encounter hitherto, and I want to beat you
as I have done all the others.”
“You are very young, handsome page; but no matter. Come into my castle,
and to-morrow we will fight.”
Jean did not wait to be persuaded, and entered the palace of the Giant
of the Golden Beard, who gave him an invitation to dine with him. The
page accepted, and while the Giant had his back turned, he poured out
for him a liquor which possessed the quality of causing sleep for
several days.
“Here is to your health!”
“Here is to your health!”
And the page and the Giant emptied their glasses with a single draught.
At the same moment the latter fell under the table and began to snore
so loud that the whole castle shook. Without losing time the young man
took the scissors which he had brought, and cut off the Giant’s golden
beard. Then he left the palace and set out for the capital, where he
arrived two days after.
The king was very much astonished; he had promised his daughter to the
page, and he bestowed her upon him, telling him he would dub him knight
later on. A short while after that, Jeannot came also to find the king.
“My lord the king,” said he, “I love your daughter, Marie, and I think
she loves me. Will you make me a knight and bestow her hand upon me?”
“But you have done nothing that I know of to merit such an honor.”
“I am ready to show myself worthy of it. Command, and I will obey you.”
The king reflected, and then said,--
“Well, you shall have what you ask me for, when you bring me the
Giant’s broadsword, that you will remember.”
Jeannot agreed, and set out for the Giant’s castle, wearing neither
arms nor shield.
He arrived there at the end of two days and sounded the horn.
“Ah! ah!” cried the Giant, “another one who wishes to rob me! Very
well; I will see to it.”
“I do not come for that purpose; but I have been told that you could
drink more wine than any one in the world, and I have come to compare
myself with you.”
“Is that really true?”
“Perfectly true! But I verily believe that I can beat you. I can drink
fifty casks of wine without being hurt by it.”
“We will see; we will see. Come into the castle. I am ready to have a
match with you. But who will begin first?”
“You, if you please.”
“Agreed.”
Jeannot went down in the Giant’s cellar, and the latter wishing to
drink as much as he possibly could, swallowed ever and ever so much
wine, so that soon he staggered and fell down dead-drunk. Jeannot took
his broadsword and carried it to the king, who was more astonished than
when Jean returned with the golden beard.
Jeannot married the princess Marie, but the king did not make him
knight at once.
There was only Jeannois left.
One day he came to the king, and said,--
“My lord the king, I love your youngest daughter; she loves me also,
and I come to ask you for her hand, and the title of knight.”
“All that is very well. But you must deserve it.”
“Command, and I will do whatever you order me to do.”
The king thought awhile, and at last he said,--
“Your brothers have taken the Giant’s beard and his broadsword. Could
you bring him to me in an iron cage?”
“I will try, my lord the king; farewell.”
Jeannois had a very large iron carriage made and went to the Giant’s
castle. When he got there he sounded the horn.
“What do you want? worm of the earth! dust of nothingness!”
“Let me into your castle, and I will tell you.”
“Ah! you are one of those pages who stole my beard and my broadsword. I
see what you want, and I am going to kill you.”
“One moment, if you please. Do not be in a hurry. I have just come
to find you in order to restore what they stole from you. The two pages
are alone in a distant castle, and I have brought my carriage so as to
carry us there more quickly.”
[Illustration: THE GIANT GOT INTO THE IRON CARRIAGE.]
The Giant allowed himself to be deceived again, and got into the iron
carriage, where he found himself imprisoned. And Jeannois returned
quickly to the court. The king was very glad, as he well might have
been, at having got rid of the robber, who was burned on an immense
pile built on the great square of the city. Jeannois married the
princess whom he loved, and the king made the three brothers knights
of his kingdom. During the feasts that were given, the mother of
Jean, Jeannot, and Jeannois came to the city, still searching for her
children. Imagine her happiness and that of her sons.
E. H. CARNOY, “Litterature Orale de la Picardie.”
THE FAIRY AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE EARTH
A STORY OF THE ISLE OF OUESSANT
Once upon a time,--a very long time ago,--perhaps the time when Saint
Pol came to us from Hibernia in a stone trough,--there was a young
girl sixteen or seventeen years old, with fair hair, blue eyes, and
cheeks as red as two apples, and her name was Mona Kerbile. She was so
beautiful that all who saw her stopped to admire her, and said to her
mother, old Jeanne Kerbile, a poor woman like myself,--
“You have a very pretty daughter, Jeanne! She is as pretty as a fairy!
Such a beautiful girl has never before been seen in the island, and
there are even those who say that she must be the child of a fairy.”
“Do not believe those who say so,” replied the good woman, “for I truly
am her mother, and Fanch Kerbile, my husband, is surely her father.”
Mona’s father was a fisherman, and spent almost all of his time on the
water, and her mother tended a small spot of ground that she had, as
all the island people did, or spun in her hut when the weather was
too bad. Mona went, as all the young girls of her age did, to seek for
limpets, mussels, periwinkles, and other shell-fish on the shore. It
seems that the fairies, who were then very numerous in the island, had
observed her, and had, themselves also, been struck with her beauty.
One day when she was on the shore with her companions as usual, they
were talking of their lovers. Each one boasted of the skill of her own
in catching fish, and steering a boat, and in guiding it among the
numerous dangers by which the island was surrounded.
“You, Mona,” said Mare’harit Ar Fur to her, “you are wrong to
discourage Fanch Kerdudal as you do, for he is a young fellow of
excellent character, clever, and no one comes back in the evening with
more fish than he, nor guides his bark better among the difficult
passes of the Vieille Jument or the point of Stiff.”
“I,” said Mona, scornfully,--for on account of hearing it said that she
was beautiful, she had become vain and proud,--“I will never take a
fisherman for my husband; I am too pretty for that. I am as beautiful
as a fairy; they tell me so every day, and I shall marry no one but a
prince, or at least the son of a great lord.”
It happened that an old fairy, hidden behind a rock or under a tuft
of sea-wrack, heard her, and jealous at seeing that a daughter of
the earth could rival the beauty of the children of the fairies, he
conceived the design of carrying her off and taking her with him to his
home under the water. He dared not try to do it that day, for Mona was
in the midst of her companions. But the next day about sunset, while
she was still catching shell-fish with two other of the village girls,
and was somewhat apart from her friends, the old fairy suddenly sprang
out from behind a rock where he was watching her, seized her and took
her away down to the bottom of the water. She cried loudly, and called
her friends to her assistance, but alas! they could not come to help
her; they could only run to the house and tell her mother what they
had seen. Old Jeanne was spinning on her doorsteps. She threw down her
distaff and her spindle, and ran to the shore, and called her daughter
loudly, and even went into the water as far as she could at the place
where they told her that Mona had disappeared with the fairy. But it
was all in vain, and no voice replied to her cries and her tears.
The report of the adventure spread quickly over the island, and every
one was of the opinion that what had happened to the beautiful Mona
was a punishment for her pride and her vanity; for however beautiful a
young girl may be, she should neither be proud nor vain, for God gives
beauty and ugliness, and riches and poverty also, as it pleases him.
The old fairy was the king of the fairies in those parts, and he took
the young Ouessantine with him to the bottom of the sea, to a beautiful
palace made of shells and coral.
The old fairy had a son, the handsomest fairy that ever was seen, and
he fell in love with Mona and asked his father to let him marry her.
But the old king answered that he would never consent to allow him to
take for his wife a daughter of man who boasted of being as beautiful
as the daughter of a fairy. There were plenty of the most beautiful
fairies, who would be glad to have him for their husband, and he would
not withhold his consent when he should have made his choice among them.
Our young fairy was then in despair. He told his father that he would
never marry if he was not allowed to have for his wife the daughter of
man whom he loved. His father seeing him dying of sadness and grief,
compelled him to marry a young fairy, the daughter of an old lord among
the fairies, and who was celebrated for her beauty. The wedding day
was fixed, and a great many people were invited. The betrothed couple
set out on their way to the church, followed by a rich and numerous
train; for it appears that these people of the sea have their religion
and their churches as we do, although they are not Christians; they
even have bishops, we are told, and an old bishop of the sea was to
perform the ceremony. Poor Mona received an order from the old fairy to
stay at home and prepare the wedding feast. But they gave her nothing
that was needed for all this, absolutely nothing but large pots and
empty sauce-pans (which were large shells), but they told her that if
everything was not ready, and if she did not serve them a good feast
when they returned from church she should be put to death immediately.
Imagine her grief and perplexity, poor girl! But the poor young
bridegroom was not less troubled and disconsolate.
As the procession was on its way to the church, he suddenly cried out,--
“I have forgotten the wedding ring!”
“Tell me where it is, and I will send for it,” said his father to him.
“No; no; I will go myself, for no one but me could find it where I have
put it. I will hasten there and will return in a moment.”
And he let go the bride’s arm and ran to the house. He found poor Mona
in the kitchen, weeping and desolate.
“Do not weep,” said he to her; “your feast will be ready and cooked to
perfection; so do not be troubled on that account.”
And going to the fireplace, he said,--
“Good fire in the fireplace!”
And the fire burned up in the fireplace. Then touching with his hand
each of the pots and saucepans successively, he said,--
“Some beef in this saucepan, veal and mutton in that other one; here a
mutton on the spit; cider and wine in these pots!” and so on.
And the saucepans and pots were filled at once, to the surprise and joy
of Mona, who was no longer weeping.
Then he hastened to rejoin his bride and his party, and they went to
the church, and the ceremony was performed by a bishop of the sea.
After that they returned to the house.
When they arrived there, the old fairy hastened the first thing to the
kitchen, and asked for Mona.
“Here we are; we have come back; is everything ready for the feast?”
“Yes; everything is ready,” answered Mona quietly.
And he uncovered all the saucepans, examined all the pots, and then
said, with a displeased air,--
“You have been helped; but never mind; I have not finished with you
yet.”
The wedding guests seated themselves at the table, and they eat and
drank as much as they would; then they sang and danced till night.
After the evening’s entertainment, the two young married people retired
to their chamber, and the old fairy told Mona to go with them, and
remain there, holding in her hand a burning wax-taper to give them
light. When the taper should be burnt down to her hand, she should be
put to death.
Poor Mona was obliged to obey. The old fairy was in a room near by, and
from time to time he asked,--
“Is the taper consumed?”
“Not yet,” answered Mona.
He asked this question several times. At last when the wax-taper was
almost entirely consumed, the young husband said to the new wife,--
“It is your turn now to go and hold the wax-taper a while!”
As she did not know the intentions of her father-in-law, she got up and
took the wax-taper from Mona’s hands.
The old fairy asked again,--
“Has the wax-taper burned down to your hand?”
“Tell him yes,” said the bridegroom.
“Yes,” answered the young fairy.
And immediately the old fairy came into the room, seized upon her who
held in her hand the remnant of the wax-taper, and cut off her head.
Then he went away.
In the morning, as soon as he had risen, the young fairy went to his
father, and spoke thus to him,--
“I have come to ask you to allow me to marry, my father.”
“To allow you to marry? Were you not married yesterday?”
“That is true; but my wife is dead, father.”
“Your wife is dead? How did it happen? Have you killed her, you
miserable creature?”
“It is not I who have killed her, father, but you, yourself.”
“I?”
“Yes, father; did you not yesterday cut off the head of the woman who
was holding the lighted wax-taper near my bed?”
“Yes; but it was the daughter of the earth.”
“No, my father, it was the young fairy whom I had just married; and if
you do not believe me, you can easily be assured of it, for her body is
still in my chamber.”
The old fairy hastened to his son’s chamber, and recognized his
mistake. His anger was terrible, and a little more and he would have
killed his son himself.
“Whom do you wish to take for a wife?” he asked his son the next day
when he was a little pacified.
“The daughter of the earth, my father.”
The father found at last that it was useless to seek to cure his son of
this love, and he concluded to allow him to marry the daughter of the
earth.
The young fairy was very attentive to his wife. He fed her on delicate
little fish, and made for her necklaces and bracelets of fine pearls,
and gathered for her every day pretty shell-fish and the most beautiful
and rarest sea-plants. In spite of all this, Mona was weary, and wanted
to return to the earth to see once more her island, and her father and
mother in their little hut by the seashore. The fairy would not let her
go, for he feared she would never return. Then she became very sad, and
did nothing but weep night and day. Seeing this, her husband said to
her one day,--
“Smile on me a little, and I will take you back to your father’s house.”
Mona smiled, and the fairy, who was also a magician, then said,--
“Bridge, rise up!”
And immediately a beautiful bridge rose up, reaching from the bottom of
the sea to the land. The old fairy, seeing this, and feeling sure that
his son knew well as he did himself how to use magic, said,--
“I should like to go with you also.”
The three went together on the bridge, the old man behind, and the
other two a few steps in advance of him. But as soon as the young fairy
stepped ashore with his wife, he turned and said,--
“Bridge, return!”
And immediately the bridge went back again to the bottom of the sea,
and with it the old fairy, who was still on it.
The fairy not being able to accompany his wife to her father’s house,
let her go alone, giving her the following precautions before leaving
her:--
“Come back at sunset, and you will find me here waiting for you; but do
not let any man embrace you, or even take your hand, or you will make
me very unhappy.”
Mona promised, and hastened to her father’s house, which was not far
off on the shore. It was the dinner hour, and all the family were
assembled.
“Good morning, father and mother; good morning, brothers and sisters,”
said she as she entered the poor hut.
The good people opened their eyes wide, and looked at her, astonished,
and none of them recognized her for their daughter or their sister. She
was so beautiful, so grand, and so well dressed! This grieved her very
much, and tears came into her eyes; then she began to go around the
house, touching each object with her hands, and saying,--
“Here is the little stool on which I sat beside the fire; here is the
bed where I slept; here is the pitcher with which I brought water from
the spring; here is the broom with which I swept the house; here is
the wooden porringer from which I ate my soup.”
At last her brother, hearing all this, recognized her, and threw
himself on her neck to embrace her, and her father and mother and
sisters did the same thing; but from that moment Mona lost entirely all
recollection of her husband, the fairy, and his home under the sea. She
remained with her parents, and soon plenty of lovers came to the house
to sue for her hand; but she would not listen to any of them, and had
no desire to marry.
This family, like the other inhabitants of the island, had a bit of
ground where they planted potatoes and sowed barley, and this, together
with the daily supply of fish and shell-fish which they caught out of
the sea, was sufficient for them to live simply but contentedly.
There was a little space before the house containing a stack of barley
straw. Often when she was lying in bed, and the winds howled, and the
waves dashed and broke against the rocks on the shore, Mona thought she
heard plaintive moanings near her door; but she believed it to be poor
shipwrecked souls asking for the prayers of the careless living beings,
and she recited a “De profundis;” then she pitied the poor sailors who
were in the sea, and went to sleep again.
But one night she heard distinctly these words, uttered in a sad,
heart-broken voice:--
“Oh, Mona! have you then forgotten your husband, the fairy who loves
you so much, who saved you from death, and brought you back from the
depths of the sea to see your father and mother, your brothers and
sisters? You promised me so faithfully to come back again; I have been
waiting for you so long and I am so unhappy without you!”
Then Mona recollected everything all at once. She rose up hastily,
set out and found the fairy, who was lamenting thus near the stack of
barley straw. She threw herself into his arms, and since then she has
never been seen.
This story is taken from an article entitled “A Voyage to the Island
of Ouessant,” published in the “Revue de France,” March and April,
1874.
F. M. LUZEL.
SISTER AND HALF-SISTER
A MULHOUSE STORY
Once there was a woman who had two daughters: one was her husband’s
daughter by his first marriage, and the other was her own child. One
day when the half-sister was spinning by the well, her spindle fell
into the water and her mother beat her cruelly. She went back to the
well and was trying to get her spindle out again, when her hard-hearted
mother gave her such a push that the poor girl fell into the well.
When she reached the bottom she found a large and magnificent garden.
As she was walking along, in tears, the pear-tree said to her,--
“Young girl, why are you crying so?”
The young girl answered,--
“Have I not good reason to cry? My step-mother gave me such a push that
I fell into the well.”
The pear-tree said,--
“Young girl, hold your apron; I will give you some pears.” And the
young girl received from him the most delicious pears.
Afterwards she came to a plum-tree; the plum-tree said to her,--
“Young girl, why are you crying so?”
The young girl answered,--
“Have I not good reason to cry? My step-mother gave me such a push that
I fell into the well.”
The plum-tree said to her,--
“Hold your apron; I will give you some plums”; and he shook into her
lap the most beautiful plums. And the good little girl was treated in
the same way by the other trees.
At last she came to a grand castle all of gold, and she was still
shedding bitter tears. A fair lady was looking out at the window; she
asked her,--
“Young girl, why are you crying?”
“Have I not good reason to cry? My step-mother gave me such a push that
I fell into the well.”
“Come now,” said the lady, “you can spend the night with me; but first
tell me, where do you prefer to eat--with the little dog and the little
cat, or with the gentleman and lady?”
The young girl answered modestly,--
“With the little dog and the little cat. I should not like to be in any
one’s way.”
And on this account they permitted her to eat with the lady and
gentleman.
The lady said to her,--
“Where do you prefer to sleep--with the little dog and the little cat,
or with the gentleman and lady?”
The young girl answered,--
“With the little dog and the little cat.”
And accordingly they permitted her to sleep with the gentleman and lady.
The next day the lady said to her,--
“How would you prefer to be driven back to your home?--in a carriage
smeared with pitch and resin, or in one all of silver and gold?”
The young girl answered,--
“In one smeared with pitch and resin.”
But she was allowed to return in a carriage of silver and gold.
When she arrived at home, her half-sister, who was looking out of the
window, began to clap her hands and cry out,--
“O! Bidi bidi boum!
My half-sister comes,
And heavily laden
With silver and gold.
I must go and help her unload.
O! Bidi bidi boum!”
When the wicked mother saw that the half-sister had become so
distinguished, she said to her own child,--
“Come now, Annette! throw your spindle also into the well and jump in
after it! Who knows? Perhaps the same thing will happen to you down
there, and you will be able to come back in a golden carriage.”
But this one was a wicked and obstinate child. Her mother had scarcely
finished speaking before the spindle was at the bottom of the well,
and the little girl leaped after it and came into the large beautiful
garden of which I have already spoken. The sun shone with a golden
brightness, and the roses and lilies--oh! but it was perfectly splendid!
The little girl went to the pear-tree and said,--
“Come now, give me some pears also!”
But she waited a long time, and the pear-tree did not move.
She went a little farther and came to a plum-tree, and said to it,--
“Come, plum-tree, give me also some plums.”
But it gave her nothing, that is what the plum-tree did; what the other
trees did, it is needless for me to tell you.
The fair lady was again looking out from her palace at the end of the
garden, and said,--
“Young girl, where are you going? From whence do you come? What does
your little heart long for?”
“I wish to come in, I wish to eat, I wish to sleep in a little garden
bed, and I wish to go back again in a little golden carriage.”
The lady could scarcely help laughing, but she continued her
questions:--
“With which do you prefer to eat--with dog and cat, or with lord and
lady?”
“Why, with lord and lady, of course.”
And consequently she was obliged, as a punishment, to eat with the dog
and cat.
A little while afterwards the lady asked her again,--
“With which would you like best to sleep--with the dog and cat, or with
the lord and lady?”
“Why, with the lord and lady, of course.”
But who was obliged to sleep with the dog and cat? It was my wicked
little girl.
The next morning when she got up, the lady said to her,--
“How would you prefer to go back to your home--in a carriage smeared
with pitch and resin, or in a carriage of gold and silver?”
“In the gold carriage, certainly,” cried she.
But for punishment, she was obliged to go back again in the carriage
smeared with resin.
What did her mother say when she saw her child return in the carriage
smeared with pitch and resin, disgraced and scoffed at, and what did
she look like then? Well, I should like to tell you about it; but my
great-grandmother, who was so good as to tell me the story, was losing
her memory, and could not remember any more.
AUGUSTE STOEBER, “Elsaessiches Volksbüchlein.”
THE FAIRIES’ SHIP
A SAILORS’ STORY
Once upon a time there was, at Saint-Cast, a young captain who had no
ship to command. He made application after application. He went to see
the ship-owners, and offered his services; but although he was known to
be a good sailor, he had no command given him. One day when he had been
again at Saint-Malo, without being more successful than at other times,
he started out late, and on foot, to return to his village; and when
night came on, he was not far from the wood which crossed the main road.
“Ah!” said he, “I should have done better to stay and sleep at
Saint-Malo; for I shall have to go through the wood of Pontual; and
they say that after nightfall one is apt to encounter strange things
there.”
He quickened his pace and entered the wood; when he was in the middle
of it, he heard a noise, and having stopped to listen, he heard a voice
which cried, “Help! help! save me!”
“Ah!” thought he, “it is perhaps some one whom the robbers are trying
to kill; but it shall never be said that I left any creature to die
without trying to help him.”
He hastened to the spot from which the cries came, and saw a good woman
who was defending herself as well as she could against five men, who
were trying to kill her. He took her part, and between them they killed
the robbers.
When they had gotten out of the wood, the old woman, who was a fairy,
said to him,--
“Captain, you are brave, and you shall be rewarded for it. If I had
wished I could easily have killed all five of the robbers, for I have
power enough for that; but I wanted to see if you were courageous, and
ready to help poor people.”
Then she disappeared; the captain continued his journey, and reached
Saint-Cast without accident.
The next day a beautiful lady, whom he did not know, came to his house,
and said to him,--
“I am the good woman to whose assistance you came yesterday in the
wood of Pontual. I am a fairy, and I know that you were returning from
Saint-Malo, where you had vainly applied for the command of a ship. It
is needless for you to make any more applications. I will give you the
command of a ship--a splendid one; the handsomest that ever was seen.”
The captain thanked the lady with all his heart; then he invited her to
dine with him.
When the meal was ended, she said to him,--
“Now, you come with me; I am one of the fairies of the Cavern of
Saint-Briac, and near my grotto you will see your ship.”
The captain followed the lady; and when they reached the seashore,
she took him by the hand, and they walked together over the waves, as
though they were on a high-road; the water did not even wet the soles
of their shoes. They arrived at the cavern, and the fairy showed the
captain the ship she had designed for him. The hull was all of gold,
the masts, also, as well as the yards and the pulleys, and the cordage
was of twisted threads of gold. It was not yet quite ready; and the
goldsmiths of the cavern were busy finishing it.
It was so dazzling that the captain could scarcely look at it.
“When will it be finished, this beautiful ship?” he asked of the fairy
who had brought him there.
“Why do you ask me that question?”
“So as to have time to get up a crew to man the ship when it is
finished.”
“Do not be disturbed,” said the fairy; “your crew is ready, and I am
going to show it to you.”
She rubbed some salve round his eyes; immediately he saw at least
thirty little male fairies of tiny size, who were dressed like
admirals; and she said to him, pointing to them with her finger,--
“Captain, these are the little men who will be your sailors. In three
days the ship will be ready; you can set out, and they will help you to
manage it, for they are good sailors. Meanwhile, come and dine with me
and the other inhabitants of the cavern.”
The captain followed the fairy. She led him through a long suite of
apartments bright as gold; and at last they came to a great hall, where
a handsome table was set. Here the fairy women, with their husbands and
sons, and the tiny male fairies, came to take their meals. The captain
looked out of the window, and saw in a court-yard some of the male
fairies, large and small, drilling with the sword and bayonet.
“Why,” asked he, “are they drilling in this way?”
“They are our soldiers,” answered the fairy, “and they are preparing to
go to fight with the fairies of Chêlin, who have declared war against
us.”
When the fairy men, large and small, had finished drilling, they made
playful music with their swords; then every one went into the hall to
dine. That day there was a great feast at the cavern; for the queen
of the fairies had just given birth to a boy, and they celebrated his
birth.
After the feast was over, the captain proposed to go; the fairy who had
brought him, and who was named Gladieuse, conducted him as far as the
door of the grotto, and before leaving him, she said to him,--
“Here are some boots which you must put on to cross the sea; as long as
you have them on, you will be able to go over land or sea, wherever you
wish. To-morrow you must return here to take command of your ship.”
The captain thanked the fairy; then having put on his boots, he
walked over the waves of the sea as if on a highway, and arrived at
Saint-Cast. But when he went into his house he found nothing there; his
parents, who had seen him cross the sea, believed him to be drowned,
and they had removed his furniture. He went to ask them for it, but
they took him, at first, for a ghost. When he had convinced them that
he was a man of flesh and bone, he told them that he had taken command
of a ship. He made them a present of his furniture; then after having
embraced his father and mother, he went away.
He proceeded to the point of the island, and having put on his boots,
he crossed the sea without getting wet. His ship was close by the
cavern, all rigged and ready to set sail. He stepped on board, and the
fairy Gladieuse, who was on the deck, said to him,--
“This ship will sail under the water, as well as on it, in the air as
well as in the water, just as you wish.”
Then she went back to the land, and the sailors of the cavern came on
board; immediately the wind swelled out the sails, and the ship started
off like lightning.
It sailed as fast as the wind, which blew always right aft; they never
had to tack about, they never had head winds, and there was no need
of holding the helm nor of hauling in the sails; a fairy man, who was
unseen, directed everything as he wished. At the end of a fortnight he
steered the ship into a port, and the anchor was immediately thrown out.
The port was in an island where fairy men and women lived, and they
heartily welcomed the captain and his crew.
The next day after their arrival in the island, while all the sailors
were on shore, and the captain was alone on board, the fairy man
appeared and said to him,--
“It is I, who by my will, have brought your ship into this port; it is
I who guided it here, and you had no trouble in steering it, because
the wind was always right aft. Now you are to take on board some fairy
men to help us fight the fairies of Chêlin.”
“Very well, Mr. Fairy; I shall go ashore at once and take the
passengers aboard according to your orders.”
“As soon as they are on board,” said the fairy man, “you must set sail
for Saint-Briac; but I shall leave the ship, which, hereafter, will
sail only under your own command. Here is a little whistle which I give
you; as soon as you reach the shore, you have only to whistle, and
immediately your sailors and the fairy men who are to take part in the
war will come on board.”
The captain went ashore on the island, and as soon as he had blown his
whistle, five hundred fairy men, and the thirty tiny fairies that he
had brought with him, jumped aboard. In less than ten minutes the ship
spread her sails and went out of the port. During the whole voyage he
had a wind right aft, and in less than three weeks from the time he set
sail he arrived at Saint-Briac.
The five-hundred fairy men disembarked, and went into the cavern, where
they were well received. Three days after they went to war against the
fairies of Chêlin; but they were not the stronger, and they asked for
peace.
The war was ended, and there were great rejoicings at the cavern and at
Saint-Briac; the captain carried the fairy men back to their island,
then he went to Antwerp to take a load of sea-coal for the fairies.
They were very much pleased with him, and when he returned, they paid
him a hundred thousand francs for his voyage.
Two days after, the ship stood out to sea; for three whole years it
sailed over the seas without touching at any land, and sometimes they
were left without provisions; but then the captain made use of the ring
that the fairy Gladieuse had given him, and he obtained as much of
everything as he needed.
At the end of the third year they came in sight of a little island, and
the captain and the tiny fairy sailors went ashore. Among the trees
there were fruits of every kind; the brooks were of wine, cider, and
all sorts of good things to drink, and the ground was covered with
precious stones of gold and with diamonds. The tiny fairies tasted
everything; then they loaded the ship with diamonds and precious stones
of gold. Just as they were ready to leave they saw an old fellow
coming, so old that he looked as if his years numbered a thousand. He
was the only inhabitant of the island, and he begged them to take him
on board so that he could go to Saint-Briac.
He was so very, very ugly that the captain himself was afraid of him;
and he was right, for it was a demon. As soon as the old fellow came on
board he tried to take command of the ship; but the captain resisted
him and forced him to obey.
They set sail again, and when they were on the broad sea they were
attacked by pirates, who for a long time had been chasing the golden
ship. At least two hundred of them leaped aboard, and the old demon
took their side; but the tiny fairies killed them all, and also killed
the devil. They threw the dead bodies into the sea; but the pirates who
were left on their ship ordered the powder to be set on fire so as to
blow themselves up with the golden ship. Then the captain said,--
“By the power of my ring, let my ship sail under the water as it does
on top of it.”
Immediately the ship plunged under the sea, and the pirates could not
do it any harm.
Since that time the demon, to whom all the race of fairies was subject,
and who was coming to Saint-Briac to punish them, having been cut to
pieces by the tiny fairies, dare not command them any longer; and since
then neither fairy men nor women belong to him any more.
The golden ship continued its voyage and returned to the Cavern of
Saint-Briac. The fairy men and women were so pleased with the load that
the captain brought them, that they married him to the fairy Gladieuse,
and he lived happily with her in the grotto.
I picked up this story at the little port of Saint-Cast
(Côtes-du-Nord).
PAUL SEBILLOT.
THE SHEPHERD WHO WON THE KING’S DAUGHTER BY A SINGLE WORD
A TALE OF LOWER BRITANNY
Once upon a time there was a king who never told a single lie in his
life. As he heard the people about his court constantly saying to each
other, “That is not true! You are a liar,” he was very much displeased;
so much so that he said one day,--
“I am astonished at you; a stranger who should hear you speak in this
way would not fail to say that I am the king of liars. I do not wish to
hear any more such language in my palace. He who hears me say to any
one, no matter who he may be, ‘You are a liar!’--well, I will give him
the hand of my daughter.”
A young shepherd, who was present at the time, having heard these words
of the king, said to himself, “Good! we will see about this.”
The old king loved to hear the old Giverziou and the new Soniou sung,
and marvelous tales told. Often after supper he came into the kitchen,
and took pleasure in listening to the songs and stories of his footmen.
Each one sang or related something in turn.
“And you, young shepherd, do you know nothing?” said the king one
evening.
“Oh, yes! my king,” answered the shepherd.
“Let us see what you know, then.”
And the shepherd told what follows:--
“One day, as I was going through a wood, I saw an enormous hare coming.
I had in my hand a ball of wax; I threw it at the hare, and struck it
just in the middle of the forehead, where it stuck. Then the hare ran
faster than ever with the ball of wax on its forehead. He met another
hare which was coming from an opposite direction; they struck against
each other’s foreheads and stuck together so that they could not get
apart, and thus I caught them very easily. How do you like that, sire?”
“Very much,” answered the king; “but go on.”
“Before coming to your court as a shepherd, sire, I was a miller’s boy
in my father’s mill, and I went every day with an ass to carry the
flour to the customers. One day I had such a load on my ass that, upon
my word, his spine broke!”
“Poor beast!” said the king.
“Then I went to a hedge nearby, and with my knife I cut a hazel-stick,
which I stuffed into the body of my ass to take the place of its
spine. Then the animal got up and carried its load gently along to its
destination as if no harm had happened to it. What do you say to that,
sire?”
“That is very good; and what next?”
“The next morning I was very much astonished (for it was then the month
of December) to see that branches, leaves, and even hazel-nuts had
grown upon the hazel-stick; and when I took my ass out of the stable,
the branches continued to grow up so very, very high that they reached
up to the sky.”
“That is first-rate!” said the king; “but what happened after that?”
“Seeing that, I began to climb from branch to branch on the hazel-tree,
so high and so safely that at last I reached the moon.”
“That is first-rate, first-rate! but go on.”
“There I saw some old women who were winnowing oats from the chaff and
straw, and I stopped to look at them. But I soon got tired of looking
at these old women, and wanted to descend to the earth again. But my
ass had gone away, and I could no longer find the hazel-tree by which I
had climbed up. What was to be done? Then I went to work to tie the oat
straw together, head to head, so as to make a cord by which I could go
down.”
“This is certainly first-rate!” said the king; “and what next?”
“Unfortunately my cord was not long enough; it was too short by thirty
or forty feet, so that I fell on a rock head-foremost, and so heavily
that my head sank down into the rock as far as my shoulders.”
“That is first-rate, first-rate; and what next?”
“I struggled so vigorously and successfully that my body became
detached from my head, which latter remained buried in the rock. I ran
at once to the mill to find an iron crow-bar, with which to pry my head
out of the rock.”
“Better and better!” said the king; “but what next?”
“When I returned, there was an enormous wolf that also wished to pull
my head out of the rock, in order to eat it! I gave him a blow on the
back with my crow-bar, but such a very, very heavy one, that a letter
flew out of him!”
“Oh! a better one than that could not be told!” cried the king; “but
what was written on that letter?”
“On that letter, my king, with all due respect to you, was written that
your father had formerly been mill boy at my grandfather’s mill.”
“It’s a lie, you young rascal!” cried the king, immediately rising up,
furious.
“Holloa, sire; I have won!” said the shepherd quietly.
“How is that? What have you won?”
“Did not you say, my king, that you would willingly give the hand of
the princess, your daughter, to the first one who would make you say,
‘That is a lie,’ or ‘You are a liar’?”
“It is true,” replied the king, growing calmer; “I did say so. A king
should always keep his word; therefore your betrothal to my only
daughter shall be celebrated to-morrow, and the wedding in a week!”
And thus it was that the shepherd won the king’s daughter by a single
word.
F. M. LUZEL, “Archives des Missions Scientifiques.”
[Illustration: “I GAVE HIM A BLOW ON THE BACK WITH MY CROW-BAR.”]
THE ENCHANTED RING
A CORSICAN STORY
Before the invasion of the Saracens there were six brothers and their
sister who were very, very poor; their parents were sick and not able
to work. One day when they had been hunting for chestnuts in the
neighboring wood and had scarcely been able to find any, the smallest
said to his brothers,--
“I want to go out into the world to see if I can make a fortune. At the
end of the week I will come back to tell you what has happened to me.”
And the little brother went away. He traveled for several days, and at
last he saw a small house in the midst of a forest.
“At last,” said he to himself, “I shall be able to rest myself a few
moments and eat a piece of bread.”
Tap! tap!
“Who is there?”
“It is I.”
Seeing it was a man, the mistress of the house, who was a fairy,
dropped her ring as if by mistake.
The little brother saw it and put it on his finger, saying,--
“Ah! what a beautiful ring!”
But immediately his body was covered with hairs, two horns grew out
from him, his ears became long, and his two hands were changed into the
feet of a goat.
In fact, he was altogether changed into a goat.
“Baa! baa! baa!” said the little brother; but nothing could bring him
back to his original shape.
The fairy tied him, put him down in the cellar; and gave him some very
fresh grass.
Seeing that their brother did not come back, the other five wished to
go and look for him.
They started out one after the other; but when they reached the fairy’s
house, they each put on the ring that she threw to them, and all shared
their youngest brother’s fate.
The sister wanted to go too.
She was beautiful and well formed, with blue eyes and black hair; her
name was Milia.
As she was going along, the little sister came upon a large bird caught
in a bush; it could not get out in spite of all its efforts.
The young girl took her knife, cut off the briers and set free the
bird, which flew away, saying,--
“Thanks, thanks, Milia; thanks, thanks, Milia.”
The latter continued her journey; as night came on, she sat down under
a tree to eat a piece of bread.
As she was making her frugal meal, she saw a poor old woman coming, who
could scarcely drag herself along.
Milia ran to meet her, saying to her,--
“My good mother, lean on me; come rest yourself a moment and have part
of the small quantity of bread that I have left.”
Milia had scarcely uttered these words when she was completely dazzled.
The old woman was changed suddenly into a beautiful fairy, adorned with
a lovely necklace of fine pearls, and dressed in a magnificent robe of
blue and rose-color, all embroidered with gold.
“What do you wish for? I am powerful; ask, and it shall be granted you.”
“I wish to know where my brothers are; are they dead or alive?”
“Your brothers are living, but it will be very difficult for you to
recognize them. To find them you have only to go on straight before
you. They are shut up in the first house that you will find on your
way.”
“Thanks, good fairy.”
And Milia set out.
After having walked hours and hours, the little sister saw a house.
“This is where they are, doubtless,” she thought, and she walked more
rapidly.
Milia was not more than fifty paces from it when the wicked fairy saw
her.
She threw out her ring quickly.
But a large bird flew by and carried it off in its beak.
It was the bird that the young girl had set free.
Tap! tap!
“Come in.”
Milia entered.
“Sit down a moment, while I go to find you something to eat; you must
be tired,” said the old woman to her; then she went out.
Then the bird came and tapped at the window.
“Milia, take nothing from that wicked old woman, or you will be turned
to stone. Your brothers, changed to goats, are shut up in the cellar.”
The old fairy came in at that moment.
“Here, eat a piece of this cake and drink a little of this exquisite
wine.”
“Thanks, madam; I am neither hungry nor thirsty.”
“What, after such a long journey?”
“I do not want anything; if you wish to please me, let me sleep quietly
in this corner.”
“Make yourself comfortable, my poor child.”
However, the fairy thought,--
“This little one must not escape me; I wish to have her at all hazards.”
And she went for a necklace of gold and robes changeable as the sky.
“Since you will not accept anything to eat, take these things, at
least; for it must not be said that any one rests at my house without
taking away some token of my good will.”
“What do you wish a poor girl to do with all these wonderful things?
Robes and necklace would soon be torn up among the bushes through which
I must pass.”
Seeing that all her designs were baffled, the perfidious fairy
stretched herself on her bed, and slept soundly.
The bird came again and tapped at the window.
“Milia, wake up! wake up, Milia!”
“What do you want?”
“Kill that wicked fairy, or she will soon find means to destroy you.
Then take the chemise that she wears, put it on yourself, and you will
possess her magic power.”
Milia got up softly, and taking a knife which was on the table, killed
the wicked old woman; then she undressed her, took her chemise and put
it on herself.
Her mind was enlightened in a moment. A number of things which she had
thought impenetrable mysteries were now explained to her.
Before trying her power, Milia went over the whole house. In a hall
were a number of statues, two of which were in a niche. They were a
king and queen laid under a spell by the magician.
Then Milia went down into the cellar. There she saw six goats,
extremely emaciated, though they had an abundance of food.
“Ah, poor beasts! and to think they are my brothers!”
And Milia, good sister that she was, began to cry. She would have
restored them to their original shape at that moment, but she did not
know how to manage it.
Happily, she remembered that on the fairy’s chemise was written,--
“Chemise, chemise, until death,
Obey me in everything.”
Milia repeated these words, then thought,--
“Chemise, chemise, cause these goats to become men again as they were
before!”
And immediately the goats lost their hair, their horns fell off, and
their feet were changed into the two hands and feet of a man.
Imagine Milia’s joy! She threw herself on her brothers’ necks, for
she knew them at once; and for a long time they embraced each other
joyfully.
“Where is the old fairy who changed us to beasts?”
“She is dead; and I have all her power.”
“How did it happen? In what does this power reside?”
“I cannot tell you my secret. I am going now to set free all those who
are in the castle.”
This was quickly done.
The king and the queen and all the other persons thanked Milia very
much, as you may suppose. They wished to bestow castles and villas on
her; but she refused them all. Had she not the fairy’s chemise to put
her in possession of all that she desired?
By means of her magic power the young girl made handsome carriages come
up out of the ground, and distributed them among all those who were
there, so that they could return to their homes.
She bestowed one of them upon herself, and harnessed to it two
beautiful horses as fleet as the wind.
Thus she went back to the home of her parents, who were amazed to see
her with her brothers in such an equipage.
“Ah! our daughter has a fortune,” said they to themselves.
And they were happy.
Unfortunately, the chemise became so very, very dirty that one day
Milia wanted to have it washed.
It was spread in the sun to dry.
A tramp saw it, seized upon it, and ran away.
They sought for it a long time in vain; they could never find it.
Milia died in despair at having lost the precious chemise from which
she derived all her power.
As for her brothers, who went in search of the thief, nothing more was
heard of them. If I learn anything about them, you may be sure I will
tell you of it.
ORTOLI, “Contes de l’ile de Corse.”
THE SIREN OF LA FRESNAYE
A STORY OF UPPER BRITANNY
Once upon a time there was in the woods of the isle of Aval, in the
parish of Saint-Cast, a wooden-shoe maker, who lived with his wife and
two children in a poor little mud hut which he had built himself by the
seashore, just at the end of the valley. There are those who say that
the ruins of it may still be seen; but that is hardly credible, for it
is a long time since then, and usually the cabins of wooden-shoe makers
do not last very long.
They were not rich; for they had only their work to live on; and you
know wooden-shoe makers rarely buy small farms. The husband dug out the
wooden shoes, his wife helped him as well as she could, and the little
boy and girl, who were not large enough to work in the wood, went every
day to fish along the shore.
One day when the little boy was fishing among the rocks, he heard
suddenly a sweet, musical song, and looking in the direction from which
it seemed to come, he saw the Siren, who was singing as she swam among
the waves; and around her the sea was so brilliant that it dazzled you
to look at it.
He ran very quickly to the cabin where his father was working.
“Ah, papa!” said he to him, “do come and see! there is a fish in the
bay of Port-au-Moulin more beautiful than any I have ever seen; it
sings, and it shines like gold!”
“Like fire, papa,” added the little girl, who had seen it also.
The wooden-shoe maker and his wife hastened to follow their children;
but when they reached the shore, the Siren had disappeared; they saw
nothing on the sea and heard no singing.
“It was nothing,” said the mother; “the children dreamed it all.”
But the wooden-shoe maker was not so incredulous as his wife. The next
morning he said to the children,--
“Go back again to the edge of the water, and watch attentively to see
if the beautiful singing fish will show herself again.”
The little boy went out; but as soon as he had gone a few steps from
the cabin he ran back, crying out,--
“Ah, papa! the beautiful fish has returned; you can hear it sing from
here.”
When they went outside, they heard a delicious music in the distance;
and they hastened to go to the seashore, where they saw the Siren, who
sang as she played about on the waves, and leaped sometimes more than
three feet above the water.
“It is not an ordinary fish,” said the wooden-shoe maker; “it looks
like a human being.”
“Ah!” said his wife, “we must get the lines; perhaps you can catch it.
I should like very much to see it close by.”
They all went to work to get the lines ready: and when the sea was
high, they set them; but in vain. They put the choicest bait on the
hook; the singing fish did not come to take it, although they saw it
every day.
The wooden-shoe maker thought often of the wonderful fish, and devised
means to possess himself of it. One day as he was walking on the shore,
he saw the Siren, who, cradled by the waves, and fast asleep, was
floating at a short distance from the shore. He went into the water
without making any noise, and slipped a large basket that he had, under
her, and carried her off in it to the land without waking her.
She was about the size of a child of eight years. She had golden hair
on her head, and her white and polished body resembled that of a woman;
but instead of feet she had fins, and her body ended with the tail of a
fish.
“Ah!” said the wooden-shoe maker, as he looked at her, “my little brats
did not lie; it is really the most curious thing that ever was seen.
It is doubtless a siren; for it is half woman and half fish.”
He made these reflections on his way back to his cabin, and he had
almost reached it when the Siren awoke and said to him,--
“Ah, wooden-shoe maker! you surprised me while I was asleep; I beg you
to take me back to the water, now that you have seen me close, and I
will protect you, you and all your family, as long as you live.”
“No,” answered the wooden-shoe maker; “I will not put you back into the
sea; I have watched for you for a long time, and so have my wife and
children. I am going to take you to the house so that they can see you;
but when you have sung a song, if my wife wishes, I will carry you back
to the place from which I took you.”
He called his wife, who was named Olérie, and cried to her,--
“Olérie, come here and see, and bring the children; I have the singer
in my basket.”
The good woman ran, full of joy, followed by the little boy and girl,
and began to examine the Siren.
“She asks to be taken back to the water,” said the wooden-shoe maker;
“she will sing you a song first. Do you agree to that?”
“No,” she answered; “it is too beautiful a fish; I have never seen one
like it; we must eat it.”
“Ah!” said the Siren, “if you feed upon my flesh, if you feast upon
my fish, you will never eat anything else in this world, for you will
perish. I am not a fish like the others; I am the Siren of Fresnaye,
and your husband surprised me while I was sleeping. Ask of me what
you will, and I will grant it, for I have the power of a fairy. But
make haste to carry me back to the sea, and do not lose any time; I am
already growing weak and I shall soon die.”
“What do you say about it?” asked Olérie of her husband.
“If you consent to it, I am very willing to put her back into the sea;
it would be a shame to kill her, she is so pretty and has never done
any harm to any one.”
They each took hold of one end of the basket, and carried the Siren
gently to the sea, and let her plunge into it again without thinking of
asking anything of her.
When she felt the freshness of the water, she shouted with laughter,
for joy that she was no longer in captivity, and she said to the
wooden-shoe maker,--
“What do you ask of me now?”
“I ask,” said he, “for some bread, some fish, and clothing for my wife
and my children.”
“You shall have all that in twenty-four hours,” said the Siren.
“I should like very well also,” added he, “if it is in your power, to
have a little money to pay my master, for I am not at all rich.”
The Siren did not make any reply, but she begun to flap the water with
her fins, and each time that she struck the waves they flashed up in
little drops, and all that went up in the air became gold which fell
down at the feet of the wooden-shoe maker. The shore was soon covered
with it; then she became still and said to the wooden-shoe maker and
his wife,--
“All that is for you, good people; you can pick it up.”
They thanked the Siren, who went off singing; then they filled their
pockets with gold and returned to their cabin very happy.
When the twenty-four hours had passed, Olérie and her husband returned
to the seashore to look for the clothing that the Siren had promised
them. They heard her singing in the distance, and soon they saw her
glide over the waves and come near them, always singing her sweet and
melodious song. She flapped the water with her fins; a large wave
broke into foam on the strand, and rolled back, leaving at the feet of
the wooden-shoe maker a very large and tightly closed chest. Then the
Siren leaped three times out of the water and said to the wooden-shoe
maker,--
“You will find in this chest what I promised you; good-by, till I see
you again, you who have been so good to me! When you want some fish, do
not forget this shore.”
They took the chest away with them to their house; it contained good
clothing made to fit them; and every time that they or their children
wanted to catch fish, they went to the seashore, and in a few moments
they caught an abundance.
For a whole year they did not see the Siren; their purse grew lighter
meanwhile, and the lighter it grew, the more they thought of the Siren.
They often went to the seashore, listening and hoping to hear her voice.
One day they heard her singing in the distance; they ran at once to the
shore, and were very glad to see her gliding over the waves; all along
where she had passed, the sea gleamed like a pathway of fire.
When she came within a little distance, the wooden-shoe maker said to
her,--
“My Siren, I am very glad to see you again; if you will, you can do me
a great service, for I have no longer either bread or money.”
“I will give you,” said the Siren, “enough to fill your purse again.”
After saying these words, she unfolded her fins, and beating the water
around her, she sent to the shore a wave of gold and silver.
“With that,” said she, “you can buy all you need; but if you wish to
keep it, use it well. Hereafter you will see me no more; I am going to
leave this country and go to India.”
The Siren went away after having said this; since then no one has ever
seen her, or heard her sing in the bay of Fresnaye.
PAUL SEBILLOT, “Contes des Paysans et des Pêcheurs.”
[Illustration: ALL THAT WENT UP IN THE AIR BECAME GOLD.]
THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK
A LORRAINE STORY
Once there was a king who had three sons; but he treated only the first
two as his sons: the youngest was a hunchback; only his mother loved
him.
One day the king called the oldest to him and said to him,--
“My son, I should like to have the water which restores youth.”
“My father, I will go after it.”
The king gave him a beautiful carriage drawn by four horses, and as
much gold and silver as he wanted, and the young man started on his
journey.
He had gone two hundred leagues on the way, when he met a shepherd, who
said to him,--
“Prince, my handsome prince, would you help me to set free one of my
sheep which is caught in a thicket?”
“You should not have let it go there,” replied the prince; “I have no
time to lose.”
When he arrived at Pekin, he went to a fine hotel, had his horses taken
out, and ordered a good dinner. He soon made friends, and thought no
more of continuing his journey.
At the end of six months the king, seeing that he did not return,
called his second son, and asked him to go and seek for the water that
restored youth. He gave him a handsome carriage drawn by four horses,
covered with pearls and diamonds. The young man got into it and started
off. After having gone two hundred leagues, he met the shepherd, who
said to him,--
“Prince, my handsome prince, would you help me to set free one of my
sheep which is caught in a thicket?”
“For whom do you take me?” answered the prince. “You should not have
let it go there.”
He arrived at Pekin, where he lodged in the same hotel as his brother.
He also soon made friends and did not think of going any farther. The
king waited a year, and seeing that he did not return, he said to
himself: “I have no more children! Who, then, will wear my crown?” He
thought no more of the little hunchback than if he had not been in the
world.
Meanwhile the latter fell sick. They sent for a physician; the young
prince told him that he was ill of grief seeing that his father did
not love him, and that he wished very much to travel. The physician
repeated these words to the king, who came to see his son.
“My father,” said the little hunchback to him, “I would like to go
after the water that restores youth, and I will not do as my brothers
did; I will bring it back with me.”
“You can go if you wish,” said the king.
He gave him an old carriage that had only three wheels, an old horse
that had only three legs, very little money,--though the queen added
something to that,--and the prince set out.
After having gone two hundred leagues, he met the shepherd, who said to
him,--
“Prince, my handsome prince, would you help me to set free one of my
sheep which is caught in a thicket?”
“Willingly,” said the prince.
And he helped the shepherd to set free his sheep. When he had gone
away, the shepherd, remembering that he had given him nothing for his
trouble, called him back and said to him,--
“Prince, I forgot to reward you. Here, take these arrows; all that
these arrows pierce will be well pierced. Here is a flageolet; all who
hear it will dance.”
The prince went on his way and arrived at Pekin. When he passed by the
hotel where his brothers lodged, the latter, who were on the steps,
were ashamed of him and went into the house. The poor little hunchback
alighted at a miserable inn, where he unhitched his horse himself;
then he took with him a guide to show him the city. As he was walking
along he saw a dead man who had been left unburied.
“Why do they not bury this man?” asked he.
“Because he had a great many creditors and could not pay them.”
“If they were paid for him, would they have him buried?”
“Yes, certainly.”
The prince sent for the creditors, paid the dead man’s debts, and gave
the money to have him buried. After that he continued his journey. One
day a good old woman received him in her little house and gave him
something to eat and drink; he paid her generously and then went on
farther.
When he had gone two hundred leagues more, he found that all his money
was gone and he had no longer anything to eat. His horse was more
fortunate than himself; he could browse a little on the grass along
the road. A fox passed by; the prince was about to let fly one of his
arrows at him, when the fox cried to him,--
“Wretch! what are you going to do? would you kill me?”
The prince, seized with fright, put his arrow back into the quiver.
Then the fox gave him a napkin in which he found something to eat and
drink, and said to him,--
“You are looking for the water that restores youth? It is in that
castle very far below there. The castle is guarded by an ogre, by
tigers, and by lions. To reach it, it is necessary to cross a river;
on this river you will see a boat, which the same man has steered
for eighteen hundred years. Be very careful to enter the boat feet
foremost; for if you should get in backwards, you would take the man’s
place forever. When you reach the castle, do not allow yourself to be
charmed by the magnificence that you will find there. You will see in
the stables mules adorned with plates of gold: take the ugliest one:
you will see also two green birds: take the ugliest one.”
The prince was careful to enter the boat feet foremost, and arrived at
the castle; he was just going to take the mule and the bird when the
ogre came in.
“What are you doing here?” said the ogre to him.
The prince excused himself, bowed to him, and asked his pardon. The
ogre said to him,--
“I will not eat you; you are too thin.”
He gave him something to eat and to drink, and the prince remained
at the castle, where he had everything he wanted. The ogre sent him
to fight his enemies, beasts like himself; the prince, thanks to his
arrows, won the fight and brought back the skins. He fought five or six
times and was always conqueror.
Now there was in the castle a princess whom the ogre wished to marry,
but who did not want him. One day, when the prince had won a great
fight, he took a notion to play a tune on his flageolet. The princess
was at table with the ogre; as they heard the marvelous flageolet, they
began to dance together, without knowing at first whence the music
came. When the ogre saw that it was the prince who was playing, he made
him come to the table, and said to him,--
“Ask me what you will; I will grant it.”
He thought surely that the prince would ask of him permission to go
away.
“I ask,” said the prince, “for what is most beautiful here, and for
permission to go over the castle three times.”
The ogre consented to it. There was so much gold in the castle that
they did not know what to do with it; but the prince did not touch it:
he took the uglier of the two green birds, and the ugliest mule, which
stepped seven leagues at a time, and did not forget a vial of the water
which restores youth; then he put the princess, who was a party to the
whole thing, on the mule. Instead of going over the castle three times,
he only went twice and ran off with the princess. As soon as the ogre
found it out, he went in pursuit of them, but he could not catch them.
The young man met the fox the second time; and the fox said to him,--
“If you see any one in trouble, be sure not to help them out.”
A little farther on, he was very kindly received by the good old woman
in her little house. At last he arrived at Pekin with the princess. On
one of the squares there was a gallows erected.
“For whom is that gallows?” asked the prince.
He was told that it was for two young strangers who were to be hung
that day. At that moment the condemned men were brought out; he
recognized his brothers. He asked what their crime was.
He was told that they had contracted debts which they were not able to
pay.
The young man assembled the creditors, paid them, and set his brothers
free; then they set out together on the road to their father’s kingdom.
The little hunchback had given the mule to his oldest brother; to the
other, the green bird; and the water which restores youth, he kept
for himself and the princess. Still his brothers were not satisfied;
together they sought out opportunities to get rid of him, and the
princess, who saw their jealousy, was distressed on account of it.
One day as they were passing by a well which was three hundred feet
deep, the two elder brothers said to the youngest,--
“Look at that beautiful well!”
And as he leaned over to look, they pushed him in and carried off the
princess, the mule, and the bird. When they arrived at the castle,
the princess was in a fainting condition; the mule and the bird were
dejected. They put the mule in an old stable, the bird in an old cage.
The water could not restore the king’s youth: they put it in a corner
among the old rugs.
Meanwhile the poor prince sent up loud cries from the bottom of the
well; the fox hastened to him and went down into the well.
“I charged you especially not to help any one out of trouble. However,
I am going to help you to get out of this place; hold fast to my tail.”
The young man did as he was told, and the fox climbed up; he had almost
reached the top when his tail broke, and the young man fell back to the
bottom of the well. The fox tied his tail on again, rubbing it with
grease, and took the prince on his back. Once more in the open air,
he straightened him up, and the young man; disburdened of his hunch,
became an elegant prince.
He went to the castle of the king, his father, and had himself
announced as a great physician, saying that he could cure the king
and the princess. At first he went into the stable; at once the mule
took on a handsome hide and began to neigh: he approached the bird; it
resumed its beautiful plumage and began to sing. He gave his father
some of the water which restores youth; the king became young again
immediately and got up out of his sick-bed. The princess was restored
to health as soon as she saw the young man. Then the prince made
himself known to his father and told him what had happened; then the
bird spoke in its turn and told the whole story over again.
The elder sons of the king were out hunting. The king had their young
brother concealed behind the door; and when they came in, he said to
them,--
“I have just heard of a strange adventure which took place in one of
the cities of my kingdom. Three young men were walking together on the
shore of the lake; two of them threw their companion into the lake.
Give Solomon’s judgment; what punishment do these men deserve?”
“They deserve death.”
“Miserable creatures! then you also deserve it. You shall not be thrown
into the water, but you shall be burned.”
The sentence was executed. Afterwards they made a great feast, and the
young prince married the princess.
EMMANUEL COSQUIN, “Contes Populaires Lorrains.”
THE PRINCESS OF TRONKOLAINE
A STORY OF LOWER BRITANNY
Once upon a time there was a poor coal-man who had already had
twenty-five children baptized. God sent him the twenty-sixth, and he
set out to look for a godfather and godmother for it. He saw the king
pass in his carriage, and knelt down in the mud to greet him. The king
threw him a piece of gold.
“This is not what I am in search of at this moment, although I am in
great need of it,” said the coal-man; “I want a godfather for the
twenty-sixth child that my wife has just presented me.”
“Twenty-six children, my poor man!” exclaimed the king. “Ah! well! come
to the church to-morrow with your child and a godmother, and I will be
the godfather, myself.”
The coal-man was promptly at the appointed place; he took with him the
godmother, and the king arrived also at the hour agreed upon.
The child was baptized, and named Louis. The godfather gave the father
a purse full of gold and told him to send his son to school when he
was ten years old. He gave him also half of a platine, keeping the
other half himself, and charging him to give it to his son when he
should have reached the age of eighteen, to bring it back to him at his
court at Paris. He would recognize him by this sign. Then he went away.
The child was put to school when he was ten years old, and as he was
intelligent, he made rapid progress. When he was eighteen, his father
gave him the half-platine, and told him to go and take it to his
godfather, the king of France, at his palace in Paris. Until then he
had concealed from him who his godfather was. He gave him also one of
his horses, a jade used for hauling coal, and the young man set out.
As he was going along a long and narrow street, he met a little old
woman, bending over her stick, who said to him,--
“Good morning, Louis, godson of the king of France.”
“Good morning, grandmother,” answered Louis, astonished at being known
to the old woman.
“Almost immediately, my child,” said the latter, “you will come to a
spring by the roadside, and you will see some one there who will invite
you to get down from your horse and quench your thirst; do not listen
to him, but go on your way.”
“Thanks, grandmother,” answered the young man. And he passed along.
Sure enough, a moment after, he came to a spring near which there was a
person of disagreeable countenance, who cried to him,--
“Come, Louis! stop a moment, and get down from your horse.”
“I have not time,” answered Louis; “I am in a hurry.”
“Come, I tell you, quench your thirst at this spring,--the water is
delicious,--and converse a little; you do not recognize me, then--one
of your schoolmates?”
Louis, hearing these last words, got down from his horse; but he did
not recognize the pretended schoolmate. Nevertheless, he started
to drink from the spring, and as he was leaning over the water to
drink out of the hollow of his hand, the other, with one hunch of
his shoulder, threw him into it; then he took away his half-platine,
mounted his horse and departed. Poor Louis got out of the water as
well as he could and began to run after the thief. The horse was old
and foundered, so that at last he overtook him, and they entered the
courtyard of the king’s palace together. The king, at sight of the
half-platine, had no doubt that the bearer of it was his godson, and
welcomed him heartily, although he thought him ill-looking. He asked
him also, who the young man was who accompanied him.
“That is a young countryman, godfather,” replied he, “who followed me,
hoping to find employment at your court.”
“Very well,” answered the king; “occupation shall be found for him.”
He was, in fact, employed as a stable-boy, while the other followed the
king everywhere, dressed like a prince, and had nothing to do every day
but eat, drink, and go out walking.
Very soon the pretended godson, wishing to get rid of Louis, the sight
of whom annoyed him, said to the king one day,--
“If you could only know, godfather, what the stable-boy from my country
boasts that he will do!”
“What does he boast that he will do?” asked the king.
“That he will go and ask the sun why he is red when he rises in the
morning.”
“Indeed? Very well; let him go, for I am really very curious to know
why.”
And poor Louis was obliged to start off to go to see the sun, although
he declared that he had never said anything of the sort.
As he was going sadly along by the seashore, he met a venerable old
man, who asked him,--
“Where are you going, my son?”
“Truly, grandfather,” he replied, “I do not know at all. I was told
that, under pain of death, I should find out from the sun why he is so
red when he rises in the morning, and I do not know where to find the
sun.”
“Well! my son, I will help you to find him.” And showing him a wooden
horse, he said,--
“Jump on this horse, which will rise in the air, at your command, and
carry you to the foot of a mountain on the summit of which is the
castle of the sun. Leave the horse at the foot of the mountain, where
you will find it again on your return, and go alone to the castle.”
Louis mounted the wooden horse, which rose at once into the air and put
him down at the foot of a high mountain. He climbed the mountain with
difficulty, and when at last he reached the summit, he saw a place so
fine, so resplendent, that he was dazzled by it. It was the palace of
the sun. He knocked at the door. An old woman came and opened it for
him.
“Is my lord the sun at home?” asked he.
“No, my child; but he will soon return,” answered the old woman.
“I will wait for him, then.”
“But, my poor child, my son will be very hungry when he comes; he might
very likely eat you up.”
“I beg you, madam, do not let him eat me, for I must speak to him.”
“Very well! come in at any rate, my boy, and I will try to manage it.”
And he went in. The sun arrived a little while after, calling out,--
“I am hungry, I am very hungry, mother!” Then having sniffed the air;
“I smell the smell of a Christian. There is a Christian here, and I am
going to eat him.”
“Oh, yes,” said his mother; “it’s very likely that I should give you
_this_ poor, pretty child to eat. _There_ is your supper all ready; eat
it quickly and keep silent, or look out for my stick!”
The sun hung his head, at this threat, like a timid child, and began to
eat in silence. When he had finished, Louis, emboldened by seeing him
so gentle, put this question to him,--
“I should like very much to know, my lord the sun, why you are so red,
so handsome, when you rise in the morning.”
“I will tell you willingly,” answered the sun; “it is because the
castle of the princess of Tronkolaine is near here, and she is so
beautiful that I have to show myself in all my splendor so as not to be
surpassed by her.”
“I am very much obliged, my lord, the sun,” answered Louis.
And he bowed low and went away. He went down the mountain again,
mounted his wooden horse, which was waiting for him, and quickly
returned to the king’s court.
“Well?” said the latter to him, “have you really been all the way to
the sun, and can you tell me now why he is red when he rises in the
morning?”
“Yes, sire; I can tell you why.”
“Let us hear it, then.”
“It is in order not to be eclipsed by the Princess Tronkolaine, whose
castle is near his own, and who is the most wonderful beauty in
existence.” The king appeared satisfied with the explanation.
But some time after that the false godson said again,--
“If you could know, godfather, how this stable-boy still brags!”
“What does he brag about?” asked the king.
“Of being able to bring the Princess Tronkolaine herself to your court
so that you can marry her.”
“Indeed! has he boasted of that? Very well! he must do it, or death is
his only portion.”
And poor Louis was obliged to attempt this adventure, in spite of all
his protestations of never having said any such thing. Fortunately for
him, he met again on the road the unknown old man, who said to him,--
“Go back to the king, and tell him that in order to accomplish your
enterprise you must have a ship loaded with wheat, bacon, and beef,
that you may distribute these provisions among the kings of the ants,
the sparrow-hawks, and the lions which you will meet on your way, and
which, if you feast them well, will be useful to you later.”
He obtained the ship loaded with provisions. Then the old man gave him
besides a white stick, by means of which he could obtain a favorable
wind from whatever direction he should turn it toward. He set sail,
passed by the kingdoms of the ants, the sparrow-hawks, and the lions,
and regaled all these animals as well as he could, and they all
promised to come to his help as soon as he called them.
Then he landed on an island. In the middle of the island there was
a magnificent castle. It was there that the princess of Tronkolaine
dwelt. He saw her, beside a fountain, combing her blond hair with a
golden comb, and a large-toothed comb of ivory. He plucked an orange
from an orange-tree near by and threw it into the fountain. The
princess turned, saw him, smiled at him, and told him to come forward.
Then she led him to her castle, feasted him on exquisite meats and
delicious fruits, and invited him to remain with her. At the end of a
fortnight’s stay at the castle Louis asked the princess if she would
agree to follow him to the court of France.
“Willingly,” she answered, “when you shall have done all the work there
is to do here.”
“Tell me, princess, what you wish me to do, and if it is possible, I
will do it.”
The next morning the princess took him to the barn of the castle, and
showed him a great heap of mixed grain.
“There,” said she, “is a heap of mixed grain,--wheat, rye, and barley.
You must put each kind of grain in a pile by itself, without making a
mistake in a single grain, and it must be done by sunset.” Then she
went away.
Louis called the ant to his assistance, and the sorting was done
perfectly by the appointed hour. So when the princess came at sunset,
she was very much astonished. She examined carefully, and not finding a
single grain of a different sort in any one of the three piles,--
“It is very well done,” said she.
“Will you come with me now, princess?” asked Louis of her again.
“Not yet; I have something else to ask of you first.”
Accordingly, the next morning, she gave him a wooden axe, and having
led him into the great avenue of the castle, she said to him, showing
him the great oaks,--
“You must cut down all these trees before sunset, with your wooden
axe.” Then she went away.
As soon as the princess was gone, Louis called the lions to his
assistance, and when she returned at sunset, there was not a single
tree left standing in the avenue. Her astonishment was greater than
before.
“Will you follow me now, princess?” asked Louis.
“I have still another task--a last test to give you,” she answered;
“and if you get through it as successfully as the others, nothing shall
then prevent me from following you.”
The next morning the princess led him to the foot of a high mountain,
and said to him,--
“Here is a mountain which obscures my palace and prevents my seeing at
a distance, and I desire that it shall disappear by the setting of the
sun.” And she went away again.
This time Louis called the sparrow-hawks to his assistance, and they
were so numerous that with their beaks and claws they soon made the
mountain disappear, and leveled down the earth. When the princess
returned at sunset,--
“Well, princess, are you satisfied?” said Louis.
“Yes,” she replied, “you have not your equal on the earth; and now I
will follow you where you will.”
Then she gave him a kiss. They went towards the sea after that. The
ship in which Louis had come to the island was there waiting for him.
They went aboard of her and reached the continent without hindrance.
During the voyage, the princess let the key of her castle fall into the
sea, without saying anything of it to Louis.
The old man was waiting for them on the other side of the water.
“Well, my son,” said he to Louis, “did you succeed?”
“Yes, grandfather, thanks to you, and may God bless you.”
When the princess arrived at the court, the old king was so charmed
with her beauty, that he wished to marry her immediately.
“Holloa!” said she then, “I did not come here for an old gray-beard
like you, nor for this other creature,” and she pointed to the
pretended godson, “whom you believe to be your godson, and who is
only a demon! Here is your real godson, and it is he who shall be my
husband.” And she pointed to Louis. “Now, have the furnace heated, and
let this demon be thrown into it.”
No sooner said than done. And as the demon, otherwise the pretended
godson, uttered fearful cries, and tried to get out of the furnace,
they sent for a young woman with her first child, and with her wedding
ring, which she presented to him at the opening of the furnace when he
tried to get out, she forced him to stay inside. Then he cried out,--
“If I had remained at the court only a year, I should have reduced the
kingdom to a hopeless condition.”
Then Louis married the Princess Tronkolaine, and he succeeded to the
throne of the old king, his godfather, who had no children. He brought
his old father and mother to the court, and also his brothers and his
sisters, whom he established very magnificently.
F. M. LUZEL,
“Cinquième Rapport sur une Mission en Bretagne.”
THE END
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.
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