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Title: The reign of King Oberon
Author: Walter Jerrold
Illustrator: Charles Henry Robinson
Release date: July 19, 2024 [eBook #74076]
Language: English
Original publication: London: J. M. Dent & Co, 1902
Credits: Charlene Taylor, Joeri de Ruiter and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REIGN OF KING OBERON ***
[Illustration:
THE REIGN OF
KING OBERON.
]
[Illustration:
_The True Annals of Fairyland_
The
Reign of
KING
OBERON
_Edited by_
Walter Jerrold
_Illustrated by_
Charles Robinson
_London & Toronto
J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd.
New York: E. P. Dutton & Co. Inc._
]
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
[Illustration: The True Annals of Fairyland]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Preface
+MY DEAR YOUNG FOLKS+,
Here are some more stories from the wonderful Annals of Fairyland. How
they were first told at the Court of King Oberon, and how they came to
be recorded you will learn at the beginning, and much as you love the
little people you will, I think, like them even better when you have
learned all that this volume has to tell. Mr William Canton has told
you the stories properly belonging to “The Reign of King Herla,” Mr J.
M. Gibbon showed you how a famous merry old soul and his court found
entertainment in story-telling in “The Reign of King Cole,” and now
it is my pleasant privilege to put before you, from the inexhaustible
Annals, those tales which properly belong to “The Reign of King
Oberon.”
Of course you may have already met some of these stories before, for
most of our best writers have been made free of Fairyland and have
written of the wonderful things they learned there; Hans Christian
Andersen and the Brothers Grimm have long since been famous for all
that they have told of their visits to the marvellous land, and some
of the stories which they brought back will be found to belong to the
reign of Oberon and Titania, while others have been told by Ben Jonson,
by Thomas Hood, by Charles Perrault, by Thomas Crofton Croker, by
Douglas Jerrold, by Benjamin Thorpe and by Sir George Dasent--but old
or new all have the perennial youthfulness of the fairies themselves,
and as long as we can truly enjoy them we shall not grow old.
+THE EDITOR.+
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Dedication
_To My Children_.]
_One time I chanced upon a fairy ring
Wherein Titania’s lieges held their court,
And watched the fairies merrily disport,
While sweetly the near nightingale did fling
His magic music over everything,
Till all in me was to that wonder wrought
Where feeling reaches heights unknown to thought,
Where spirit unto spirit seems to sing._
_My heart ached when too soon one fairy went
To rest ’mid flow’rs, and yet it came to pass
In that green world there seemed no room for fears,--
By dancing joys fresh joy to me was sent,
Though ever more that vacant place there was,
When dews befell, and in my eyes were tears._
_W. J._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Contents
PAGE
_The Reign of King Oberon_ 1
_The Gifts of the Dwarfs_ 12
_Thumbeline_ 22
_The Young Piper_ 37
_Rumpel-Stilts-Ken_ 48
_Karl Katz_ 55
_The Wild Swans_ 65
_The Herd-Boy_ 84
_The Nose-Tree_ 99
_The Pranks of Robin Goodfellow_ 109
_The Golden Lantern, the Golden Goat, and the Golden Cloak_ 117
_Hansel and Grethel_ 129
_The Magic Bottles_ 144
_Princess Rosette_ 157
_The Bear and Skrattel_ 179
_The Goose-Girl_ 193
_The Water of Life_ 203
_The Troll’s Hammer_ 215
_The Three Little Crones, each with Something big_ 223
_The Queen’s Song_ 232
_The Three Sneezes_ 234
_The Elf-Hill_ 243
_Riquet with the Tuft_ 254
_The Benevolent Frog_ 265
_Allwise the Dwarf_ 298
_The Fairy at the Well_ 305
_Dolly, draw the Cake_ 313
_The Little Glass Shoe_ 315
_East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon_ 322
_Queen Mab_ 336
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
List of Illustrations
PAGE
_King Oberon_ Coloured frontispiece
_Queen Titania_ 1
_A small Indian prince had been stolen_ 2
_And a fairy baby left in its place_ 3
“_I do but beg a little changeling boy_” 4
“_The Fairyland buys not the child of men_” 5
_At once all the little people were hurrying to obey the monarch’s
behest_ 8-9
_The Scandinavian dwarf_ 11
_His long red beard waved in the sky as he drove in his goat-drawn
chariot_ 12
_Loki descending into the cave of the dwarfs_ 17
_Loki’s punishment_ 20
_The fairy prince_ 21
_Right in the middle of the flower sat a little tiny girl_ 22
_The old toad made a deep curtsey in the water before her_ 24
_Every snowflake which fell upon her was like a shovelful on one
of us_ 27
_It was not dead but lay in a swoon_ 30
_Fiddle-de-dee said the field mouse_ 32
_What was her astonishment to find a little man in the middle of
the flower_ 35
_The Irish fairy_ 36
_A big laughing potato in their hands_ 37
_Sitting cross-legged on the top of a wave_ 44
_Jumped clean off the cart over the bridge down into the water_ 45
_The gnome_ 47
_The miller’s daughter_ 48
_The king came in the morning_ 51
_Dashed his right foot so deep into the floor that he was forced
to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it out_ 53
_The gnome_ 54
_On he went scrambling_ 55
_Twelve strange old figures amusing themselves very sedately with
a game of nine-pins_ 59
_The strange-looking man with the long grey beard_ 63
_Fairy Peaseblossom_ 64
_He laid his head against her bosom_ 65
_The Saviour looked down and little angels’ heads peeped out above
His head and under His arms_ 69
_Even on her way to her death she could not abandon her unfinished
work_ 81
_Moth_ 83
_He found it was a pair of very small shoes_ 84
_The young herdsman advanced boldly_ 93
_Tailpiece_ 97
_Puck_ 98
_Three poor soldiers set out on their road home_ 99
_Still it grew and grew_ 103
“_We will follow it and find its owner_” 105
_As for the doctor, he put on the cloak, and was soon with his two
brothers_ 108
_Robin Goodfellow_ 108
_The pranks of Robin Goodfellow_ 109
“_What revel rout_” 110
“_There’s not a hag or ghost shall wag_” 111
“_And call them on with me to roam thro’ lakes, thro’ bogs_” 112
“_The maids I kiss_” 113
“_I them affright with pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!_” 114
“_And elf in bed, we leave instead_” 115
“_So vale, vale, ho, ho, ho!_” 116
_The Swedish Troll_ 116
_There appeared a strong light as of fire_ 117
_Pinkel seized her by the feet and cast her headlong into the
water_ 121
_They went again before the king_ 125
_His brothers continued to be helpers in the stable as long as
they lived_ 128
_The German Fairy_ 128
_On one of the branches sat a little child_ 129
_Lingering behind to drop one pebble after another along the
road_ 131
_I will eat off the roof for my share_ 135
_Fastened him up in a coop_ 137
_Tailpiece_ 142
_Robin Starveling_ 143
_Mick found that he hadn’t enough half to pay the rent_ 144
“_Here take the bottle_” 148
_Mick went home muttering prayers and holding fast the bottle_ 149
_In a moment the landlord was tumbled on the floor, and all were
roaring and sprawling and shrieking_ 153
_In jumped the men into the new bottle_ 156
_The French Fay_ 156
“_Welcome! what would you ask of me?_” 157
_Fretillon started barking at them_ 168
_Fretillon_ 177
_The Norwegian Dwarf_ 178
_Away they went_ 179
_He lets them loose_ 182
_The bear would throw him in the air_ 187
_The elf was one moment on the bear’s back_ 191
_The second German Fairy_ 192
_She set off on her journey_ 193
_Falada, Falada, there thou hangest_ 197
_Tailpiece_ 201
_The fairy sat down again_ 202
_He was found to abide spellbound_ 203
_He came to a room where a beautiful lady sat upon a couch_ 208-9
_The friendly dwarf with the sugarloaf hat_ 214
_The dwarf from Sweden_ 214
_Niels wandered forth_ 215
_See here is a hammer_ 217
_The blade struck him in the face_ 222
_The Norwegian Fairy_ 222
_The three little crones_ 223
_Mother Bigfoot_ 228
_The Queen was so enraged that her eyes flashed fury_ 229
_Nymphidia_ 231
_Round about, round about, in a fine ring-a_ 232
_Bottom_ 233
_He took the glass and drained it_ 234
_Billy found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way_ 237
_Billy danced the Rinka_ 241
_The Danish Elf_ 242
_Some lizards were running in and out of the clefts in an old
tree_ 243
_Preserve us how nimble they were on their legs_ 249
_“I like the boys better,” said the earthworm_ 252
_The French Fay_ 253
_It was doubted whether his form were really human_ 254
_There came forth a band of cooks_ 259
_Tailpiece_ 263
_The French Fay_ 264
_The cap of roses_ 265
_Placing the queen on her back she carried her to her cave_ 268
_A little princess had been born to her_ 275
_The audience_ 280-1
_A dragon half a league long coming through the air_ 293
_Tailpiece_ 296
_The Scandinavian Dwarf_ 297
_Thou art pale about the nose_ 298
_Allwise the dwarf and Thor_ 301
_The dwarf was suddenly turned into a figure of stone_ 304
_Quick_ 304
_She held it up to the woman_ 305
_How is this my daughter_ 307
_Tailpiece_ 309
_Pink_ 310
_They put the cake into the oven_ 312
_St Dolly slept on a flour sack_ 313
_Tailpiece_ 313
_Seated himself firmly on the stool_ 314
_He ran away with it_ 315
_Tailpiece_ 318
_John understood too well the nature of his crop_ 319
_The dwarf from the North_ 321
_What should he see but a big white bear_ 322
_He was so worn out he had to rest many days before he could get
home again_ 331
_Queen Titania_ 335
_But when a bad child goes to bed_ 336
_And from the moon she flutters down_ 337
_Tailpiece_ 338
_Tailpiece_ 339
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE TRUE ANNALS OF FAIRYLAND
THE REIGN OF KING OBERON]
[Illustration: Queen Titania]
The Reign of King Oberon
In all the annals of Fairyland nothing is more wonderful--and the
annals are found in many hundreds of volumes--than that chapter which
tells of the reign of the true fairy King Oberon and his beautiful
wife Titania, who is sometimes called Queen Mab. Marvellous are the
doings of Oberon’s little subjects in every land--good fairies and bad
fairies, dwarfs, elves and sprites, brownies, pixies and gnomes, pucks,
trolls and kobolds and Robin Goodfellow--and marvellous are the tales
which have been told of them by travellers in the fairy realms.
[Illustration: A SMALL INDIAN PRINCE ... HAD BEEN STOLEN’]
[Illustration: “_And a fairy baby left in it’s place._”]
Now, once upon a time there was sadness throughout the whole kingdom of
Oberon--and his kingdom has no boundaries--because of a quarrel which
had arisen between the king and the queen. It was a very small matter
to begin with, but the king was a king and did not think it consorted
with his dignity as such that his will should not be law, while the
lovely Queen Titania thought that even the powerful king of the fairies
should give way to her wishes. A small Indian prince, a dusky child,
son of a mighty monarch of the East, had been stolen and a fairy baby
left in its place and King Oberon wanted the changeling to be one of
the knights of his train, while Queen Titania insisted on keeping him
as one of her pages. Long and bitter was the quarrel but neither
king nor queen would give way, and at length they parted and half the
fairies marched off under the banner of the king and half under the
banner of the queen.
[Illustration: “_I do but beg a little changeling boy_”]
Now you know of course that it was the fairies that looked after all
things, the flowers and the trees, the streams and lakes, the little
birds and beasts, and even--though they might not be aware of it--after
the doings of many men and women; thus when it befel that their king
and queen quarrelled and all the fairies rallied to their separate
courts everything was neglected: the corn died unripened, the grass
withered in the fields, so that the flocks and herds starved, the
summers were cold and wet, the winters were sickly and mild, and many
good men, women and children lost their tempers and became troublesome
and unhappy they knew not why, and certainly never imagined that it was
all because of a quarrel between the rulers of the world-wide kingdom
of Fairy.
[Illustration: “_The Fairyland buys not the child of me_”]
For a long time it seemed as though the king and queen would not be
reconciled. When they met Oberon would say, “I do but beg a little
changeling boy to be my henchman”; and Titania would reply, “Set your
heart at rest, the Fairyland buys not the child of me.” And again the
king would say, “Give me the boy and I will go with thee”; and the
queen would answer, “Not for thy fairy kingdom.” Luckily Oberon by
means of his fairy-arts was finally able to win his way and gain the
little changeling for his retinue, the king and queen were reconciled
and all the fairies returned to their happy work: the crops and grass
revived, flowers bloomed everywhere, the birds sang, summer was once
more warm and sunny, and winter once more white and frosty, while men,
women and children suddenly regained their good tempers, knowing as
little why they did so as why they had lost them. All the world was
indeed once again bright and happy as it should be. Great was the
rejoicing throughout the realm of Fairyland, and greater still it
became when King Oberon summoned to his court all his subjects from all
parts of the world to celebrate the reconciliation. Quick as thought
his wish was made known by Ariel and Puck his ready messengers, and
at once all the little people were hurrying to obey the monarch’s
behest, and within the forty minutes which Puck takes to put a girdle
round about the earth all had assembled. Then there was such a sight
of wonderful splendour as would have astonished human eyes: there
in beautiful colours were fairies from the flowers and the rainbows,
from streams and woodland, elves, dwarfs and gnomes from caves under
the earth where gold is hammered and precious stones are made; there
were pixies and brownies and quaint little sprites innumerable; there
was Cinderella’s fairy godmother, and there was Allwise the dwarf who
wanted to marry Thor’s daughter; there was Robin Goodfellow, and there
was Ariel; there were Titania’s attendant fairies Peaseblossom and
Cobweb, Moth and Mustardseed; there was Thumbeline and the fairy Prince
her husband, and Hop-o-my-Thumb, and Thumbling; there were the King’s
courtiers--Perriwiggin, Perriwincle, Puck, Hob-Goblin, Tomalin and
Tom-Thumb; there were the Queen’s maids of honour--Hop, Mop, Drop, Pip,
Drip, Skip, Tub, Tib, Tick, Pink, Pin, Quick, Gill, Un, Tit, Wap, Win,
Wit with Nymphidia the mother of the maids--but if I were to give you
a list of all the different fairies who gathered about Oberon’s court
I should fill up this book and leave no room for any stories or for Mr
Robinson’s illustrations.
[Illustration: At once all the little people were hurrying to obey the
monarch’s behest]
There were, to put it shortly, all the fairies that ever lived, all the
fairies that you ever knew, told of in tales or dreamed of in dreams,
and a marvellous sight it would have been if we could have seen them
gathered about the fairy palace of King Oberon. Everyone knew everyone
else, and many were the stories told of elfish mischief and of benefits
done to good people by their attendant fairies. Oberon and Titania
passing along, talking to their happy subjects and attended by the
changeling boy who had caused so much trouble, overheard one of these
stories, and turning to his queen, the king said: “My Titania, shall
we not hear some of these stories which our people can tell of their
doings with men, women and children in the world of big folk?” Titania
readily agreed that it would be delightful; and elfin trumpeters passed
amid the multitude and blew their horns, and said that all were to
arrange themselves in the great Fairy Ring and were to be prepared to
tell stories until the dawn. Then there was a pretty hustling
and bustling of merry crowds jostling and soon all were arranged in
circles about the great Fairy Ring, and Oberon and Titania ascended a
throne which was beautifully formed of sweet-scented flowers that never
faded. At the foot of the throne a stool was placed, and on it the
story-tellers were to sit while amusing the Court; such was the magic
of the circle that though the fairy speaking only addressed himself to
the king and queen, his voice was heard even by the fairies furthest
away, on the very outermost part of the ring. Happily for us the
changeling boy was there sitting on the steps of the throne, and when,
years afterwards, he found his way back to his father’s kingdom, he
wrote down all the wonderful stories he had heard at the Court of King
Oberon, and they have since been translated into many tongues by many
writers, so that some of them will no doubt be familiar to you. Here,
however, we have the stories just as Oberon’s changeling wrote them
down, and the first story was repeated by a Scandinavian dwarf out of
the cold north, who told how it was that the great hero Thor got
[Illustration: The Scandinavian dwarf]
[Illustration: His long red beard waved in the sky as he drove in his
goat-drawn chariot]
The Gifts of the Dwarfs
Thor was, as you know, the strongest and noblest of the great giants
of the north. He was tall in stature and had fiery brown eyes, from
which the light flashed like lightning, while his long red beard waved
through the sky as he drove in his goat-drawn chariot. Brilliant sparks
flew from the hoofs and teeth of the two goats, while a crown of bright
stars shone above Thor’s head. When he was angered the wheels of his
chariot rumbled and crashed their passage through the air, until men
trembled and hid, telling each other that Thor had gone to battle with
the Rime-giants or other of his enemies. Now Thor’s wife was named Sib,
and she was most beautiful to look upon. Her soft, browny-gold hair was
so long and thick that it would cover her from the crown of her head to
her little feet, and her deep brown eyes looked into the faces of her
friends as those of a mother look into the face of her child. Loki,
the mischief-maker among the giants, often looked at Sib and longed to
do her some evil, for he was jealous, thinking that it was not right
that she should be praised and loved by everyone; go where he would he
could find no one who did not speak well of her.
It happened one day when the summer was nearly gone that Loki found
Sib alone and sleeping on a bank near the river, so he drew his knife,
and creeping softly nearer and nearer, cut off her beautiful flowing
hair quite close to her head. Then he joyfully rushed away and strewed
it far and wide over the whole earth, so that it became no longer
living and golden but faded and turned a dull colour as the winds blew
it about and the rains beat upon it, and crushed it in between the
rocks and stones. When Sib awoke and was about to push the hair from
her face, she felt that something was wrong. Wonderingly she ran to
the water and looking at her reflection in the clear depths, saw that
nothing but a short stubble stood up all over her head. All her lovely
hair was gone! Only one would have dared to treat her so badly, and in
her grief and anger she called upon Thor to come to her aid.
Loki had of course fled and was hiding far away in another country
among the rocks when he heard the distant rumblings of thunder, and
tried to shrink deeper into the crevices between the great stones, but
the awful sound grew louder, and at last the angry flash from Thor’s
eyes darted to the very spot where the mischievous one lay. Then Thor
pulled him out and shook him from side to side in his enormous hands,
and would have crushed his bones upon the hard rocks had not Loki in
great terror asked what good his death would do, for it certainly
would not bring Sib’s hair back. Then Thor set the mischief-maker on
his feet, though still keeping a tight hold on him, and asked what he
would do to repair the evil which he had done. Loki promptly answered
that he would go down into the mountains to the dwarfs, and get Iwald’s
sons to make some golden hair for Sib, as good as that which he had
destroyed. Now Iwald had had seven sons, and these all lived deep below
the earth in the great caverns which lie below the mountains, and these
sons were small and dark; they did not like the daylight for they were
little dwarfs who could see best without the sun to dazzle their eyes;
they knew where gold and silver grew, and they could tell where to find
beautiful shining stones, which were red, and white, and yellow, and
green; they knew the way all over the world by running through caverns
and passages under the mountains, and wherever they could find precious
stones or metals they built a furnace, and made an anvil, and hammer
and bellows, and everything that was wanted in a smithy; for they knew
how to fashion the most wonderful things from gold and iron and stone,
and they had knowledge which made them more powerful than the people
who lived above the ground.
Thor let the mischief-maker go to get the help of the dwarfs to repair
the wrong which he had done, and Loki sought about the mountain-side
until he found a hole which would lead him into Iwald’s cave, and then
he promptly dropped into it. There in a dark cave gleaming with many
sparkling lights he went to the two cleverest dwarfs who were named
Sindri and Brok, and told them what it was he wanted, adding that he
would be in sore trouble with Thor if they could not help him. Now
Sindri and Brok knew all about Loki perfectly well; they knew all about
his mischievous ways and the evil he so often wrought, but as they
liked Thor and Sib they were willing to give the help which was asked
of them. Thus without more ado, for these dwarfs never wasted their
words, Sindri and Brok began their work.
Huge blocks of earth-brown stone were cast into the furnace until they
were in a white heat, when drop by drop red gold trickled from them
into the ashes. This was all gathered together, and the glistening
heap taken to the dwarf women, who, crushing it in their hands before
it had hardened, drew it out upon their wheels, and spun it into fine
soft hair. While they were doing this Brok sought amongst his treasures
until he found the blue of the ocean and the tough inner pith of an
underground tree; these, with other things, were cast into the furnace,
and afterwards beaten with his hammer. As the rhythmic strokes fell,
the women sang a song which was like the voice of a strong, steady
wind. Then when this work was finished, the smith drew forth a little
ship, which was carefully placed on one side. The third time the dwarf
went to a dark corner, and brought out an ugly bent bar of iron, and
this, with two feathers from the wings of the wind, was heated to
melting whiteness, and wrought with great cunning and extreme care, for
it was to be a spear for Odin himself, the greatest of all the Heroes.
Then Brok and Sindri called Loki to them and giving him these three
things bade him hasten back to the Heroes at Asgard and appease their
wrath. Loki, however, was already beginning to feel sorry that he had
been so successful; he liked teasing folk but he did not like having to
atone for his mischief afterwards. He turned the marvellous gifts over
scornfully in his hands, and said that he did not see anything very
wonderful in _them_; then, looking at Sindri he added, “However, Brok
has hammered them very skilfully, and I will wager my head that you
could not make anything better.”
Now the brother dwarfs had not by any means expected gratitude,
but neither had they expected any such rudeness as this, so Sindri
determined to give Loki a lesson. Going to one corner of the smithy
he picked up a pig-skin and taking the hammer in his hands, told his
brother to blow steadily, neither to falter nor to fail until he passed
the word that the work was done. Then with strength and gentleness
he wrought with his tools, having cast nothing into the heat but the
pig-skin; with mighty blows and delicate touches he brought thickness
and substance into it, until a boar looked at him from the flames.
Loki, fearing for his head, changed himself into an enormous forest
fly, and settling upon Brok’s hand, stung with vicious fury; but the
dwarf would not trouble to brush the fly away, and steadily moved the
bellows until his brother called to him to stop, when they drew forth a
strong flexible boar whose bristles were of the finest gold.
Then without saying anything or paying any attention to the spiteful
words which Loki kept uttering, Sindri chose from a heap of gold the
most solid lump he could find and flung it into the white flames.
Thrice it was heated and cooled, and the dark elf turned it and worked
it with wonderful skill, and in the glow Loki saw a broad red ring,
which seemed to live and move. Again he tried to spoil the work as a
fly, and bit deeply into Brok’s neck, but Brok would not so much as
raise his hand to rid him of the pain. When the ring was finally laid
to cool, so marvellously had it been wrought that from it each ninth
night would fall eight rings as beautiful as itself.
Now came the last test of Sindri’s cunning. He cast into the furnace
a piece of fine iron, and told Brok his hand must neither tremble nor
stay, or the whole of their work would be useless. Then with wild songs
of strength upon his lips he hammered and tapped, until those who were
in the cave felt that they were out among the roaring waves; they could
hear the ice mountains grind and crash to pieces, and the thunder of
Thor’s chariot wheels rushing through the heavens. A frenzied horror
seized upon Loki’s mind. If these wretched dwarfs were going to make
anything to add to Thor’s strength he knew that it would be his own
ruin. So, changing himself to a hornet, he sprang upon the forehead of
Brok, and dug so fiercely into his eyelids that the blood trickled down
and blinded him. Then the dwarf let go of the bellows for one moment to
clear his eyes, and Sindri cried out that what lay in the furnace came
near to being spoiled, and with that he took a red-hot hammer up with
his tongs. It was neither pretty, nor particularly large, while the
handle was an inch too short because of Loki’s spite.
Then Brok and Loki set out for Asgard, Loki carrying the three
wonderful things which had been given to him, while Brok carried the
three marvels which Sindri had so cunningly wrought and accompanied
the mischief-maker, that the Heroes might judge who had won the wager
so rashly offered by Loki. When they reached Asgard the Heroes seated
themselves on their high seats agreeing among themselves that Odin,
Thor and Frey should be judges in this case.
[Illustration: Loki descending into the cave of the dwarfs]
First, Loki offered to Odin the spear Gungner which was so wonderfully
made that it never failed to hit the thing at which it was thrown, and
it always sped back to the hand which had thrown it. Later, when Odin
carried this spear in battle, if he shook it over his enemies they
became so frightened that they all wanted to run away, but if he shook
it over his friends they were so filled with courage that they could
not be conquered. Then Thor received the hair, and when it was placed
upon Sib’s head it grew to her like living tresses, curling and waving
in the wind. To Frey the ship was given, and though it was so small
that it could be folded and carried in his pocket, when it was placed
upon the waves it would grow large enough to hold an army of warriors
with all their war gear; besides, as soon as the sails were hoisted,
the wind would blow it whithersoever it was desired that the ship
should go.
Brok then made his offerings, and to Odin he gave the ring Draupnir
which had been made with such magic skill that every ninth night eight
other rings dropped off it, though no one could see how they came; this
the greatest of the Heroes ever wore upon his arm, until the death of
his beautiful son Balder, when, as token of his great love he placed
it upon the dead youth’s breast as he lay on his funeral pyre. To Frey
was given the golden boar, which would run faster than any horse, over
the sea or through the air, and wherever it went, there it would be
light, because the bristles shone so brightly. To Thor Brok gave the
dull-looking hammer, saying, that whatever he struck with it would be
destroyed; that no blow could be hard enough to hurt it; that if he
threw it, it would return to him so that he could never lose it; and
that as he wished so would its size be--yet there was one fault about
it, and that was that the handle was an inch too short.
It was with great joy that Thor took this treasure, knowing that in it
he had something to help him in fighting the evil Rime-giants who were
always trying to get the whole world for themselves until driven back
by him.
Then the Heroes decided that of all the gifts the hammer was the best,
and that, therefore, Loki had lost his wager and must lose his head.
Loki offered to give all sorts of things to save himself, but the
dwarf would not listen to any of them. “Catch me, then!” cried the
mischievous one; but when Brok stretched his hand upon him Loki had
gone, for he wore shoes which would carry him over the sea or through
the air.
“Catch him!” cried the ugly little dwarf piteously to Thor, and in an
instant Loki stood before them, trembling in Thor’s strong grasp. Then
the clever one argued that it was his head only which had been wagered,
and that not one little tiny bit of his neck might be taken, or the
dwarf would have more than his bargain. At this Brok cried impatiently
that the head of a wicked person was of no use to him, all that he
wanted was to stop Loki’s tongue so that he could work less evil, and
he took a knife and thread and tried to pierce holes in Loki’s lips,
but Loki bewitched the knife so that it would not cut.
[Illustration: Loki’s punishment]
“If only I had Sindri’s awl,” sighed the dwarf, and instantly his
brother’s awl was in his hand. Swiftly it pierced the lips of the
mischief-maker, and swiftly Brok sewed them together and broke off the
thread at the end of the sewing.
Then the Heroes gave presents for the dwarfs in return for their
wonderful things, and Brok returned to his cave. As for Loki, I think
that it was not long before he loosed his lips and returned to his
mischief-making.
* * * * *
When the Scandinavian dwarf ceased speaking there was murmuring all
over the circle at the meannesses of Loki, and everyone felt glad
that Thor had been so well served by the dwarfs and hoped that the
mischief-maker, though he escaped that time after all, later met with
the reward which he deserved. I think that if the Scandinavian dwarf
had chosen to do so he might have told a very grim story of how it was
that the wicked Loki came to his fate at last, but there were so many
fairies, dwarfs, fays, gnomes, trolls, pucks, and other little people
who were ready to tell stories that I don’t think that they would have
let the Scandinavian dwarf tell another story if he had wanted to. When
he went back to his place in the great circle, the little fairy prince
of a bright warm country sprang on to the stool in front of Oberon’s
throne and said that he would be glad to tell the story of his wife’s
life, and how it was that she came to marry him.
“And what is your wife’s name?” said Oberon.
“Her name,” answered the little prince, “is
[Illustration: The fairy prince]
[Illustration: Right in the middle of the flower sat a little tiny girl]
Thumbeline
There was once a woman who had the greatest longing for a little tiny
child, but she had no idea where to get one; so she went to an old
witch and said to her, “I do so long to have a little child, will you
tell me where I can get one?”
“Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” said the witch. “Here is a
barley corn for you; it is not at all the same kind as that which grows
in the peasant’s field, or with which chickens are fed; plant it in a
flower-pot and you will see what will appear.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you!” said the woman, and she gave the witch
twelve pennies, then went home and planted the barley corn, and a
large, handsome flower sprang up at once; it looked exactly like a
tulip, but the petals were tightly shut up, just as if they were still
in bud. “That is a lovely flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the
pretty red and yellow petals; as she kissed it the flower burst open
with a loud snap. It was a real tulip, you could see that; but right
in the middle of the flower on the green stool sat a little tiny girl,
most lovely and delicate; she was not more than an inch in height, so
she was called Thumbeline.
Her cradle was a smartly varnished walnut shell, with the blue petals
of violets for a mattress and a rose-leaf to cover her; she slept in
it at night, but during the day she played about on the table where
the woman had placed a plate, surrounded by a wreath of flowers on the
outer edge with their stalks in water. A large tulip petal floated on
the water, and on this little Thumbeline sat and sailed about from one
side of the plate to the other; she had two white horse hairs for oars.
It was a pretty sight. She could sing, too, with such delicacy and
charm as was never heard before.
One night as she lay in her pretty bed, a great ugly toad hopped in at
the window, for there was a broken pane. Ugh! how hideous that great
wet toad was; it hopped right down on to the table where Thumbeline lay
fast asleep, under the red rose-leaf.
“Here is a lovely wife for my son,” said the toad, and then she took up
the walnut shell where Thumbeline slept and hopped away with it through
the window, down into the garden. A great broad stream ran through it,
but just at the edge it was swampy and muddy, and it was here that the
toad lived with her son. Ugh! how ugly and hideous he was too, exactly
like his mother. “Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all he had to
say when he saw the lovely little girl in the walnut shell.
“Do not talk so loud or you will wake her,” said the old toad; “she
might escape us yet, for she is as light as thistledown! We will put
her on one of the broad water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will
be just like an island to her, she is so small and light. She won’t
be able to run away from there while we get the state-room ready down
under the mud, which you are to inhabit.”
A great many water-lilies grew in the stream, their broad green leaves
looked as if they were floating on the surface of the water. The leaf
which was furthest from the shore was also the biggest, and to this one
the old toad swam out with the walnut shell in which little Thumbeline
lay.
The poor, tiny, little creature woke up quite early in the morning, and
when she saw where she was she began to cry most bitterly, for there
was water on every side of the big green leaf, and she could not reach
the land at any point.
[Illustration: The old toad made a deep curtsey in the water before her]
The old toad sat in the mud decking out her abode with grasses and the
buds of the yellow water-lilies, so as to have it very nice for the new
daughter-in-law, and then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf
where Thumbeline stood; they wanted to fetch her pretty bed to place it
in the bridal chamber before they took her there. The old toad made a
deep curtsey in the water before her, and said, “Here is my son, who
is to be your husband, and you are to live together most comfortably
down in the mud.”
“Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all the son could say.
Then they took the pretty little bed and swam away with it, but
Thumbeline sat quite alone on the green leaf and cried because she
did not want to live with the ugly toad, or have her horrid son for a
husband. The little fish which swam about in the water had no doubt
seen the toad and heard what she said, so they stuck their heads up,
wishing, I suppose, to see the little girl. As soon as they saw her,
they were delighted with her, and were quite grieved to think that
she was to go down to live with the ugly toad. No, that should never
happen. They flocked together down in the water round about the green
stem which held the leaf she stood upon, and gnawed at it with their
teeth till it floated away down the stream carrying Thumbeline away
where the toad could not follow her.
Thumbeline sailed past place after place, and the little birds in the
bushes saw her and sang, “What a lovely little maid.” The leaf with
her on it floated further and further away and in this manner reached
foreign lands.
A pretty little white butterfly fluttered round and round her for some
time and at last settled on the leaf, for it had taken quite a fancy to
Thumbeline; she was so happy now, because the toad could not reach her
and she was sailing through such lovely scenes; the sun shone on the
water and it looked like liquid gold. Then she took her sash and tied
one end round the butterfly, and the other she made fast to the leaf
which went gliding on quicker and quicker, and she with it for she was
standing on the leaf.
At this moment a big cockchafer came flying along, he caught sight of
her and in an instant he fixed his claw round her slender waist and
flew off with her, up into a tree, but the green leaf floated down the
stream and the butterfly with it, for he was tied to it and could not
get loose.
Heavens! how frightened poor little Thumbeline was when the cockchafer
carried her up into the tree, but she was most of all grieved about the
pretty white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf; if he could
not succeed in getting loose he would be starved to death.
But the cockchafer cared nothing for that. He settled with her on the
largest leaf on the tree, and fed her with honey from the flowers, and
he said that she was lovely although she was not a bit like a chafer.
Presently all the other chafers which lived in the tree came to visit
them; they looked at Thumbeline and the young lady chafers twitched
their feelers and said, “She has only got two legs, what a poor effect
it has.” “She has no feelers,” said another. “She is so slender in the
waist, fie, she looks like a human being.” “How ugly she is,” said
all the mother chafers, and yet little Thumbeline was so pretty. That
was certainly also the opinion of the cockchafer who had captured
her, but when all the others said she was ugly, he at last began to
believe it too, and would not have anything more to do with her, she
might go wherever she liked! They flew down from the tree with her and
placed her on a daisy, where she cried because she was so ugly that the
chafers would have nothing to do with her; and after all, she was more
beautiful than anything you could imagine, as delicate and transparent
as the finest rose-leaf.
Poor little Thumbeline lived all the summer quite alone in the wood.
She plaited a bed of grass for herself and hung it up under a big
dock-leaf which sheltered her from the rain; she sucked the honey from
the flowers for her food, and her drink was the dew which lay on the
leaves in the morning. In this way the summer and autumn passed, but
then came the winter. All the birds which used to sing so sweetly to
her flew away, the great dock-leaf under which she had lived shrivelled
up leaving nothing but a dead yellow stalk, and she shivered with the
cold, for her clothes were worn out; she was such a tiny creature, poor
little Thumbeline, she certainly must be frozen to death. It began to
snow and every snowflake which fell upon her was like a whole shovelful
upon her, for she was so very, very small. Then she wrapped herself up
in a withered leaf, but that did not warm her much, she trembled with
the cold.
[Illustration: Every snowflake which fell upon her was like a shovelful
on one of us]
Close to the wood in which she had been living lay a large cornfield,
but the corn had long ago been carried away and nothing remained but
the bare, dry, stubble which stood up out of the frozen ground. The
stubble was quite a forest for her to walk about in; oh, how she shook
with the cold. Then she came to the door of a field-mouse’s home. It
was a little hole down under the stubble. The field-mouse lived so
cosily and warm there, her whole room was full of corn, and she had a
beautiful kitchen and larder besides. Poor Thumbeline stood just inside
the door like any other poor beggar child and begged for a little piece
of barley corn, for she had had nothing to eat for two whole days.
“You poor little thing,” said the field-mouse, for she was at bottom a
good old field-mouse. “Come into my warm room and dine with me.” Then,
as she took a fancy to Thumbeline, she said, “You may with pleasure
stay with me for the winter, but you must keep my room clean and tidy
and tell me stories, for I am very fond of them,” and Thumbeline
did what the good old field-mouse desired and was on the whole very
comfortable.
“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the field-mouse; “my neighbour
generally comes to see me every week-day. He is even better housed than
I am; his rooms are very large and he wears a most beautiful black
velvet coat; if only you could get him for a husband you would indeed
be well settled, but he can’t see. You must tell him all the most
beautiful stories you know.”
But Thumbeline did not like this, and she would have nothing to say to
the neighbour for he was a mole. He came and paid a visit in his black
velvet coat. He was very rich and wise, said the field-mouse, and his
home was twenty times as large as hers; and he had much learning but
he did not like the sun or the beautiful flowers, in fact he spoke
slightingly of them for he had never seen them. Thumbeline had to sing
to him and she sang both “Fly away cockchafer” and “A monk, he wandered
through the meadow,” then the mole fell in love with her because of her
sweet voice, but he did not say anything for he was of a discreet turn
of mind.
He had just made a long tunnel through the ground from his house to
theirs, and he gave the field-mouse and Thumbeline leave to walk in it
whenever they liked. He told them not to be afraid of the dead bird
which was lying in the passage. It was a whole bird with feathers and
beak which had probably died quite recently at the beginning of the
winter and was now entombed just where he had made his tunnel.
The mole took a piece of tinder-wood in his mouth, for that shines like
fire in the dark, and walked in front of them to light them in the long
dark passage; when they came to the place where the dead bird lay, the
mole thrust his broad nose up to the roof and pushed the earth up so as
to make a big hole through which the daylight shone. In the middle of
the floor lay a dead swallow, with its pretty wings closely pressed to
its sides, and the legs and head drawn in under the feathers; no doubt
the poor bird had died of cold. Thumbeline was so sorry for it; she
loved all the little birds, for they had twittered and sung so sweetly
to her during the whole summer; but the mole kicked it with his short
legs and said, “Now it will pipe no more! It must be a miserable fate
to be born a little bird! Thank heaven! no child of mine can be a bird;
a bird like that has nothing but its twitter and dies of hunger in the
winter.”
“Yes, as a sensible man, you may well say that,” said the field-mouse.
“What _has_ a bird for all its twittering when the cold weather comes?
It has to hunger and freeze, but then it must cut a dash.”
Thumbeline did not say anything, but when the others turned their backs
to the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the feathers which lay
over its head, and kissed its closed eyes. “Perhaps it was this very
bird which sang so sweetly to me in the summer,” she thought; “what
pleasure it gave me, the dear pretty bird.”
The mole now closed up the hole which let in the daylight and conducted
the ladies to their home. Thumbeline could not sleep at all in the
night, so she got up out of her bed and plaited a large handsome mat of
hay and then she carried it down and spread it all over the dead bird,
and laid some soft cotton wool which she had found in the field-mouse’s
room close round its sides, so that it might have a warm bed on the
cold ground.
“Good-bye, you sweet little bird,” said she, “good-bye, and thank you
for your sweet song through the summer when all the trees were green
and the sun shone warmly upon us.” Then she laid her head close up to
the bird’s breast, but was quite startled at a sound, as if something
was thumping inside it. It was the bird’s heart. It was not dead but
lay in a swoon, and now that it had been warmed it began to revive.
In the autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries, but if one
happens to be belated, it feels the cold so much that it falls down
like a dead thing, and remains lying where it falls till the snow
covers it up. Thumbeline quite shook with fright for the bird was very,
very big beside her, but she gathered up her courage, packed the
wool closer round the poor bird, and fetched a leaf of mint which she
had herself for a coverlet and laid it over the bird’s head. The next
night she stole down again to it and found it alive but so feeble that
it could only just open its eyes for a moment to look at Thumbeline
who stood with a bit of tinder-wood in her hand, for she had no other
lantern.
[Illustration: It was not dead but lay in a swoon]
“Many, many thanks, you sweet child,” said the sick swallow to her;
“you have warmed me beautifully. I shall soon have strength to fly out
into the warm sun again.”
“Oh!” said she, “it is so cold outside, it snows and freezes, stay in
your warm bed, I will tend you.” Then she brought water to the swallow
in a leaf, and when it had drunk some, it told her how it had torn its
wing on a blackthorn bush, and therefore could not fly as fast as
the other swallows which were taking flight then for the distant warm
lands. At last it fell down on the ground, but after that it remembered
nothing and did not in the least know how it had got into the tunnel.
It stayed there all the winter, and Thumbeline was good to it and grew
very fond of it. She did not tell either the mole or the field-mouse
anything about it, for they did not like the poor unfortunate swallow.
As soon as the spring came and the warmth of the sun penetrated the
ground, the swallow said good-bye to Thumbeline, who opened the hole
which the mole had made above. The sun streamed in deliciously upon
them, and the swallow asked if she would not go with him, she could
sit upon his back and they would fly far away into the green wood. But
Thumbeline knew that it would grieve the old field-mouse if she left
her like that.
“No, I can’t,” said Thumbeline.
“Good-bye, good-bye, then, you kind pretty girl,” said the swallow, and
flew out into the sunshine. Thumbeline looked after him and her eyes
filled with tears, for she was very fond of the poor swallow.
“Tweet, tweet,” sang the bird, and flew into the green wood.
Thumbeline was very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the
warm sunshine at all; the corn which was sown in the field near the
field-mouse’s house grew quite long, it was a thick forest for the poor
little girl who was so very, very small.
“You must work at your trousseau this summer,” said the mouse to her,
for their neighbour the tiresome mole in his black velvet coat had
asked her to marry him. “You shall have both woollen and linen, you
shall have wherewith to clothe and cover yourself when you become the
mole’s wife.” Thumbeline had to turn the distaff and the field-mouse
hired four spiders to spin and weave day and night. The mole paid a
visit every evening and he was always saying that when the summer came
to an end, the sun would not shine nearly so warmly; now it burnt the
ground as hard as a stone. Yes, when the summer was over he would
celebrate his marriage; but Thumbeline was not at all pleased, for she
did not care a bit for the tiresome mole. Every morning at sunrise and
every evening at sunset she used to steal out to the door, and when
the wind blew aside the tops of the cornstalks so that she could see
the blue sky, she thought how bright and lovely it was out there, and
wished so much to see the dear swallow again; but it never came back;
no doubt it was a long way off, flying about in the beautiful green
woods.
[Illustration: Fiddle-de-dee said the field mouse]
When the autumn came all Thumbeline’s outfit was ready.
“In four weeks you must be married,” said the field-mouse to her. But
Thumbeline cried and said that she would not have the tiresome mole for
a husband.
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” said the field-mouse; “don’t be obstinate or I shall
bite you with my white tooth. You are going to have a splendid husband;
the queen herself hasn’t the equal of his black velvet coat; both his
kitchen and his cellar are full. You should thank heaven for such a
husband!”
So they were to be married; the mole had come to fetch Thumbeline; she
was to live deep down under the ground with him, and never to go out
into the warm sunshine, for he could not bear it. The poor child was
very sad at the thought of bidding good-bye to the beautiful sun; while
she had been with the field-mouse she had at least been allowed to look
at it from the door.
“Good-bye, you bright sun,” she said as she stretched out her arms
towards it and went a little way outside the field-mouse’s house, for
now the harvest was over and only the stubble remained. “Good-bye,
good-bye!” she said, and threw her tiny arms round a little red flower
growing there. “Give my love to the dear swallow if you happen to see
him.”
“Tweet, tweet,” she heard at this moment above her head. She looked up;
it was the swallow just passing. As soon as it saw Thumbeline it was
delighted; she told it how unwilling she was to have the ugly mole for
a husband, and that she was to live deep down underground where the sun
never shone. She could not help crying about it.
“The cold winter is coming,” said the swallow, “and I am going to fly
away to warm countries. Will you go with me? You can sit upon my back!
Tie yourself on with your sash, then we will fly away from the ugly
mole and his dark cavern, far away over the mountains to those warm
countries where the sun shines with greater splendour than here, where
it is always summer and there are heaps of flowers. Do fly with me, you
sweet little Thumbeline, who saved my life when I lay frozen in the
dark earthy passage.”
“Yes, I will go with you,” said Thumbeline, seating herself on the
bird’s back with her feet on its outspread wings. She tied her band
tightly to one of the strongest feathers, and then the swallow flew
away, high up in the air above forests and lakes, high up above the
biggest mountains where the snow never melts; and Thumbeline shivered
in the cold air, but then she crept under the bird’s warm feathers, and
only stuck out her little head to look at the beautiful sights beneath
her.
Then at last they reached the warm countries. The sun shone with
a warmer glow than here; the sky was twice as high, and the most
beautiful green and blue grapes grew in clusters on the banks and
hedgerows. Oranges and lemons hung in the woods which were fragrant
with myrtles and sweet herbs, and beautiful children ran about the
roads playing with the large, gorgeously-coloured butterflies. But the
swallow flew on and on, and the country grew more and more beautiful.
Under magnificent green trees on the shores of the blue sea stood a
dazzling white marble palace of ancient date; vines wreathed themselves
round the stately pillars. At the head of these there were countless
nests, and the swallow who carried Thumbeline lived in one of them.
“Here is my house,” said the swallow; “but if you will choose one of
the gorgeous flowers growing down there I will place you in it, and you
will live as happily as you can wish.”
“That would be delightful,” she said, and clapped her little hands.
A great white marble column had fallen to the ground and lay there
broken in three pieces, but between these the most lovely white flowers
grew. The swallow flew down with Thumbeline and put her upon one of
the broad leaves; what was her astonishment to find a little man in
the middle of the flower, as bright and transparent as if he had been
made of glass. He had a lovely golden crown upon his head and the
most beautiful bright wings upon his shoulders; he was no bigger than
Thumbeline. He was the fairy of the flowers. There was a similar little
man or woman in every flower, but he was the king of them all.
“How very beautiful he is,” whispered Thumbeline to the swallow. The
little prince was quite frightened by the swallow, for it was a perfect
giant of a bird to him, he who was so small and delicate, but when he
saw Thumbeline he was delighted; she was the very prettiest girl he
had ever seen. He therefore took the golden crown off his own head and
placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife,
and then she would be queen of the flowers! Yes, he was certainly a
very different kind of husband from the toad’s son, or the mole with
his black velvet coat. So she accepted the beautiful prince, and out
of every flower stepped a little lady or a gentleman so lovely that it
was a pleasure to look at them. Each one brought a gift to Thumbeline,
but the best of all was a pair of pretty wings from a large white
butterfly; they were fastened on to her back, and then she too could
fly from flower to flower. All was then delight and happiness, but the
swallow sat alone in his nest and sang to them as well as he could, for
his heart was heavy, he was so fond of Thumbeline himself and would
have wished never to part from her.
[Illustration: What was her astonishment to find a little man in the
middle of the flower]
“You shall not be called Thumbeline,” said the flower-fairy to her;
“that is such an ugly name, and you are so pretty. We will call you
Maia.”
* * * * *
Of course the Fairy Prince’s story was quite true, and as proof of it
there was Thumbeline, or Maia, as she was sometimes called, sitting
not very far away in the very front circle of fairies, and having
made his bow to the king and queen, the little prince stepped proudly
back to his seat by her side, and all the fairies loudly cheered the
pretty couple. When the cheering had stopped it was seen that there
were several of the company trying to get on the tale-tellers’ stool
at once, all anxious to win such cheering. King Oberon’s trumpeter,
standing on the steps of the throne, blew loudly and the squabble
stopped at once, each of the competitors turning round and expecting to
be told that he was the favoured one, but Oberon was too wise for that
and bade them all go back to their places and not to come forward again
until called upon to do so, and he then turned to Titania and said:
“Our queen shall select the next tale-teller. Who, my Titania, shall it
be?”
And the queen pointed out a little fairy dressed all in green with a
tiny golden harp in her hand and with a wreath of shamrock round her
head, saying:
“Let an Irish fairy tell us something of the doings in her green land.”
The little one in green at once came forward and said that the
story she had to tell would not be a pretty one such as that about
Thumbeline, but it would be about one of those mischievous changelings
who got the fairies such a bad name among some people, and her story
would be called
[Illustration: The Irish fairy]
[Illustration: A big laughing potato in their hands]
The Young Piper
There lived on the borders of the county of Tipperary a decently honest
couple whose names were Mick Flanigan and Judy Muldoon. These poor
people were blessed, as the saying is, with four children, all boys:
three of them were as fine, stout, healthy, good-looking children as
ever the sun shone upon; and it was enough to make any Irishman proud
of his countrymen to see them about one o’clock on a fine summer day
standing at their father’s cabin door, with their beautiful flaxen hair
hanging in curls about their heads, and their cheeks like two rosy
apples, and a big laughing potato smoking in their hands. A proud man
was Mick of these fine children, and a proud woman, too, was Judy;
and reason enough they had to be so. But it was far otherwise with the
remaining one, which was the third eldest: he was the most miserable,
ugly, ill-conditioned brat you ever saw: he was so ill-thriven that he
never was able to stand alone, or to leave the cradle; he had long,
shaggy, matted, curled hair, as black as the soot; his face was of a
greenish-yellow colour; his eyes were like two burning coals, and were
for ever moving in his head, as if they had had the perpetual motion.
Before he was a twelvemonth old he had a mouthful of great teeth; his
hands were like kite’s claws, and his legs were no thicker than the
handle of a whip, and about as straight as a reaping hook: to make the
matter worse, he had the appetite of a cormorant, and the whinge, and
the yelp, and the screech, and the yowl was never out of his mouth.
The neighbours all suspected that he was something not right,
particularly as it was observed, when people, as they do in the
country, got about the fire and began to talk of religion and good
things, the brat, as he lay in the cradle, which his mother generally
put near the fire-place that he might be snug, used to sit up, as they
were in the middle of their talk, and begin to bellow as if the devil
was in him in right earnest: this, as I said, led the neighbours to
think that all was not right, and there was a general consultation
held one day about what would be best to do with him. Some advised one
thing, and some another; at last one spoke of sending for the priest,
who was a very holy and a very learned man, to see it. To this Judy of
course had no objection, but one thing or another always prevented her
doing so, and the upshot of the business was that the priest never saw
him.
Things went on in the old way for some time longer. The brat continued
yelping and yowling, and eating more than his three brothers put
together, and playing all sorts of unlucky tricks, for he was mighty
mischievously inclined; till it happened one day that Tim Carrol, the
blind piper, going his rounds, called in and sat down by the fire to
have a bit of chat with the woman of the house. So after some time,
Tim, who was no churl of his music, yoked on the pipes, and began
to bellows away in high style; when the instant he began, the young
fellow, who had been lying as still as a mouse in his cradle, sat up,
began to grin and twist his ugly face, to swing about his long tawny
arms, and to kick out his crooked legs, and to show signs of great
glee at the music. At last nothing would serve him but he should get
the pipes into his own hands, and to humour him his mother asked Tim
to lend them to the child for a minute. Tim, who was kind to children,
readily consented; and as Tim had not his sight, Judy herself brought
them to the cradle, and went to put them on him; but she had no
occasion, for the youth seemed quite up to the business. He buckled
on the pipes, set the bellows under one arm, and the bag under the
other, worked them both as knowingly as if he had been twenty years
at the business, and lilted up “Sheela na guira” in the finest style
imaginable.
All were in astonishment: the poor woman crossed herself. Tim, who, as
I said before, was dark, and did not well know who was playing, was
in great delight; and when he heard that it was a little prechan not
five years old, that had never seen a set of pipes in his life, he
wished the mother joy of her son; offered to take him off her hands
if she would part with him, swore he was born a piper, a natural
_genus_, and declared that in a little time more, with the help of a
little good instruction from himself, there would not be his match in
the whole county. The poor woman was greatly delighted to hear all
this, particularly as what Tim said about natural genus quieted some
misgivings that were rising in her mind, lest what the neighbours said
about his not being right might be too true; and it gratified her
moreover to think that her dear child (for she really loved the whelp)
would not be forced to turn out and beg, but might earn decent bread
for himself. So when Mick came home in the evening from his work, she
up and told him all that had happened, and all that Tim Carrol had
said; and Mick, as was natural, was very glad to hear it, for the
helpless condition of the poor creature was a great trouble to him. So
next day he took the pig to the fair, and with what it brought set off
to Clonmel, and bespoke a brand-new set of pipes of the proper size for
him.
In about a fortnight the pipes came home, and the moment the chap in
his cradle laid eyes on them, he squealed with delight and threw up his
legs, and bumped himself in his cradle, and went on with a great many
comical tricks; till at last, to quiet him, they gave him the pipes,
and he immediately set to and pulled away at “Jig Polthog,” to the
admiration of all that heard him.
The fame of his skill on the pipes soon spread far and near, for there
was not a piper in the next six counties could come at all near him in
“Old Moderagh rue,” or “The Hare in the Corn,” or “The Fox-Hunter’s
Jig,” or “The Rakes of Cashel,” or “The Piper’s Maggot,” or any of
the fine Irish jigs which make people dance whether they will or no:
and it was surprising to hear him rattle away “The Fox Hunt”; you’d
really think you heard the hounds giving tongue and the terriers
yelping always behind, and the huntsman and the whippers-in cheering or
correcting the dogs; it was, in short, the very next thing to seeing
the hunt itself.
The best of him was he was noways stingy of his music, and many a merry
dance the boys and girls of the neighbourhood used to have in his
father’s cabin; and he would play up music for them, that they said
used as it were to put quicksilver in their feet; and they all declared
they never moved so light and so airy to any piper’s playing that ever
they danced to.
But besides all his fine Irish music, he had one queer tune of his
own, the oddest that ever was heard; for the moment he began to play
it everything in the house seemed disposed to dance; the plates and
porringers used to jingle on the dresser, the pots and pot-hooks used
to rattle in the chimney, and people used even to fancy they felt
the stools moving from under them; but, however it might be with the
stools, it is certain that no one could keep long sitting on them, for
both old and young always fell to capering as hard as ever they could.
The girls complained that when he began this tune it always threw them
out in their dancing, and that they never could handle their feet
rightly, for they felt the floor like ice under them, and themselves
every moment ready to come sprawling on their backs or their faces. The
young bachelors that wished to show off their dancing and their new
pumps, and their bright red or green and yellow garters, swore that it
confused them so that they never could go rightly through the _heel
and toe_, or _cover the buckle_, or any of their best steps, but felt
themselves always all bedizzied and bewildered, and then old and young
would go jostling and knocking together in a frightful manner; and when
the unlucky brat had them all in this way, whirligigging about the
floor, he’d grin and chuckle and chatter, for all the world like Jacko
the monkey when he has played off some of his roguery.
The older he grew the worse he grew, and by the time he was six years
old there was no standing the house for him; he was always making his
brothers burn or scald themselves, or break their shins over the pots
and stools. One time, in harvest, he was left at home by himself, and
when his mother came in she found the cat a-horseback on the dog, with
her face to the tail, and her legs tied round him, and the urchin
playing his queer tune to them; so that the dog went barking and
jumping about, and puss was mewing for the dear life, and slapping her
tail backwards and forwards, which, as it would hit against the dog’s
chaps, he’d snap it and bite, and then there was the philliloo. Another
time, the farmer with whom Mick worked, a very decent, respectable man,
happened to call in, and Judy wiped a stool with her apron, and invited
him to sit down and rest himself after his walk. He was sitting with
his back to the cradle, and behind him was a pan of blood, for Judy
was making pig’s puddings. The lad lay quite still in his nest, and
watched his opportunity till he got ready a hook at the end of a piece
of twine, which he contrived to fling so handily that it caught in
the bob of the man’s nice new wig, and soused it in the pan of blood.
Another time his mother was coming in from milking the cow, with the
pail on her head: the minute he saw her he lilted up his infernal tune
and the poor woman, letting go the pail, clapped her hands aside and
began to dance a jig, and tumbled the milk all atop of her husband,
who was bringing in some turf to boil the supper. In short there would
be no end to telling all his pranks, and all the mischievous tricks he
played.
Soon after, some mischances began to happen to the farmer’s cattle. A
horse took the staggers, a fine veal calf died, and some of his sheep;
the cows began to grow vicious, and to kick down the milk pails, and
the roof of one end of the barn fell in; and the farmer took it into
his head that Mick Flanigan’s unlucky child was the cause of all the
mischief. So one day he called Mick aside and said to him: “Mick, you
see things are not going on with me as they ought, and to be plain with
you, Mick, I think that child of yours is the cause of it. I am really
falling away to nothing with fretting, and I can hardly sleep on my bed
at night for thinking of what may happen before the morning. So I’d be
glad if you’d look out for work somewhere else; you’re as good a man as
any in the country, and there’s no fear but you’ll have your choice of
work.”
To this Mick replied, that he was sorry for his losses, and still
sorrier that he and his should be thought to be the cause of them; that
for his own part he was not quite easy in his mind about that child,
but he had him and so must keep him. And he promised to look out for
another place at once.
So Mick gave out that he was about to leave his work at John Riordan’s,
and immediately a farmer who lived a couple of miles off, and who
wanted a ploughman (the last one having just left him), came up to
Mick, and offered him a house and garden, and work all the year round.
Mick, who knew him to be a good employer, immediately closed with him;
so it was agreed the farmer should send a car to take his little bit of
furniture, and that he should remove on the following Thursday.
When Thursday came, the car came according to promise, and Mick loaded
it, and put the cradle with the child and his pipes on the top, and
Judy sat beside it to take care of him, lest he should tumble out. They
drove the cow before them, the dog followed, but the cat was of course
left behind; and the other three children went along the road picking
skee-hories (haws) and blackberries, for it was a fine day towards the
latter end of harvest.
They had to cross a river, but as it ran through a bottom between two
high banks, you did not see it till you were close on it. The young
fellow was lying pretty quiet in the bottom of the cradle, till they
came to the head of the bridge, when hearing the roaring of the water
(for there was a great flood in the river, as it had rained heavily
for the last two or three days), he sat up in his cradle and looked
about him; and the instant he got a sight of the water and found they
were going to take him across it, oh! how he did bellow and how he did
squeal!--no rat caught in a snap-trap ever sang out equal to him.
“Whisht! a lanna,” said Judy, “there’s no fear of you; sure it’s only
over the stone bridge we’re going.”
“Bad luck to you, you old rip!” cried he, “what a pretty trick you’ve
played me, to bring me here!” And still he went on yelling, and the
further they got on the bridge the louder he yelled, till at last Mick
could hold out no longer, so giving him a skelp with the whip he had
in his hand, “You brat!” he said, “will you never stop bawling? A body
can’t hear their ears for you.”
The moment he felt the thong of the whip, he leaped up in the cradle,
clapped the pipes under his arm, gave a most wicked grin at Mick, and
jumped clean off the cart over the side of the bridge down into the
water.
“O my child, my child!” shouted Judy, “he’s gone for ever from me.”
[Illustration: Sitting cross-legged on the top of a wave]
Mick and the rest of the children ran to the other side of the bridge,
and looking over, they saw him coming out from under the arch of the
bridge, sitting cross-legged on the top of a white-headed wave, and
playing away on the pipes as merrily as if nothing had happened. The
river was running very rapidly, so he was whirled away at a great rate;
but he played as fast, ay and faster, than the river ran; and though
they set off as hard as they could along the bank, yet, as the river
made a sudden turn round the hill, about a hundred yards below the
bridge, by the time they got there he was out of sight, and no one ever
laid eyes on him more; but the general opinion was that he went home
with the pipes to his own relations, the good people, to make music for
them.
* * * * *
“They must have been well-rid of such an uncomfortable child,” said
King Oberon, though it was noticed that he and most of the fairies were
laughing to think of the astonishment which must have been shown by
Mick and Judy when the young piper went plump over into the river off
the cart-load of furniture.
They were still laughing when a voice exclaimed,
“Mine is a short story with a long name.”
[Illustration: Jumped clean off the cart over the bridge down into the
water]
At once the laughter stopped and all turned to the stool on which a
quaint Gnome was sitting with one leg over the knee of the other and
with his hands clasping his foot was rocking backwards and forwards
until he saw that everybody’s attention was directed to him, when he
went on to say:
“Sometimes when fairy-folk who are not so good as they might be, try
to do harm to people by pretending to do them good, they are not so
successful, as you will learn from my tale of
[Illustration: The gnome]
[Illustration: The miller’s daughter]
Rumpel-Stilts-Ken
By the side of a wood, in a country a long way off, ran a fine stream
of water; and upon the stream there stood a mill. The miller’s house
was close by, and the miller, you must know, had a very beautiful
daughter. She was, moreover, very shrewd and clever; and the miller
was so proud of her, that he one day told the king of the land, who
used to come and hunt in the wood, that his daughter could spin gold
out of straw. Now this king was very fond of money; and when he heard
the miller’s boast his greediness was raised, and he sent for the girl
to be brought before him. Then he led her to a chamber in his palace
where there was a great heap of straw, and gave her a spinning-wheel,
and said, “All this must be spun into gold before morning, as you love
your life.” It was in vain that the poor maiden said that it was only a
silly boast of her father, for that she could do no such thing as spin
straw into gold: the chamber door was locked, and she was left alone.
She sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard
fate; when on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man
hobbled in, and said, “Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you
weeping for?” “Alas!” said she, “I must spin this straw into gold, and
I know not how.” “What will you give me,” said the hobgoblin, “to do it
for you?” “My necklace,” replied the maiden. He took her at her word,
and sat himself down to the wheel, and whistled and sang--
“Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!”
And round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and
the straw was all spun into gold.
When the king came in and saw this, he was greatly astonished and
pleased; but his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up
the poor miller’s daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not
what to do, and sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened
the door, and said, “What will you give me to do your task?” “The ring
on my finger,” said she. So her little friend took the ring, and began
to work at the wheel again, and whistled and sang--
“Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!”
till, long before morning, all was done again.
The king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure;
but still he had not enough: so he took the miller’s daughter to a yet
larger heap, and said, “All this must be spun to-night; and if it is,
you shall be my queen.” As soon as she was alone the dwarf came in, and
said, “What will you give me to spin gold for you this third time?” “I
have nothing left,” said she. “Then say you will give me,” said the
little man, “the first little child that you may have when you are
queen.” “That may never be,” thought the miller’s daughter: and as
she knew no other way to get her task done, she said she would do what
he asked. Round went the wheel again to the old song, and the manikin
once more spun the heap into gold. The king came in the morning, and,
finding all he wanted, was forced to keep his word; so he married the
miller’s daughter, and she really became queen.
At the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot
the dwarf, and what she had said. But one day he came into her room,
where she was sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it.
Then she grieved sorely at her misfortune, and said she would give him
all the wealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain;
till at last her tears softened him, and he said, “I will give you
three days’ grace, and, if during that time you tell me my name, you
shall keep your child.”
Now the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that
she had ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find
out new ones. The next day the little man came, and she began with
+TIMOTHY+, +ICHABOD+, +BENJAMIN+, +JEREMIAH+, and all the names she
could remember; but to all and each of them he said, “Madam, that is
not my name.”
The second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of,
+BANDY-LEGS+, +HUNCH-BACK+, +CROOK-SHANKS+, and so on; but the little
gentleman still said to every one of them, “Madam, that is not my name.”
The third day one of the messengers came back and said, “I travelled
two days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as I was
climbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox and
the hare bid each other good-night, I saw a little hut; and before the
hut burnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was
dancing upon one leg, and singing--
“‘Merrily the feast I’ll make,
To-day I’ll brew, to-morrow bake;
Merrily I’ll dance and sing,
For next day will a stranger bring.
Little does my lady dream
Rumpel-stilts-ken is my name!’”
[Illustration: The king came in the morning]
[Illustration: Dashed his right foot so deep into the floor that he was
forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it out]
When the queen heard this she jumped for joy, and as soon as her
little friend came she sat down upon her throne, and called all her
court round to enjoy the fun; and the nurse stood by her side with the
baby in her arms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the
little man began to chuckle at the thoughts of having the poor child
to take home with him to his hut in the woods; and he cried out, “Now,
lady, what is my name?” “Is it +JOHN+?” asked she. “No, madam!” “Is
it +TOM+?” “No, madam!” “Is it +JEMMY+?” “It is not!” “Can your name
be +RUMPEL-STILTS-KEN+?” said the lady slily. “Some witch told you
that!--some witch told you that!” cried the little man, and dashed his
right foot in a rage so deep into the floor, that he was forced to lay
hold of it with both hands to pull it out.
Then he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the
baby crowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much
trouble for nothing, and said, “We wish you a very good morning, and a
merry feast, Mr +RUMPEL-STILTS-KEN+!”
* * * * *
“Too short, too short,” said King Oberon.
“Your Majesty,” protested the Gnome in a dignified manner, “a story
should not be measured by the number of words which it contains, nor
should twenty minutes be spent over a tale which can be told in ten.”
“True,” replied Oberon good-humouredly, “but as you can tell us so
much in so little time perhaps you can tell us another.”
“With pleasure,” said the flattered Gnome, and at once, merely pausing
while he reversed the position of his legs so that he nursed the left
one instead of the right, he began the story of
[Illustration: The gnome]
[Illustration: On he went scrambling]
Karl Katz
In the midst of the Hartz forests there is a high mountain, of which
the neighbours tell all sorts of stories: how the goblins and fairies
dance on it by night; and how the old Emperor Red-beard holds his court
there, and sits on his marble throne, with his long beard sweeping on
the ground.
A great many years ago there lived in a village at the foot of this
mountain, one Karl Katz. Now Karl was a goatherd, and every morning he
drove his flock to feed upon the green spots that are here and there
found on the mountain’s side. In the evening he sometimes thought it
too late to drive his charge home; so he used in such cases to shut
it up in a spot amongst the woods, where the old ruined walls of some
castle that had long ago been deserted were left standing, and were
high enough to form a fold, in which he could count his goats, and
let them rest for the night. One evening he found that the prettiest
goat of his flock had vanished, soon after they were driven into this
fold. He searched everywhere for it in vain; but, to his surprise and
delight, when he counted his flock in the morning, what should he see,
the first of the flock, but his lost goat! Again and again the same
strange thing happened. At last he thought he would watch still more
narrowly; and, having looked carefully over the old walls, he found a
narrow doorway, through which it seemed that his favourite made her
way. Karl followed, and found a path leading downwards through a cleft
in the rocks. On he went, scrambling as well as he could, down the side
of the rock, and at last came to the mouth of a cave, where he lost
sight of his goat. Just then he saw that his faithful dog was not with
him. He whistled, but no dog was there; and he was therefore forced to
go into the cave and try to find his goat by himself.
He groped his way for a while, and at last came to a place where a
little light found its way in; and there he wondered not a little to
find his goat, employing itself very much at its ease in the cavern, in
eating corn, which kept dropping from some place over its head. He went
up and looked about him, to see where all this corn, that rattled about
his ears like a hail-storm, could come from: but all overhead was dark,
and he could find no clue to this strange business.
At last, as he stood listening, he thought he heard the neighing and
stamping of horses. He listened again; it was plainly so; and after
a while he was sure that horses were feeding above him, and that the
corn fell from their mangers. What could these horses be which were
thus kept in the clefts of rocks, where none but the goat’s foot ever
trod? There must be people of some sort or other living here; and who
could they be? and was it safe to trust himself in such company? Karl
pondered awhile; but his wonder only grew greater and greater, when on
a sudden he heard his own name, “Karl Katz!” echo through the cavern.
He turned round, but could see nothing. “Karl Katz!” again sounded
sharply in his ears; and soon out came a little dwarfish page, with a
high-peaked hat and a scarlet cloak, from a dark corner at one end of
the cave.
The dwarf nodded, and beckoned him to follow. Karl thought he should
first like to know a little about who it was that thus sought his
company. He asked: but the dwarf shook his head, answering not a word,
and again beckoned him to follow. He did so; and winding his way
through ruins, he soon heard rolling overhead what sounded like peals
of thunder, echoing among the rocks: the noise grew louder and louder
as he went on, and at last he came to a courtyard surrounded by old
ivy-grown walls. The spot seemed to be the bosom of a little valley;
above rose on every hand high masses of rock; wide-branching trees
threw their arms overhead, so that nothing but a glimmering twilight
made its way through; and here, on the cool smooth-shaven turf, Karl
saw twelve strange old figures amusing themselves very sedately with a
game of nine-pins.
Their dress did not seem altogether strange to Karl, for in the church
of the town whither he went every week to market there was an old
monument, with figures of queer old knights upon it, dressed in the
very same fashion. Not a word fell from any of their lips. They moved
about soberly and gravely, each taking his turn at the game; but the
oldest of them ordered Karl Katz, by dumb signs, to busy himself in
setting up the pins as they knocked them down. At first his knees
trembled, as he hardly dared snatch a stolen sidelong glance at the
long beards and old-fashioned dresses of the worthy knights; but he
soon saw that as each knight played out his game he went to his seat,
and there took a hearty draught at a flagon, which the dwarf kept
filled, and which sent up the smell of the richest old wine.
Little by little Karl got bolder; and at last he plucked up his heart
so far as to beg the dwarf, by signs, to let him too take his turn at
the flagon. The dwarf gave it him with a grave bow, and Karl thought he
never tasted anything half so good before. This gave him new strength
for his work; and as often as he flagged at all he turned to the same
kind friend for help in his need.
Which was tired first, he or the knights, Karl never could tell; or
whether the wine got the better of his head: but what he knew was,
that sleep at last overpowered him, and that when he awoke he found
himself stretched out upon the old spot within the walls where he
had folded his flock, and saw that the bright sun was high up in the
heavens. The same green turf was spread beneath, and the same tottering
ivy-clad walls surrounded him. He rubbed his eyes and called his dog;
but neither dog nor goat was to be seen; and when he looked about
him again, the grass seemed to be longer under his feet than it was
yesterday; and trees hung over his head which he had either never seen
before, or had quite forgotten. Shaking his head, and hardly knowing
whether he was in his right mind, he got up and stretched himself:
somehow or other his joints felt stiffer than they were. “It serves me
right,” said he; “this comes of sleeping out of one’s own bed.” Little
by little he recollected his evening’s sport, and licked his lips as
he thought of the charming wine he had taken so much of. “But who,”
thought he, “can those people be, that come to this odd place to play
at nine-pins?”
His first step was to look for the doorway through which he had
followed his goat; but to his astonishment, not the least trace of an
opening of any sort was to be seen. There stood the wall, without chink
or crack big enough for a rat to pass through. Again he paused and
scratched his head. His hat was full of holes: “Why, it was new last
Shrove-tide!” said he. By chance his eye fell next on his shoes, which
were almost new when he last left home; but now they looked so old,
that they were likely to fall to pieces before he could get home.
All his clothes seemed in the same sad plight. The more he looked, the
more he pondered, the more he was at a loss to know what could have
happened to him.
[Illustration: “TWELVE STRANGE OLD FIGURES AMUSING THEMSELVES VERY
SEDATELY WITH A GAME OF NINE PINS”. _Karl Katz._]
At length he turned round, and left the old walls to look for his
flock. Slow and out of heart he wound his way among the mountain
steeps, through paths where his flocks were wont to wander: still not a
goat was to be seen. Again he whistled and called his dog, but no dog
came. Below him in the plain lay the village where his home was; so at
length he took the downward path, and set out with a heavy heart and a
faltering step in search of his flock.
“Surely,” said he, “I shall soon meet some neighbour, who can tell me
where my goats are?” But the people who met him, as he drew near to
the village, were all unknown to him. They were not even dressed as
his neighbours were, and they seemed as if they hardly spoke the same
tongue. When he eagerly asked each, as he came up, after his goats,
they only stared at him and stroked their chins. At last he did the
same too; and what was his wonder to find that his beard was grown
at least a foot long! “The world,” said he to himself, “is surely
turned upside down, or if not, I must be bewitched”: and yet he knew
the mountain, as he turned round again, and looked back on its woody
heights; and he knew the houses and cottages also, with their little
gardens, as he entered the village. All were in the places he had
always known them in; and he heard some children, too (as a traveller
that passed by was asking his way), call the village by the very same
name he had always known it to bear.
Again he shook his head, and went straight through the village to his
own cottage. Alas! it looked sadly out of repair; the windows were
broken, the door off its hinges, and in the courtyard lay an unknown
child, in a ragged dress, playing with a rough, toothless old dog, whom
he thought he ought to know, but who snarled and barked in his face
when he called to him. He went in at the open doorway; but he found
all so dreary and empty, that he staggered out again like a drunken
man, and called his wife and children loudly by their names: but no one
heard, at least no one answered him.
A crowd of women and children soon flocked around the strange-looking
man with the long grey beard; and all broke upon him at once with the
questions, “Who are you?” “Who is it that you want?” It seemed to
him so odd to ask other people, at his own door, after his wife and
children, that, in order to get rid of the crowd, he named the first
man that came into his head. “Hans the blacksmith?” said he. Most held
their tongues and stared; but at last an old woman said, “He went these
seven years ago to a place that you will not reach to-day.” “Fritz
the tailor, then?” “Heaven rest his soul!” said an old beldam upon
crutches; “he has lain these ten years in a house that he’ll never
leave.”
Karl Katz looked at the old woman again, and shuddered, as he knew
her to be one of his old gossips; but saw she had a strangely altered
face. All wish to ask further questions was gone; but at last a young
woman made her way through the gaping throng, with a baby in her arms,
and a little girl of about three years old clinging to her other hand.
All three looked the very image of his own wife. “What is thy name?”
asked he, wildly. “Liese!” said she. “And your father’s?” “Karl Katz!
Heaven bless him!” said she: “but, poor man! he is lost and gone. It
is now full twenty years since we sought for him day and night on the
mountain. His dog and his flock came back, but he never was heard of
any more. I was then seven years old.”
Poor Karl could hold no longer: “I am Karl Katz, and no other!” said
he, as he took the child from his daughter’s arms and kissed it over
and over again.
All stood gaping, and hardly knowing what to say or think, when old
Stropken the schoolmaster hobbled by, and took a long and close look at
him. “Karl Katz! Karl Katz!” said he slowly: “why, it _is_ Karl Katz,
sure enough! There is my own mark upon him; there is the scar over his
right eye, that I gave him myself one day with my oak stick.” Then
several others also cried out, “Yes it is! it is Karl Katz! Welcome,
neighbour, welcome home!” “But where,” said or thought all, “can an
honest steady fellow like you have been these twenty years?”
[Illustration: The strange-looking man with the long grey beard]
And now the whole village had flocked around; the children laughed, the
dogs barked, and all were glad to see neighbour Karl home alive and
well. As to where he had been for the twenty years, that was a part of
the story at which Karl shrugged up his shoulders; for he never could
very well explain it, and seemed to think the less that was said about
it the better. But it was plain enough that what dwelt most on his
memory was the noble wine that had tickled his mouth while the knights
played their game of nine-pins.
* * * * *
No sooner had the Gnome concluded his story than a funny looking
fairy with feathers in his hair and hanging in a stream all down his
back--just like a Red Indian in all his war-paint--exclaimed,
“Karl Katz, indeed, the people where I come from call him Rip Van
Winkle and he really--”
“Stop, my little friend,” said the king, “when we want your very
entertaining story we will ask you for it, no doubt there are more folk
than Karl Katz and your friend Rip Van Winkle who have lived long with
the fairies and gone back after years to their own people.”
“History repeats itself,” said the Gnome sententiously.
“Yes,” added Oberon, “and you have repeated enough, so now we will have
a story from someone else.”
The fairies all laughed at the king’s little sally, and settled
themselves down to hear the next tale, which was given by the Fairy
Peaseblossom, one of the attendants upon Queen Titania who, knowing her
Majesty’s favourite story, told them of
[Illustration: Fairy Peaseblossom]
[Illustration: He laid his head against her bosom]
The Wild Swans
Far away, where the swallows take refuge in winter, lived a king who
had eleven sons and one daughter, Elise. The eleven brothers--they
were all princes--used to go to school with stars on their breasts
and swords at their sides. They wrote upon golden slates with diamond
pencils, and could read just as well without a book as with one, so
there was no mistake about their being real princes. Their sister
Elise sat upon a little footstool of looking-glass, and she had a
picture-book which had cost the half of a kingdom. Oh, these children
were very happy; but it was not to last thus for ever.
Their father, who was king over all the land, married a wicked queen
who was not at all kind to the poor children; they found that out on
the first day. All was festive at the castle, but when the children
wanted to play at having company, instead of having as many cakes and
baked apples as ever they wanted, she would only let them have some
sand in a tea-cup, and said they must make-believe.
In the following week she sent little Elise into the country to board
with some peasants, and it did not take her long to make the king
believe so many bad things about the boys, that he cared no longer for
them.
“Fly out into the world and look after yourselves,” said the wicked
queen; “you shall fly about like birds without voices.”
But she could not make things as bad for them as she would have liked;
they turned into eleven beautiful wild swans. They flew out of the
palace window with a weird scream, right across the park and the woods.
It was very early in the morning when they came to the place where
their sister Elise was sleeping in the peasant’s house. They hovered
over the roof of the house, turning and twisting their long necks, and
flapping their wings; but no one either heard or saw them. They had to
fly away again, and they soared up towards the clouds, far out into the
wide world, and they settled in a big, dark wood, which stretched right
down to the shore.
Poor little Elise stood in the peasant’s room, playing with a green
leaf, for she had no other toys. She made a little hole in it, which
she looked through at the sun, and it seemed to her as if she saw
her brothers’ bright eyes. Every time the warm sunbeams shone upon
her cheek, it reminded her of their kisses. One day passed just like
another. When the wind whistled through the rose-hedges outside the
house, it whispered to the roses, “Who can be prettier than you are?”
But the roses shook their heads and answered, “Elise!” And when the old
woman sat in the doorway reading her Psalms, the wind turned over the
leaves and said to the book, “Who can be more pious than you?” “Elise!”
answered the book. Both the roses and the book of Psalms only spoke the
truth.
She was to go home when she was fifteen, but when the queen saw how
pretty she was she got very angry, and her heart was filled with
hatred. She would willingly have turned her into a wild swan too, like
her brothers, but she did not dare to do it at once, for the king
wanted to see his daughter. The queen always went to the bath in the
early morning. It was built of marble and adorned with soft cushions
and beautiful carpets.
She took three toads, kissed them, and said to the first, “Sit upon
Elise’s head when she comes to the bath, so that she may become
sluggish like yourself.” “Sit upon her forehead,” she said to the
second, “that she may become ugly like you, and then her father won’t
know her! Rest upon her heart,” she whispered to the third. “Let an
evil spirit come over her, which may be a burden to her.” Then she put
the toads into the clean water, and a green tinge immediately came over
it. She called Elise, undressed her, and made her go into the bath;
when she ducked under the water, one of the toads got among her hair,
the other got on to her forehead, and the third on to her bosom. But
when she stood up three scarlet poppies floated on the water; had not
the creatures been poisonous, and kissed by the sorceress, they would
have been changed into crimson roses, but yet they became flowers from
merely having rested a moment on her head and her heart. She was far
too good and innocent for the sorcery to have any power over her. When
the wicked Queen saw this, she rubbed her over with walnut juice, and
smeared her face with some evil-smelling salve. She also matted up
her beautiful hair; it would have been impossible to recognise pretty
Elise. When her father saw her, he was quite horrified and said that
she could not be his daughter. Nobody would have anything to say to
her, except the yard dog, and the swallows, and they were only poor
dumb animals whose opinion went for nothing.
Poor Elise wept, and thought of her eleven brothers who were all lost.
She crept sadly out of the palace and wandered about all day, over
meadows and marshes, and into a big forest. She did not know in the
least where she wanted to go, but she felt very sad, and longed for
her brothers, who, no doubt, like herself had been driven out of the
palace. She made up her mind to go and look for them, but she had only
been in the wood for a short time when night fell. She had quite lost
her way, so she lay down upon the soft moss, said her evening prayer,
and rested her head on a little hillock. It was very still and the air
was mild, hundreds of glow-worms shone around her on the grass and in
the marsh like green fire. When she gently moved one of the branches
over her head, the little shining insects fell over her like a shower
of stars. She dreamt about her brothers all night long. Again they
were children playing together: they wrote upon the golden slates with
their diamond pencils, and she looked at the picture-book which had
cost half a kingdom. But they no longer wrote strokes and noughts upon
their slates as they used to do; no, they wrote down all their boldest
exploits, and everything that they had seen and experienced. Everything
in the picture-book was alive, the birds sang, and the people walked
out of the book, and spoke to Elise and her brothers. When she turned
over a page, they skipped back into their places again, so that there
should be no confusion among the pictures.
When she woke the sun was already high; it is true she could not see it
very well through the thick branches of the lofty forest trees, but the
sunbeams cast a golden shimmer around beyond the forest. There was a
fresh delicious scent of grass and herbs in the air, and the birds were
almost ready to perch upon her shoulders. She could hear the splashing
of water, for there were many springs around, which all flowed into a
pond with a lovely sandy bottom. It was surrounded with thick bushes,
but there was one place which the stags had trampled down and Elise
passed through the opening to the water side. It was so transparent,
that had not the branches been moved by the breeze, she must have
thought that they were painted on the bottom, so plainly was every leaf
reflected, both those on which the sun played, and those which were in
shade.
When she saw her own face she was quite frightened, it was so brown
and ugly, but when she wet her little hand and rubbed her eyes and
forehead, her white skin shone through again. Then she took off all her
clothes and went into the fresh water. A more beautiful royal child
than she, could not be found in all the world.
When she had put on her clothes again, and plaited her long hair,
she went to a sparkling spring and drank some of the water out of the
hollow of her hand. Then she wandered further into the wood, though
where she was going she had not the least idea. She thought of her
brothers, and she thought of a merciful God who would not forsake her.
He let the wild crab-apples grow to feed the hungry. He showed her
a tree, the branches of which were bending beneath their weight of
fruit. Here she made her midday meal, and, having put props under the
branches, she walked on into the thickest part of the forest. It was so
quiet that she heard her own footsteps, she heard every little withered
leaf which bent under her feet. Not a bird was to be seen, not a ray of
sunlight pierced the leafy branches, and the tall trunks were so close
together that when she looked before her it seemed as if a thick fence
of heavy beams hemmed her in on every side. The solitude was such as
she had never known before.
[Illustration: The Saviour looked down and little angels’ heads peeped
out above His head and under His arms]
It was a very dark night, not a single glow-worm sparkled in the marsh;
sadly she lay down to sleep, and it seemed to her as if the branches
above her parted asunder, and the Saviour looked down upon her with His
loving eyes, and little angels’ heads peeped out above His head and
under His arms.
When she woke in the morning she was not sure if she had dreamt this,
or whether it was really true.
She walked a little further, when she met an old woman with a basket
full of berries, of which she gave her some. Elise asked if she had
seen eleven princes ride through the wood. “No,” said the old woman,
“but yesterday I saw eleven swans, with golden crowns upon their heads,
swimming in the stream close by here.”
She led Elise a little further to a slope, at the foot of which the
stream meandered. The trees on either bank stretched out their rich
leafy branches towards each other, and where, from their natural
growth, they could not reach each other, they had torn their roots
out of the ground, and leant over the water so as to interlace their
branches.
Elise said good-bye to the old woman, and walked along by the river
till it flowed out into the great open sea.
The beautiful open sea lay before the maiden, but not a sail was to be
seen on it, not a single boat. How was she ever to get any further?
She looked at the numberless little pebbles on the beach; they were
all worn quite round by the water. Glass, iron, stone, whatever was
washed up had taken their shapes from the water, which yet was much
softer than her little hand. “With all its rolling, it is untiring, and
everything hard is smoothed down. I will be just as untiring! Thank you
for your lesson, you clear rolling waves! Some time, so my heart tells
me, you will bear me to my beloved brothers!”
Eleven white swans’ feathers were lying on the sea-weed; she picked
them up and made a bunch of them. There were still drops of water on
them. Whether these were dew or tears no one could tell. It was very
lonely there by the shore, but she did not feel it, for the sea was
ever-changing. There were more changes on it in the course of a few
hours than could be seen on an inland fresh water lake in a year. If a
big black cloud arose, it was just as if the sea wanted to say, “I can
look black too,” and then the wind blew up and the waves shewed their
white crests. But if the clouds were red and the wind dropped, the sea
looked like a rose-leaf, now white, now green. But however still it
was, there was always a little gentle motion just by the shore, the
water rose and fell softly like the bosom of a sleeping child.
When the sun was just about to go down, Elise saw eleven wild swans
with golden crowns upon their heads flying towards the shore. They flew
in a swaying line, one behind the other, like a white ribbon streamer.
Elise climbed up on to the bank and hid behind a bush; the swans
settled close by her and flapped their great white wings.
As soon as the sun had sunk beneath the water, the swans shed their
feathers and became eleven handsome princes; they were Elise’s
brothers. Although they had altered a good deal, she knew them at once;
she felt that they must be her brothers and she sprang into their arms,
calling them by name. They were delighted when they recognised their
little sister who had grown so big and beautiful. They laughed and
cried, and told each other how wickedly their stepmother had treated
them all.
“We brothers,” said the eldest, “have to fly about in the guise of
swans, as long as the sun is above the horizon. When it goes down
we regain our human shapes. So we always have to look out for a
resting-place near sunset, for should we happen to be flying up among
the clouds when the sun goes down, we should be hurled to the depths
below. We do not live here; there is another land, just as beautiful
as this beyond the sea; but the way to it is very long and we have to
cross the mighty ocean to get to it. There is not a single island on
the way where we can spend the night, only one solitary little rock
juts up above the water midway. It is only just big enough for us
to stand upon close together, and if there is a heavy sea the water
splashes over us, yet we thank our God for it. We stay there over
night in our human forms, and without it we could never revisit our
beloved Fatherland, for our flight takes two of the longest days in
the year. We are only permitted to visit the home of our fathers once
a year, and we dare only stay for eleven days. We hover over this big
forest from whence we catch a glimpse of the palace where we were
born, and where our father lives; beyond it we can see the high church
towers where our mother is buried. We fancy that the trees and bushes
here are related to us; and the wild horses gallop over the moors as
we used to see them in our childhood. The charcoal burners still sing
the old songs we used to dance to when we were children. This is our
Fatherland, we are drawn towards it, and here we have found you again,
dear little sister! We may stay here two days longer, and then we must
fly away again across the ocean, to a lovely country indeed, but it is
not our own dear Fatherland! How shall we ever take you with us, we
have neither ship nor boat!”
“How can I deliver you!” said their sister, and they went on talking to
each other, nearly all night, they only dozed for a few hours.
Elise was awakened in the morning by the rustling of the swans’ wings
above her; her brothers were again transformed and were wheeling round
in great circles, till she lost sight of them in the distance. One of
them, the youngest, stayed behind. He laid his head against her bosom,
and she caressed it with her fingers. They remained together all day;
towards evening the others came back, and as soon as the sun went down
they took their natural forms.
“To-morrow we must fly away, and we dare not come back for a whole
year, but we can’t leave you like this! Have you courage to go with us?
My arm is strong enough to carry you over the forest, so surely our
united strength ought to be sufficient to bear you across the ocean.”
“Oh yes! take me with you,” said Elise.
They spent the whole night in weaving a kind of net of the elastic
bark of the willow bound together with tough rushes; they made it both
large and strong. Elise lay down upon it, and when the sun rose and the
brothers became swans again, they took up the net in their bills and
flew high up among the clouds with their precious sister, who was fast
asleep. The sunbeams fell straight on to her face, so one of the swans
flew over her head so that its broad wings should shade her.
They were far from land when Elise woke; she thought she must still be
dreaming, it seemed so strange to be carried through the air so high
up above the sea. By her side lay a branch of beautiful ripe berries,
and a bundle of savoury roots, which her youngest brother had collected
for her, and for which she gave him a grateful smile. She knew it was
he who flew above her head shading her from the sun. They were so high
up that the first ship they saw looked like a gull floating on the
water. A great cloud came up behind them like a mountain, and Elise
saw the shadow of herself on it, and those of the eleven swans looking
like giants. It was a more beautiful picture than any she had ever seen
before, but as the sun rose higher, the cloud fell behind, and the
shadow picture disappeared.
They flew on and on all day like an arrow whizzing through the air, but
they went slower than usual, for now they had their sister to carry. A
storm came up, and night was drawing on; Elise saw the sun sinking with
terror in her heart, for the solitary rock was nowhere to be seen. The
swans seemed to be taking stronger strokes than ever; alas! she was
the cause of their not being able to get on faster; as soon as the sun
went down they would become men, and they would all be hurled into the
sea and drowned. She prayed to God from the bottom of her heart, but
still no rock was to be seen! Black clouds gathered, and strong gusts
of wind announced a storm; the clouds looked like a great threatening
leaden wave, and the flashes of lightning followed each other rapidly.
The sun was now at the edge of the sea. Elise’s heart quaked, when
suddenly the swans shot downwards so suddenly, that she thought they
were falling, then they hovered again. Half of the sun was below the
horizon, and there for the first time she saw the little rock below,
which did not look bigger than the head of a seal above the water.
The sun sank very quickly, it was no bigger than a star, but her foot
touched solid earth. The sun went out like the last sparks of a bit
of burning paper; she saw her brothers stand arm in arm around her,
but there was only just room enough for them. The waves beat upon the
rock and washed over them like drenching rain. The heavens shone with
continuous fire, and the thunder rolled, peal upon peal. But the sister
and brothers held each other’s hands and sang a psalm which gave them
comfort and courage.
The air was pure and still at dawn. As soon as the sun rose the swans
flew off with Elise, away from the islet. The sea still ran high, it
looked from where they were as if the white foam on the dark green
water were millions of swans floating on the waves.
When the sun rose higher, Elise saw before her half floating in the air
great masses of ice, with shining glaciers on the heights. A palace was
perched midway a mile in length, with one bold colonnade built above
another. Beneath them swayed palm trees and gorgeous blossoms as big
as mill wheels. She asked if this was the land to which she was going,
but the swans shook their heads, because what she saw was a mirage; the
beautiful and ever changing palace of Fata Morgana. No mortal dared
enter it. Elise gazed at it, but as she gazed the palace, gardens and
mountains melted away, and in their place stood twenty proud churches
with their high towers and pointed windows. She seemed to hear the
notes of the organ, but it was the sea she heard. When she got close
to the seeming churches, they changed to a great navy sailing beneath
her; but it was only a sea mist floating over the waters. Yes, she saw
constant changes passing before her eyes, and now she saw the real land
she was bound to. Beautiful blue mountains rose before her with their
cedar woods and palaces. Long before the sun went down, she sat among
the hills in front of a big cave covered with delicate green creepers.
It looked like a piece of embroidery.
“Now we shall see what you will dream here to-night,” said the youngest
brother, as he showed her where she was to sleep.
“If only I might dream how I could deliver you,” she said, and this
thought filled her mind entirely. She prayed earnestly to God for His
help, and even in her sleep she continued her prayer. It seemed to her
that she was flying up to Fata Morgana in her castle in the air. The
fairy came towards her, she was charming and brilliant, and yet she was
very like the old woman who gave her the berries in the wood, and told
her about the swans with the golden crowns.
“Your brothers can be delivered,” she said, “but have you courage and
endurance enough for it? The sea is indeed softer than your hands,
and it moulds the hardest stones, but it does not feel the pain your
fingers will feel. It has no heart, and does not suffer the pain and
anguish you must feel. Do you see this stinging nettle I hold in my
hand? Many of this kind grow round the cave where you sleep; only these
and the ones which grow in the churchyards may be used. Mark that!
Those you may pluck although they will burn and blister your hands.
Crush the nettles with your feet and you will have flax, and of this
you must weave eleven coats of mail with long sleeves. Throw these over
the eleven wild swans and the charm is broken! But remember that from
the moment you begin this work, till it is finished, even if it takes
years, you must not utter a word! The first word you say will fall like
a murderer’s dagger into the hearts of your brothers. Their lives hang
on your tongue. Mark this well!”
She touched her hand at the same moment, it was like burning fire, and
woke Elise. It was bright daylight, and close to where she slept lay a
nettle like those in her dream. She fell upon her knees with thanks to
God and left the cave to begin their work.
She seized the horrid nettles with her delicate hands, and they burnt
like fire; great blisters rose on her hands and arms, but she suffered
it willingly if only it would deliver her beloved brothers. She crushed
every nettle with her bare feet, and twisted it into green flax.
When the sun went down and the brothers came back, they were alarmed at
finding her mute; they thought it was some new witchcraft exercised by
their wicked stepmother. But when they saw her hands, they understood
that it was for their sakes; the youngest brother wept, and wherever
his tears fell, she felt no more pain, and the blisters disappeared.
She spent the whole night at her work, for she could not rest till
she had delivered her dear brothers. All the following day while her
brothers were away she sat solitary, but never had the time flown so
fast. One coat of mail was finished and she began the next. Then a
hunting-horn sounded among the mountains; she was much frightened, the
sound came nearer, and she heard dogs barking. In terror she rushed
into the cave and tied the nettles she had collected and woven, into a
bundle upon which she sat.
At this moment a big dog bounded forward from the thicket, and another
and another, they barked loudly and ran backwards and forwards. In a
few minutes all the huntsmen were standing outside the cave, and the
handsomest of them was the king of the country. He stepped up to Elise:
never had he seen so lovely a girl.
“How came you here, beautiful child?” he said.
Elise shook her head; she dared not speak; the salvation and the lives
of her brothers depended upon her silence. She hid her hands under her
apron, so that the king should not see what she suffered.
“Come with me!” he said; “you cannot stay here. If you are as good as
you are beautiful, I will dress you in silks and velvets, put a golden
crown upon your head, and you shall live with me and have your home in
my richest palace!” Then he lifted her upon his horse, she wept and
wrung her hands, but the king said, “I only think of your happiness;
you will thank me one day for what I am doing!” Then he darted off
across the mountains, holding her before him on his horse, and the
huntsmen followed.
When the sun went down, the royal city with churches and cupolas
lay before them, and the king led her into the palace, where great
fountains played in the marble halls, and where walls and ceilings were
adorned with paintings, but she had no eyes for them, she only wept and
sorrowed; passively she allowed the women to dress her in royal robes,
to twist pearls into her hair, and to draw gloves on to her blistered
hands.
She was dazzlingly lovely as she stood there in all her magnificence;
the courtiers bent low before her, and the king wooed her as his bride,
although the archbishop shook his head, and whispered that he feared
the beautiful wood maiden was a witch, who had dazzled their eyes and
infatuated the king.
The king refused to listen to him, he ordered the music to play, the
richest food to be brought, and the loveliest girls to dance before
her. She was led through scented gardens into gorgeous apartments, but
nothing brought a smile to her lips, or into her eyes, sorrow sat there
like a heritage and a possession for all time. Last of all, the king
opened the door of a little chamber close by the room where she was to
sleep. It was adorned with costly green carpets, and made to exactly
resemble the cave where he found her. On the floor lay the bundle of
flax she had spun from the nettles, and from the ceiling hung the shirt
of mail which was already finished. One of the huntsmen had brought all
these things away as curiosities.
“Here you may dream that you are back in your former home!” said the
king. “Here is the work upon which you were engaged; in the midst of
your splendour, it may amuse you to think of those times.”
When Elise saw all these things so dear to her heart, a smile for
the first time played about her lips, and the blood rushed back to
her cheeks. She thought of the deliverance of her brothers, and she
kissed the king’s hand; he pressed her to his heart, and ordered all
the church bells to ring marriage peals. The lovely dumb girl from the
woods was to be queen of the country.
The archbishop whispered evil words into the ear of the king, but
they did not reach his heart. The wedding was to take place, and the
archbishop himself had to put the crown upon her head. In his anger
he pressed the golden circlet so tightly upon her head as to give her
pain. But a heavier circlet pressed upon her heart, her grief for her
brothers, so she thought nothing of the bodily pain. Her lips were
sealed, a single word from her mouth would cost her brothers their
lives, but her eyes were full of love for the good and handsome king,
who did everything he could to please her. Every day she grew more
and more attached to him, and longed to confide in him, tell him her
sufferings; but dumb she must remain, and in silence must bring her
labour to completion. Therefore at night she stole away from his side
into her secret chamber, which was decorated like a cave, and here she
knitted one shirt after another. When she came to the seventh, all her
flax was worked up; she knew that these nettles which she was to use
grew in the churchyard, but she had to pluck them herself. How was
she to get there? “Oh, what is the pain of my fingers compared with
the anguish of my heart,” she thought. “I must venture out, the good
God will not desert me!” With as much terror in her heart, as if she
were doing some evil deed, she stole down one night into the moonlit
garden, and through the long alleys out into the silent streets to the
churchyard. There she saw, sitting on a gravestone, a group of hideous
ghouls, who took off their tattered garments, as if they were about to
bathe, and then they dug down into the freshly-made graves with their
skinny fingers, and tore the flesh from the bodies and devoured it.
Elise had to pass close by them, and they fixed their evil eyes upon
her, but she said a prayer as she passed, picked the stinging nettles
and hurried back to the palace with them.
Only one person saw her, but that was the archbishop, who watched
while others slept. Surely now all his bad opinions of the queen were
justified; all was not as it should be with her, she must be a witch,
and therefore she had bewitched the king and all the people.
He told the king in the confessional what he had seen and what he
feared. When those bad words passed his lips, the pictures of the
saints shook their heads as if to say: it is not so, Elise is innocent.
The archbishop however took it differently, and thought that they were
bearing witness against her, and shaking their heads at her sin. Two
big tears rolled down the king’s cheeks, and he went home with doubt in
his heart. He pretended to sleep at night, but no quiet sleep came to
his eyes. He perceived how Elise got up and went to her private closet.
Day by day his face grew darker, Elise saw it but could not imagine
what was the cause of it. It alarmed her, and what was she not already
suffering in her heart because of her brothers? Her salt tears ran down
upon the royal purple velvet, they lay upon it like sparkling diamonds,
and all who saw their splendour wished to be queen.
She had, however, almost reached the end of her labours, only one
shirt of mail was wanting, but again she had no more flax and not a
single nettle was left. Once more, for the last time, she must go to
the churchyard to pluck a few handfuls. She thought with dread of the
solitary walk and the horrible ghouls; but her will was as strong as
her trust in God.
Elise went, but the king and the archbishop followed her, they saw
her disappear within the grated gateway of the churchyard. When they
followed they saw the ghouls sitting on the gravestone as Elise had
seen them before: and the king turned away his head because he thought
she was among them, she, whose head this very evening had rested on his
breast.
“The people must judge her,” he groaned, and the people judged. “Let
her be consumed in the glowing flames!”
She was led away from her beautiful royal apartments to a dark damp
dungeon, where the wind whistled through the grated window. Instead of
velvet and silk they gave her the bundle of nettles she had gathered
to lay her head upon. The hard burning shirts of mail were to be her
covering, but they could have given her nothing more precious.
She set to work again with many prayers to God. Outside her prison the
street boys sang derisive songs about her, and not a soul comforted her
with a kind word.
Towards the evening she heard the rustle of swans’ wings close to her
window; it was her youngest brother, at last he had found her. He
sobbed aloud with joy although he knew that the coming night might be
her last, but then her work was almost done and her brothers were there.
The archbishop came to spend her last hours with her as he had promised
the king. She shook her head at him, and by looks and gestures begged
him to leave her. She had only this night in which to finish her work,
or else all would be wasted, all--her pain, tears and sleepless nights.
The archbishop went away with bitter words against her, but poor Elise
knew that she was innocent, and she went on with her work.
The little mice ran about the floor bringing nettles to her feet, so as
to give what help they could, and a thrush sat on the grating of the
window where he sang all night, as merrily as he could to keep up her
courage.
It was still only dawn, and the sun would not rise for an hour when
the eleven brothers stood at the gate of the palace, begging to be
taken to the king. This could not be done, was the answer, for it was
still night; the king was asleep and no one dared wake him. All their
entreaties and threats were useless; the watch turned out and even the
king himself came to see what was the matter; but just then the sun
rose, and no more brothers were to be seen, only eleven wild swans
hovering over the palace.
[Illustration: Even on her way to her death she could not abandon her
unfinished work]
The whole populace streamed out of the town gates, they were all
anxious to see the witch burnt. A miserable horse drew the cart in
which Elise was seated. They had put upon her a smock of green sacking,
and all her beautiful long hair hung loose from her lovely head. Her
cheeks were deathly pale, and her lips moved softly, while her fingers
unceasingly twisted the green yarn. Even on the way to her death she
could not abandon her unfinished work. Ten shirts lay completed at her
feet--she laboured away at the eleventh, amid the scoffing insults of
the populace.
“Look at the witch how she mutters. She has never a book of psalms in
her hands, no, there she sits with her loathsome sorcery. Tear it away
from her, into a thousand bits!”
The crowd pressed around her to destroy her work, but just then eleven
white swans flew down and perched upon the cart flapping their wings.
The crowd gave way before them in terror.
“It is a sign from Heaven! She is innocent!” they whispered, but they
dared not say it aloud.
The executioner seized her by the hand, but she hastily threw the
eleven shirts over the swans, who were immediately transformed to
eleven handsome princes; but the youngest had a swan’s wing in place of
an arm, for one sleeve was wanting to his shirt of mail, she had not
been able to finish it.
“Now I may speak! I am innocent.”
The populace who saw what had happened bowed down before her as if she
had been a saint, but she sank lifeless in her brother’s arms; so great
had been the strain, the terror and the suffering she had endured.
“Yes, innocent she is indeed,” said the eldest brother, and he told
them all that had happened.
[Illustration]
Whilst he spoke a wonderful fragrance spread around, as of millions of
roses. Every faggot in the pile had taken root and shot out branches,
and a great high hedge of red roses had arisen. At the very top was one
pure white blossom, it shone like a star, and the king broke it off and
laid it on Elise’s bosom, and she woke with joy and peace in her heart.
All the church bells began to ring of their own accord, and the singing
birds flocked around them. Surely such a bridal procession went back to
the palace as no king had ever seen before!
* * * * *
It was agreed that Peaseblossom had told a very pretty story, and the
fairy felt so flattered that he would have liked to tell another but
the king, turning to Titania, said:
“My queen, your Peaseblossom has told so charming a story that perhaps
another of your attendants will tell us one also.”
“Certainly,” answered the queen, gratified to find that her favourite
story was so well-liked by others. She looked towards her little
retinue of attendant fays and wondered which one should be next. “Which
shall it be?” she asked, and they all stood up at once. “Moth, I think,
can tell us a pretty story of how a young man who had been kind to the
fairies was helped by them to kill a cruel giant and to win a beautiful
princess for his bride.”
“I can,” replied Moth readily, and skipped to the stool by the throne
where he at once began telling of the adventures which befell
[Illustration: Moth]
[Illustration: He found it was a pair of very small shoes]
The Herd-Boy
There was once a poor herd-boy, who had neither kith nor kin except
his stepmother, who was a wicked woman, and hardly allowed him food or
clothing. Thus the poor boy suffered great privation; during all the
livelong day he had to tend cattle, and scarcely ever got more than a
morsel of bread morning and evening.
One day his stepmother had gone out without leaving him any food; he
had, therefore, to drive his cattle to the field fasting, and being
very hungry, he wept bitterly. But at the approach of noon he dried
his tears, and went up on a green hill, where he was in the habit of
resting, while the sun was hot in the summer. On this hill it was
always cool and dewy under the shady trees; but now he remarked that
there was no dew, that the ground was dry, and the grass trampled
down. This seemed to him very singular, and he wondered who could have
trodden down the green grass. While thus sitting and thinking, he
perceived something that lay glittering in the sunshine. Springing up
to see what it might be, he found it was a pair of very, very small
shoes of the whitest and clearest glass. The boy now felt quite happy
again, forgot his hunger, and amused himself the whole day with the
little glass shoes.
In the evening, when the sun had sunk behind the forest, the herd-boy
called his cattle and drove them to the village. When he had gone some
way, he was met by a very little boy, who in a friendly tone greeted
him with “Good evening!” “Good evening again,” answered the herd-boy.
“Hast thou found my shoes, which I lost this morning in the green
grass?” asked the little boy. The herd-boy answered: “Yes, I have found
them; but, my good little fellow, let me keep them. I intended to give
them to my stepmother, and then, perhaps, I should have got a little
meat, when I came home.” But the boy prayed so earnestly, “Give me back
my shoes; another time I will be as kind to thee,” that the herd-boy
returned him the shoes. The little one then, greatly delighted, gave
him a friendly nod, and went springing away.
The herd-boy now collected his cattle together, and continued his
way homewards. When he reached his dwelling it was already dark, and
his stepmother chided him for returning so late. “There’s still some
porridge in the pot,” said she; “eat now, and pack thyself off to bed,
so that thou canst get up in the morning betimes, like other folks.”
The poor herd-boy durst not return any answer to these hard words, but
ate, and then slunk to bed in the hayloft, where he was accustomed to
sleep. The whole night he dreamed of nothing but the little boy and his
little glass shoes.
Early in the morning, before the sun shone from the east, the boy was
waked by his stepmother’s voice: “Up with thee, thou sluggard! It is
broad day, and the animals are not to stand hungry for thy sloth.” He
instantly rose, got a bit of bread, and drove the cattle to the pasture.
When he came to the green hill, which was wont to be so cool and shady,
he again wondered to see that the dew was all swept from the grass, and
the ground dry, even more so than on the preceding day. While he thus
sat thinking, he observed something lying in the grass and glittering
in the bright sunshine. Springing towards it, he found it was a very,
very little red cap set round with small golden bells. At this he was
greatly delighted, forgot his hunger, and amused himself all day with
the little elegant cap.
In the evening, when the sun had sunk behind the forest, the herd-boy
gathered his cattle together, and drove them towards the village. When
on his way, he was met by a very little and, at the same time, very
fair damsel. She greeted him in a friendly tone with “Good evening!”
“Good evening again,” answered the lad. The damsel then said: “Hast
thou found my cap, which I lost this morning in the green grass?” The
boy answered: “Yes, I have found it: but let me keep it, my pretty
maid. I thought of giving it to my wicked stepmother, and then,
perhaps, I shall get a little meat when I go home.” But the little
damsel entreated so urgently, “Give me back my cap; another time I will
be as good to thee,” that the lad gave her the little cap, when she
appeared highly delighted, gave him a friendly nod, and sprang off.
On his return home, he was received as usual by his cruel stepmother,
and dreamed the whole night of the little damsel and her little red cap.
In the morning he was turned out fasting, and on coming to the hill,
found it was drier than on either of the preceding days, and that the
grass was trodden down in large rings. It then entered his mind all
that he had heard of the little _elves_, how in the summer nights they
were wont to dance in the dewy grass, and he found that these must be
_elfin-rings_, or _elfin-dances_. While sitting absorbed in thought,
he chanced to strike his foot against a little bell that lay in the
grass, and which gave forth so sweet a sound, that all the cattle came
running together, and stood still to listen. Now the boy was delighted,
and could do nothing but play with the little bell, till he forgot his
troubles and the cattle forgot to graze. And so the day passed much
more quickly than can be imagined.
When it drew towards evening, and the sun was level with the tree-tops,
the boy called his cattle and prepared to return home. But let him
entice and call them as he might, they were not to be drawn from the
pasture, for it was a delightful grassy spot. Then thought the boy
to himself, “Perhaps they will pay more heed to the little bell.” So
drawing forth the bell, he tingled it as he went along the way. In one
moment the bell-cow came running after him, and was followed by the
rest of the herd. At this the boy was overjoyed, for he was well aware
what an advantage the little bell would be to him. As he was going on,
a very little old man met him, and kindly bade him a good evening.
“Good evening again,” said the boy. The old man asked: “Hast thou found
my little bell, which I lost this morning in the green grass?” The
herd-boy answered: “Yes, I have found it.” The old man said: “Then give
it me back.” “No,” answered the boy, “I am not so doltish as you may
think. The day before yesterday I found two small glass shoes, which
a little boy wheedled from me. Yesterday I found a cap, which I gave
to a little damsel; and now you come to take from me the little bell,
which is so good for calling the cattle. Other finders get a reward for
their pains, but I get nothing.” The little man then used many fair
words, with the view of recovering his bell, but all to no purpose.
At last he said: “Give me back the little bell, and I will give thee
another, with which thou mayest call thy cattle; thou shalt, moreover,
obtain three wishes.” These seemed to the boy no unfavourable terms,
and he at once agreed to them, adding, “As I may wish whatever I will,
I will wish to be a king, and I will wish to have a great palace, and
also a very beautiful queen.” “Thou hast wished no trifling wishes,”
said the old man, “but bear well in mind what I now tell thee. To-night
when all are sleeping, thou shalt go hence, till thou comest to a royal
palace, which lies due north. Take this pipe of bone. If thou fallest
into trouble, blow it; if thou afterwards fallest into great trouble,
blow it again; but if, on a third occasion, thou findest thyself in
still greater peril, break the pipe in two, and I will help thee, as I
have promised.” The boy gave the old man many thanks for his gifts, and
the elf-king--for it was he--went his way. But the boy bent his steps
homewards, rejoicing as he went along, that he should so soon escape
from tending cattle for his wicked stepmother.
When he reached the village it was already dark, and his stepmother had
been long awaiting his coming. She was in a great rage, so that the
poor lad got blows instead of food. “This will not last long,” thought
the boy, comforting himself with the reflection, as he went up to his
hayloft, where he laid himself down and slumbered for a short time.
About midnight, long before the cock crew, he arose, slipped out of the
house, and began his journey in a northward direction, as the old man
had enjoined. He travelled incessantly, over hill and dale, and twice
did the sun rise and twice set, while he was still on his way.
Towards evening on the third day he came to a royal palace, which was
so spacious that he thought he should never again see the like. He went
to the kitchen and asked for employment. “What dost thou know, and what
canst thou do?” inquired the master-cook. “I can tend cattle in the
pasture,” answered the boy. The master-cook said: “The king is in great
want of a herd-boy; but it will, no doubt, be with thee as with the
others, that every day thou losest one of the herd.” The boy answered:
“Hitherto I have never lost any beast that I drove to the field.” He
was then taken into the king’s service, and tended the king’s cattle;
but the wolf never got a beast from him: so he was well esteemed by all
the king’s servants.
One evening, as the herd-boy was driving his cattle home, he observed
a beautiful young damsel standing at a window and listening to his
song. Though he seemed hardly to notice her, he, nevertheless, felt a
glow suffused over him. Some time passed in this manner, the herd-boy
being delighted every time he saw the young maiden; though he was still
ignorant that she was the king’s daughter. It happened one day that
the young girl came to him as he was driving the herd to their pasture.
She had with her a little snow-white lamb, and begged him in a friendly
tone to take charge of her lamb, and protect it from the wolves in the
forest. At this the herd-boy was so confused that he could neither
answer nor speak. But he took the lamb with him, and found his greatest
pleasure in guarding it, and the animal attached itself to him, as a
dog to its master. From that day the herd-boy frequently enjoyed the
sight of the fair princess. In the morning, when he drove his cattle to
the pasture, she would stand at the window listening to his song; but
in the evening, when he returned from the forest, she would descend to
caress her little lamb, and say a few friendly words to the herd-boy.
Time rolled on. The herd-boy had grown up into a comely, vigorous young
man; and the princess had sprung up and was become the fairest maiden
that could be found far or near. Nevertheless, she came every evening,
according to her early custom, to caress her lamb. But one day the
princess was missing and could nowhere be found. This event caused a
great sorrow and commotion in the royal court, for the princess was
beloved by every one; but the king and queen, as was natural, grieved
the most intensely of all. The king sent forth a proclamation over
the whole land, that whosoever should recover his daughter should be
rewarded with her hand and half the kingdom. This brought a number of
princes, and knights, and warriors from the east and the west. Cased
in steel they rode forth with arms and attendants, to seek the lost
princess; but few were they that returned from their wanderings, and
those that did return brought no tidings of her they went in quest
of. The king and queen were now inconsolable, and thought that they
had sustained an irreparable loss. The herd-boy, as before, drove
his cattle to the pasture but it was in sadness, for the king’s fair
daughter engrossed his thoughts every day and every hour.
One night in a dream the little elfin king seemed to stand before
him and to say: “To the north! to the north! there thou wilt find thy
queen.” At this the young man was so overjoyed that he sprang up,
and as he woke, there stood the little man, who nodded to him, and
repeated: “To the north! to the north!” He then vanished, leaving the
youth in doubt whether or not it were an illusion. As soon as it was
day he went to the hall of the palace, and requested an audience of
the king. At this all the royal servants wondered, and the master-cook
said: “Thou hast served for so many years that thou mayest, no doubt,
get thy wages increased without speaking to the king himself.” But
the young man persisted in his request, and let it be understood that
he had something very different in his mind. On entering the royal
apartment, the king demanded his errand, when the young man said: “I
have served you faithfully for many years, and now desire permission to
go and seek for the princess.” Hereupon the king grew angry and said:
“How canst thou, a herd-boy, think of doing that which no warrior nor
prince has been able to accomplish?” But the youth answered boldly,
that he would either discover the princess or, for her sake, lay down
his life. The king then let his anger pass, and called to mind the old
proverb: _A heart worthy of scarlet often lies under a coarse woollen
cloak._ He therefore gave orders that the herd-boy should be equipped
with a charger and all things requisite. But the youth said: “I reck
not of riding; give me but your word and permission, together with
means sufficient.” The king then wished him success in his enterprise;
but all the boys and other servants in the court laughed at the
herd-boy’s rash undertaking.
The young man journeyed towards the north, as he had been instructed
by the elf-king, and proceeded on and on until he could not be far
distant from the world’s end. When he had thus travelled over mountains
and desolate ways, he came at length to a great lake, in the midst of
which there was a fair island, and on the island a royal palace, much
more spacious than the one whence he came. He went down to the water’s
edge, and surveyed the palace on every side. While thus viewing it, he
perceived a damsel with golden locks standing at one of the windows,
and making signs with a silken band, such as the princess’s lamb was
accustomed to wear. At this sight the young man’s heart leaped in his
breast; for it rushed into his mind that the damsel could be no other
than the princess herself. He now began to consider how he should cross
over the water to the great palace; but could hit upon no plan. At last
the thought occurred to him that he would make a trial whether the
little elves would afford him some assistance; and he took forth his
pipe, and blew a long-continued strain. He had scarcely ceased, when he
heard a voice behind him, saying “Good evening.” “Good evening again,”
answered the youth, turning about: when just before him there stood
the little boy whose glass shoes he had found in the grass. “What dost
thou wish of me?” asked the elfin boy. The other answered: “I wish thee
to convey me across the water to the royal palace.” The boy replied:
“Place thyself on my back.” The youth did so; and at the same instant
the boy changed his form and became an immensely huge hawk, that darted
through the air, and stopped not until it reached the island as the
young man had requested.
He now went up to the hall of the palace and asked for employment.
“What dost thou understand and what canst thou do?” inquired the
master-cook. “I can take charge of cattle,” answered the youth. The
master-cook then said: “The giant is just now in great want of a
herdsman; but it will, I dare say, be with thee as with the others;
for if a beast by chance is lost, thy life is forfeited.” The youth
answered: “This seems to me a hard condition; but I will, nevertheless,
agree to it.” The master-cook then accepted his service, and he was to
commence on the following day.
The young man now drove the giant’s cattle, and sung his song, and rang
his little bell, as he had formerly done; and the princess sat at her
window, and listened, and made signs to him that he should not appear
to notice her. In the evening he drove the herd from the forest, and
was met by the giant, who said to him: “Thy life is in the place of any
one that may be missing.” But not a beast was wanting, let the giant
count them as he would. Now the giant was quite friendly, and said:
“Thou shalt be my herdsman all thy days.” He then went down to the
lake, loosed his enchanted ship, and rode thrice round the island, as
he was wont to do.
During the giant’s absence the princess stationed herself at the window
and sang:--
“To-night, to-night, thou herdsman bold,
Goes the cloud from under my star.
And if thou comest hither, then will I be thine,
My crown I will gladly give thee.”
The young man listened to her song, and understood from it that he
was to go in the night and deliver the princess. He therefore went
away without appearing to notice anything. But when it was late, and
all were sunk in deep sleep, he steadily approached the tower, placed
himself before the window, and sang:--
“To-night will wait thy herdsman true,
Will sad stand under thy window;
And if thou comest down, thou mayest one day be mine,
While the shadows fall so wildly.”
The princess whispered: “I am bound with chains of gold, come and break
them.” The young man now knew no other course than again to blow with
his pipe a very long-continued strain; when instantly he heard a voice
behind him saying “Good evening.” “Good evening again,” answered the
youth, looking round; when there stood the little elf-king, from whom
he had got the little bell and the pipe. “What wilt thou with me?”
inquired the old man. The young man answered: “I beseech you to convey
me and the princess hence.” The little man said “Follow me.” They then
ascended to the maiden’s tower; the castle gate opened spontaneously,
and when the old man touched the chain, it burst in fragments. All
three then went down to the margin of the lake, when the elf-king
sang:--
“Thou little pike in the water must go,
Come, come, hastily!
A princess fair on thy back shall ride,
And eke a king so mighty.”
[Illustration: The young herdsman advanced boldly]
At the same moment appeared the little damsel, whose cap the herd-boy
had found in the grass. She sprang down to the lake, and was instantly
changed into a large pike that sported about in the water. Then said
the elf-king: “Sit ye on the back of the pike. But the princess must
not be terrified, let what may happen; for then will my power be at an
end.” Having so said, the old man vanished; but the youth and the fair
princess followed his injunctions, and the pike bore them rapidly along
through the billows.
While all this was taking place, the giant awoke, looked through the
window, and perceived the herd-boy floating on the water together with
the young princess. Instantly snatching up his eagle-plumage, he flew
after them. When the pike heard the clapping of the giant’s wings, it
dived far down under the surface of the water, whereat the princess was
so terrified that she uttered a scream. Then was the elf-king’s power
at an end, and the giant seized the two fugitives in his talons. On
his return to the island he caused the young herdsman to be cast into
a dark dungeon, full fifteen fathoms underground; but the princess was
again placed in her tower, and strictly watched, lest she should again
attempt to escape.
The youth now lay in the captives’ tower, and was in deep affliction
at finding himself unable to deliver the princess, and, at the same
time, having most probably forfeited his own life. The words of the
elfin king now occurred to his memory: “If, on a third occasion, thou
findest thyself in great peril, break the pipe in two, and I will help
thee.” As a last resource, therefore, he drew forth the little pipe
and broke it in two. At the same moment he heard behind him the words
“Good evening.” “Good evening again,” answered the youth; and when he
looked round there stood the little old man close by him, who asked:
“What wilt thou with me?” The young man answered: “I wish to deliver
the princess, and to convey her home to her father.” The old man then
led him through many locked doors and many splendid apartments till
they came to a spacious hall, filled with all kinds of weapons, swords,
spears, and axes, of which some shone like polished steel, others like
burnished gold. The old man kindled a fire on the hearth, and said:
“Undress thyself!” The young man did so, and the little man burnt his
old garments. He then went to a large iron chest, out of which he took
a costly suit of armour, resplendent with the purest gold. “Dress
thyself,” said he: the young man did so. When he was thus armed from
head to foot, the old man bound a sharp sword by his side, and said:
“It is decreed that the giant shall fall by this sword, and this armour
no steel can penetrate.” The young herdsman felt quite at ease in the
golden armour, and moved as gracefully as if he had been a prince of
the highest degree. They then returned to the dark dungeon; the youth
thanked the elf-king for his timely succour, and they parted from each
other.
Till a late hour there was a great bustle and hurrying in the whole
palace; for the giant was on that day to celebrate his marriage with
the beautiful princess, and had invited many of his kin to the feast.
The princess was clad in the most sumptuous manner, and decorated with
a crown and rings of gold, and other costly ornaments, which had been
worn by the giant’s mother. The health of the wedded pair was then
drunk amid all kinds of rejoicing, and there was no lack of good cheer,
both of meat and drink. But the bride wept without intermission, and
her tears were so hot that they felt like fire on her cheeks.
When night approached, and the giant was about to conduct his bride to
the nuptial chamber, he sent his pages to fetch the young herdsman,
who lay in the dungeon. But when they entered the prison, the captive
had disappeared, and in his stead there stood a bold warrior, with
sword in hand, and completely armed. At this apparition the young men
were frightened and fled; but were followed by the herdsman, who thus
ascended to the court of the palace, where the guests were assembled to
witness his death. When the giant cast his eyes on the doughty warrior,
he was exasperated, and exclaimed: “Out upon thee, thou base Troll!” As
he spoke his eyes became so piercing that they saw through the young
herdsman’s armour; but the fearless youth said: “Here shalt thou strive
with me for thy fair bride.” The giant was not inclined to stay, and
was about to withdraw; but the herdsman drew his sword, which blazed
like a flame of fire. When the giant recognized the sword, under which
he was doomed to fall, he was terror-struck and sank on the earth; but
the young herdsman advanced boldly, swung round his sword, and struck a
blow so powerful that the giant’s head was separated from his carcase.
Such was his end.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
On witnessing this exploit, the wedding-guests were overcome with
fear, and departed, each to his home; but the princess ran forth and
thanked the brave herdsman for having saved her. They then proceeded
to the water, loosed the giant’s enchanted ship, and rowed away from
the island. On their arrival at the king’s court, there was great joy
that the king had recovered his daughter, for whom he had mourned so
long. There was afterwards a sumptuous wedding, and the young herdsman
obtained the king’s fair daughter. They lived happily for very many
years, and had many beautiful children.
* * * * *
Moth’s story was liked very much and Titania was so pleased that her
two fairies had told such pretty tales that she turned to the king
saying,
“My dear Oberon, will not one of your people tell us a story next?”
“Certainly,” replied the king, and he at once called Puck to him and
asked him if he did not know an amusing story which he could tell them.
“Your Majesty,” said Puck, in a serious tone, “I can tell you all the
stories that have ever been told, or that ever will be told. Which one
will you have?”
“Something funny,” said the king.
Puck considered for a moment, then he said, “I can tell you about a
very funny thing if you have not heard it before. Ariel has boasted
that he could put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes, but I can
tell you of a nose which grew and grew and grew until it would have
gone right round the earth which would have been a much more wonderful
kind of girdle than Ariel could have managed.”
“Tell it us,” answered Oberon, and Puck turning a back somersault
landed neatly on the tale-teller’s stool and commenced the story of
[Illustration: Puck]
[Illustration: Three poor soldiers set out on their road home]
The Nose-Tree
Did you ever hear the story of the _three poor soldiers_, who, after
having fought hard in the wars, _set out on their road home_, begging
their way as they went?
They had journeyed on a long way, sick at heart with their bad luck
at thus being turned loose on the world in their old days; when one
evening they reached a deep gloomy wood, through which lay their road.
Night came fast upon them, and they found that they must, however
unwillingly, sleep in this wood; so, to make all as safe as they could,
it was agreed that two should lie down and sleep, while a third sat up
and watched, lest wild beasts should break in and tear them to pieces.
When he was tired he was to wake one of the others, and sleep in his
turn; and so on with the third, so as to share the work fairly among
them.
The two who were to rest first soon lay down and fell fast asleep; and
the other made himself a good fire under the trees, and sat down by
its side to keep watch. He had not sat long before, all of a sudden,
up came a little dwarf in a red jacket. “Who is there?” said he. “A
friend,” said the soldier. “What sort of a friend?” “An old broken
soldier,” said the other, “with his two comrades, who have nothing
left to live on; come, sit down and warm yourself.” “Well, my worthy
fellow,” said the little man, “I will do what I can for you; take this
and show it to your comrades in the morning.” So he took out an old
cloak and gave it to the soldier: telling him, that whenever he put it
over his shoulders anything that he wished for would be done for him.
Then the little man made him a bow and walked away.
The second soldier’s turn to watch soon came, and the first laid him
down to sleep; but the second man had not sat by himself long before up
came the dwarf in the red jacket again. The soldier treated him in as
friendly a way as his comrade had done, and the little man gave him a
purse, which he told him would be always full of gold, let him draw as
much as he would out of it.
Then the third soldier’s turn to watch came; and he also had little
Red-jacket for his guest, who gave him a wonderful horn, that drew
crowds around it whenever it was played, and made every one forget his
business to come and dance to its beautiful music.
In the morning each told his story, and showed the gift he had got
from the elf: and as they all liked each other very much, and were old
friends, they agreed to travel together to see the world, and, for a
while, only to make use of the wonderful purse. And thus they spent
their time very joyously; till at last they began to be tired of this
roving life, and thought they should like to have a home of their
own. So the first soldier put his old cloak on, and wished for a fine
castle. In a moment it stood before their eyes: fine gardens and green
lawns spread round it, and flocks of sheep, and goats, and herds of
oxen were grazing about; and out of the gate came a grand coach with
three dapple-grey horses, to meet them and bring them home.
All this was very well for a time, but they found it would not do to
stay at home always; so they got together all their rich clothes, and
jewels, and money, and ordered their coach with three dapple-grey
horses, and set out on a journey to see a neighbouring king. Now this
king had an only daughter, and as he saw the three soldiers travelling
in such grand style, he took them for king’s sons, and so gave them
a kind welcome. One day, as the second soldier was walking with the
princess, she saw that he had the wonderful purse in his hand. Then she
asked him what it was, and he was foolish enough to tell her,--though,
indeed, it did not much signify what he said, for she was a fairy, and
knew all the wonderful things that the three soldiers brought. Now this
princess was very cunning and artful; so she set to work and made a
purse, so like the soldier’s that no one would know the one from the
other; and then she asked him to come and see her, and made him drink
some wine that she had got ready for him, and which soon made him fall
fast asleep. Then she felt in his pocket, and took away the wonderful
purse, and left the one she had made in its place.
The next morning the soldiers set out home; and soon after they reached
their castle, happening to want some money, they went to their purse
for it, and found something indeed in it; but to their great sorrow,
when they had emptied it, none came in the place of what they took.
Then the cheat was soon found out; for the second soldier knew where he
had been, and how he had told the story to the princess, and he guessed
that she had played him a trick. “Alas!” cried he, “poor wretches
that we are, what shall we do?” “Oh!” said the first soldier, “let no
grey hairs grow for this mishap: I will soon get the purse back.” So
he threw his cloak across his shoulders, and wished himself in the
princess’s chamber.
There he found her sitting alone, telling up her gold, that fell around
her in a shower from the wonderful purse.
But the soldier stood looking at her too long; for she turned round,
and the moment she saw him she started up and cried out with all her
force, “Thieves! thieves!” so that the whole court came running in,
and tried to seize on him. The poor soldier now began to be dreadfully
frightened in his turn, and thought it was high time to make the best
of his way off; so, without thinking of the ready way of travelling
that his cloak gave him, he ran to the window, opened it, and jumped
out; and unluckily, in his haste, his cloak caught and was left
hanging, to the great joy of the princess, who knew its worth.
The poor soldier made the best of his way home to his comrades on foot,
and in a very downcast mood; but the third soldier told him to keep up
his heart, and took his horn and blew a merry tune. At the first blast
a countless troop of foot and horse come rushing to their aid, and they
set out to make war against their enemy. Then the king’s palace was
besieged, and he was told that he must give up the purse and cloak, or
that not one stone should be left upon another. And the king went into
his daughter’s chamber and talked with her; but she said, “Let me try
first if I cannot beat them some way or another.” So she thought of a
cunning scheme to overreach them; and dressing herself out as a poor
girl, with a basket on her arm, she set out by night with her maid, and
went into the enemy’s camp, as if she wanted to sell trinkets.
In the morning she began to ramble about, singing ballads so
beautifully that all the tents were left empty, and the soldiers ran
round in crowds, and thought of nothing but hearing her sing. Amongst
the rest came the soldier to whom the horn belonged, and as soon as she
saw him she winked to her maid, who slipped slily through the crowd,
and went into his tent where it hung, and stole it away. This done,
they both got safely back to the palace, the besieging army went away,
the three wonderful gifts were all left in the hands of the princess,
and the three soldiers were as penniless and forlorn as when little
Red-jacket found them in the wood.
Poor fellows! they began to think what was now to be done. “Comrades,”
at last said the second soldier, who had had the purse, “we had better
part; we cannot live together, let each seek his bread as well as he
can.” So he turned to the right, and the other two went to the left,
for they said they would rather travel together. The second soldier
strayed on till he came to a wood (now this was the same wood where
they had met with so much good luck before), and he walked on a long
time till evening began to fall, when he sat down tired beneath a tree,
and soon fell asleep.
[Illustration: Still it grew and grew]
Morning dawned, and he was greatly delighted, at opening his eyes, to
see that the tree was laden with the most beautiful apples. He was
hungry enough, so he soon plucked and ate first one, then a second,
then a third apple. A strange feeling came over his nose: when he put
the apple to his mouth something was in the way. He felt it--it was
his nose, that grew and grew till it hung down to his breast. It did
not stop there--still it grew and grew. “Heavens!” thought he, “When
will it have done growing?” And well might he ask, for by this time it
reached the ground as he sat on the grass,--and thus it kept creeping
on, till he could not bear its weight or raise himself up; and it
seemed as if it would never end, for already it stretched its enormous
length all through the wood, over hill and dale.
Meantime his comrades were journeying on, till on a sudden one of them
stumbled against something. “What can that be?” said the other. They
looked, and could think of nothing that it was like but a nose. “We
will follow it and find its owner, however,” said they. So they traced
it up, till at last they found their poor comrade, lying stretched
along under the apple-tree.
What was to be done? They tried to carry him, but in vain. They caught
an ass that was passing, and raised him upon its back; but it was soon
tired of carrying such a load. So they sat down in despair, when before
long up came their old friend the dwarf with the red jacket. “Why, how
now, friend?” said he, laughing: “well, I must find a cure for you,
I see.” So he told them to gather a pear from another tree that grew
close by, and the nose would come right again. No time was lost; and
the nose was soon brought to its proper size to the poor soldier’s joy.
“I will do something more for you yet,” said the dwarf: “take some of
those pears and apples with you; whoever eats one of the apples will
have his nose grow like yours just now; but if you give him a pear, all
will come right again. Go to the princess, and get her to eat some of
your apples; her nose will grow twenty times as long as yours did: then
look sharp, and you will get what you want from her.”
Then they thanked their old friend very heartily for all his kindness;
and it was agreed that the poor soldier, who had already tried the
power of the apple, should undertake the task. So he dressed himself
up as a gardener’s boy, and went to the king’s palace, and said he
had apples to sell, so fine and so beautiful as were never seen there
before. Every one that saw them was delighted, and wanted to taste; but
he said they were only for the princess; and she soon sent her maid
to buy his stock. They were so ripe and rosy that she soon began
eating; and had not eaten above a dozen before she too began to wonder
what ailed her nose, for it grew and grew down to the ground, out at
the window, and over the garden, and away, nobody knows where.
[Illustration: “We will follow it and find its owner”]
Then the king made known to all his kingdom that whoever would heal her
of this dreadful disease should be richly rewarded. Many tried, but
the princess got no relief. And now the old soldier dressed himself up
very sprucely as a doctor, and said he could cure her. So he chopped up
some of the apple, and, to punish her a little more, gave her a dose,
saying he would call to-morrow and see her again. The morrow came, and,
of course, instead of being better, the nose had been growing on all
night as before; and the poor princess was in a dreadful fright. So the
doctor then chopped up a very little of the pear and gave her, and said
he was sure that would do good, and he would call again the next day.
Next day came, and the nose was to be sure a little smaller, but yet it
was bigger than when the doctor first began to meddle with it.
Then he thought to himself, “I must frighten this cunning princess a
little more before I shall get what I want from her”; so he gave her
another dose of the apple, and said he would call on the morrow. The
morrow came, and the nose was ten times as bad as before. “My good
lady,” said the doctor, “something works against my medicine, and is
too strong for it; but I know by the force of my art what it is; you
have stolen goods about you, I am sure; and if you do not give them
back, I can do nothing for you.” But the princess denied very stoutly
that she had anything of the kind. “Very well,” said the doctor, “you
may do as you please, but I am sure I am right, and you will die if you
do not own it.” Then he went to the king, and told him how the matter
stood. “Daughter,” said he, “send back the cloak, the purse, and the
horn, that you stole from the right owners.”
[Illustration: As for the doctor, he put on the cloak, and was soon
with his two brothers]
Then she ordered her maid to fetch all three, and gave them to the
doctor, and begged him to give them back to the soldiers; and the
moment he had them safe he gave her a whole pear to eat, and the nose
came right. And as for the doctor, he put on the cloak, wished the
king and all his court a good day, and was soon with his two brothers;
who lived from that time happily at home in their palace, except when
they took an airing to see the world, in their coach with the three
dapple-grey horses.
* * * * *
Puck’s story made all laugh, and the more so because he artfully
contrived a loud sneeze at the finish of it and set everybody thinking
of what would have happened had the afflicted soldier or princess been
given a pinch of snuff by some mischievous person passing by the ends
of their noses. By a quick jerk forward Puck somersaulted on to the
steps of Oberon’s throne where he made a low bow to the fairy king and
queen and then jumped to a thin branch of a shrub growing near where
crossing his legs again in his favourite attitude he swung gently to
and fro waiting for the next story-teller. Who was it to be?
“Can we not have a song?” asked Titania.
“My queen speaks to be obeyed,” replied Oberon; “Robin, let us hear
that song in which you tell of your doings among the mortals.”
Robin Goodfellow was never far away from the king, and at the royal
request he promptly moved to the stool and standing up on it at once
began the song that tells of
[Illustration: Robin Goodfellow]
[Illustration: The pranks of Robin Goodfellow]
[Illustration: “What revel rout”]
From Oberon in fairy-land
The king of ghosts and shadows there,
Mad Robin I, at his command
Am sent to view the night sports here;
What revel rout
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o’er see,
And merry be,
And make good sport with ho, ho, ho.
More swift than lightning can I fly
About this airy welkin soon,
And, in a minute’s space, descry
Each thing that’s done below the moon:
There’s not a hag
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, ware goblins, where I go;
But Robin I
Their feats will spy,
And send them home with ho, ho, ho.
[Illustration: “There’s not a hag or ghost shall wag”]
Whene’er such wanderers I meet,
As from their night-sports they trudge home,
With counterfeiting voice I greet
And call them on, with me to roam
Thro’ woods, thro’ lakes,
Thro’ bogs, thro’ brakes;
Or else, unseen, with them I go,
All in the nick
To play some trick
And frolic it with ho, ho, ho.
[Illustration: “And call them on with me to roam thro’ lakes, thro’ bogs”]
Sometimes I meet them like a man,
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can,
To trip and trot about them round
But if to ride,
My back they stride,
More swift than wind away I go;
O’er hedge and lands
Thro’ pools and ponds,
I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho.
When lads and lassies merry be,
With possets and with junkets fine,
Unseen of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And to make sport,
I sneeze and snort,
And out the candles I do blow;
The maids I kiss;
They shriek--who’s this?
I answer nought but ho, ho, ho.
[Illustration: “The maids I kiss”]
Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wool;
And while they sleep and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.
If any wake,
And would me take,
I wend me laughing ho, ho, ho!
When house or hearth doth sluttish lie,
I pinch the maidens black and blue;
The bed clothes from the bed pull I,
And lay them naked all to view;
’Twixt sleep and wake
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw;
If out they cry
Then forth I fly
And loudly laugh I, ho, ho, ho!
[Illustration: “I them affright with pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!”]
When any need to borrow aught
We lend them what they do require,
And for the use demand we naught
Our own is all we do desire.
If to repay
They do delay
Abroad amongst them then I go
And night by night
I them affright
With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!
When lazy queans have nought to do,
But study how to cog and lie;
To make debate and mischief too,
’Twixt one another secretly;
I mark their gloze,
And it disclose
To them whom they have wronged so;
When I have done,
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!
[Illustration: “And elf in bed, we leave instead”]
When men do traps and engines set
In loop holes where the vermin creep,
Who from their folds and houses get
Their ducks and geese, and lambs and sheep,
I spy the gin,
And enter in,
And seem a vermin taken so;
But when they there
Approach me near,
I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho!
By wells and rills, in meadows green,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise;
And to our fairy King and Queen
We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.
When larks ’gin sing,
Away we fling,
And babes new born steal as we go,
And elf in bed
We leave instead
And wend us, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
Whereas my fellow-elves and I
In circled ring do trip around;
If that our sports by any eye
Do happen to be seen or found;
If that they
No words do say,
But _mum_ continue as they go,
Each night I do
Put groat in shoe,
And wind out laughing, ho, ho, ho!
From hag-bred Merlin’s time have I
Thus nightly revelled to and fro;
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Goodfellow.
Fiends, ghosts, and sprites
Who haunt the nights,
The hags and goblins do me know;
And beldames old
My feats have told,
So Vale, Vale, ho, ho, ho!
[Illustration: “So vale, vale, ho, ho, ho!”]
With the last line of his song Robin Goodfellow disappeared off the
stool so quickly that even his fellow-fairies were unable to see where
he went, and at one moment heard him singing his farewell “Vale, Vale,”
from the furthermost part of the fairy ring, and in the next instant,
his laughing “ho, ho, ho!” came from the back of King Oberon’s throne.
The whole fairy realm took up this laughing “ho, ho, ho!” and when
it quieted down, there on the stool was sitting a Swedish troll who,
without any preface, began telling a story of
[Illustration: The Swedish Troll]
[Illustration: There appeared a strong light as of fire]
The Golden Lantern, the Golden Goat, and the Golden Cloak
There was once a poor widow who had three sons. The two elder went out
to work for their living and while at home they were of little use, as
they seldom did as their mother wished, whatever she might say to them.
But the youngest lad always remained at home, and helped the old widow
in her daily occupations. Hence he was much beloved by his mother,
but disliked by his brothers, who in mockery gave him the nickname of
_Pinkel_.
One day the old widow said to her sons: “You must now go abroad in the
world, and seek your fortunes while you can. I am no longer able to
feed you here at home, now that you are grown up.” The lads answered
that they wished for nothing better, since it was contrary to their
mother’s will that they should remain at home. They then prepared for
their departure, and set out on their journey; but, after wandering
about from place to place, were unable to procure any employment.
After journeying thus for a long time, they came, late one evening,
to a vast lake. Far out in the water there was an island, on which
there appeared a strong light, as of fire. The lads stopped on shore
observing the wondrous light, and thence concluded that there must be
human beings in the place. As it was now dark, and the brothers knew
not where to find a shelter for the night, they resolved on taking a
boat that lay among the reeds, and rowing over to the island to beg a
lodging. With this view they placed themselves in the boat and rowed
across. On approaching the island they perceived a little hut standing
at the water’s edge; on reaching which they discovered that the bright
light, that shone over the neighbourhood, proceeded from a golden
lantern, that stood at the door of the hut. In the yard without, a
large goat was wandering about, with golden horns, to which small bells
were fastened, that gave forth a pleasing sound whenever the animal
moved. The brothers wondered much at all this, but most of all at the
old crone, who with her daughter inhabited the hut. The crone was both
old and ugly, but was sumptuously clad in a pelisse or cloak, worked so
artificially with golden threads that it glittered like burnished gold
in every hem. The lads saw now very clearly that they had come to no
ordinary human being, but to a Troll.
After some deliberation the brothers entered, and saw the crone
standing by the fire-place, and stirring with a ladle in a large pot
that was boiling on the hearth. They told their story and prayed to
be allowed to pass the night there; but the crone answered _no_, at
the same time directing them to a royal palace, which lay on the other
side of the lake. While speaking she kept looking intently on the
youngest boy, as he was standing and casting his eyes over everything
in the hut. The crone said to him: “What is thy name, my boy?” The
lad answered smartly: “I am called Pinkel.” The Troll then said: “Thy
brothers can go their way, but thou shalt stay here; for thou appearest
to me very crafty, and my mind tells me that I have no good to expect
from thee, if thou shouldst stay long at the king’s palace.” Pinkel now
humbly begged to be allowed to accompany his brothers, and promised
never to cause the crone harm or annoyance. At length he also got leave
to depart; after which the brothers hastened to the boat, not a little
glad that all three had escaped so well in this adventure.
Towards the morning they arrived at a royal palace, larger and more
magnificent than anything they had ever seen before. They entered and
begged for employment. The eldest two were received as helpers in the
royal stables, and the youngest was taken as page to the king’s young
son; and, being a sprightly intelligent lad, he soon won the good-will
of every one, and rose from day to day in the king’s favour. At this
his brothers were sorely nettled, not enduring that he should be
preferred to themselves. At length they consulted together how they
might compass the fall of their young brother, in the belief that
afterwards they should prosper better than before.
They therefore presented themselves one day before the king, and gave
him an exaggerated account of the beautiful lantern that shed light
over both land and water, adding that it ill beseemed a king to lack
so precious a jewel. On hearing this the king’s attention was excited,
and he asked: “Where is this lantern to be found, and who can procure
it for me?” The brothers answered: “No one can do that unless it be
our brother Pinkel. He knows best where the lantern is to be found.”
The king was now filled with desire to obtain the golden lantern,
about which he had heard tell, and commanded the youth to be called.
When Pinkel came, the king said: “If thou canst procure me the golden
lantern, that shines over land and water, I will make thee the chief
man in my whole court.” The youth promised to do his best to execute
his lord’s behest, and the king praised him for his willingness; but
the brothers rejoiced at heart; for they well knew it was a perilous
undertaking, which could hardly terminate favourably.
Pinkel now prepared a little boat, and, unaccompanied by any one,
rowed over to the island inhabited by the Troll crone. When he arrived
it was already evening, and the crone was busied in boiling porridge
for supper, as was her custom. The youth creeping softly up to the
roof, cast from time to time a handful of salt through the chimney, so
that it fell down into the pot that was boiling on the hearth. When
the porridge was ready, and the crone had begun to eat, she could not
conceive what had made it so salt and bitter. She was out of humour,
and chided her daughter, thinking that she had put too much salt into
the porridge; but let her dilute the porridge as she might, it could
not be eaten, so salt and bitter was it. She then ordered her daughter
to go to the well, that was just at the foot of the hill, and fetch
water, in order to prepare fresh porridge. The maiden answered: “How
can I go to the well? It is so dark out of doors, that I cannot find
the way over the hill.” “Then take my gold lantern,” said the crone
peevishly. The girl took the beautiful gold lantern accordingly, and
hastened away to fetch the water. But as she stooped to lift the pail,
Pinkel, who was on the watch, seized her by the feet, and cast her
headlong into the water. He then took the golden lantern, and betook
himself in all haste to his boat.
In the meantime the crone was wondering why her daughter stayed out
so long, and, at the same moment, chancing to look through the window
she saw the light gleaming far out on the water. At this sight she was
sorely vexed, and, hurrying down to the shore, cried aloud: “Is that
thou, Pinkel?” The youth answered: “Yes, dear mother, it is I.” The
Troll continued: “art thou not a great knave?” The lad answered: “Yes,
dear mother, I am so.” The crone now began to lament and complain,
saying: “Ah! what a fool was I to let thee go from me; I might have
been sure thou wouldst play me some trick. If thou ever comest hither
again, thou shalt not escape.” And so the matter rested for that time.
[Illustration: Pinkel seized her by the feet and cast her headlong into
the water]
Pinkel now returned to the king’s palace, and became the chief person
at court, as the king had promised. But when the brothers were informed
what complete success he had had in his adventure, they became yet more
envious and embittered than before, and often consulted together how
they might accomplish the fall of their young brother, and gain the
king’s favour for themselves.
Both brothers went, therefore, a second time before the king, and began
relating at full length about the beautiful goat that had horns of
the purest gold, from which little gold bells were suspended, which
gave forth a pleasing sound, whenever the animal moved. They added,
that it ill became so rich a king to lack so costly a treasure. On
hearing their story, the king was greatly excited, and said: “Where is
this goat to be found, and who can procure it for me?” The brothers
answered: “That no one can do, unless it be our brother Pinkel; for
he knows best where the goat is to be found.” The king then felt a
strong desire to possess the goat with the golden horns, and therefore
commanded the youth to appear before him. When Pinkel came, the king
said: “Thy brothers have been telling me of a beautiful goat with horns
of the purest gold, and little bells fastened to the horns, which ring
whenever the animal moves. Now it is my will that thou go and procure
for me this goat. If thou art successful I will make thee lord over a
third part of my kingdom.” The youth having listened to this speech,
promised to execute his lord’s commission, if only fortune would
befriend him. The king then praised his readiness, and the brothers
were glad at heart, believing that Pinkel would not escape this time so
well as the first.
Pinkel now made the necessary preparations and rowed to the island
where the Troll-wife dwelt. When he reached it, evening was already
advanced, and it was dark, so that no one could be aware of his coming,
the golden lantern being no longer there, but shedding its light in
the royal palace. The youth now deliberated with himself how to get
the golden goat; but the task was no easy one; for the animal lay
every night in the crone’s hut. At length it occurred to his mind that
there was one method which might probably prove successful, though,
nevertheless, sufficiently difficult to carry into effect.
At night, when it was time for the crone and her daughter to go to bed,
the girl went as usual to bolt the door. But Pinkel was just outside
on the watch, and had placed a piece of wood behind the door, so that
it would not shut close. The girl stood for a long time trying to lock
it but to no purpose. On perceiving this the crone thought there was
something out of order, and called out, that the door might very well
remain unlocked for the night; as soon as it was daylight they could
ascertain what was wanting. The girl then left the door ajar and laid
herself down to sleep. When the night was a little more advanced, and
the crone and her daughter were snug in deep repose, the youth stole
softly into the hut, and approached the goat where he lay stretched out
on the hearth. Pinkel now stuffed wool into all the golden bells, lest
their sound might betray him; then seizing the goat, he bore it off to
his boat. When he had reached the middle of the lake, he took the wool
out of the goat’s ears, and the animal moved so that the bells rang
aloud. At the sound the crone awoke, ran down to the water, and cried
in an angry tone: “Is that thou, Pinkel?” The youth answered: “Yes,
dear mother, it is.” The crone said: “Hast thou stolen my gold goat?”
The youth answered: “Yes, dear mother, I have.” The Troll continued:
“Art thou not a big knave?” Pinkel returned for answer: “Yes, I am so,
dear mother.” Now the beldam began to whine and complain saying: “Ah!
what a simpleton was I for letting thee slip away from me. I well knew
thou wouldst play me some trick. But if thou comest hither ever again,
thou shalt never go hence.”
Pinkel now returned to the king’s court and obtained the government
of a third part of the kingdom, as the king had promised. But when
the brothers heard how the enterprise had succeeded, and also saw the
beautiful lantern and the goat with golden horns, which were regarded
by every one as great wonders, they became still more hostile and
embittered than ever. They could think of nothing but how they might
accomplish his destruction.
They went, therefore, one day again before the king, to whom they gave
a most elaborate description of the Troll-crone’s fur cloak, that shone
like the brightest gold, and was worked with golden threads in every
seam. The brothers said, it was more befitting a queen than a Troll
to possess such a treasure, and added that that alone was wanting to
the king’s good fortune. When the king heard all this he became very
thoughtful, and said: “Where is this cloak to be found, and who can
procure it for me?” The brothers answered: “No one can do that except
our brother Pinkel; for he knows best where the gold cloak is to be
found.” The king was thereupon seized with an ardent longing to possess
the gold cloak, and commanded the youth to be called before him. When
Pinkel came, the king said: “I have long been aware that thou hast an
affection for my young daughter; and thy brothers have been telling me
of a beautiful fur cloak, which shines with the reddest gold in every
seam. It is, therefore, my will that thou go and procure for me this
cloak. If thou art successful, thou shalt be my son-in-law, and after
me shalt inherit the kingdom.” When the youth heard this he was glad
beyond measure, and promised either to win the young maiden, or perish
in the attempt. The king thereupon praised his readiness; but the
brothers were delighted in their false hearts, and trusted that that
enterprise would prove their brother’s destruction.
Pinkel then betook himself to his boat and crossed over to the island
inhabited by the Troll-crone. On the way he anxiously deliberated with
himself how he might get possession of the crone’s gold cloak; but
it appeared to him not very likely that his undertaking would prove
successful, seeing that the Troll always wore the cloak upon her. So
after having concerted divers plans, one more hazardous than another,
it occurred to him, that he would try one method, which might perhaps
succeed, although it was bold and rash.
In pursuance of his scheme he bound a bag under his clothes, and
walked with trembling step and humble demeanour into the beldam’s hut.
On perceiving him, the Troll cast on him a savage glance, and said:
“Pinkel, is that thou?” The youth answered: “Yes, dear mother, it is.”
The crone was overjoyed, and said: “Although thou art come voluntarily
into my power, thou canst not surely hope to escape again from hence,
after having played me so many tricks.” She then took a large knife
and prepared to make an end of poor Pinkel; but the youth, seeing her
design, appeared sorely terrified, and said: “If I must needs die, I
think I might be allowed to choose the manner of my death. I would
rather eat myself to death with milk-porridge, than be killed with a
knife.” The crone thought to herself that the youth had made a bad
choice, and therefore promised to comply with his wish. She then set
a huge pot on the fire, in which she put a large quantity of porridge.
When the mess was ready, she placed it before Pinkel that he might eat,
who for every spoonful of porridge that he put into his mouth, poured
two into the bag that was tied under his clothes. At length the crone
began to wonder how Pinkel could contrive to swallow such a quantity;
but just at the same moment the youth, making a show of being sick to
death, sank down from his seat as if he were dead, and unobserved cut a
hole in the bag, so that the porridge ran over the floor.
[Illustration: They went again before the king]
The crone, thinking that Pinkel had burst with the quantity of porridge
he had eaten, was not a little glad, clapped her hands together, and
ran off to look for her daughter, who was gone to the well. But as the
weather was wet and stormy, she first took off her beautiful fur cloak
and laid it aside in the hut. Before she could have proceeded far, the
youth came to life again, and springing up like lightning, seized on
the golden cloak, and ran off at the top of his speed.
Shortly after, the crone perceived Pinkel as he was rowing in his
little boat. On seeing him alive again, and observing the gold cloak
glittering on the surface of the water, she was angry beyond all
conception, and ran far out on the strand, crying: “Is that thou,
Pinkel?” The youth answered: “Yes, it is I, dear mother.” The crone
said: “Hast thou taken my beautiful gold cloak?” Pinkel responded:
“Yes, dear mother, I have.” The Troll continued: “Art thou not a great
knave?” The youth replied: “Yes, I am so, dear mother.” The old witch
was now almost beside herself, and began to whine and lament, and said:
“Ah! how silly was it of me to let thee slip away. I was well assured
thou wouldst play me many wicked tricks.” They then parted from each
other.
[Illustration: His brothers continued to be helpers in the stable as
long as they lived]
The Troll-wife now returned to her hut, and Pinkel crossed the water,
and arrived safely at the king’s palace; there he delivered the gold
cloak, of which every one said that a more sumptuous garment was never
seen nor heard of. The king honourably kept his word with the youth,
and gave him his young daughter to wife. Pinkel afterwards lived happy
and content to the end of his days; but his brothers were and continued
to be helpers in the stable as long as they lived.
* * * * *
When the Swedish Troll had finished the story of Pinkel’s adventures a
German Fairy took up her position on the stool and said that she would
be very glad to tell a tale only there were so many in the country from
which she had come that she really didn’t know which one they would
like best.
“Can we not have a story about children?” asked Queen Titania.
The German Fairy considered for a moment and then said that she did
know a pretty story about children, a story which many children liked
to hear and one which they called the Sweety-House, because it told how
a little boy and girl when lost in the woods found a house built of
nothing but sweets and cakes, and of the adventures which befel them
afterwards when pursued by a bad wicked fairy who was a disgrace to the
name.
“The Sweety-House, the Sweety-House,” exclaimed Titania clapping her
hands delightedly.
“The _proper_ name of the story,” said the German Fairy, “is
[Illustration: The German Fairy]
[Illustration: On one of the branches sat a little child]
Hansel and Grethel
There was once a poor man, who was a woodman, and went every day to
cut wood in the forest. Once as he went along, he heard a cry like a
little child’s: so he followed the sound, till at last he looked up a
high tree, and on one of the branches sat a very little child. Now its
mother had fallen asleep, and a vulture had taken it out of her lap
and flown away with it, and left it on the tree. Then the woodcutter
climbed up, took the little child down, and found it was a pretty
little girl; and he said to himself, “I will take this poor child home,
and bring her up with my own son Hansel.” So he brought her to his
cottage, and both grew up together: he called the little girl Grethel,
and the two children were so very fond of each other that they were
never happy but when they were together.
But the woodcutter became very poor, and had nothing in the world he
could call his own; and indeed he had scarcely bread enough for his
wife and the two children to eat. At last the time came when even that
was all gone, and he knew not where to seek for help in his need. Then
at night, as he lay on his bed, and turned himself here and there,
restless and full of care, his wife said to him, “Husband, listen to
me, and take the two children out early to-morrow morning; give each of
them a piece of bread, and then lead them into the midst of the wood,
where it is thickest, make a fire for them, and go away and leave them
alone to shift for themselves, for we can no longer keep them here.”
“No, wife,” said the husband, “I cannot find it in my heart to leave
the children to the wild beasts of the forest; they would soon tear
them to pieces.” “Well, if you will not do as I say,” answered the
wife, “we must all starve together.” And she would not let him have any
peace until he came into her hard-hearted plan.
Meantime the poor children too were lying awake restless, and weak
from hunger, so that they heard all that Hansel’s mother said to her
husband. “Now,” thought Grethel to herself, “it is all up with us”: and
she began to weep. But Hansel crept to her bedside, and said, “Do not
be afraid, Grethel, I will find out some help for us.” Then he got up,
put on his jacket, and opened the door and went out.
The moon shone bright upon the little court before the cottage, and
the white pebbles glittered like daisies on the green meadows. So he
stooped down, and put as many as he could into his pocket, and then
went back to the house. “Now, Grethel,” said he, “rest in peace!” and
he went to bed and fell fast asleep.
Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, the woodman’s wife came
and awoke them. “Get up, children,” said she, “we are going into the
wood; there is a piece of bread for each of you, but take care of it,
and keep some for the afternoon.” Grethel took the bread, and carried
it in her apron, because Hansel had his pocket full of stones; and they
made their way into the wood.
[Illustration: Lingering behind to drop one pebble after another along
the road]
After they had walked on for a time, Hansel stood still and looked
towards home; and after a while he turned again, and so on several
times. Then his father said, “Hansel, why do you keep turning and
lagging about so? Move on a little faster.” “Ah, father,” answered
Hansel, “I am stopping to look at my white cat, that sits on the
roof, and wants to say good-bye to me.” “You little fool!” said his
mother, “that is not your cat; it is the morning sun shining on the
chimney-top.” Now Hansel had not been looking at the cat, but had all
the while been lingering behind, to drop from his pocket one white
pebble after another along the road.
When they came into the midst of the wood the woodman said, “Run about,
children, and pick up some wood, and I will make a fire to keep us all
warm.” So they piled up a little heap of brushwood, and set it on fire;
and as the flames burnt bright, the mother said, “Now set yourselves
by the fire, and go to sleep, while we go and cut wood in the forest;
be sure you wait till we come again and fetch you.” Hansel and Grethel
sat by the fireside till the afternoon, and then each of them ate
their piece of bread. They fancied the woodman was still in the wood,
because they thought they heard the blows of his axe; but it was a
bough, which he had cunningly hung upon a tree, in such a way that the
wind blew it backwards and forwards against the other boughs: and so it
sounded as the axe does in cutting. Thus they waited till evening: but
the woodman and his wife kept away, and no one came to fetch them.
When it was quite dark Grethel began to cry; but then Hansel said,
“Wait awhile till the moon rises.” And when the moon rose he took her
by the hand, and there lay the pebbles along the ground, glittering
like new pieces of money, and marking out the way. Towards morning they
came again to the woodman’s house, and he was glad in his heart when he
saw the children again, for he had grieved at leaving them alone. His
wife also seemed to be glad; but in her heart she was angry at it.
Not long afterwards there was again no bread in the house, and Hansel
and Grethel heard the wife say to her husband, “The children found
their way back once, and I took it in good part; but now there is only
half a loaf of bread left for them in the house; to-morrow you must
take them deeper into the wood, that they may not find their way out,
or we shall all be starved.” It grieved the husband in his heart to
do as his selfish wife wished, and he thought it would be better to
share their last morsel with the children; but as he had done as she
said once, he did not dare now to say no. When the children heard all
their plan, Hansel got up, and wanted to pick up pebbles as before; but
when he came to the door, he found his mother had locked it. Still he
comforted Grethel, and said, “Sleep in peace, dear Grethel! God is very
kind, and will help us.”
Early in the morning, a piece of bread was given to each of them,
but still smaller than the one they had before. Upon the road Hansel
crumbled his in his pocket and often stood still, and threw a crumb
upon the ground. “Why do you lag so behind, Hansel?” said the woodman;
“go your ways on before.” “I am looking at my little dove that is
sitting upon the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me.” “You silly
boy!” said the wife, “that is not your little dove; it is the morning
sun, that shines on the chimney-top.” But Hansel still went on
crumbling his bread, and throwing it on the ground. And thus they went
on still further into the wood, where they had never been before in all
their life.
There they were again told to sit down by a large fire, and go to
sleep; and the woodman and his wife said they would come in the evening
and fetch them away. In the afternoon Hansel shared Grethel’s bread,
because he had strewed all his upon the road; but the day passed away,
and evening passed away too, and no one came to the poor children.
Still Hansel comforted Grethel, and said, “Wait till the moon rises;
and then I shall be able to see the crumbs of bread which I have
strewed, and they will show us the way home.”
The moon rose; but when Hansel looked for the crumbs they were gone,
for hundreds of little birds in the wood had found them and picked them
up. Hansel, however, set out to try and find his way home; but they
soon lost themselves in the wilderness, and went on through the night
and all the next day, till at last they laid down and fell asleep for
weariness. Another day they went on as before, but still did not come
to the end of the wood; and they were as hungry as could be, for they
had had nothing to eat.
In the afternoon of the third day they came to a strange little hut,
made of bread, with a roof of cake, and windows of barley-sugar. “Now
we will sit down and eat till we have had enough,” said Hansel; “I will
eat off the roof for my share; do you eat the windows, Grethel, they
will be nice and sweet for you.” Whilst Grethel, however, was picking
at the barley-sugar, a pretty voice called softly from within,
“Tip, tap! who goes there?”
But the children answered,
“The wind, the wind,
That blows through the air!”
and went on eating. Now Grethel had broken out a round pane of the
window for herself, and Hansel had torn off a large piece of cake from
the roof, when the door opened, and a little old fairy came gliding
out. At this Hansel and Grethel were so frightened, that they let fall
what they had in their hands. But the old lady nodded to them, and
said, “Dear children, where have you been wandering about? Come in with
me; you shall have something good.”
So she took them each by the hand, and led them into her little
hut, and brought out plenty to eat,--milk and pancakes, with sugar,
apples, and nuts; and then two beautiful little beds were got ready,
and Grethel and Hansel laid themselves down, and thought they were in
heaven. But the fairy was a spiteful one, and made her pretty sweetmeat
house to entrap little children. Early in the morning, before they
were awake, she went to their little beds; and though she saw the two
sleeping and looking so sweetly, she had no pity on them, but was glad
they were in her power. Then she took up Hansel, and fastened him up in
a coop by himself, and when he awoke he found himself behind a grating,
shut up safely, as chickens are; but she shook Grethel, and called
out, “Get up, you lazy little thing, and fetch some water; and go into
the kitchen, and cook something good to eat: your brother is shut up
yonder; I shall first fatten him, and when he is fat, I think I shall
eat him.”
[Illustration: I will eat off the roof for my share]
When the fairy was gone poor Grethel watched her time, and got up, and
ran to Hansel, and told him what she had heard, and said, “We must run
away quickly, for the old woman is a bad fairy, and will kill us.” But
Hansel said, “You must first steal away her fairy wand, that we may
save ourselves if she should follow; and bring the pipe too that hangs
up in her room.” Then the little maiden ran back, and fetched the magic
wand and the pipe, and away they went together; so when the old fairy
came back and could see no one at home, she sprang in a great rage to
the window, and looked out into the wide world (which she could do far
and near), and a long way off she spied Grethel, running away with
her dear Hansel. “You are already a great way off,” said she; “but you
will still fall into my hands.”
[Illustration: Fastened him up in a coop]
Then she put on her boots, which walked several miles at a step, and
scarcely made two steps with them before she overtook the children; but
Grethel saw that the fairy was coming after them, and, by the help of
the wand, turned her friend Hansel into a lake of water, and herself
into a swan, which swam about in the middle of it. So the fairy sat
herself down on the shore, and took a great deal of trouble to decoy
the swan, and threw crumbs of bread to it; but it would not come near
her, and she was forced to go home in the evening without taking her
revenge. Then Grethel changed herself and Hansel back into their own
forms once more, and they went journeying on the whole night, until the
dawn of day: and then the maiden turned herself into a beautiful rose,
that grew in the midst of a quickset hedge; and Hansel sat by the side.
The fairy soon came striding along. “Good piper,” said she, “may I
pluck yon beautiful rose for myself?” “O yes,” answered he. “And then,”
thought he to himself, “I will play you a tune meantime.” So when she
had crept into the hedge in a great hurry, to gather the flower--for
she well knew what it was,--he pulled out the pipe slily, and began to
play. Now the pipe was a fairy pipe, and, whether they liked it or not,
whoever heard it was obliged to dance. So the old fairy was forced to
dance a merry jig, on and on without any rest, and without being able
to reach the rose. And as he did not cease playing a moment, the thorns
at length tore the clothes from off her body, and pricked her sorely,
and there she stuck quite fast.
Then Grethel set herself free once more, and on they went; but she grew
very tired, and Hansel said, “Now I will hasten home for help.” And
Grethel said, “I will stay here in the meantime, and wait for you.”
Then Hansel went away, and Grethel was to wait for him.
But when Grethel had stayed in the field a long time, and found he did
not come back, she became quite sorrowful, and turned herself into a
little daisy, and thought to herself, “Someone will come and tread me
under foot, and so my sorrows will end.” But it so happened that, as a
shepherd was keeping watch in a field, he saw the daisy; and thinking
it very pretty, he took it home, placed it in a box in his room, and
said, “I have never found so pretty a daisy before.” From that time
everything throve wonderfully at the shepherd’s house. When he got up
in the morning, all the household work was ready done; the room was
swept and cleaned, the fire made, and the water fetched; and in the
afternoon, when he came home, the table-cloth was laid, and a good
dinner ready set for him. He could not make out how all this happened,
for he saw no one in his house; and although it pleased him well
enough, he was at length troubled to think how it could be, and went
to a cunning woman who lived hard by, and asked her what he should do.
She said, “There must be witchcraft in it; look out to-morrow morning
early, and see if anything stirs about in the room: if it does, throw a
white cloth at once over it, and then the witchcraft will be stopped.”
The shepherd did as she said, and the next morning saw the box open,
and the daisy come out: then he sprang up quickly, and threw a white
cloth over it: in an instant the spell was broken, and Grethel stood
before him, for it was she who had taken care of his house for him; and
she was so beautiful, that he asked her if she would marry him. She
said, “No,” because she wished to be faithful to her dear Hansel; but
she agreed to stay, and keep house for him till Hansel came back.
Time passed on, and Hansel came back at last; for the spiteful fairy
had led him astray, and he had not been able for a long time to find
his way, either home or back to Grethel. Then he and Grethel set out
to go home; but after travelling a long way, Grethel became tired, and
she and Hansel laid themselves down to sleep in a fine old hollow tree
that grew in a meadow by the side of the wood. But as they slept the
fairy--who had got out of the bush at last--came by; and finding her
wand was glad to lay hold of it, and at once turned poor Hansel into a
fawn while he was asleep.
Soon after Grethel awoke, and found what had happened; and she wept
bitterly over the poor creature; and the tears too rolled down his
eyes, as he laid himself down beside her. Then she said, “Rest in
peace, dear fawn; I will never, never leave thee.” So she took off her
golden necklace, and put it round his neck, and plucked some rushes,
and plaited them into a soft string to fasten to it, and led the poor
little thing by her side when she went to walk in the wood; and when
they were tired they came back, and laid down to sleep by the side of
the hollow tree, where they lodged at night: but nobody came near them
except the little dwarfs that lived in the wood, and these watched over
them while they were asleep.
At last one day they came to a little cottage; and Grethel having
looked in, and seen that it was quite empty, thought to herself, “We
can stay and live here.” Then she went and gathered leaves and moss
to make a soft bed for the fawn; and every morning she went out and
plucked nuts, roots, and berries for herself, and sweet shrubs and
tender grass for her friend; and it ate out of her hand, and was
pleased, and played and frisked about her. In the evening, when Grethel
was tired, and had said her prayers, she laid her head upon the fawn
for her pillow, and slept; and if poor Hansel could but have his right
form again, she thought they should lead a very happy life.
They lived thus a long while in the wood by themselves, till it chanced
that the king of that country came to hold a great hunt there. And when
the fawn heard all around the echoing of the horns, and the baying of
the dogs, and the merry shouts of the huntsmen, he wished very much to
go and see what was going on. “Ah, sister! sister!” said he, “let me go
out into the wood, I can stay no longer.” And he begged so long, that
she at last agreed to let him go. “But,” said she, “be sure to come to
me in the evening; I shall shut up the door, to keep out those wild
huntsmen; and if you tap at it and say, ‘Sister, let me in!’ I shall
know you; but if you don’t speak, I shall keep the door fast.” Then
away sprang the fawn, and frisked and bounded along in the open air.
The king and his huntsmen saw the beautiful creature, and followed, but
could not overtake him; for when they thought they were sure of their
prize, he sprang over the bushes, and was out of sight at once.
As it grew dark he came running home to the hut and tapped, and said,
“Sister, sister, let me in!” Then she opened the little door, and in
he jumped, and slept soundly all night on his soft bed.
Next morning the hunt began again; and when he heard the huntsmen’s
horns, he said, “Sister, open the door for me, I must go again.” Then
she let him out, and said, “Come back in the evening, and remember
what you are to say.” When the king and the huntsmen saw the fawn with
the golden collar again, they gave him chase; but he was too quick for
them. The chase lasted the whole day; but at last the huntsmen nearly
surrounded him, and one of them wounded him in the foot, so that he
became sadly lame, and could hardly crawl home. The man who had wounded
him followed close behind, and hid himself, and heard the little fawn
say, “Sister, sister, let me in!” upon which the door opened, and soon
shut again. The huntsman marked all well, and went to the king and told
him what he had seen and heard; then the king said, “To-morrow we will
have another chase.”
Grethel was very much frightened when she saw that her dear little fawn
was wounded; but she washed the blood away, and put some healing herbs
on it, and said, “Now go to bed, dear fawn, and you will soon be well
again.” The wound was so slight, that in the morning there was nothing
to be seen of it; and when the horn blew, the little thing said, “I
can’t stay here, I must go and look on; I will take care that none of
them shall catch me.” But Grethel said, “I am sure they will kill you
this time: I will not let you go.” “I shall die of grief,” said he, “if
you keep me here; when I hear the horns, I feel as if I could fly.”
Then Grethel was forced to let him go: so she opened the door with a
heavy heart, and he bounded out gaily into the wood.
When the king saw him, he said to his huntsmen, “Now chase him all day
long, till you catch him; but let none of you do him any harm.” The sun
set, however, without their being able to overtake him, and the king
called away the huntsmen, and said to the one who had watched, “Now
come and show me the little hut.” So they went to the door and tapped,
and said, “Sister, sister, let me in!” Then the door opened, and the
king went in, and there stood a maiden more lovely than any he had ever
seen.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
Grethel was frightened to see that it was not her fawn, but a king with
a golden crown that was come into her hut: however, he spoke kindly to
her, and took her hand, and said, “Will you come with me to my castle,
and be my wife?” “Yes,” said the maiden, “I will go to your castle, but
I cannot be your wife; and my fawn must go with me, I cannot part with
that.” “Well,” said the king, “he shall come and live with you all your
life, and want for nothing.” Just then in sprang the little fawn; and
his sister tied the string to his neck, and they left the hut in the
wood together.
Then the king took Grethel to his palace, and on the way she told him
all her story: and then he sent for the fairy, and made her change the
fawn into Hansel again; and he and Grethel loved one another, and were
married, and lived happily together all their days in the good king’s
palace.
* * * * *
The story of Hansel and Grethel was liked as well as any one that could
be told and the German Fairy was very proud of this, so much so that
she began to declare that the part of the world which she came from was
one far richer than any other in such stories, and implied that she was
quite ready to tell them all if King Oberon liked, but the king did not
take the hint but instead thanked the German Fairy, and at once began
to look around for the next tale-teller when Puck came flying up and in
a privileged fashion whispered in the ear of the Fairy King.
“Capital,” exclaimed Oberon, “Bottom and his friends must know some
stories and one of them shall be next.”
Off Puck went, and then there was such a shuffling of feet and nudging
of elbows where Nick Bottom the weaver sat with Quince, Snug, Flute,
Snout and Starveling, his companions.
“You first, bully Bottom,” says Snout, and “You first, Peter Quince,”
says Nick Bottom, and “You first, Robin Starveling,” “You first,
Flute,” comes from the others.
Puck would not wait for the dispute as to precedence to be settled
but just laid hold of Robin Starveling the tailor by the ear and
willy-nilly off he had to go. On getting to the stool, like a sensible
fellow, he began at once without any excuses by telling another story
of the Irish fairies, and his story was called
[Illustration: Robin Starveling]
[Illustration: Mick found that he hadn’t enough half to pay the rent]
The Magic Bottles
It was in the good old days that a farmer named Mick Purcell rented a
few acres of barren ground in the neighbourhood of Mouren, situated
about three miles from Mallow and thirteen from the beautiful city
called Cork. Mick had a wife and family. They all did what they could,
and that was but little, for the poor man had no child grown up big
enough to help him in his work; and all the poor woman could do was to
mind the children, and to milk the one cow, and to boil the potatoes
and carry the eggs to market to Mallow; but with all they could do
’twas hard enough on them to pay the rent. Well, they did manage it for
a good while; but at last came a bad year, and the little grain of oats
was all spoiled, and the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the
measles--she was sold in Mallow and brought almost nothing; and poor
Mick found that he hadn’t enough half to pay his rent.
“Why, then, Molly,” says he, “what’ll we do?”
“Wisha, then, mavourneen, what would you do but take the cow to the
fair of Cork and sell her?” says she; “and so you must go to-morrow,
that the poor beast may be rested _again_ the fair.”
“And what’ll we do when she’s gone?” says Mick sorrowfully.
“Never a know I know, Mick; but sure God won’t leave us without him,
Mick; and you know how good he was to us when poor little Billy was
sick, and we had nothing at all for him to take--that good doctor
gentleman at Ballydahin came riding and asking for a drink of milk; and
how he gave us two shillings; and how he sent the things and bottles
for the child and gave me my breakfast when I went over to ask a
question, so he did; and how he came to see Billy, and never left off
his goodness till he was quite well?”
“Oh! you are always that way, Molly, and I believe you are right after
all, so I won’t be sorry for selling the cow; but I’ll go to-morrow,
and you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know ’tis
ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve
o’clock next day he left her, getting a charge not to sell his cow
except for the highest penny. Mick promised to mind it, and went his
way along the road. He drove his cow slowly through the little stream
which crosses it, and runs under the old walls of Mourne. As he passed
he glanced his eye upon the towers and one of the old elder trees,
which were then only little bits of switches.
“Oh, then, if I only had half the money that’s buried in you, ’tisn’t
driving this poor cow I’d be now! Why, then, isn’t it too bad that it
should be there covered over with earth, and many a one besides me
wanting? Well, if it’s God’s will, I’ll have some money myself coming
back.”
So saying he moved on after his beast. ’Twas a fine day, and the sun
shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey as he passed under them.
He then crossed an extensive mountain tract and after six long miles
he came to the top of that hill--Bottle Hill ’tis called now, but that
was not the name of it then, and just there a man overtook him. “Good
morrow,” says he. “Good morrow, kindly,” says Mick, looking at the
stranger, who was a little man, you’d almost call him a dwarf, only he
wasn’t quite so little neither: he had a bit of an old wrinkled, yellow
face, for all the world like a dried cauliflower only he had a sharp
little nose, and red eyes, and white hair, and his lips were not red,
but all his face was one colour, and his eyes were never quite still
but looking at everything and although they were red they made Mick
feel quite cold when he looked at them. In truth he did not much like
the little man’s company; and he couldn’t see one bit of his legs nor
his body, for though the day was warm, he was all wrapped up in a big
great-coat. Mick drove his cow something faster, but the little man
kept up with him. Mick didn’t know how he walked for he was almost
afraid to look at him, and to cross himself, for fear the old man would
be angry. Yet he thought his fellow-traveller did not seem to walk
like other men, nor to put one foot before the other, but to glide
over the rough road--and rough enough it was--like a shadow, without
noise and without effort. Mick’s heart trembled within him, and he said
a prayer to himself, wishing he hadn’t come out that day, or that he
was on Fair-hill, or that he hadn’t the cow to mind that he might run
away from the bad thing--when, in the midst of his fears, he was again
addressed by his companion.
“Where are you going with the cow, honest man?”
“To the fair of Cork then,” says Mick, trembling at the shrill and
piercing tones of the voice.
“Are you going to sell her?” said the stranger.
“Why, then, what else am I going for but to sell her?”
“Will you sell her to me?”
Mick started--he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man,
and he was more afraid to say no.
“What’ll you give for her?” at last says he.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you this bottle,” said the little one,
pulling a bottle from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, he
could not help bursting into a loud fit of laughter.
“Laugh if you will,” said the little man, “but I tell you this bottle
is better for you than all the money you will get for the cow in
Cork--ay, than ten thousand times as much.”
Mick laughed again. “Why then,” says he, “do you think I am such a fool
as to give my good cow for a bottle--and an empty one, too? indeed,
then I won’t.”
“You’d better give me the cow, and take the bottle--you’ll not be sorry
for it.”
“Why, then, and what would Molly say? I’d never hear the end of it; and
how would I pay the rent? and what would we all do without a penny of
money?”
“I tell you this bottle is better to you than money; take it and give
me the cow. I ask you for the last time, Mick Purcell.”
Mick started.
“How does he know my name?” thought he.
The stranger proceeded: “Mick Purcell, I know you, and I have a regard
for you; therefore do as I warn you, or you may be sorry for it. How do
you know but your cow will die before you go to Cork?”
Mick was going to say “God forbid!” but the little man went on (and
he was too attentive to say anything to stop him; for Mick was a very
civil man, and he knew better than to interrupt a gentleman, and that’s
what many people, that hold their heads higher, don’t mind now).
“And how do you know but there will be much cattle at the fair, and you
will get a bad price, or maybe you might be robbed when you are coming
home? but what need I talk more to you, when you are determined to
throw away your luck, Mick Purcell.”
“Oh! no, I would not throw away my luck, sir,” said Mick, “and if I was
sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never liked an empty
bottle, although I had drank the contents of it, I’d give you the cow
in the name----”
“Never mind names,” said the stranger, “but give me the cow; I would
not tell you a lie. Here, take the bottle, and when you go home do what
I direct exactly.”
Mick hesitated.
“Well, then, good-bye, I can stay no longer: once more take it, and
be rich; refuse it, and beg for your life, and see your children in
poverty, and your wife dying for want--that will happen to you, Mick
Purcell!” said the little man with a malicious grin, which made him
look ten times more ugly than ever.
[Illustration: “Here take the bottle”]
“Maybe, ’tis true,” said Mick, still hesitating: he did not know what
to do--he could hardly help believing the old man, and at length in a
fit of desperation, he seized the bottle. “Take the cow,” said he, “and
if you are telling a lie, the curse of the poor will be on you.”
“I care neither for your curses nor your blessings; but I have spoken
truth, Mick Purcell, and that you will find to-night, if you do what I
tell you.”
“And what’s that?” says Mick.
[Illustration: Mick went home muttering prayers and holding fast the
bottle]
“When you go home, never mind if your wife is angry, but be quiet
yourself, and make her sweep the room clean, set the table out right
and spread a clean cloth over it; then put the bottle on the ground
saying these words: ‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see the end of
it.”
“And is this all?” says Mick.
“No more,” said the stranger. “Good-bye, Mick Purcell--you are a rich
man.”
“God grant it!” said Mick, as the old man moved after the cow, and Mick
retraced the road towards his cabin; but he could not help turning back
his head, to look after the purchaser of his cow, who was nowhere to be
seen.
“Lord between us and harm!” said Mick. “_He_ can’t belong to this
earth; but where is the cow?” She, too, was gone, and Mick went
homeward muttering prayers, and holding fast the bottle.
“And what would I do if it broke?” thought he. “Oh! but I’ll take care
of that.” So he put it into his bosom, and went on anxious to prove his
bottle, and doubting of the reception he should meet from his wife.
Balancing his anxieties with his expectation, his fears with his hopes,
he reached home in the evening and surprised his wife, sitting over
the turf fire in the big chimney.
“Oh! Mick, are you come back? Sure you weren’t at Cork all the way!
What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much
money did you get for her? What news have you? Tell us everything about
it.”
“Why then, Molly, if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all about it.
If you want to know where the cow is, ’tisn’t Mick can tell you, for
the never a know does he know where she is now.”
“Oh! then, you sold her; and where’s the money?”
“Arrah, stop awhile, Molly, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“But what is that bottle under your waistcoat?” said Molly, spying its
neck sticking out.
“Why, then, be easy now, can’t you,” says Mick, “till I tell it to
you.” Then, putting the bottle on the table, “That’s all I got for the
cow.”
His poor wife was thunderstruck. “All you got! and what good is that,
Mick? Oh! I never thought you were such a fool; and what’ll we do for
the rent, and what----”
“Now, Molly,” says Mick, “can’t you hearken to reason? Didn’t I tell
you how the old man, or whatsoever he was, met me--no, he did not meet
me, neither, but he was there with me--on the big hill and how he made
me sell him the cow, and told me the bottle was the only thing for me?”
“Yes, indeed, the only thing for you, you fool!” said Molly seizing
the bottle to hurl it at her poor husband’s head; but Mick caught
it, and quickly (for he minded the old man’s advice) loosened his
wife’s grasp, and placed the bottle again in his bosom. Poor Molly
sat down crying, while Mick told her his story, with many a crossing
and blessing between him and harm. His wife could not help believing
him, particularly as she had as much faith in fairies as she had in
the priest, who indeed never discouraged her belief in the fairies;
maybe he didn’t know she believed in them, and maybe he believed in
them himself. She got up, however, without saying one word, and began
to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heath; then she tidied up
everything, and put out the long table, and spread the clean cloth, for
she had only one, upon it, and Mick, placing the bottle on the ground,
looked at it and said, “Bottle, do your duty.”
“Look there! look there, mammy!” said his chubby eldest son, a boy
about five years old--“look there! look there!” and he sprung to his
mother’s side, as two tiny little fellows rose like light from the
bottle, and in an instant covered the table with dishes and plates of
gold and silver, full of the finest victuals that ever were seen, and
when all was done went into the bottle again. Mick and his wife looked
at everything with astonishment; they had never seen such plates and
dishes before, and didn’t think they could ever admire them enough, the
very sight almost took away their appetites; but at length Molly said,
“Come and sit down, Mick, and try and eat a bit: sure you ought to be
hungry after such a good day’s work.”
“Why, then, the man told no lie about the bottle.”
Mick sat down, after putting the children to the table and they made a
hearty meal, though they couldn’t taste half the dishes.
“Now,” says Molly, “I wonder will those two good little gentlemen
carry away these fine things again?” They waited, but no one came; so
Molly put up the dishes and plates very carefully saying, “Why, then,
Mick, that was no lie sure enough: but you’ll be a rich man yet, Mick
Purcell.”
Mick and his wife and children went to their bed, not to sleep, but
to settle about selling the fine things they did not want and taking
more land. Mick went to Cork and sold his plate, and bought a horse and
cart, and began to show that he was making money; and they did all they
could to keep the bottle a secret; but for all that, their landlord
found it out, for he came to Mick one day and asked him where he got
all his money--sure it was not by the farm; and he bothered him so
much, that at last Mick told him of the bottle. His landlord offered
him a deal of money for it, but Mick would not give it, till at last he
offered to give him all his farm for ever: so Mick, who was very rich,
thought he’d never want any more money, and gave him the bottle: but
Mick was mistaken--he and his family spent money as if there was no end
of it; and to make the story short, they became poorer and poorer, till
at last they had nothing left but one cow; and Mick once more drove his
cow before him to sell her at Cork fair, hoping to meet the old man and
get another bottle. It was hardly daybreak when he left home, and he
walked on at a good pace till he reached the big hill: the mists were
sleeping in the valleys and curling like smoke wreaths upon the brown
heath around him. The sun rose on his left, and just at his feet a lark
sprang from its grassy couch and poured forth its joyous matin song,
ascending into the clear blue sky.
Mick crossed himself listening as he advanced to the sweet song of the
lark, but thinking, notwithstanding, all the time of the little old
man; when, just as he reached the summit of the hill, and cast his eyes
over the extensive prospect before and around him, he was startled and
rejoiced by the same well-known voice: “Well, Mick Purcell, I told you
you would be a rich man.”
“Indeed, then, sure enough I was, that’s no lie for you, sir. Good
morning to you, but it is not rich I am now--but have you another
bottle, for I want it now as much as I did long ago; so if you have it,
sir, here is the cow for it.”
“And here is the bottle,” said the old man, smiling; “you know what to
do with it.”
“Oh! then, sure I do, as good right I have.”
“Well, farewell for ever, Mick Purcell: I told you you would be a rich
man.”
“And good-bye to you, sir,” said Mick, as he turned back; “and good
luck to you, and good luck to the big hill--it wants a name--Bottle
Hill--good-bye, sir, good-bye.”
Mick walked home as fast as he could, never looking after the
white-faced little gentleman and the cow, so anxious was he to bring
home the bottle. Well, he arrived with it safely enough, and called out
as soon as he saw Molly--“Oh! sure I’ve another bottle!”
[Illustration: In a moment the landlord was tumbled on the floor, and
all were roaring and sprawling and shrieking]
“Arrah! then, have you? why, then, you’re a lucky man, Mick Purcell,
that’s what you are.”
In an instant she put everything right; and Mick, looking at his
bottle, exultingly cried out, “Bottle, do your duty.” In a twinkling,
two great stout men with big cudgels issued from the bottle (I do not
know how they got room in it) and belaboured poor Mick and his wife and
all his family, till they lay on the floor, when in they went again.
Mick, as soon as he recovered, got up and looked about him; he thought
and thought, and at last he took up his wife and his children; and,
leaving them to recover as well as they could, he took the bottle under
his coat and went to his landlord, who had a great company: he got a
servant to tell him he wanted to speak to him, and at last he came out
to Mick.
“Well, what do you want now?”
“Nothing, sir, only I have another bottle.”
“Oh! ho! is it as good as the first?”
“Yes, sir, and better; if you like, I will show it to you before all
the ladies and gentlemen.”
“Come along, then.” So saying Mick was brought into the great hall,
where he saw his old bottle standing high up on a shelf. “Ah! ha!” says
he to himself, “maybe I won’t have you by-and-by.”
“Now,” says his landlord, “show us your bottle.” Mick set it on the
floor, and uttered the words: in a moment the landlord was tumbled
on the floor; ladies and gentlemen, servants and all, were running,
and roaring, and sprawling, and kicking, and shrieking. Wine cups and
salvers were knocked about in every direction, until the landlord
called out, “Stop those two devils, Mick Purcell, or I’ll have you
hanged.”
“They never shall stop,” said Mick, “till I get my own bottle that I
see up there at top of that shelf.”
“Get it down to him, give it down to him, before we are all killed!”
says the landlord.
[Illustration: In jumped the men into the new bottle]
Mick put his bottle in his bosom: in jumped the two men into the
new bottle, and he carried them home. I need not lengthen my story
by telling how they got richer than ever; how his son married his
landlord’s only daughter, how he and his wife died when they were very
old, and how some of the servants fighting at their wake, broke the
bottles; but still the hill has the name upon it; ay, and so ’twill be
always Bottle Hill to the end of the world, and so it ought, for it is
a strange story.
* * * * *
Some of the fairies did not think the story so strange as Starveling
the tailor did, but then they were accustomed to wonderful things.
While he was making his way back to his friends (with Puck keeping
close watch upon him the while) the King had already fixed upon the
next tale-teller, and a French Fay--a brilliant delicate little
creature with transparent gauzy wings coloured like the rainbow--was
standing on the stool and had begun to tell the story of the
[Illustration: The French Fay]
[Illustration: “Welcome! what would you ask of me?”]
Princess Rosette
Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who had two handsome
boys; so well-fed and hearty were they, that they grew like the day.
Whenever the Queen had a child, she sent for the fairies, that she
might learn from them what would be its future lot. After a while she
had a little daughter, who was so beautiful, that no one could see her
without loving her. The fairies came as usual, and the Queen having
feasted them, said to them as they were going away, “Do not forget that
good custom of yours, but tell me what will happen to Rosette”--for
this was the name of the little Princess. The fairies answered her that
they had left their divining-books at home, and that they would come
again to see her. “Ah!” said the Queen, “that bodes no good, I fear;
you do not wish to distress me by foretelling evil; but, I pray you,
let me know the worst, and hide nothing from me.” The fairies continued
to make excuses, but the Queen only became more anxious to know the
truth. At last the chief among them said to her, “We fear, madam,
that Rosette will be the cause of a great misfortune befalling her
brothers; that they may even lose their lives on her account. This is
all that we can tell you of the fate of this sweet little Princess, and
we are grieved to have nothing better to say about her.” The fairies
took their departure, and the Queen was very sorrowful, so sorrowful
that the King saw by her face that she was in trouble. He asked her
what was the matter. She told him she had gone too near the fire and
accidentally burnt all the flax that was on her distaff. “Is that all?”
replied the King, and he went up to his store-room and brought her down
more flax than she could spin in a hundred years.
But the Queen was still very sorrowful, and the King again asked her
what was the matter. She told him that she had been down to the river
and had let one of her green satin slippers fall into the water. “Is
that all?” replied the King, and he sent for all the shoemakers in
the kingdom, and made the Queen a present of ten thousand green satin
slippers.
Still the Queen was no less sorrowful; and the King asked her once
more what was the matter. She told him that, being hungry, she had
eaten hastily, and had swallowed her wedding-ring. The King knew that
she was not speaking the truth, for he had himself put away the ring,
and he replied, “My dear wife, you are not speaking the truth; here
is your ring, which I have kept in my purse.” The Queen was put out
of countenance at being caught telling a lie--for there is nothing in
the world so ugly--and she saw that the King was vexed, so she told
him what the fairies had predicted about little Rosette, and begged
him to tell her if he could think of any remedy. The King was greatly
troubled, so much so, that at last he said to the Queen, “I see no way
of saving our two boys, except by putting the little girl to death,
while she is still in her swaddling clothes.” But the Queen cried that
she would rather suffer death herself, that she would never consent to
so cruel a deed, and that the King must try and think of some other
remedy. The King and Queen could think of nothing else, and while thus
pondering over the matter, the Queen was told that in a large wood near
the town, there lived an old hermit, who made his home in the trunk of
a tree, whom people went from far and near to consult.
“It is to him I must go,” said the Queen; “the fairies told me the
evil, but they forgot to tell me the remedy.”
She started early in the morning, mounted on her little white mule,
that was shod with gold, and accompanied by two of her maids of
honour, who each rode a pretty horse. When they were near the wood
they dismounted out of respect, and made their way to the tree where
the hermit lived. He did not much care for the visits of women, but
when he saw that it was the Queen approaching, he said, “Welcome! what
would you ask of me?” She related to him what the fairies had said
about Rosette, and asked him to advise her what to do. He told her that
the Princess must be shut up in a tower, and not be allowed to leave
it as long as she lived. The Queen thanked him, and returned and told
everything to the King. The King immediately gave orders for a large
tower to be built as quickly as possible. In it he placed his daughter,
but that she might not feel lonely and depressed, he, and the Queen,
and her two brothers, went to see her every day. The elder of these was
called the big Prince, and the younger, the little Prince. They loved
their sister passionately, for she was the most beautiful and graceful
Princess ever seen, and the least glance of hers was worth more than
a hundred gold pieces. When she was fifteen years old, the big Prince
said to the King, “Father, my sister is old enough to be married; shall
we not soon have a wedding?” The little Prince said the same to the
Queen, but their Majesties laughed and changed the subject, and made no
answer about the marriage.
Now, it happened that the King and Queen both fell very ill, and died
within a few days of one another. There was great mourning; everyone
wore black, and all the bells were tolled. Rosette was inconsolable at
the loss of her good mother.
As soon as the funeral was over, the dukes and marquises of the kingdom
placed the big Prince on a throne made of gold and diamonds; he wore a
splendid crown on his head, and robes of violet velvet embroidered with
suns and moons. Then the whole Court cried out, “Long live the King!”
and now on all sides there was nothing but rejoicing.
Then the young King and his brother said, “Now that we are the masters,
we will release our sister from the tower, where she has been shut up
for such a long and dreary time.” They had only to pass through the
garden to reach the tower, which stood in one corner of it, and had
been built as high as was possible, for the late Queen had intended
her to remain there always. Rosette was embroidering a beautiful dress
on a frame in front of her, when she saw her brothers enter. She rose,
and taking the King’s hand, said, “Good-day, sire, you are now King,
and I am your humble subject; I pray you to release me from this tower,
where I lead a melancholy life,” and with this, she burst into tears.
The King embraced her, and begged her not to weep, for he was come, he
said, to take her from the tower, and to conduct her to a beautiful
castle. The Prince had his pockets full of sweetmeats, which he gave
Rosette. “Come,” he said, “let us get away from this wretched place;
the King will soon find you a husband; do not be unhappy any longer.”
When Rosette saw the beautiful garden, full of flowers, and fruits,
and fountains, she was so overcome with astonishment, that she stood
speechless, for she had never seen anything of the kind before. She
looked around her, she went first here, then there, she picked the
fruit off the trees, and gathered flowers from the beds; while her
little dog, Fretillon, who was as green as a parrot, kept on running
before her, saying, yap, yap, yap! and jumping and cutting a thousand
capers, and everybody was amused at his ways. Presently he ran into a
little wood, whither the Princess followed him, and here her wonder
was even greater than before, when she saw a large peacock spreading
out its tail. She thought it so beautiful, so very beautiful, that she
could not take her eyes off it. The King and the Prince now joined her,
and asked her what delighted her so much. She pointed to the peacock,
and asked them what it was. They told her it was a bird, which was
sometimes eaten. “What!” she cried, “dare to kill and eat a beautiful
bird like that. I tell you, that I will marry no one but the King of
the Peacocks, and when I am their Queen I shall not allow anybody to
eat them.” The astonishment of the King cannot be described. “But, dear
sister,” said he, “where would you have us go to find the King of the
Peacocks?” “Whither you please, sire; but him, and him alone, will I
marry.”
Having come to this decision, she was now conducted by her brothers
to their castle; the peacock had to be brought and put into her room,
so fond was she of it. All the Court ladies who had not before seen
Rosette now hastened to greet her, and pay their respects to her.
Some brought preserves with them, some sugar, and others dresses of
woven gold, beautiful ribbons, dolls, embroidered shoes, pearls, and
diamonds. Everyone did their best to entertain her, and she was so well
brought up, so courteous, kissing their hands, curtseying when anything
beautiful was given to her, that there was not a lord or lady who
did not leave her presence gratified and charmed. While she was thus
occupied, the King and the Prince were turning over in their minds how
they should find the King of the Peacocks, if there was such a person
in the world to be found. They decided that they would have Rosette’s
portrait painted; and when completed it was so life-like, that only
speech was wanting. Then they said to her, “Since you will marry no one
but the King of the Peacocks, we are going together to look for him,
and will traverse the whole world to try and find him for you. If we
find him, we shall be very glad. Meanwhile take care of our kingdom
until we return.”
Rosette thanked them for all the trouble they were taking; she promised
to govern the kingdom well, and said that, during their absence, her
only pleasure would be in looking at the peacock, and making her little
dog dance. They all three cried when they said good-bye to each other.
So the two Princes started on their long journey, and they asked
everyone whom they met, “Do you know the King of the Peacocks?” but
the reply was always the same, “No, we do not.” Each time they passed
on and went further, and in this way they travelled so very, very far,
that no one had ever been so far before.
They came to the kingdom of the cockchafers; and these were in such
numbers, and made such a loud buzzing, that the King feared he should
become deaf. He asked one of them, who appeared to him to have the
most intelligence, whether he knew where the King of the Peacocks was
to be found. “Sire,” replied the cockchafer, “his kingdom lies thirty
thousand leagues from here; you have chosen the longest way to reach
it.” “And how do you know that?” asked the King. “Because,” answered
the cockchafer, “we know you very well, for every year we spend two
or three months in your gardens.” Whereupon the King and his brother
embraced the cockchafer, and they went off arm in arm to dine together,
and the two strangers admired all the curiosities of that new country,
where the smallest leaf of a tree was worth a gold piece. After that,
they continued their journey, and having been directed along the right
way, they were not long in reaching its close. On their arrival, they
found all the trees laden with peacocks, and, indeed, there were
peacocks everywhere, so that they could be heard talking and screaming
two leagues off.
The King said to his brother, “If the King of the Peacocks is a
peacock himself, how can our sister marry him? it would be folly to
consent to such a thing, and it would be a fine thing for us to have
little peacocks for nephews.” The Prince was equally disturbed at the
thought. “It is an unhappy fancy she has taken into her head,” he said.
“I cannot think what led her to imagine that there was such a person in
the world as the King of the Peacocks.”
When they entered the town, they saw that it was full of men and
women, and that they all wore clothes made of peacocks’ feathers, and
that these were evidently considered fine things, for every place was
covered with them. They met the King, who was driving in a beautiful
little carriage of gold, studded with diamonds, and drawn by twelve
peacocks at full gallop. This King of the Peacocks was so handsome,
that the King and the Prince were delighted; he had long, light, curly
hair, fair complexion, and wore a crown of peacocks’ feathers. Directly
he saw them, he guessed, seeing that they wore a different costume to
the people of the country, that they were strangers, and wishing to
ascertain if this was so, he ordered his carriage to stop, and sent for
them.
The King and the Prince advanced, bowing low, and said, “Sire, we have
come from afar, to show you a portrait.” They drew forth Rosette’s
portrait and showed it to him. After gazing at it a while, the King of
the Peacocks said, “I can scarcely believe that there is so beautiful a
maiden in the whole world.” “She is a thousand times more beautiful,”
said the King. “You are jesting,” replied the King of the Peacocks.
“Sire,” rejoined the Prince, “here is my brother, who is a King, like
yourself; he is called King, and my name is Prince; our sister, of whom
this is the portrait, is the Princess Rosette. We have come to ask if
you will marry her; she is good and beautiful, and we will give her,
as dower, a bushel of golden crowns.” “It is well,” said the King.
“I will gladly marry her; she shall want for nothing, and I shall
love her greatly; but I require that she shall be as beautiful as her
portrait, and if she is in the smallest degree less so, I shall make
you pay for it with your lives.” “We consent willingly,” said both
Rosette’s brothers. “You consent?” added the King. “You will go to
prison then, and remain there until the Princess arrives.” The Princes
made no difficulty about this, for they knew well that Rosette was
more beautiful than her portrait. They were well looked after while
in prison, and were well served with all they required, and the King
often went to see them. He kept Rosette’s portrait in his room, and
could scarcely rest day or night for looking at it. As the King and his
brother could not go to her themselves, they wrote to Rosette, telling
her to pack up as quickly as possible, and to start without delay, as
the King of the Peacocks was awaiting her. They did not tell her that
they were prisoners, for fear of causing her uneasiness.
The Princess scarcely knew how to contain herself with joy, when she
received this message. She told everybody that the King of the Peacocks
had been found, and that he wanted to marry her. Bonfires were lit,
and guns fired, and quantities of sweetmeats and sugar were eaten;
everyone who came to see the Princess, during the three days before
her departure, was given bread-and-butter and jam, rolled wafers, and
negus. After having thus dispensed hospitality to her visitors, she
presented her beautiful dolls to her best friends, and handed over the
government to the wisest elders of the town, begging them to look well
after everything, to spend little, and to save up money for the King
on his return. She also prayed them to take care of her peacock, for
with her she only took her nurse, and her foster-sister, and her little
green dog, Fretillon. They set out in a boat on the sea, carrying
with them the bushel of golden crowns, and sufficient clothes for two
changes a day for ten years. They made merry on their voyage, laughing
and singing, and the nurse kept on asking the boatman if they were
nearing the Kingdom of the Peacocks; for a long time, all he said was,
“No, no, not yet.” Then at last, when she asked again, “Are we anywhere
near it now?” he answered, “We shall soon be there, very soon.” Once
more she said, “Are we near, are we anywhere near it now?” and he said,
“Yes, we are now within reach of shore.” On hearing this, the nurse
went to the end of the boat, and sitting down beside the boatman,
said to him, “If you like, you can be rich for the remainder of your
life.” He replied, “I should like nothing better.” She continued, “If
you like, you can earn good money.” “That would suit me very well,” he
answered. “Well,” she went on, “then to-night, when the Princess is
asleep, you must help me throw her into the sea. After she is drowned,
I will dress my daughter in her fine clothes, and we will take her to
the King of the Peacocks, who will only be too pleased to marry her;
and as a reward to you, we will give you as many diamonds as you care
to possess.” The boatman was very much astonished at this proposal; he
told the nurse that it was a pity to drown such a pretty Princess, and
that he felt compassion for her; but the nurse fetched a bottle of wine
and made him drink so much, that he had no longer any power to refuse.
Night having come, the Princess went to bed as usual, her little
Fretillon lying at her feet, not even stirring one of his paws. Rosette
slept soundly, but the wicked nurse kept awake, and went presently
to fetch the boatman. She took him into the Princess’s room, and
together they lifted her up, feather bed, mattress, sheets, coverlet,
and all, and threw them into the sea, the Princess all the while so
fast asleep, that she never woke. But fortunately, her bed was made of
Phœnix-feathers, which are extremely rare, and have the property of
always floating on water; so that she was carried along in her bed as
in a boat. The water, however, began gradually first to wet her feather
bed, then her mattress, and Rosette began to feel uncomfortable, and
turned from side to side, and then Fretillon woke up. He had a capital
nose, and when he smelt the soles and codfish so near, he started
barking at them, and this awoke all the other fish, who began swimming
about. The bigger ones ran against the Princess’s bed, which, not being
attached to anything, span round and round like a whirligig. Rosette
could not make out what was happening. “Is our boat having a dance on
the water?” she said. “I am not accustomed to feeling so uneasy as I
am to-night,” and all the while Fretillon continued barking, and going
on as if he was out of his mind. The wicked nurse and the boatman heard
him from afar, and said: “There’s that funny little beast drinking our
healths with his mistress. Let us make haste to land,” for they were
now just opposite the town of the King of the Peacocks.
He had sent down a hundred chariots to the landing-place; they were
drawn by all kinds of rare animals, lions, bears, stags, wolves,
horses, oxen, asses, eagles, and peacocks: and the chariot which was
intended for the Princess was harnessed with six blue monkeys, that
could jump, dance on the tight rope, and do endless clever tricks; they
had beautiful trappings of crimson velvet, overlaid with plates of
gold. Sixty young maids of honour were also in attendance, who had been
chosen by the King for the amusement of the Princess; they were dressed
in all sorts of colours, and gold and silver were the least precious of
their adornments.
The nurse had taken great pains to dress her daughter finely; she had
put on her Rosette’s best robe, and decked her all over from head to
foot with the Princess’s diamonds; but with all this, she was still as
ugly as an ape, with greasy black hair, crooked eyes, bowed legs, and a
hump on her back; and, added to these deformities, she was besides of a
disagreeable and sulky temper, and was always grumbling.
When the people saw her get out of the boat, they were so taken aback
by her appearance, that they could not utter a sound. “What is the
meaning of this?” she said. “Are you all asleep? Be off, and bring me
something to eat! A nice set of beggars you are! I will have you all
hanged.” When they heard this, they murmured, “What an ugly creature!
and she is as wicked as she is ugly! A nice wife for our King; well, we
are not surprised! but it was scarcely worth the trouble to bring her
from the other side of the world.” Meanwhile she still behaved as if
she were already mistress of all and everything, and for no reason
at all, boxed their ears, or gave a blow with her fist to everybody in
turn.
[Illustration: Fretillon started barking at them] [Illustration]
As her escort was a very large one, the procession moved slowly, and
she sat up in her chariot like a queen; but all the peacocks, who had
stationed themselves on the trees, so as to salute her as she passed,
and who had been prepared to shout, “Long live the beautiful Queen
Rosette!” could only call out, “Fie, fie, how ugly she is!” as soon as
they caught sight of her. She was so enraged at this, that she called
to her guards, “Kill those rascally peacocks who are insulting me.” But
the peacocks quickly flew away, and only laughed at her.
The treacherous boatman, seeing and hearing all this, said in a low
voice to the nurse, “There is something wrong, good mother; your
daughter should have been better looking.” She answered, “Hold your
tongue, stupid, or you will bring us into trouble.”
The King had word brought him that the Princess was approaching.
“Well,” he said, “have her brothers, I wonder, told me the truth? Is
she more beautiful than her portrait?” “Sire,” said those near him,
“there will be nothing to wish for, if she is as beautiful.” “You are
right,” replied the King, “I shall be well content with that. Come, let
us go and see her,” for he knew by the hubbub in the courtyard that she
had arrived. He could not distinguish anything that was said, except,
“Fie, fie, how ugly she is!” and he imagined that the people were
calling out about some little dwarf or animal that she had brought with
her, for it never entered his head that the words were applied to the
Princess herself.
Rosette’s portrait was carried uncovered, at the top of a long pole,
and the King walked after it in solemn state, with all his nobles and
his peacocks, followed by ambassadors from various kingdoms. The King
of the Peacocks was very impatient to see his dear Rosette; but when
he did see her--well, he very nearly died on the spot. He flew into a
violent rage, he tore his clothes, he would not go near her, he felt
quite afraid of her. “What!” he cried, “have those two villains I have
in prison had the boldness and impudence to make a laughing-stock of
me, and to propose my marrying such a fright as that? They shall both
be killed; and let that insolent woman, and the nurse, and the man who
is with them, be immediately carried to the dungeon of my great tower,
and there kept.” While this was going on, the King and his brother, who
knew that his sister was expected, had put on their bravest apparel
ready to receive her; but instead of seeing their prison door open and
being set at liberty, as they had hoped, the gaoler came with a body
of soldiers and made them go down into a dark cellar, full of horrible
reptiles, and where the water was up to their necks; no one was ever
more surprised or distressed than they were. “Alas!” they said to one
another, “this is indeed a melancholy marriage feast for us! What can
have happened that we should be so ill-treated?” They did not know what
in the world to think, except that they were to be killed, and they
were very sorrowful about this. Three days passed, and no news reached
them of any kind. At the end of that time, the King of the Peacocks
came, and began calling out insulting things to them through a hole in
the wall. “You called yourselves King and Prince, that I might fall
into your trap, and engage myself to marry your sister; but you are
nothing better than two beggars, who are not worth the water you drink.
I am going to bring you before the judges, who will soon pass their
verdict upon you; the rope to hang you with is already being made.”
“King of the Peacocks,” replied the King, angrily, “do not act too
rashly in this matter, or you may repent it. I am a King as well as
you, and I have a fine kingdom, and rich clothing, and crowns, to say
nothing of good gold pieces. You must be joking to talk like this of
hanging us; have we stolen anything from you?”
When the King heard him speak so boldly, he did not know what to think,
and he felt half inclined to let them and their sister go without
putting them to death; but his chief adviser, who was an arrant
flatterer, dissuaded him from this, telling him that if he did not
revenge the insult that had been put upon him, all the world would
make fun of him, and look upon him as nothing better than a miserable
little King worth a few coppers a day. The King thereupon swore that
he would never forgive them, and ordered them to be brought to trial
at once. This did not take long; the judges had only to look at the
real Rosette’s portrait and then at the Princess who had arrived, and
without hesitation, they ordered the prisoners’ heads to be cut off
as a punishment for having lied to the King, since they had promised
him a beautiful Princess, and had only given him an ugly peasant girl.
They repaired with great ceremony to the prison to read this sentence
to them; but the prisoners declared that they had not lied, that their
sister was a Princess, and more beautiful than the day; that there
must be something under this which they did not understand, and they
asked for a respite of seven days, as before that time had expired
their innocence might have been established. The King of the Peacocks,
who had worked himself up to a high pitch of anger, could with great
difficulty be induced to accord them this grace, but at last he
consented.
While these things were going on at the Court, we must say something
about poor Rosette. Both she and Fretillon were very much astonished,
when daylight came, to find themselves in the middle of the sea,
without a boat, and far from all help. She began to cry, and cried so
piteously, that even the fishes had compassion on her: she did not
know what to do, nor what would become of her. “There is no doubt,”
she said, “that the King of the Peacocks ordered me to be thrown into
the sea, having repented his promise of marrying me, and to get rid of
me quietly he has had me drowned. What a strange man!” she continued,
“for I should have loved him so much! We should have been so happy
together,” and with that she burst out crying afresh, for she could not
help still loving him. She remained floating about on the sea for two
days, wet to the skin, and almost dead with cold; she was so benumbed
by it, that if it had not been for little Fretillon, who lay beside her
and kept a little warmth in her, she could not have survived. She was
famished with hunger, and seeing the oysters in their shells, she took
as many of these as she wanted and ate them; Fretillon did the same, to
keep himself alive, although he did not like such food. Rosette became
still more alarmed when the night set in. “Fretillon,” she said, “keep
on barking, to frighten away the soles, for fear they should eat us.”
So Fretillon barked all night, and when the morning came, the Princess
was floating near the shore. Close to the sea at this spot, there
lived a good old man; he was poor, and did not care for the things of
the world, and no one ever visited him in his little hut. He was very
much surprised when he heard Fretillon barking, for no dogs ever came
in that direction; he thought some travellers must have lost their
way, and went out with the kind intention of putting them on the right
road again. All at once he caught sight of the Princess and Fretillon
floating on the sea, and the Princess, seeing him, stretched out her
arms to him, crying out, “Good man, save me, or I shall perish; I have
been in the water like this for two days.” When he heard her speak so
sorrowfully, he had great pity on her, and went back into his hut to
fetch a long hook; he waded into the water up to his neck, and once
or twice narrowly escaped drowning. At last, however, he succeeded in
dragging the bed on to the shore. Rosette and Fretillon were overjoyed
to find themselves again on dry ground; and were full of gratitude to
the kind old man. Rosette wrapped herself in her coverlet, and walked
bare-footed into the hut, where the old man lit a little fire of dry
straw, and took one of his dead wife’s best dresses out of a trunk,
with some stockings and shoes, and gave them to the Princess. Dressed
in her peasant’s attire, she looked as beautiful as the day, and
Fretillon capered round her and made her laugh. The old man guessed
that Rosette was some great lady, for her bed was embroidered with gold
and silver, and her mattress was of satin. He begged her to tell him
her story, promising not to repeat what she told him if she so wished.
So she related to him all that had befallen her, crying bitterly the
while, for she still thought that it was the King of the Peacocks who
had ordered her to be drowned.
“What shall we do, my daughter?” said the old man. “You are a Princess
and accustomed to the best of everything, and I have but poor fare to
offer, black bread and radishes; but if you will let me, I will go
and tell the King of the Peacocks that you are here; if he had once
seen you, he would assuredly marry you.” “Alas! he is a wicked man,”
said Rosette; “he would only put me to death; but if you can lend me a
little basket, I will tie it round Fretillon’s neck, and he will have
very bad luck, if he does not manage to bring back some food.”
The old man gave her a basket, which she fastened to Fretillon’s neck,
and then said, “Go to the best kitchen in the town, and bring me back
what you find in the saucepan.” Fretillon ran off to the town, and
as there was no better kitchen than that of the King, he went in,
uncovered the saucepan, and cleverly carried off all that was in it;
then he returned to the hut. Rosette said to him, “Go back and take
whatever you can find of the best in the larder.” Fretillon went back
to the King’s larder, and took white bread, wine, and all sorts of
fruits and sweetmeats; he was so laden that he could only just manage
to carry the things home.
When the King of the Peacocks’ dinner hour arrived, there was nothing
for him either in the saucepan or in the larder; his attendants looked
askance at one another, and the King was in a terrible rage. “It
seems, then, that I am to have no dinner; but see that the spit is put
before the fire, and let me have some good roast meat this evening.”
The evening came, and the Princess said to Fretillon, “Go to the best
kitchen in the town and bring me a joint of good roast meat.” Fretillon
obeyed, and knowing no better kitchen than that of the King, he went
softly in, while the cooks’ backs were turned, took the meat, which
was of the best kind, from the spit, and carried it back in his basket
to the Princess. She sent him back without delay to the larder, and he
carried off all the preserves and sweetmeats that had been prepared for
the King.
The King, having had no dinner, was very hungry, and ordered supper to
be served early, but no supper was forthcoming; enraged beyond words,
he was forced to go supperless to bed.
The same thing happened the following day, both as to dinner and
supper; so that the King, for three days, was without meat or drink,
for every time he sat down to table, it was found that the meal that
had been prepared had been stolen. His chief adviser, fearing for the
life of the King, hid himself in the corner of the kitchen to watch; he
kept his eyes on the saucepan, that was boiling over the fire, and what
was his surprise to see enter a little green dog, with one ear, that
uncovered the pot, and put the meat in its basket. He followed it to
see where it would go; he saw it leave the town, and still following,
came to the old man’s hut. Then he went and told the King that it was
to a poor peasant’s home that the food was carried morning and evening.
The King was greatly astonished, and ordered more inquiries to be made.
His chief adviser, anxious for favour, decided to go himself, taking
with him a body of archers. They found the old man and Rosette at
dinner, eating the meat that had been stolen from the King’s kitchen,
and they seized them, and bound them with cords, taking Fretillon
prisoner at the same time.
They brought word to the King that the delinquents had been captured,
and he replied, “To-morrow, the last day of reprieve for my two
insolent prisoners will expire; they and these thieves shall die
together.” He then went into his court of justice. The old man threw
himself on his knees before him, and begged to be allowed to tell him
everything. As he was speaking, the King looked towards the beautiful
Princess, and his heart was touched when he saw her crying. When,
therefore, the old man said that she was the Princess Rosette who had
been thrown into the water, in spite of the weak condition he was in
from having starved for so long, he gave three bounds of joy, ran and
embraced her, and untied her cords, declaring the while that he loved
her with all his heart.
They at once went to find the Princes, who thought they were going to
be put to death, and came forward in great dejection and hanging their
heads; the nurse and her daughter were brought in at the same time.
The brothers and sister recognised one another, as soon as they were
brought face to face, and Rosette threw herself on her brothers’ necks.
The nurse and her daughter, and the boatman, begged on their knees for
mercy, and the universal rejoicing and their own joy were so great,
that the King and the Princess pardoned them, and gave the good old
man a handsome reward, and from that time he continued to live in the
palace.
[Illustration: Fretillon]
Finally, the King of the Peacocks did all in his power to atone for
his conduct to the King and his brother, expressing the deepest regret
at having treated them so badly. The nurse restored to Rosette all her
beautiful clothes and the bushel of golden crowns, and the wedding
festivities lasted a fortnight. Everyone was happy down to Fretillon,
who ate nothing but partridge wings for the rest of his life.
* * * * *
“Now,” said King Oberon, when the French Fay had finished, “let us hear
of the doings in another part of the world.”
Then up sprang a Norwegian Dwarf--a funny little fellow with a red
pointed cap on his head--and exclaimed, “I can tell you of the doings
of one of those naughty rascals who get a bad name with mankind, of
how he had a terrible fight with a big white bear and of how he was at
length driven away.”
“Good,” said the King, and “Good,” echoed Titania, and at once the
Norwegian Dwarf jumped on to the stool, tucked his legs beneath him
tailorwise and began the story of
[Illustration: The Norwegian Dwarf]
[Illustration: Away they went]
The Bear and Skrattel.
One Christmas Day, the King of Norway sat in the great hall of his
palace, holding a feast. “Here’s a health,” said he, “to our brother
the King of Denmark! What present shall we send our royal brother, as a
pledge of our good-will, this Christmas-time?” “Send him, please your
majesty,” said the Norseman Gunter, who was the king’s chief huntsman,
“one of our fine white bears, that his liegemen may show their little
ones what sort of kittens we play with.” “Well said, Gunter!” cried the
king; “but how shall we find a bear that will travel so long a journey
willingly, and will know how to behave himself to our worthy brother
when he reaches him?” “Please your majesty,” said Gunter, “I have a
glorious fellow, as white as snow, that I caught when he was a cub; he
will follow me wherever I go, play with my children, stand on his hind
legs, and behave himself as well as any gentleman ought to do. He is at
your service, and I will myself take him wherever you choose.”
So the king was well pleased, and ordered Gunter to set off at once
with master Bruin: “Start with the morning’s dawn,” said he, “and make
the best of your way.”
The Norseman went home to his house in the forest; and early next
morning he waked master Bruin, put the king’s collar round his neck,
and away they went over rocks and valleys, lakes and seas, the nearest
road to the court of the King of Denmark. When they arrived there, the
king was away on a journey, and Gunter and his fellow-traveller set out
to follow. It was bright weather, the sun shone, and the birds sang, as
they journeyed merrily on, day after day, over hill and over dale, till
they came within a day’s journey of where the king was.
All that afternoon they travelled through a gloomy, dark forest; but
towards evening the wind began to whistle through the trees, and the
clouds began to gather and threaten a stormy night. The road, too, was
very rough, and it was not easy to tell which was most tired, Bruin
or his master. What made the matter worse was, that they had found no
inn that day by the roadside, and their provisions had fallen short,
so that they had no very pleasant prospect before them for the night.
“A pretty affair this!” said Gunter, “I am likely to be charmingly off
here in the woods, with an empty stomach, a damp bed, and a bear for my
bedfellow.”
While the Norseman was turning this over in his mind, the wind blew
harder and harder, and the clouds grew darker and darker: the bear
shook his ears, and his master looked at his wits’ end, when to his
great joy a woodman came whistling along out of the woods, by the side
of his horse dragging a load of faggots. As soon as he came up, Gunter
stopped him, and begged hard for a night’s lodging for himself and his
countryman.
The woodman seemed hearty and good-natured enough, and was quite ready
to find shelter for the huntsman; but as to the bear, he had never seen
such a beast before in his life, and would have nothing to do with him
on any terms. The huntsman begged hard for his friend, and told how he
was bringing him as a present to the King of Denmark; and how he was
the most good-natured, best-behaved animal in the world, though he must
allow that he was by no means one of the handsomest.
The woodman, however, was not to be moved. His wife, he was sure, would
not like such a guest, and who could say what he might take it into his
head to do? Besides, he should lose his dog and his cat, his ducks and
his geese; for they would all run away for fright, whether the bear was
disposed to be friends with them or not.
“Good-night, master huntsman!” said he; “if you and old shaggy-back
there cannot part, I am afraid you must e’en stay where you are, though
you will have a sad night of it, no doubt.” Then he cracked his whip,
whistled up his horse, and set off once more on his way homewards.
[Illustration: He lets them loose]
The huntsman grumbled, and Bruin grunted, as they followed slowly
after; when to their great joy they saw the woodman, before he had gone
many yards, pull up his horse once more and turn round. “Stay, stay!”
said he; “I think I can tell you of a plan better than sleeping in a
ditch. I know where you may find shelter, if you will run the risk of a
little trouble from an unlucky imp, that has taken up its abode in my
old house down the hill yonder. You must know, friend, that till last
winter I lived in yon snug little house that you will see at the foot
of the hill if you come this way. Everything went smoothly on with us
till one unlucky night, when the storm blew as it seems likely to do
to-night, some spiteful guest took it into his head to pay us a visit;
and there have ever since been such noises, clattering, and scampering
up stairs and down, from midnight till the cock crows in the morning,
that at last we were fairly driven out of house and home. What he is
like no one knows; for we never saw him or anything belonging to him,
except a little crooked high-heeled shoe, that he left one night in the
pantry. But though we have not seen him, we know he has a hand or a paw
as heavy as lead; for when it pleases him to lay it upon any one, down
he goes as if the blacksmith’s hammer had hit him. There is no end of
his monkey tricks. If the linen is hung out to dry, he cuts the line.
If he wants a cup of ale, he leaves the tap running. If the fowls are
shut up, he lets them loose. He puts the pig into the garden, rides
upon the cows, and turns the horses into the hay-yard; and several
times he nearly burnt the house down, by leaving a candle alight among
the faggots. And then he is sometimes so nimble and active, that
when he is once in motion, nothing stands still around him. Dishes
and plates--pots and pans--dance about, clattering, making the most
horrible music, and breaking each other to pieces: and sometimes, when
the whim takes him, the chairs and tables seem as if they were alive,
and dancing a hornpipe, or playing battledore and shuttlecock together.
Even the stones and beams of the house seem rattling against one
another; and it is of no use putting things in order, for the first
freak the imp took would turn everything upside down again.
“My wife and I bore such a lodger as long as we could, but at length
we were fairly beaten; and as he seemed to have taken up his abode in
the house, we thought it best to give up to him what he wanted: and
the little rascal knew what we were about when we were moving, and
seemed afraid we should not go soon enough. So he helped us off: for on
the morning we were to start, as we were going to put our goods upon
the waggon, there it stood before the door ready loaded: and when we
started we heard a loud laugh; and a little sharp voice cried out of
the window, ‘Good-bye, neighbours!’ So now he has our old house all
to himself to play his gambols in, whenever he likes to sleep within
doors; and we have built ourselves a snug cottage on the other side
of the hill, where we live as well as we can, though we have no great
room to make merry in. Now if you, and your ugly friend there, like to
run the hazard of taking up your quarters in the elf’s house, pray do!
Yonder is the road. He may not be at home to-night.”
“We will try our luck,” said Gunter: “anything is better to my mind
than sleeping out of doors such a night as this. Your troublesome
neighbour will perhaps think so too, and we may have to fight for our
lodging: but never mind, Bruin is rather an awkward hand to quarrel
with; and the goblin may perhaps find a worse welcome from him than
your house-dog could give him. He will at any rate let him know what a
bear’s hug is; for I dare say he has not been far enough north to know
much about it yet.”
Then the woodman gave Gunter a faggot to make his fire with, and wished
him a good-night. He and the bear soon found their way to the deserted
house; and no one being at home they walked into the kitchen and made a
capital fire.
“Lack-a-day!” said the Norseman; “I forgot one thing--I ought to have
asked that good man for some supper; I have nothing left but some dry
bread. However, this is better than sleeping in the woods: we must make
the most of what we have, keep ourselves warm, and get to bed as soon
as we can.” So after eating up all their crusts, and drinking some
water from the well close by, the huntsman wrapt himself up close in
his cloak, and lay down in the snuggest corner he could find. Bruin
rolled himself up in the corner of the wide fire-place; and both were
fast asleep, the fire out, and everything quiet within doors, long
before midnight.
Just as the clock struck twelve the storm began to get louder--the wind
blew--a slight noise within the room wakened the huntsman, and all on
a sudden in popped a little ugly skrattel, scarce three spans high;
with a hump on his back, a face like a dried pippin, a nose like a ripe
mulberry, and an eye that had lost its neighbour. He had high-heeled
shoes, and a pointed red cap; and came dragging after him a nice
fat kid, ready skinned, and fit for roasting. “A rough night this,”
grumbled the goblin to himself; “but, thanks to that booby woodman,
I’ve a house to myself: and now for a hot supper and a glass of good
ale till the cock crows.”
No sooner said than done: the skrattel busied himself about, here and
there; presently the fire blazed up, the kid was put on the spit and
turned merrily round. A keg of ale made its appearance from a closet:
the cloth was laid, and the kid was soon dished up for eating. Then the
little imp, in the joy of his heart, rubbed his hands, tossed up his
red cap, danced before the hearth, and sang his song--
“Oh! ’tis weary enough abroad to bide,
In the shivery midnight blast;
And ’tis dreary enough alone to ride,
Hungry and cold,
On the wintry wold,
Where the drifting snow falls fast.
“But ’tis cheery enough to revel by night,
In the crackling faggot’s light:
’Tis merry enough to have and to hold
The savoury roast,
And the nut-brown toast,
With jolly good ale and old.”
The huntsman lay snug all this time; sometimes quaking, in dread of
getting into trouble, and sometimes licking his lips at the savoury
supper before him, and half in the mind to fight for it with the imp.
However, he kept himself quiet in his corner; till all of a sudden the
little man’s eye wandered from his cheering ale-cup to Bruin’s carcase,
as he lay rolled up like a ball, fast asleep in the chimney-corner.
The imp turned round sharp in an instant, and crept softly nearer and
nearer to where Bruin lay, looking at him very closely, and not able to
make out what in the world he was. “One of the family, I suppose!” said
he to himself. But just then Bruin gave his ears a shake, and showed a
little of his shaggy muzzle. “Oh ho!” said the imp, “that’s all, is it?
But what a large one! Where could he come from? and how came he here?
What shall I do? Shall I let him alone or drive him out? Perhaps he may
do me some mischief, and I am not afraid of mice or rats. So here goes!
I have driven all the rest of the live stock out of the house, and why
should I be afraid of sending this brute after them?”
With that the elf walked softly to the corner of the room, and taking
up the spit, stole back on tip-toe till he got quite close to the bear;
then raising up his weapon, down came a rattling thump across Bruin’s
mazard, that sounded as hollow as a drum. The bear raised himself
slowly up, snorted, shook his head, then scratched it,--opened first
one eye, then the other, took a turn across the room, and grinned at
his enemy; who, somewhat alarmed, ran back a few paces, and stood with
the spit in his hand, foreseeing a rough attack. And it soon came; for
the bear, rearing himself up, walked leisurely forward, and putting
out one of his paws caught hold of the spit, jerked it out of the
goblin’s hand, and sent it spinning to the other end of the kitchen.
And now began a fierce battle. This way and that way flew tables and
chairs, pots and pans. The elf was one moment on the bear’s back,
lugging his ears and pommelling him with blows that might have felled
an ox. In the next, the bear would throw him up in the air, and treat
him as he came down with a hug that would make the little imp squall.
Then up he would jump upon one of the beams out of Bruin’s reach; and
soon, watching his chance, would be down astride upon his back.
Meantime Gunter had become sadly frightened, and seeing the oven door
open, crept in for shelter from the fray, and lay there quaking for
fear. The struggle went on thus a long time, without its seeming at all
clear who would get the better--biting, scratching, hugging, clawing,
roaring, and growling, till the whole house rang. The elf, however,
seemed to grow weaker and weaker: the rivals stood for a moment as if
to get breath, and the bear was getting ready for a fierce attack,
when, all in a moment, the skrattel dashed his red cap right in his
eye, and while Bruin was smarting with the blow and trying to recover
his sight, darted to the door, and was out of sight in a moment, though
the wind blew, the rain pattered, and the storm raged, in a merciless
manner.
“Well done! Bravo, Bruin!” cried the huntsman, as he crawled out of the
oven, and ran and bolted the door: “thou hast combed his locks rarely;
and as for thine own ears, they are rather the worse for pulling. But
come, let us make the best of the good cheer our friend has left us!”
So saying, they fell to and ate a hearty supper. The huntsman, wishing
the skrattel a good night and pleasant dreams in a cup of his sparkling
ale, laid himself down and slept till morning; and Bruin tried to do
the same, as well as his aching bones would let him.
In the morning the huntsman made ready to set out on his way: and had
not got far from the door before he met the woodman, who was eager
to hear how he had passed the night. Then Gunter told him how he had
been awakened, what sort of creature the elf was, and how he and Bruin
had fought it out. “Let us hope,” said he, “you will now be well rid
of the gentleman: I suspect he will not come where he is likely to
get any more of Bruin’s hugs; and thus you will be well paid for your
entertainment of us, which, to tell the truth, was none of the best:
for if your ugly little tenant had not brought his supper with him, we
should have had but empty stomachs this morning.”
[Illustration: The bear would throw him in the air]
The huntsman and his fellow-traveller journeyed on: and let us hope
they reached the King of Denmark safe and sound: but, to tell the
truth, I know nothing more of that part of the story.
The woodman, meantime, went to his work; and did not fail to watch at
night to see whether the skrattel came, or whether he was thoroughly
frightened out of his old haunt by the bear, or whatever he might take
the beast to be that had handled him as he never was handled before.
But three nights passed over, and no traces being seen or heard of him,
the woodman began to think of moving back to his old house.
On the fourth day he was out at his work in the forest; and as he
was taking shelter under a tree from a cold storm of sleet and rain
that passed over, he heard a little cracked voice singing, or rather
croaking in a mournful tone. So he crept along quietly, and peeped over
some bushes, and there sat the very same figure that the huntsman had
described to him. The goblin was sitting without any hat or cap on his
head, with a woe-begone face, and with his jacket torn into shreds, and
his leg scratched and smeared with blood, as if he had been creeping
through a bramble-bush. The woodman listened quietly to his song, and
it ran as before--
“Oh! ’tis weary enough abroad to bide,
In the shivery midnight blast;
And ’tis dreary enough alone to ride
Hungry and cold,
On the wintry wold,
Where the drifting snow falls fast.”
“Sing us the other verse, man!” cried the woodman; for he could not
help cracking a joke on his old enemy, who he saw was sadly in the
dumps at the loss of his good cheer and the shelter against the bad
weather. But the instant his voice was heard the little imp jumped up,
stamped with rage, and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eye.
The woodman finished his work and was going home in the evening,
whistling by his horse’s side, when, all of a sudden, he saw, standing
on a high bank by the wayside, the very same little imp, looking as
grim and sulky as before. “Hark ye, bumpkin?” cried the skrattel;
“canst thou hear, fellow? Is thy great cat alive, and at home still?”
“My cat?” said the woodman. “Thy great white cat, man!” thundered out
the little imp. “Oh, my cat!” said the woodman, at last recollecting
himself. “Oh, yes to be sure! alive and well, I thank you: very
happy, I’m sure, to see you and all friends, whenever you will do us
the favour to call. And hark ye, friend! as you seem to be so fond
of my great cat, you may like to know that she had five kittens last
night.” “Five kittens?” muttered the elf. “Yes,” replied the woodman,
“five of the most beautiful white kits you ever saw,--so like the old
cat, it would do your heart good to see the whole family--such soft,
gentle paws--such delicate whiskers--such pretty little mouths!” “Five
kittens?” muttered or rather shrieked out the imp again. “Yes, to be
sure!” said the woodman; “five kittens! Do look in to-night, about
twelve o’clock--the time, you know, that you used to come and see us.
The old cat will be so glad to show them to you, and we shall be so
happy to see you once more. But where can you have been all this time?”
“I come? not I, indeed!” shrieked the skrattel. “What do I want with
the little wretches? Did not I see the mother once? Keep your kittens
to yourself: I must be off,--this is no place for me. Five kittens! So
there are six of them now! Good-bye to you, you’ll see me no more; so
bad luck to your ugly cat and your beggarly house!” “And bad luck to
you, Mr Crookback!” cried the woodman, as he threw him the red cap he
had left behind in his battle with Bruin. “Keep clear of my cat, and
let us hear no more of your pranks, and be hanged to you!”
[Illustration: The elf was one moment on the bear’s back]
So, now that he knew his troublesome guest had taken his leave, the
woodman soon moved back all his goods, and his wife and children into
their snug old house. And there they lived happily, for the elf never
came to see them any more; and the woodman every day after dinner
drank, “Long life to the King of Norway,” for sending the cat that
cleared his house of vermin.
* * * * *
When the Norwegian Red-cap had finished his story Titania thought it
time that someone should tell another love tale, and a second German
Fairy came forward and said,
“Would your majesty like to hear again the story of the goose-girl
princess and the horse Falada?”
“Oh, yes,” answered the Queen, who if she really liked a story was
always glad to hear it told to her several times, “Oh, yes, the pretty
story of the goose-girl is one of my favourites.”
The second German Fairy then stepped on to the stool and quietly began
to recount the sad experiences of the princess who became
[Illustration: The second German Fairy]
[Illustration: She set off on her journey]
The Goose Girl.
The king of a great land died, and left his queen to take care of their
only child. This child was a daughter, who was very beautiful; and her
mother loved her dearly, and was very kind to her. And there was a good
fairy too, who was fond of the princess, and helped her mother to watch
over her. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a
great way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she got
ready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen, her
mother, packed up a great many costly things; jewels, and gold, and
silver; trinkets, fine dresses, and in short everything that became a
royal bride. And she gave her a waiting-maid to ride with her, and give
her into the bridegroom’s hands; and each had a horse for the journey.
Now the princess’s horse was the fairy’s gift, and it was called
Falada, and could speak.
When the time came for them to set out, the fairy went into her
bed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair,
and gave it to the princess, and said, “Take care of it, dear child;
for it is a charm that may be of use to you on the road.” Then they all
took a sorrowful leave of the princess; and she put the lock of hair
into her bosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her journey to her
bridegroom’s kingdom.
One day, as they were riding along by a brook, the princess began to
feel very thirsty; and she said to her maid, “Pray get down, and fetch
me some water in my golden cup out of yonder brook, for I want to
drink.” “Nay,” said the maid, “if you are thirsty, get off yourself,
and stoop down by the water and drink; I shall not be your waiting-maid
any longer.” Then she was so thirsty that she got down, and knelt
over the little brook, and drank; for she was frightened, and dared
not bring out her golden cup; and she wept and said, “Alas! what will
become of me?” And the lock answered her, and said--
“Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.”
But the princess was very gentle and meek, so she said nothing to her
maid’s ill behaviour, but got upon her horse again.
Then all rode further on their journey, till the day grew so warm,
and the sun so scorching, that the bride began to feel very thirsty
again; and at last, when they came to a river, she forgot her maid’s
rude speech, and said, “Pray get down, and fetch me some water to drink
in my golden cup.” But the maid answered her, and even spoke more
haughtily than before: “Drink if you will, but I shall not be your
waiting-maid.” Then the princess was so thirsty that she got off her
horse, and lay down, and held her head over the running stream, and
cried and said, “What will become of me?” And the lock of hair answered
her again--
“Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.”
And as she leaned down to drink the lock of hair fell from her bosom,
and floated away with the water. Now she was so frightened that she did
not see it; but her maid saw it, and was very glad, for she knew the
charm; and she saw that the poor bride would be in her power, now that
she had lost the hair. So when the bride had done drinking, and would
have got upon Falada again, the maid said, “I shall ride upon Falada,
and you may have my horse instead”: so she was forced to give up her
horse, and soon afterwards to take off her royal clothes and put on her
maid’s shabby ones.
At last, as they drew near the end of their journey, this treacherous
servant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told any one what
had happened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well.
Then the waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride rode upon the
other horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to
the royal court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince
flew to meet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was
the one who was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal
chamber; but the true princess was told to stay in the court below.
Now the old king happened just then to have nothing else to do; so he
amused himself by sitting at his kitchen-window, looking at what was
going on; and he saw her in the courtyard. As she looked very pretty,
and too delicate for a waiting-maid, he went up into the royal chamber
to ask the bride who it was she had brought with her, that was thus
left standing in the court below. “I brought her with me for the sake
of her company on the road,” said she; “pray give the girl some work
to do, that she may not be idle.” The old king could not for some time
think of any work for her to do; but at last he said, “I have a lad who
takes care of my geese; she may go and help him.” Now the name of this
lad, that the real bride was to help in watching the king’s geese, was
Curdken.
But the false bride said to the prince, “Dear husband, pray do me one
piece of kindness.” “That I will,” said the prince. “Then tell one of
your slaughterers to cut off the head of the horse I rode upon, for it
was very unruly, and plagued me sadly on the road”; but the truth was,
she was very much afraid lest Falada should some day or other speak,
and tell all she had done to the princess. She carried her point, and
the faithful Falada was killed; but when the true princess heard of
it, she wept, and begged the man to nail up Falada’s head against
a large dark gate of the city, through which she had to pass every
morning and evening, that there she might still see him sometimes. Then
the slaughterer said he would do as she wished; and cut off the head,
and nailed it up under the dark gate.
Early the next morning, as she and Curdken went out through the gate,
she said sorrowfully--
“Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!”
and the head answered--
“Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.”
Then they went out of the city, and drove the geese on. And when she
came to the meadow, she sat down upon a bank there, and let down her
waving locks of hair, which were all of pure silver; and when Curdken
saw it glitter in the sun, he ran up, and would have pulled some of the
locks out, but she cried--
“Blow, breezes, blow!
Let Curdken’s hat go!
Blow, breezes, blow!
Let him after it go!
O’er hills, dales, and rocks,
Away be it whirl’d,
Till the silvery locks
Are all comb’d and curl’d!”
Then there came a wind, so strong that it blew off Curdken’s hat; and
away it flew over the hills: and he was forced to turn and run after
it; till, by the time he came back, she had done combing and curling
her hair, and had put it up again safe. Then he was very angry and
sulky, and would not speak to her at all; but they watched the geese
until it grew dark in the evening, and then drove them homewards.
[Illustration: Falada, Falada, there thou hangest]
The next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor
girl looked up at Falada’s head, and cried--
“Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!”
and it answered--
“Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.”
Then she drove on the geese, and sat down again in the meadow, and
began to comb out her hair as before; and Curdken ran up to her, and
wanted to take hold of it; but she cried out quickly--
“Blow, breezes, blow!
Let Curdken’s hat go!
Blow, breezes, blow!
Let him after it go!
O’er hills, dales, and rocks,
Away be it whirl’d,
Till the silvery locks
Are all comb’d and curl’d!”
Then a wind came and blew away his hat; and off it flew a great way,
over the hills and far away, so that he had to run after it; and when
he came back she had bound up her hair again, and all was safe. So they
watched the geese till it grew dark.
In the evening, after they came home, Curdken went to the old king, and
said, “I cannot have that strange girl to help me to keep the geese any
longer.” “Why?” said the king. “Because, instead of doing any good, she
does nothing but tease me all day long.” Then the king made him tell
him what had happened. And Curdken said, “When we go in the morning
through the dark gate with our flock of geese, she cries and talks with
the head of a horse that hangs upon the wall, and says--
“Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!”
and the head answers,
“Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.”
And Curdken went on telling the king what had happened upon the meadow
where the geese fed; how his hat was blown away; and how he was forced
to run after it, and to leave his flock of geese to themselves. But the
old king told the boy to go out again the next day: and when morning
came, he placed himself behind the dark gate, and heard how she spoke
to Falada, and how Falada answered. Then he went into the field, and
hid himself in a bush by the meadow’s side; and he soon saw with his
own eyes how they drove the flock of geese; and how after a little
time, she let down her hair that glittered in the sun. And then he
heard her say--
“Blow, breezes, blow!
Let Curdken’s hat go!
Blow, breezes, blow!
Let him after it go!
O’er hills, dales, and rocks,
Away be it whirl’d,
Till the silvery locks
Are all comb’d and curl’d!”
And soon came a gale of wind, and carried away Curdken’s hat, and away
went Curdken after it, while the girl went on combing and curling her
hair. All this the old king saw: so he went home without being seen;
and when the little goose-girl came back in the evening he called her
aside, and asked her why she did so: but she burst into tears, and
said, “That I must not tell you or any man, or I shall lose my life.”
But the old king begged so hard, that she had no peace till she had
told him all the tale, from beginning to end, word for word. And it
was very lucky for her that she did so, for when she had done the king
ordered royal clothes to be put upon her, and gazed on her with wonder,
she was so beautiful. Then he called his son, and told him that he had
only the false bride; for that she was merely a waiting-maid, while
the true bride stood by. And the young king rejoiced when he saw her
beauty, and heard how meek and patient she had been; and without saying
anything to the false bride, the king ordered a great feast to be got
ready for all his court. The bridegroom sat at the top, with the false
princess on one side, and the true one on the other; but nobody knew
her again, for her beauty was quite dazzling to their eyes; and she
did not seem at all like the little goose-girl, now that she had her
brilliant dress on.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
When they had eaten and drank, and were very merry, the old king said
he would tell them a tale. So he began, and told all the story of the
princess, as if it was one that he had once heard; and he asked the
true waiting-maid what she thought ought to be done to any one who
would behave thus. “Nothing better,” said this false bride, “than that
she should be thrown into a cask stuck round with sharp nails, and that
two white horses should be put to it, and should drag it from street
to street till she was dead.” “Thou art she!” said the old king; “and
as thou hast judged thyself, so shall it be done to thee.” And the
young king was then married to his true wife, and they reigned over the
kingdom in peace and happiness all their lives; and the good fairy came
to see them, and restored the faithful Falada to life again.
* * * * *
Having finished her tale, the second German Fairy was rising to return
to her place in the circle, when King Oberon, who saw how pleased the
Queen was made her yet better pleased by saying,
“Perhaps we can have another story from the same story-teller.”
“Oh, yes,” said Queen Titania, and the Fairy sat down again, and
without any false modesty began the tale of
[Illustration: The fairy sat down again]
[Illustration: He was found to abide spellbound]
The Water of Life
Long before you or I were born, there reigned, in a country a great
way off, a king who had three sons. This king once fell very ill,--so
ill that nobody thought he could live. His sons were very much grieved
at their father’s sickness; and as they were walking together very
mournfully in the garden of the palace, a little old man met them and
asked what was the matter. They told him that their father was very
ill, and that they were afraid nothing could save him. “I know what
would,” said the little old man; “it is the Water of Life. If he could
have a draught of it he would be well again; but it is very hard to
get.” Then the eldest son said, “I will soon find it”: and he went to
the sick king, and begged that he might go in search of the Water of
Life, as it was the only thing that could save him. “No,” said the
king, “I had rather die than place you in such great danger as you must
meet with in your journey.” But he begged so hard that the king let
him go; and the prince thought to himself, “if I bring my father this
water, he will make me sole heir to his kingdom.”
Then he set out: and when he had gone on his way some time he came to
a deep valley, overhung with rocks and woods; and as he looked around,
he saw standing above him on one of the rocks a little ugly dwarf, with
a sugarloaf cap and a scarlet cloak; and the dwarf called to him and
said, “Prince, whither so fast?” “What is that to thee, you ugly imp?”
said the prince haughtily, and rode on.
But the dwarf was enraged at his behaviour, and laid a fairy spell
of ill-luck upon him; so that as he rode on the mountain pass became
narrower and narrower, and at last the way was so straightened that he
could not go a step forward: and when he thought to have turned his
horse round and go back the way he came, he heard a loud laugh ringing
round him, and found that the path was closed behind him, so that he
was shut in all round. He next tried to get off his horse and make his
way on foot, but again the laugh rang in his ears, and he found himself
unable to move a step, and thus he was forced to abide spellbound.
Meantime the old king was lingering on in daily hope of his son’s
return, till at last the second son said, “Father, I will go in search
of the Water of Life.” For he thought to himself, “My brother is surely
dead, and the kingdom will fall to me if I find the water.” The king
was at first very unwilling to let him go, but at last yielded to his
wish. So he set out and followed the same road which his brother had
done, and met with the same little elf, who stopped him at the same
spot in the mountains, saying, as before, “Prince, prince, whither so
fast?” “Mind your own affairs, busy-body!” said the prince, scornfully,
and rode on.
But the dwarf put the same spell upon him as he had put on his elder
brother; and he, too, was at last obliged to take up his abode in the
heart of the mountains. Thus it is with proud, silly people, who think
themselves above every one else, and are too proud to ask or take
advice.
When the second prince had thus been gone a long time, the youngest
son said he would go and search for the Water of Life, and trusted
he should soon be able to make his father well again. So he set out,
and the dwarf met him too at the same spot in the valley, among the
mountains, and said, “Prince, whither so fast?” And the prince said,
“I am going in search of the Water of Life; because my father is ill,
and like to die: can you help me? Pray be kind, and aid me if you can!”
“Do you know where it is to be found?” asked the dwarf. “No,” said the
prince, “I do not. Pray tell me if you know.” “Then as you have spoken
to me kindly, and are wise enough to seek for advice, I will tell you
how and where to go. The water you seek springs from a well in an
enchanted castle; and, that you may be able to reach it in safety, I
will give you an iron wand and two little loaves of bread; strike the
iron door of the castle three times with the wand, and it will open:
two hungry lions will be lying down inside gaping for their prey, but
if you throw them the bread they will let you pass; then hasten on to
the well, and take some of the Water of Life before the clock strikes
twelve; for if you tarry longer the door will shut upon you for ever.”
Then the prince thanked his little friend with the scarlet cloak for
his friendly aid; and took the wand and the bread, and went travelling
on and on, over sea and over land, till he came to his journey’s end,
and found everything to be as the dwarf had told him. The door flew
open at the third stroke of the wand, and when the lions were quieted
he went on through the castle and came at length to a beautiful hall.
Around it he saw several knights sitting in a trance; then he pulled
off their rings and put them on his own fingers. In another room he saw
on a table a sword and a loaf of bread, which he also took. Further on
he came to a room where a beautiful young lady sat upon a couch; and
she welcomed him joyfully, and said, if he would set her free from the
spell that bound her, the kingdom should be his, if he would come back
in a year and marry her. Then she told him that the well that held the
Water of Life was in the palace gardens; and bade him make haste, and
draw what he wanted before the clock struck twelve.
He went on; and as he walked through beautiful gardens, he came to
a delightful shady spot in which stood a couch; and he thought to
himself, as he felt tired, that he would rest himself for awhile, and
gaze on the lovely scenes around him. So he laid himself down, and
sleep fell upon him unawares, so that he did not wake up till the
clock was striking a quarter to twelve. Then he sprang from the couch
dreadfully frightened, ran to the well, filled a cup that was standing
by him full of water, and hastened to get away in time. Just as he
was going out of the iron door it struck twelve, and the door fell so
quickly upon him that it snapt off a piece of his heel.
When he found himself safe, he was overjoyed to think that he had
got the Water of Life; and as he was going on his way homewards, he
passed by the little dwarf, who, when he saw the sword and the loaf,
said, “You have made a noble prize; with the sword you can at a blow
slay whole armies, and the bread will never fail you.” Then the
prince thought to himself, “I cannot go home to my father without my
brothers”; so he said, “My dear friend, cannot you tell me where my
two brothers are, who set out in search of the Water of Life before
me, and never came back?” “I have shut them up by a charm between two
mountains,” said the dwarf, “because they were proud and ill-behaved,
and scorned to ask advice.” The prince begged so hard for his brothers,
that the dwarf at last set them free, though unwillingly, saying,
“Beware of them, for they have bad hearts.” Their brother, however,
was greatly rejoiced to see them, and told them all that had happened
to him; how he had found the Water of Life, and had taken a cup full
of it; and how he had set a beautiful princess free from a spell that
bound her; and how she had engaged to wait a whole year, and then to
marry him, and to give him the kingdom.
Then they all three rode on together, and on their way home came to a
country that was laid waste by war and a dreadful famine, so that
it was feared all must die for want. But the prince gave the king of
the land the bread, and all his kingdom ate of it. And he lent the king
the wonderful sword, and he slew the enemy’s army with it; and thus
the kingdom was once more in peace and plenty. In the same manner he
befriended two other countries through which they passed on their way.
[Illustration: He came to a room where a beautiful lady sat upon a
couch] [Illustration]
When they came to the sea, they got into a ship; and during their
voyage the two eldest said to themselves, “Our brother has got the
water which we could not find, therefore our father will forsake us and
give him the kingdom, which is our right”; so they were full of envy
and revenge, and agreed together how they could ruin him. Then they
waited till he was fast asleep, and poured the Water of Life out of the
cup, and took it for themselves, giving him bitter sea-water instead.
When they came to their journey’s end, the youngest son brought his cup
to the sick king, that he might drink and be healed. Scarcely, however,
had he tasted the bitter sea-water when he became worse even than
he was before; and then both the elder sons came in, and blamed the
youngest for what he had done; and said that he wanted to poison their
father, but that they had found the Water of Life, and had brought it
with them. He no sooner began to drink of what they brought him, than
he felt his sickness leave him, and was as strong and well as in his
younger days. Then they went to their brother, and laughed at him,
and said, “Well, brother, you found the Water of Life, did you? You
have had the trouble and we shall have the reward. Pray, with all your
cleverness, why did not you manage to keep your eyes open? Next year
one of us will take away your beautiful princess, if you do not take
care. You had better say nothing about this to our father, for he does
not believe a word you say; and if you tell tales, you shall lose your
life into the bargain: but be quiet, and we will let you off.”
The old king was still very angry with his youngest son, and thought
that he really meant to have taken away his life; so he called his
court together, and asked what should be done, and all agreed that he
ought to be put to death. The prince knew nothing of what was going
on, till one day, when the king’s chief huntsman went a-hunting with
him, and they were alone in the wood together, the huntsman looked so
sorrowful that the prince said, “My friend, what is the matter with
you?” “I cannot and dare not tell you,” said he. But the prince begged
very hard, and said, “Only tell me what it is, and do not think I shall
be angry, for I will forgive you.” “Alas!” said the huntsman, “the king
has ordered me to shoot you.” The prince started at this, and said,
“Let me live, and I will change dresses with you; you shall take my
royal coat to show to my father, and do you give me your shabby one.”
“With all my heart,” said the huntsman; “I am sure I shall be glad to
save you, for I could not have shot you.” Then he took the prince’s
coat, and gave him the shabby one, and went away through the wood.
Some time after, three grand embassies came to the old king’s court,
with rich gifts of gold and precious stones for his youngest son; now
all these were sent from the three kings to whom he had lent his sword
and loaf of bread, in order to rid them of their enemy and feed their
people. This touched the old king’s heart, and he thought his son
might still be guiltless, and said to his court, “O that my son were
still alive! how it grieves me that I had him killed!” “He is still
alive,” said the huntsman; “and I am glad that I had pity on him, and
saved him: for when the time came, I could not shoot him, but let him
go in peace, and brought home his royal coat.” At this the king was
overwhelmed with joy, and made it known throughout all his kingdom,
that if his son would come back to his court he would forgive him.
Meanwhile the princess was eagerly waiting till her deliverer should
come back; and had a road made leading up to her palace all of shining
gold; and told her courtiers that whoever came on horseback, and rode
straight up to the gate upon it, was her true lover; and that they must
let him in: but whoever rode on one side of it, they must be sure was
not the right one; and that they must send him away at once.
The time soon came, when the eldest brother thought that he would make
haste to go to the princess, and say that he was the one who had set
her free, and that he should have her for his wife, and the kingdom
with her. As he came before the palace and saw the golden road, he
stopped to look at it, and he thought to himself, “It is a pity to
ride upon this beautiful road”; so he turned aside and rode on the
right-hand side of it. But when he came to the gate, the guards, who
had seen the road he took, said to him, he could not be what he said he
was, and must go about his business.
The second prince set out soon afterwards on the same errand; and when
he came to the golden road, and his horse had set one foot upon it,
he stopped to look at it, and thought it very beautiful, and said to
himself, “What a pity it is that anything should tread here!” Then he
too turned aside and rode on the left side of it. But when he came to
the gate the guards said he was not the true prince, and that he too
must go away about his business; and away he went.
Now when the full year was come round, the third brother left the
forest in which he had lain hid for fear of his father’s anger, and
set out in search of his betrothed bride. So he journeyed on, thinking
of her all the way, and rode so quickly that he did not even see what
the road was made of, but went with his horse straight over it; and as
he came to the gate it flew open, and the princess welcomed him with
joy, and said he was her deliverer, and should now be her husband and
lord of the kingdom. When the first joy at their meeting was over, the
princess told him she had heard of his father having forgiven him, and
of his wish to have him home again: so, before his wedding with the
princess, he went to visit his father, taking her with him. Then he
told him everything; how his brothers had cheated and robbed him, and
yet that he had borne all these wrongs for the love of his father. And
the old king was very angry, and wanted to punish his wicked sons; but
they made their escape, and got into a ship and sailed away over the
wide sea, and where they went to nobody knew and nobody cared.
[Illustration: The friendly dwarf with the sugarloaf hat]
And now the old king gathered together his court, and asked all his
kingdom to come and celebrate the wedding of his son and the princess.
And young and old, noble and squire, gentle and simple, came at once
on the summons; and among the rest came the friendly dwarf, with the
sugarloaf hat, and a new scarlet cloak.
“And the wedding was held, and the merry bells rung,
And all the good people they danced and they sung,
And feasted and frolick’d I can’t tell how long.”
A Dwarf from Sweden was the next to be invited to the stool, and
sitting down he began to tell how a troll was enabled to do a kindly
service to a poor lad who had saved him from a fierce werewolf.
“My story,” he said, “shall be called
[Illustration: The dwarf from Sweden]
[Illustration: Niels wandered forth]
The Troll’s Hammer
There was once a great famine in the country; the poor could not
procure the necessaries of life, and even the rich suffered great
privation. At that time a poor peasant dwelt out on the heath. One day
he said to his son, that he could no longer support him, and that he
must go out in the world, and provide for himself. Niels, therefore,
left home and wandered forth.
Towards evening he found himself in a large forest, and climbed up into
a tree, lest the wild beasts might do him harm during the night. When
he had slept about an hour or perhaps more, a little man came running
towards the tree. He was hunch-backed, had crooked legs, a long beard,
and a red cap on his head. He was pursued by a werewolf, which attacked
him just under the tree in which Niels was sitting. The little man
began to scream; he bit and scratched, and defended himself as well as
he could, but all to no purpose, the werewolf was his master, and would
have torn him in pieces, if Niels had not sprung down from the tree,
and come to his assistance. As soon as the werewolf saw that he had two
to contend with, he was afraid, and fled back into the forest.
The Troll then said to Niels: “Thou hast preserved my life, and done
me good service; in return I will also give thee something that will
be beneficial to thee. See! here is a hammer, and all the smith’s work
which thou doest with it, no one shall be able to equal. Continue thy
way, and things will go better than thou thinkest.” When the Troll had
spoken these words, he sank into the ground before Niels.
The next day the boy wandered on, until he came to the neighbourhood of
the royal palace, and here he engaged himself to a smith.
Now it just happened, that a few days previously a thief had broken
into the king’s treasury and stolen a large bag of money. All the
smiths in the city were, therefore, sent for to the palace, and the
king promised that he who could make the best and securest lock,
should be appointed court locksmith, and have a considerable reward
into the bargain. But the lock must be finished in eight days, and so
constructed that it could not be picked by any one.
When the smith, with whom Niels lived, returned home and related
this, the boy thought he should like to try whether his hammer really
possessed those qualities which the Troll had said. He therefore begged
his master to allow him to make a lock, and promised that it should be
finished by the appointed time. Although the smith had no great opinion
of the boy’s ability, he, nevertheless, allowed him to make the trial.
Niels then requested to have a separate workshop, locked himself in,
and then began hammering the iron. One day went, and then another, and
the master began to be inquisitive; but Niels let no one come in, and
the smith was obliged to remain outside, and peep through the key-hole.
The work, however, succeeded far better than the boy himself had
expected; and, without his really knowing how it came to pass, the lock
was finished on the evening of the third day.
The following morning he went down to his master and asked him for some
money. “Yesterday I worked hard,” said he, “and to-day I will make
myself merry.” Hereupon he went out of the city, and did not return to
the workshop till late in the evening. The next day he did the same,
and idled away the rest of the week. His master was, consequently,
very angry, and threatened to turn him away, unless he finished his
work at the appointed time. But Niels told him to be quite easy, and
engaged that his lock should be the best. When the day arrived,
Niels brought his work forth, and carried it up to the palace, and it
appeared that his lock was so ingenious and delicately made, that it
far excelled all the others. The consequence was, that Niels’ master
was acknowledged as the most skilful, and received the promised office
and reward.
[Illustration: See here is a hammer]
The smith was delighted, but he took good care not to confess to any
one who it was that had made the curious lock. He now received one work
after another from the king, and let Niels do them all, and he soon
became a wealthy man.
In the meantime, the report spread from place to place of the ingenious
lock the king had got for his treasury. Travellers came from a great
distance to see it, and it happened that a foreign king came also to
the palace. When he had examined the work for a long time, he said,
that the man who could make such a lock deserved to be honoured and
respected. “But however good a smith he may be,” added the king, “I
have got his master at home.” He continued boasting in this manner,
till at length the king offered to wager with him which could execute
the most skilful piece of workmanship. The smiths were sent for, and
the two kings determined that each smith should make a knife. He who
won was to have a considerable reward. The smith related to Niels what
had passed, and desired him to try whether he could not make as good a
knife as he had a lock. Niels promised that he would, although his last
work had not benefited him much. The smith was in truth an avaricious
man, and treated him so niggardly, that at times he had not enough to
eat and drink.
It happened one day, as Niels was gone out to buy steel to make the
knife, that he met a man from his own village, and, in the course of
conversation, learnt from him that his father went begging from door to
door, and was in great want and misery. When Niels heard this he asked
his master for some money to help his father; but his master answered,
that he should not have a shilling before he had made the knife.
Hereupon Niels shut himself up in the workshop, worked a whole day,
and, as on the former occasion, the knife was made without his knowing
how it happened.
When the day arrived on which the work was to be exhibited, Niels
dressed himself in his best clothes, and went with his master up to
the palace, where the two kings were expecting them. The strange smith
first showed his knife. It was so beautiful, and so curiously wrought,
that it was a pleasure to look at it; it was, moreover, so sharp and
well tempered, that it could cut through a millstone to the very
centre, as if it had been only a cheese, and that without the edge
being in the least blunted. Niels’ knife, on the contrary, looked very
poor and common. The king already began to think he had lost his wager,
and spoke harshly to the master-smith, when his boy begged leave to
examine the stranger’s knife a little more closely. After having looked
at it for some time, he said: “This is a beautiful piece of workmanship
which you have made, and shame on those who would say otherwise; but my
master is, nevertheless, your superior, as you shall soon experience.”
Saying this, he took the stranger’s knife and split it lengthwise from
the point to the handle with his own knife, as easily as one splits a
twig of willow. The kings could scarcely believe their eyes; and the
consequence was, that the Danish smith was declared the victor, and got
a large bag of money to carry home with him.
When Niels asked for payment, his master refused to give him anything,
although he well knew that the poor boy only wanted the money to
help his father. Upon this Niels grew angry, went up to the king,
and related the whole story to him, how it was he who had made both
the lock and the knife. The master was now called, but he denied
everything, and accused Niels of being an idle boy, whom he had taken
into his service out of charity and compassion.
“The truth of this story we shall soon find out,” said the king, who
sided with the master. “Since thou sayest it is thou who hast made
this wonderful knife, and thy master says it is he who has done it, I
will adjudge each of you to make a sword for me within eight days. He
who can make the most perfect one shall be my master-smith; but he who
loses, shall forfeit his life.”
Niels was well satisfied with this agreement. He went home, packed up
all his things, and bade his master farewell. The smith was now in
great straits, and would gladly have made all good again; but Niels
appeared not to understand him, and went his way, and engaged with
another master, where he cheerfully began to work on the sword.
When the appointed day arrived, they both met at the palace, and the
master produced a sword of the most elaborate workmanship that any
one could wish to see, besides being inlaid with gold, and set with
precious stones. The king was greatly delighted with it.
“Now, little Niels,” said he, “what dost thou say to this sword?”
“Certainly,” answered the boy, “it is not so badly made as one might
expect from such a bungler.”
“Canst thou show anything like it?” asked the king.
“I believe I can,” answered Niels.
“Well, produce thy sword; where is it?” said the king.
“I have it in my waistcoat pocket,” replied Niels.
Hereupon there was a general laugh, which was increased when they saw
the boy take a little packet out of his waistcoat pocket. Niels opened
the paper, in which the blade was rolled up like a watch-spring. “Here
is my work,” said he, “will you just cut the thread, master?”
The smith did it willingly, and in a moment the blade straightened
itself and struck him in the face.
Niels took out of his other pocket a hilt of gold, and screwed it fast
to the blade; then presented the sword to the king; and all present
were obliged to confess that they never before had seen such matchless
workmanship.
Niels was unanimously declared the victor, and the master was obliged
to acknowledge that the boy had made both the lock and the knife.
[Illustration: The blade struck him in the face]
The king in his indignation would have had the master executed, if the
boy had not begged for mercy on the culprit. Niels received a handsome
reward from the king, and from that day all the work from the palace
was intrusted to him. He took his old father to reside with him, and
lived in competence and happiness till his death.
* * * * *
When the Swedish Troll had gone back to his place after telling with
much self-satisfaction how one of his fellows had befriended the poor
apprentice, a Norwegian fairy came forward to tell how three of her
companions had similarly served a young princess, and she named her
story
[Illustration: The Norwegian Fairy]
[Illustration: The three little crones]
The three little Crones, each with Something big
There was once a king’s son and a king’s daughter who dearly loved each
other. The young princess was good and fair, and well spoken of by all,
but her disposition was more inclined to pleasure and dissipation than
to handiworks and domestic occupations. To the old queen this appeared
very wrong, and she said she would have no one for a daughter-in-law
that was not as skilled in such matters as she herself had been in her
youth. She therefore opposed the prince’s marriage in all sorts of ways.
As the queen would not recall her words, the prince went to her and
said, it would be well to make a trial whether the princess were not
as skilful as the queen herself. This seemed to every one a very
rash proposal, seeing that the prince’s mother was a very diligent,
laborious person, and span and sewed and wove both night and day, so
that no one ever saw her like. The prince, however, carried his point;
the fair princess was sent into the maiden’s bower, and the queen sent
her a pound of flax to spin. But the flax was to be spun ere dawn of
day, otherwise the damsel was never more to think of the prince for a
husband.
When left alone the princess found herself very ill at ease; for she
well knew that she could not spin the queen’s flax, and yet trembled at
the thought of losing the prince, who was so dear to her. She therefore
wandered about the apartment and wept, incessantly wept. At this moment
the door was opened very softly, and there stepped in a little, little
woman of singular appearance and yet more singular manners. The little
woman had enormously large feet, at which every one who saw her must be
wonderstruck. She greeted the princess with: “Peace be with you!” “And
peace with you!” answered the princess. The old woman then asked: “Why
is the fair damsel so sorrowful to-night?” The princess answered: “I
may well be sorrowful. The queen has commanded me to spin a pound of
flax: if I have not completed it before dawn, I lose the young prince
whom I love so dearly.” The old woman then said: “Be of good cheer,
fair maiden; if there is nothing else, I can help you; but then you
must grant me a request which I will name.” At these words the princess
was overjoyed, and asked what it was the old woman desired. “I am
called,” she said, “Mother Bigfoot; and I require for my aid no other
reward than to be present at your wedding. I have not been at a wedding
since the queen your mother-in-law stood as bride.” The princess
readily granted her desire, and they parted. The princess then lay down
to sleep, but could not close her eyes the whole livelong night.
Early in the morning, before dawn, the door was opened, and the little
woman again entered. She approached the king’s daughter and handed to
her a bundle of yarn, as white as snow and as fine as a cobweb, saying,
“See! such beautiful yarn I have not spun since I span for the queen,
when she was about to be married; but that was long, long ago.” Having
so spoken the little woman disappeared, and the princess fell into a
refreshing slumber, but she had not slept long when she was awakened by
the old queen, who was standing by her bed, and who asked her whether
the flax were all spun. The princess said that it was, and handed the
yarn to her. The queen must needs appear content, but the princess
could not refrain from observing that her apparent satisfaction did not
proceed from good-will.
Before the day was over, the queen said she would put the princess
to yet another proof. For this purpose she sent the yarn to the
maiden-bower together with a yarn-roll and other implements, and
ordered the princess to weave it into a web; but which must be ready
before sunrise; if not, the damsel must never more think of the young
prince.
When the princess was alone, she again felt sad at heart; for she knew
that she could not weave the queen’s yarn, and yet less reconcile
herself to the thought of losing the prince to whom she was so dear.
She therefore wandered about the apartment and wept bitterly. At that
moment the door was opened softly, softly, and in stepped a very little
woman, of singular figure and still more singular manners. The little
woman had an enormously large back, so that every one who saw her must
be struck with astonishment. She, too, greeted the princess with:
“Peace be with you!” and received for answer: “Peace with you!” The
old woman said: “Why is the fair damsel so sad and sorrowful?” “I may
well be sorrowful,” answered the princess. “The queen has commanded
me to weave all this yarn into a web; and if I have not completed it
by the morning before sunrise, I shall lose the prince, who loves me
so dearly.” The woman then said: “Be comforted, fair damsel; if it
is nothing more, I will help you. But then you must consent to one
condition, which I will name to you.” At these words the princess
was highly delighted, and asked what the condition might be. “I am
called Mother Bigback, and I desire no other reward than to be at
your wedding. I have not been to any wedding since the queen your
mother-in-law stood as bride.” The king’s daughter readily granted this
request, and the little woman departed. The princess then lay down to
sleep, but was unable to close her eyes the whole night.
In the morning, before daybreak, the door was opened and the little
woman entered. She approached the princess, and handed to her a web
white as snow and close as a skin, so that its like was never seen.
The old woman said: “See! such even threads I have never woven since
I wove for the queen, when she was about to be married; but that was
long, long ago.” The woman then disappeared, and the princess fell into
a short slumber, but from which she was roused by the old queen, who
stood by her bed, and inquired whether the web were ready. The princess
told her that it was, and handed to her the beautiful piece of weaving.
The queen must now appear content for the second time; but the princess
could easily see that she was not so from good-will.
The king’s daughter now flattered herself that she should be put to
no further trial; but the queen was of a different opinion; for she
shortly after sent the web down to the maiden-bower with the message,
that the princess should make it into shirts for the prince. The shirts
were to be ready before sunrise, otherwise the damsel must never hope
to have the young prince for a husband.
When the princess was alone, she felt sad at heart; for she knew that
she could not sew the queen’s web, and yet could not think of losing
the king’s son, to whom she was so dear. She therefore wandered about
the chamber, and shed a flood of tears. At this moment, the door was
softly, softly opened, and in stepped a very little woman of most
extraordinary appearance and still more extraordinary manners. The
little woman had an enormously large thumb, so that every one who saw
it must be wonderstruck. She also greeted the princess with: “Peace be
with you,” and likewise received for answer: “Peace with you.” She then
asked the young damsel why she was so sad and lonely. “I may well be
sad,” answered the princess. “The queen has commanded me to make this
web into shirts for the king’s son; and if I have not finished them
to-morrow before sunrise, I shall lose my beloved prince, who holds me
so dear.” The woman then said: “Be of good cheer, fair maiden; if it is
nothing more, I can help you. But then you must agree to a condition,
which I will mention.” At these words the princess was overjoyed,
and asked the little woman what it was she wished. “I am,” answered
she, “called Mother Bigthumb, and I desire no other reward than that
I may be present at your wedding. I have not been at a wedding since
the queen your mother-in-law stood as bride.” The princess willingly
assented to this condition, and the little woman departed. But the
princess lay down to sleep, and slept so soundly that she did not dream
even once of her dear prince.
Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, the door was opened,
and the little woman entered. She approached the bed, awakened the
princess, and gave her some shirts that were sewed and stitched so
curiously that their like was never seen. The old woman said: “See! so
beautifully as this I have not sewn since I sewed for the queen, when
she was about to stand as bride. But that was long, long ago.” With
these words the little woman disappeared; for the queen was then at the
door, being just come to inquire whether the shirts were ready. The
king’s daughter said that they were, and handed her the beautiful work.
At the sight of them the queen was so enraged that her eyes flashed
with fury. She said: “Well! take him then. I could never have imagined
that thou wast so clever as thou art.” She then went her way, slamming
the door after her.
[Illustration: Mother Bigfoot]
The king’s son and the king’s daughter were now to be united, as the
queen had promised, and great preparations were made for the wedding.
But the joy of the princess was not without alloy, when she thought
of the singular guests that were to be present. When some time had
elapsed, and the wedding was being celebrated in the good old fashion,
yet not one of the little old women appeared; although the bride
looked about in every direction. At length, when it was growing late,
and the guests were going to table, the princess discerned the three
little women, as they sat in a corner of the dining hall, at a table
by themselves. At the same moment the king stepped up to them, and
inquired who they were, as he had never seen them before. The eldest of
the three answered: “I am called Mother Bigfoot, and have such large
feet because I have been obliged to sit spinning so much in my time.”
“Oho!” said the king, “if such be the consequence, my son’s wife shall
never spin another thread.” Then turning to the second little woman, he
inquired the cause of her uncommon appearance. The old woman answered:
“I am called Mother Bigback, and am so broad behind because I have been
obliged to sit weaving so much in my time.” “Oho!” said the king, “then
my son’s wife shall weave no more.” Lastly, turning to the third old
woman, he asked her name; when Mother Bigthumb, rising from her seat,
told him that she had got so large a thumb because she had sewed so
much in her time. “Oho!” said the king, “then my son’s wife shall never
sew another stitch.” Thus the fair princess obtained the king’s son,
and also escaped from spinning, and weaving, and sewing for all the
rest of her life.
[Illustration: The Queen was so enraged that her eyes flashed fury]
When the wedding was over, the three little women went their way,
and no one knew whither they went, nor whence they came. The prince
lived happy and content with his consort, and all passed on smoothly
and peaceably; only the princess was not so industrious as her strict
mother-in-law.
* * * * *
The fairies are always glad when people do not find out who it is that
has benefited them,--for of course Mother Bigfoot, Mother Bigback, and
Mother Bigthumb were really fairies in disguise,--and were therefore
pleased at the end of the Norwegian fairy’s tale.
“Now,” said Titania, and of course her word was law, “I think I should
like a song. Nymphidia, sing to us.” Nymphidia at once stood up on the
stool and all the Queen’s maids of honour stood around it as they sang
[Illustration: Nymphidia]
[Illustration: Round about, round about, in a fine ring-a]
The Queen’s Song
Round about, round about, in a fine ring-a:
Thus we dance, thus we dance, and thus we sing-a:
Trip and go, to and fro, over this green-a,
All about, in and out, for our brave queen-a.
Round about, round about, in a fine ring-a:
Thus we dance, thus we dance, and thus we sing-a:
Trip and go, to and fro, over this green-a,
All about, in and out, for our brave queen-a.
We have danc’d round about in a fine ring-a:
We have danced lustily, and thus we sing-a,
All about, in and out, over this green-a,
To and fro, trip and go, to our brave queen-a.
* * * * *
Nymphidia and all the maids of honour having sung this little song to
their queen, Oberon thought it was time that Bottom should be made to
tell a tale, and he, you may be sure, made a clumsy enough figure as he
took his seat on the tale-teller’s stool, scratched his head and said,
“he didn’t know any fairy tales.” He tried to get away but could not
rise until the King would let him; then when he did not begin quickly
enough, Titania whispered to her maids of honour, and Hop, Mop and
Drop, Pip, Drip and Skip, Tub, Tib and Tick, Pink, Pin and Quick, Gill,
Om and Tit, Wap, Win and Mit all danced about poor Bottom, pinching
and pulling and teasing him until he roared again and the whole fairy
kingdom rang with peals of laughter. “Tell ’em about Billy MacDaniel,”
called out Flute, and without any preface Bottom at once began telling
the story of
[Illustration: Bottom]
[Illustration: He took the glass and drained it]
The Three Sneezes
Billy MacDaniel was once as likely a young man as ever shook his brogue
at a patron, emptied a quart, or handled a shillelagh; fearing for
nothing but the want of drink; caring for nothing but who should pay
for it; and thinking of nothing but how to make fun over it: drunk or
sober, a word or a blow was ever the way with Billy MacDaniel; and a
mighty easy way it is of either getting into or of ending a dispute.
More is the pity that, through the means of his thinking, and fearing,
and caring for nothing, this same Billy MacDaniel fell into bad
company; for surely the good people are the worst of all company any
one could come across.
It so happened that Billy was going home one clear frosty night not
long after Christmas; the moon was round and bright; but although it
was as fine a night as heart could wish for, he felt pinched with the
cold. “By my word,” chattered Billy, “a drop of good liquor would be no
bad thing to keep a man’s soul from freezing in him; and I wish I had
a full measure of the best.”
“Never wish it twice, Billy,” said a little man in a three-cornered
hat, bound all about with gold lace and with great silver buckles in
his shoes, so big that it was a wonder how he could carry them, and he
held out a glass as big as himself, filled with as good liquor as ever
eye looked on or lip tasted.
“Success, my little fellow,” said Billy MacDaniel, nothing daunted,
though well he knew the little man to belong to the good people;
“here’s your health, any way, and thank you kindly; no matter who pays
for the drink”; and he took the glass and drained it to the very bottom
without ever taking a second breath to it.
“Success,” said the little man; “and you’re heartily welcome, Billy;
but don’t think to cheat me as you have done others,--out with your
purse and pay me like a gentleman.”
“Is it I pay you?” said Billy; “could I not just take you up and put
you in my pocket as easily as a blackberry.”
“Billy MacDaniel,” said the little man, getting very angry, “you shall
be my servant for seven years and a day, and that is the way I will be
paid; so make ready to follow me.”
When Billy heard this he began to be very sorry for having used such
bold words towards the little man; and he felt himself, yet could not
tell how, obliged to follow the little man the livelong night about the
country, up and down, and over hedge and ditch, and through bog and
brake without any rest.
When morning began to dawn, the little man turned round to him and
said, “You may now go home, Billy, but on your peril don’t fail to meet
me in the Fort-field to-night; or if you do it may be the worse for
you in the long-run. If I find you a good servant you will find me an
indulgent master.”
Home went Billy MacDaniel; and though he was tired and weary enough,
never a wink of sleep could he get for thinking of the little man; but
he was afraid not to do his bidding, so up he got in the evening, and
away he went to the Fort-field. He was not long there before the little
man came towards him and said, “Billy, I want to go a long journey
to-night; so saddle one of my horses, and you may saddle another for
yourself, as you are to go along with me, and may be tired after your
walk last night.”
Billy thought this very considerate of his master, and thanked him
accordingly: “But,” said he, “if I may be so bold, sir, I would ask
which is the way to your stable, for never a thing do I see but the
fort here, and the old thorn tree in the corner of the field, and the
stream running at the bottom of the hill, with the bit of bog over
against us.”
“Ask no questions, Billy,” said the little man, “but go over to that
bit of bog, and bring me two of the strongest rushes you can find.”
Billy did accordingly, wondering what the little man would be at; and
he picked out two or three of the stoutest rushes he could find, with
a little bunch of brown blossom stuck at the side of each, and brought
them back to his master.
“Get up, Billy,” said the little man, taking one of the rushes from him
and striding across it.
“Where shall I get up, please your honour?” said Billy.
“Why, upon horseback, like me, to be sure,” said the little man.
“Is it after making a fool of me you’d be,” said Billy, “bidding me get
a horseback upon that bit of a rush? Maybe you want to persuade me that
the rush I pulled but while ago out of the bog over there is a horse?”
“Up! Up! and no words,” said the little man, looking very angry; “the
best horse you ever rode was but a fool to it.” So Billy, thinking
all this was in joke, and fearing to vex his master, straddled across
the rush. “Borram! Borram! Borram!” cried the little man three times
(which, in English, means to become great), and Billy did the same
after him: presently the rushes swelled up into fine horses, and away
they went full speed; but Billy, who had put the rush between his legs,
without much minding how he did it, found himself sitting on horseback
the wrong way, which was rather awkward, with his face to the horse’s
tail; and so quickly had his steed started off with him that he had no
power to turn round, and there was therefore nothing for it but to hold
on by the tail.
[Illustration: Billy found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way]
At last they came to their journey’s end, and stopped at the gate of a
fine house: “Now, Billy,” said the little man, “do as you see me do,
and follow me close; but as you did not know your horse’s head from his
tail, mind that your own head does not spin round until you can’t tell
whether you are standing on it or on your heels: for remember that old
liquor, though able to make a cat speak, can make a man dumb.”
The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy
could make no meaning; but he contrived to say them after him for
all that; and in they both went through the key-hole of the door,
and through one key-hole after another, until they got into the wine
cellar, which was well-stored with all kinds of wine.
The little man fell to drinking as hard as he could, and Billy, no
way disliking the example, did the same. “The best of masters are
you, surely,” said Billy to him; “no matter who is the next; and well
pleased will I be with your service if you continue to give me plenty
to drink.”
“I have made no bargain with you,” said the little man, “and will make
none; but up and follow me.”
Away they went through key-hole after key-hole; and each mounting
upon the rush which he left at the hall door, scampered off, kicking
the clouds before them like snowballs, as soon as the words, “Borram,
Borram, Borram,” had passed their lips.
When they came back to the Fort-field, the little man dismissed Billy,
bidding him be there the next night at the same hour. Thus did they go
on, night after night, shaping their course one night here, and another
night there--sometimes north, and sometimes east, and sometimes south,
until there was not a gentleman’s wine-cellar in all Ireland they had
not visited and could tell the flavour of every wine in it as well--ay,
better than the butler himself.
One night when Billy MacDaniel met the little man as usual in the
Fort-field, and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their
journey, his master said to him, “Billy, I shall want another horse
to-night, for maybe we may bring back more company than we take.” So
Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by
his master, brought a third rush much wondering who it might be that
would travel back in their company, and whether he was about to have a
fellow-servant. “If I have,” thought Billy, “he shall go and fetch the
horses from the bog every night; for I don’t see why I am not, every
inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master.”
Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped
until they came to a snug farmer’s house in the county Limerick, close
under the old castle of Carrigogunniel, that was built they say, by
the great Brian Boru. Within the house there was great carousing going
forward, and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen;
then turning round all of a sudden said, “Billy, I will be a thousand
years old to-morrow.”
“God bless us, sir,” said Billy, “will you?”
“Don’t say these words again, Billy,” said the little man, “or you will
be my ruin for ever. Now, Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the
world to-morrow, I think it is full time for me to get married.”
“I think so too, without any kind of doubt at all,” said Billy, “if
ever you mean to marry.”
“And to that purpose,” said the little man, “have I come all the way
to Carrigogunniel; for in this house, this very night, is young Darby
Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney; and as she is a tall and
comely girl and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her
myself and taking her off with me.”
“And what will Darby Riley say to that?” said Billy.
“Silence,” said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look: “I
did not bring you here with me to ask questions;” and without holding
further argument, he began saying the queer words which had the power
of passing him through the key-hole as free as air, and which Billy
thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.
In they both went; and for the better viewing the company, the little
man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock sparrow upon one of the big
beams which went across the house over all their heads, and Billy did
the same upon another facing him; but not being much accustomed to
roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be, and
it was quite clear he had not taken pattern after the way in which the
little man had bundled himself up together. If the little man had been
a tailor all his life he could not have sat more contentedly upon his
haunches.
There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun that
was going forward; and under them were the priest and piper, and the
father of Darby Riley, with Darby’s two brothers and his uncle’s son;
and they were both the father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and
proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good
right they had; and her four sisters, with bran new ribbons in their
caps, and her three brothers all looking as clean and as clever as any
three boys in Munster, and there were uncles and aunts, and gossips and
cousins enough besides to make a full house of it; and plenty was there
to eat and drink on the table for every one of them, if they had been
double the number.
Now it happened, just as Mrs Rooney had helped his reverence to the
first cut of the pig’s head which was placed before her, beautifully
bolstered up with white savoys, that the bride gave a sneeze, which
made every one at table start, but no one said, “God bless us.” All
thinking that the priest would have done so, as he ought if he had
done his duty, no one wished to take the word out of his mouth, which
unfortunately was pre-occupied with pig’s head and greens. And after
a moment’s pause the fun and merriment of the bridal feast went on
without the pious benediction.
Of this circumstance both Billy and his master were no inattentive
spectators from their exalted stations. “Ha,” exclaimed the little man,
throwing one leg from under him with a joyous flourish, and his eye
twinkled with a strange light, whilst his eyebrows became elevated into
the curvature of Gothic arches--“Ha,” said he, leering down at the
bride, and then up at Billy, “I have half of her now, surely. Let her
sneeze out twice more, and she is mine, in spite of priest, mass-book,
and Darby Riley.”
[Illustration: Billy danced the Rinka]
Again the fair Bridget sneezed; but it was so gently, and she blushed
so much, that few except the little man took, or seemed to take, any
notice; and no one thought of saying “God bless us.”
Billy all this time regarded the poor girl with a most rueful
expression of countenance; for he could not help thinking what a
terrible thing it was for a nice young girl of nineteen, with large
blue eyes, transparent skin, and dimpled cheeks, suffused with health
and joy, to be obliged to marry an ugly little bit of a man, who was a
thousand years old barring a day.
At this critical moment the bride gave a third sneeze, and Billy
roared out with all his might, “God save us.” Whether this exclamation
resulted from his soliloquy, or from the mere force of habit, he never
could tell exactly himself; but no sooner was it uttered than the
little man, his face glowing with rage and disappointment, sprung from
the beam on which he had perched himself, and shrieking out in the
voice of a cracked bagpipe, “I discharge you from my service, Billy
MacDaniel--take _that_ for your wages,” gave poor Billy a most furious
kick in the back, which sent his unfortunate servant sprawling upon his
face and hands right in the middle of the supper table.
If Billy was astonished, how much more so was every one of the company
into which he was thrown with so little ceremony. But when they heard
his story, Father Cooney laid down his knife and fork, and married the
young couple out of hand with all speed; and Billy MacDaniel danced the
Rinka at their wedding, and plenty did he drink at it too, which was
what he thought more of than dancing.
* * * * *
Bottom was mighty glad when his story was over, for he did not like
the feeling that he could not get up from the stool when he tried,
and he did not like to hear how small a voice he was speaking in; he
would have liked to speak big and show what a great fellow he was in
that queer company, but there he sat unable to move, and roaring as
gently as any sucking dove to use his own words. As soon as he had got
to the last word of his story he found that he could get up and off he
floundered to his companions.
“Another _fairy_ this time,” said King Oberon, as though he had not
altogether relished Bottom’s story; “the Danish Elves have told us
nothing yet.”
At this, which was of course equal to a command, a Danish Elf came
forward, seated himself and began to tell about
[Illustration: The Danish Elf]
[Illustration: Some lizards were running in and out of the clefts in an
old tree]
The Elf Hill
Some lizards were nimbly running in and out of the clefts in an old
tree. They understood each other very well, for they all spoke lizard
language.
“What a rumbling and grumbling is going on inside the old Elf-hill,”
said one of the lizards. “I have not closed my eyes for the last two
nights for the noise. I might just as well be having toothache, for all
the sleep I get!”
“There is something up inside,” said the other lizard. “They propped up
the top of the hill on four red posts till cockcrow this morning, to
air it out thoroughly; and the elf maidens have been learning some new
dancing steps, which they are always practising. There certainly must
be something going on.”
“Yes, I was talking to an earthworm of my acquaintance about it,”
said the third lizard. “He came straight up out of the hill, where
he had been boring into the earth for days and nights. He had heard
a good deal, for the miserable creature can’t see, but it can feel
its way, and plays the part of eavesdropper to perfection. They are
expecting visitors in the Elf-hill, grand visitors; but who they are
the earthworm refused to say or perhaps he did not know. All the
will-o’-the-wisps are ordered for a procession of torches, as it is
called; and the silver and gold plate, of which there is any amount in
the hill, is all being polished up and put out in the moonlight.”
“Whoever can the strangers be?” said all the lizards together.
“What on earth is happening? Hark! what a humming and buzzing!”
At this moment the Elf-hill opened, and an elderly elf-maiden tripped
out. She was hollow behind, but otherwise quite attractively dressed.
She was the old elf-king’s housekeeper, and a distant relative. She
wore an amber heart upon her forehead. She moved her legs at a great
pace, “trip, trip.” Good heavens! how fast she tripped over the ground;
she went right down to the night-jar in the swamp.
“You are invited to the Elf-hill for to-night,” she said to him. “But
will you be so kind as to charge yourself with the other invitations.
You must make yourself useful in other ways, as you don’t keep house
yourself. We are going to have some very distinguished visitors,
goblins, who always have something to say, and so the old elf-king
means to show what he can do.”
“Who is to be invited?” asked the night-jar.
“Well, everybody may come to the big ball, even human beings, if they
can only talk in their sleep, or do something else after our fashion.
But the choice is to be strictly limited for the grand feast. We will
only have the most distinguished people. I have had a battle with the
Elf-king about it; because I hold that we mustn’t even include ghosts.
The merman and his daughters must be invited first. I don’t suppose
they care much about coming on dry land, but I shall see that they each
have a wet stone to sit on, or something better; so I expect they won’t
decline this time. All the old demons of the first-class, with tails,
the River-god, and the wood-sprites. And then I don’t think we can pass
over the Grave-pig, the Hell-horse, and the Church-grim, although they
belong to the clergy, who are not of our people; but that is merely on
account of their office, and they are closely connected with us, and
visit us very frequently.”
“Croak,” said the night-jar, and he flew off to issue the invitations.
The elf-maidens had already begun to dance, and they danced a
scarf-dance, with scarves woven of mist and moonshine; these have a
lovely effect to those who care for that kind of thing. The great
hall in the middle of the Elf-hill had been thoroughly polished up
for the occasion. The floor was washed with moonshine, and the walls
were rubbed over with witches’ fat, and this made them shine with many
colours, like a tulip petal. The kitchen was full of frogs on spits,
stuffed snake skins, and salads of toad-stool spawn, mouse snouts and
hemlock. Then there was beer brewed by the marsh witch, and sparkling
saltpetre wine from the vaults. Everything of the best, and rusty nails
and church window panes among the kickshaws.
The old Elf-king had his golden crown polished with pounded
slate-pencil, ay, and it was a head-boy’s slate-pencil too, and they
are not so easy to get. They hung up fresh curtains in the bedroom, and
fixed them with the slime of snails. Yes, indeed, there was a humming
and a buzzing.
“Now we will fumigate, with horse-hair and pig’s bristles, and then I
can do no more!” said the old elf-servant.
“Dear father!” said the youngest of the daughters, “are you not going
to tell me who these grand strangers are?”
“Well, well,” he said, “I suppose I must tell you now. Two of my
daughters must prepare themselves to be married,--two will certainly
make marriages. The old Trold chieftain from Norway, that lives on the
Dovrefield among his many rock castles and fastnesses and gold works,
which are better than you would expect, is coming down here with his
two sons. They are coming to look for wives. The old Trold is a regular
honest Norwegian veteran, straightforward and merry. I used to know him
in the olden days, when we drank to our good fellowship. He came here
to fetch a wife, but she is dead now. She was a daughter of the king of
the chalk cliffs at Möen. As the saying is, ‘he took his wife on the
chalk,’ that is, bought her on tick. I am quite anxious to see the old
fellow. The sons, they say, are a pair of overgrown, ill-mannered cubs;
but perhaps they are not so bad; I daresay they will improve as they
grow older. See if you can’t lick them into shape a bit.”
“And when do they come?” asked one of the daughters.
“That depends upon wind and weather,” said the Elf-king. “They travel
economically, and they will take their chance of a ship. I wanted them
to come round by Sweden, but the old fellow can’t bring himself to that
yet. He doesn’t march with the times, but I don’t hold with that!”
At this moment two will-o’-the-wisps came hopping along, one faster
than the other, so of course one arrived before the other.
“They are coming, they are coming!” they cried.
“Give me my crown, and let me stand in the moonlight,” said the
Elf-king.
The daughters raised their scarves and curtseyed to the ground.
There stood the Trold chieftain from the Dovrefield; he wore a crown of
hardened icicles and polished fir-cones, and besides this, he had on a
bear-skin coat and snow-shoes. His sons, on the other hand, had bare
necks and wore no braces, because they were strong men.
“Is that a hill?” asked the youngest of the brothers, pointing to the
Elf-hill. “We should call it a hole in Norway.”
“Lads!” cried the old man, “holes go inwards, hills go upwards? Haven’t
you got eyes in your heads?”
The only thing that astonished them, they said, was that they
understood the language without any trouble.
“Don’t make fools of yourselves,” said the old man; “one might think
you were only half baked.”
Then they went into the Elf-hill, where the company was of the
grandest, although they had been got together in such a hurry; you
might almost say they had been blown together. It was all charming, and
arranged to suit everyone’s taste. The merman and his daughters sat at
table in great tubs of water, and said it was just like being at home.
Everybody had excellent table manners, except the two young Norwegian
Trolds; they put their feet up on the table, but then they thought
anything they did was right.
“Take your feet out of the way of the dishes,” said the old Trold, and
they obeyed him, but not at once. They tickled the ladies they took
in to dinner with fir-cones out of their pockets; then they pulled
off their boots, so as to be quite comfortable, and handed the boots
to the ladies to hold. Their father the old Trold chieftain, was very
different; he told no end of splendid stories about the proud Norwegian
mountains, and the waterfalls dashing down in white foam with a roar
like thunder. He told them about the salmon leaping up against the
rushing water, when the nixies played with golden harps. Then he went
on to tell them about the sparkling winter nights when the sledge bells
rang and the lads flew over the ice with blazing lights, the ice which
was so transparent that you could see the startled fish darting away
under your feet. Yes, indeed, he could tell stories, you could see and
hear the things he described; the saw mills going, the men and maids
singing their songs and dancing the merry Halling dance. Huzza! All at
once the old Trold gave the elf housekeeper a smacking kiss, such a
kiss it was, and yet they were not a bit related. Then the elf-maidens
had to dance, first plain dancing, and then step dancing, and it was
most becoming to them. Then came a fancy dance.
Preserve us, how nimble they were on their legs, you couldn’t tell
where they began or where they ended, you couldn’t tell which were arms
and which were legs, they were all mixed up together like shavings
in a saw-pit. They twirled round and round so often that it made the
Hell-horse feel quite giddy and unwell and he had to leave the table.
“Prrrrr!” said the old Trold. “There is some life in those legs, but
what else can they do besides dancing and pointing their toes and all
those whirligigs?”
“We will soon shew you!” said the Elf-king, and he called out his
youngest daughter; she was thin and transparent as moonshine, and was
the most ethereal of all the daughters. She put a little white stick in
her mouth and vanished instantly; this was her accomplishment.
But the Trold said he did not like that accomplishment in a wife, nor
did he think his boys would appreciate it. The second one could walk by
her own side as if she had a shadow, and no elves have shadows.
The third was quite different; she had studied in the marsh witches’
brewery, and understood larding alder stumps with glow-worms.
“She will be a good housewife,” said the Trold, and then he saluted her
with his eyes instead of drinking her health, for he did not want to
drink too much.
Now came the turn of the fourth; she had a big golden harp to play,
and when she touched the first string everybody lifted up their left
legs (for all the elfin folk are left legged). But when she touched the
second string everybody had to do what she wished.
“She is a dangerous woman!” said the Trold, but both his sons left the
hill, for they were tired of it all.
“And what can the next daughter do?” asked the old Trold.
“I have learnt to like the Norwegians,” she said, “and I shall never
marry unless I can go to Norway!”
But the smallest of the sisters whispered to the Trold, “that is only
because she once heard a song which said that when the world came to an
end, the rocks of Norway would still stand, and that is why she wants
to go there, she is so afraid of being exterminated.”
“Ho, ho!” said the Trold, “so that slipped out. But what can the
seventh do?”
“The sixth comes before the seventh,” said the Elf-king, for he could
reckon, but she would not come forward.
“I can only tell people the truth,” she said. “Nobody cares for me, and
I have enough to do in making my winding sheet.”
[Illustration: Preserve us how nimble they were on their legs]
Now came the seventh and last, what could she do? Well she could tell
stories as many as ever she liked.
“Here are my five fingers,” said the old Trold, “tell me a story for
each one.”
The elf-maiden took hold of his wrist, and he chuckled and laughed,
till he nearly choked. When she came to the fourth finger, which had a
gold ring on it, as if it knew there was to be a betrothal, the Trold
said, “Hold fast what you have got, the hand is yours, I will have
you for a wife myself!” The elf-maiden said that the stories about
Guldbrand, the fourth finger, and little Peter Playman, the fifth, had
not yet been told.
“Never mind, keep those till winter. Then you shall tell us about the
fir, and the birch, and the fairy gifts, and the tingling frost. You
shall have every opportunity of telling us stories; nobody up there
does it yet. We will sit in the Stone Hall, where the pine logs blaze,
and drink mead out of the golden horns of the old Norwegian kings. The
river god gave me a couple. When we sit there the mountain sprite comes
to pay us a visit, and he will sing you the songs of the Sæter girls.
The salmon will leap in the waterfalls, and beat against the stone
wall, but it won’t get in. Ah, you may believe me when I say that we
lead a merry life there in good old Norway. But where are the lads?”
Yes, where were the lads? They were running about the fields, blowing
out the will-o’-the-wisps, who came so willingly for the torchlight
procession.
“Why do you gad about out there?” said the Trold. “I have taken a
mother for you, now you can come and take one of the aunts.”
But the lads said they would rather make a speech, and drink toasts;
they had no wish to marry. Then they made their speeches, and drank
toasts and tipped their glasses up to shew that they had emptied them.
After that they pulled off their coats and went to sleep on the table,
to show that they were quite at home. But the old Trold danced round
and round the room with his young bride, and exchanged boots with her,
which was grander than exchanging rings.
“There is the cock crowing!” said the old housekeeper. “Now we must
shut the shutters, so that the sun may not burn us up.”
Then the hill closed up. But the lizards went on running up and down
the clefts of the tree; and they said to each other, “Ah, how much I
liked the old Trold.”
[Illustration: “I like the boys better,” said the earthworm]
“I liked the boys better,” said the earthworm, “but then it couldn’t
see, poor, miserable creature that it was.”
* * * * *
“That reminds me of another story,” said the French Fay, who had
already told one story, but was evidently ready and willing to tell
another.
“We don’t want to hear two stories that are like each other,” said King
Oberon.
“Please your Majesty it is not like that which the Danish Elf has just
told, only his one reminded me of mine,” answered the Fay.
“What is it about?” enquired the Queen who remembered how much she had
liked the dainty little creature’s first tale.
“It is a story showing how that which is ugly may become beautiful
through love,” readily responded the French Fay.
“Let us hear it,” said Oberon, “if my Titania wishes it.”
Titania having answered that she certainly _did_ wish it, the Fay
sprang lightly to the stool and began telling the pretty little love
story of
[Illustration: The French Fay]
[Illustration: It was doubted whether his form were really human]
Riquet with the Tuft
Once upon a time there was a Queen who had a son, so ugly and
misshapen, that it was doubted for a long time whether his form
was really human. A fairy, who was present at his birth, affirmed,
nevertheless, that he would be worthy to be loved, as he would have
an excellent wit; she added, moreover, that by virtue of the gift she
had bestowed upon him, he would be able to impart equal intelligence
to the one whom he loved best. All this was some consolation to the
poor Queen, who was much distressed at having brought so ugly a little
monkey into the world. It is true that the child was no sooner able
to speak than he said a thousand pretty things, and that in all his
ways there was a certain air of intelligence, with which everyone was
charmed. I had forgotten to say that he was born with a little tuft of
hair on his head, and so he came to be called Riquet with the Tuft; for
Riquet was the family name.
About seven or eight years later, the Queen of a neighbouring kingdom
had two daughters. The elder was fairer than the day, and the Queen
was so delighted, that it was feared some harm might come to her from
her great joy. The same fairy who had assisted at the birth of little
Riquet, was present upon this occasion, and in order to moderate the
joy of the Queen, she told her that this little Princess would have
no gifts of mind at all, and that she would be as stupid as she was
beautiful. The Queen was greatly mortified on hearing this, but,
shortly after, she was even more annoyed, when her second little
daughter was born and proved to be extremely ugly. “Do not distress
yourself, madam,” said the fairy to her, “your daughter will find
compensation, for she will have so much intelligence, that her lack of
beauty will scarcely be perceived.”
“Heaven send it may be so,” replied the Queen; “but are there no means
whereby a little more understanding might be given to the elder, who
is so lovely?” “I can do nothing for her in the way of intelligence,
madam,” said the fairy, “but everything in the way of beauty; as,
however, there is nothing in my power I would not do to give you
comfort, I will bestow on her the power of conferring beauty on any man
or woman who shall please her.” As these two Princesses grew up, their
endowments also became more perfect, and nothing was talked of anywhere
but the beauty of the elder, and the intelligence of the younger. It
is true that their defects also greatly increased with their years.
The younger became uglier every moment, and the elder more stupid
every day. She either made no answer when she was spoken to, or else
said something foolish. With this she was so clumsy, that she could
not even place four pieces of china on a mantelshelf, without breaking
one of them, or drink a glass of water, without spilling half of it on
her dress. Notwithstanding the attraction of beauty, the younger, in
whatever society they might be, nearly always bore away the palm from
her sister. At first everyone went up to the more beautiful, to gaze at
and admire her; but they soon left her for the cleverer one, to listen
to her many pleasant and amusing sayings; and people were astonished to
find that in less than a quarter of an hour, the elder had not a soul
near her, while all the company had gathered round the younger. The
elder, though very stupid, noticed this, and would have given, without
regret, all her beauty, for half the sense of her sister. Discreet
as she was, the Queen could not help often reproaching her with her
stupidity, which made the poor Princess ready to die of grief.
One day, when she had gone by herself into a wood, to weep over her
misfortune, she saw approaching her, a little man of very ugly and
unpleasant appearance, but magnificently dressed. It was the young
Prince Riquet with the Tuft, who, having fallen in love with her from
seeing her portraits, which were sent all over the world, had left his
father’s kingdom that he might have the pleasure of beholding her and
speaking to her. Enchanted at meeting her thus alone, he addressed
her with all the respect and politeness imaginable. Having remarked,
after paying her the usual compliments, that she was very melancholy,
he said to her, “I cannot understand, madam, how a person so beautiful
as you are can be so unhappy as you appear; for, although I can boast
of having seen an infinite number of beautiful people, I can say with
truth that I have never seen one whose beauty could be compared with
yours.”
“You are pleased to say so, sir,” replied the Princess, and there she
stopped.
“Beauty,” continued Riquet, “is so great an advantage, that it ought to
take the place of every other, and, possessed of it, I see nothing that
can have power to afflict one.”
“I would rather,” said the Princess, “be as ugly as you are, and have
intelligence, than possess the beauty I do, and be so stupid as I am.”
“There is no greater proof of intelligence, madam, than the belief that
we have it not; it is the nature of that gift, that the more we have,
the more we believe ourselves to be without it.”
“I do not know how that may be,” said the Princess, “but I know well
enough that I am very stupid, and that is the cause of the grief that
is killing me.”
“If that is all that troubles you, madam, I can easily put an end to
your sorrow.”
“And how would you do that?” said the Princess.
“I have the power, madam,” said Riquet with the Tuft, “to give as
much intelligence as it is possible to possess, to the person whom I
love best; as you, madam, are that person, it will depend entirely
upon yourself, whether or not you become gifted with this amount of
intelligence, provided that you are willing to marry me.”
The Princess was struck dumb with astonishment, and replied not a word.
“I see,” said Riquet with the Tuft, “that this proposal troubles you,
and I am not surprised, but I will give you a full year to consider it.”
The Princess had so little sense, and at the same time was so anxious
to have a great deal, that she thought the end of that year would never
come; so she at once accepted the offer that was made her. She had no
sooner promised Riquet with the Tuft that she would marry him that day
twelve months, than she felt herself quite another person.
She found she was able to say whatever she pleased, with a readiness
past belief, and of saying it in a clever, but easy and natural manner.
She immediately began a sprightly and well-sustained conversation with
Riquet with the Tuft, and was so brilliant in her talk, that Riquet
with the Tuft began to think he had given her more wit than he had
reserved for himself. On her return to the palace, the whole Court was
puzzled to account for a change so sudden and extraordinary; for the
number of foolish things which they had been accustomed to hear from
her, she now made as many sensible and exceedingly witty remarks. All
the Court was in a state of joy not to be described. The younger sister
alone was not altogether pleased, for, having lost her superiority over
her sister in the way of intelligence, she now only appeared by her
side as a very unpleasing-looking person.
The King now began to be guided by his elder daughter’s advice, and
at times even held his Council in her apartments. The news of the
change of affairs was spread abroad, and all the young princes of the
neighbouring kingdoms exerted themselves to gain her affection, and
nearly all of them asked her hand in marriage. She found none of them,
however, intelligent enough to please her, and she listened to all of
them, without engaging herself to one.
At length arrived a Prince, so rich and powerful, so clever and so
handsome, that she could not help listening willingly to his addresses.
Her father, having perceived this, told her that he left her at perfect
liberty to choose a husband for herself, and that she had only to make
known her decision. As the more intelligence we possess, the more
difficulty we find in making up our mind on such a matter as this, she
begged her father, after having thanked him, to allow her time to think
about it.
She went, by chance, to walk in the same wood in which she had met
Riquet with the Tuft, in order to meditate more uninterruptedly over
what she had to do. While she was walking, deep in thought, she heard
a dull sound beneath her feet, as of many persons running to and fro,
and busily occupied. Having listened more attentively, she heard one
say, “Bring me that saucepan;” another, “Give me that kettle;” another,
“Put some wood on the fire.” At the same moment the ground opened, and
she saw beneath her what appeared to be a large kitchen, full of cooks,
scullions, and all sorts of servants necessary for the preparation of
a magnificent banquet. There came forth a band of about twenty to
thirty cooks, who went and established themselves in an avenue of the
wood, at a very long table, and who, each with the larding-pin in his
hand and the tail of his fur cap over his ear, set to work, keeping
time to a harmonious song.
[Illustration: There came forth a band of cooks]
The Princess, astonished at this sight, asked the men for whom they
were working.
“Madam,” replied the chief among them, “for Prince Riquet with the
Tuft, whose marriage will take place to-morrow.” The Princess, still
more surprised than she was before, and suddenly recollecting that it
was just a twelvemonth from the day on which she had promised to marry
Prince Riquet with the Tuft, was overcome with trouble and amazement.
The reason of her not having remembered her promise was, that when she
made it she had been a very foolish person, and when she became gifted
with the new mind that the Prince had given her, she had forgotten all
her follies.
She had not taken another thirty steps, when Riquet with the Tuft
presented himself before her, gaily and splendidly attired, like a
Prince about to be married. “You see, madam,” said he, “I keep my word
punctually, and I doubt not that you have come thither to keep yours,
and to make me, by the giving of your hand, the happiest of men.”
“I confess to you, frankly,” answered the Princess, “that I have not
yet made up my mind on that matter, and that I do not think I shall
ever be able to do so in the way you wish.” “You astonish me, madam,”
said Riquet with the Tuft. “I have no doubt I do,” said the Princess;
“and assuredly, had I to deal with a stupid person, with a man without
intelligence, I should feel greatly perplexed. ‘A Princess is bound
by her word,’ he would say to me, ‘and you must marry me, as you have
promised to do so.’ But as the person to whom I speak is, of all men in
the world, the one of greatest sense and understanding, I am certain
he will listen to reason. You know that, when I was no better than a
fool, I nevertheless could not decide to marry you--how can you expect,
now that I have the mind which you have given me, and which renders me
much more difficult to please than before, that I should take to-day a
resolution which I could not then? If you seriously thought of marrying
me, you did very wrong to take away my stupidity, and so enable me to
see more clearly than I saw then.” “If a man without intelligence,”
replied Riquet with the Tuft, “who reproached you with your breach of
promise, might have a right, as you have just intimated, to be treated
with indulgence, why would you, madam, that I should receive less
consideration in a matter which affects the entire happiness of my
life? Is it reasonable that persons of intellect should be in a worse
position than those that have none? Can you assert this--you who have
so much, and who so earnestly desired to possess it? But let us come to
the point, if you please. Setting aside my ugliness, is there anything
in me that displeases you? Are you dissatisfied with my birth, my
understanding, my temper, or my manners?”
“Not in the least,” replied the Princess; “I admire in you everything
you have mentioned.”
“If that is so,” rejoined Riquet with the Tuft, “I shall soon be happy,
as you have it in your power to make me the most pleasing looking of
men.”
“How can that be done?” asked the Princess.
“It can be done,” said Riquet with the Tuft, “if you love me
sufficiently to wish that it should be. And, in order, madam, that you
should have no doubt about it, know that the same fairy, who, on the
day I was born, endowed me with the power to give intelligence to the
person I chose, gave you also the power to render handsome the man you
should love, and on whom you should wish to bestow this favour.”
“If such be the fact,” said the Princess, “I wish, with all my heart,
that you should become the handsomest and most lovable Prince in the
world, and I bestow the gift on you to the fullest extent in my power.”
The Princess had no sooner pronounced these words than Riquet with the
Tuft appeared to her eyes, of all men in the world, the handsomest,
the best made, and most attractive she had ever seen. There are some
who assert that it was not the spell of the fairy, but love alone that
caused the metamorphosis. They say that the Princess, having reflected
on the perseverance of her lover, on his prudence, and on all the
good qualities of his heart and mind, no longer saw the deformity of
his body, or the ugliness of his features; that his hump appeared to
her nothing more than a good-natured shrug of his shoulders, and that
instead of noticing, as she had done, how badly he limped, she saw
in him only a certain lounging air, which charmed her. They say also
that his eyes, which squinted, only seemed to her the more brilliant
for this; and that the crookedness of his glance was to her merely
expressive of his great love; and, finally, that his great red nose had
in it, to her mind, something martial and heroic. However this may be,
the Princess promised on the spot to marry him, provided he obtained
the consent of the King, her father. The King, having learned that his
daughter entertained a great regard for Riquet with the Tuft, whom
he knew also to be a very clever and wise Prince, received him with
pleasure as his son-in-law. The wedding took place the next morning, as
Riquet with the Tuft had foreseen, and according to the orders which he
had given a long time before.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
No beauty, no talent, has power above
Some indefinite charm discern’d only by love.
* * * * *
“That is delightful, but it is _much_ too short,” said Titania
smilingly.
“It is better too short than too long,” answered Oberon, “but perhaps
the pretty little story-teller has another one for us?”
“If your Majesties wish it,” replied the dainty creature.
“Let it be a longer one this time,” said Titania, “and let it be
another tale of true love, _please_.”
The French Fay considered for a moment, and then said, as if to
herself, “I _do_ know another story of true love rewarded after strange
adventures, but I’m afraid it will be too long for his Majesty’s taste.”
“This one is for _me_,” said Titania, turning smilingly to the King,
“and my Oberon need not listen if he does not wish to.”
“Be it as my Queen wishes,” said Oberon, who was really excited by the
promise of hearing of strange adventures.
Then there was a sort of dainty rustling as of the breeze toying with
the summer leaves while all the fairies about the circle settled
comfortably down to listen to the long story which the French Fay named
[Illustration: The French Fay]
[Illustration: The cap of roses]
The Benevolent Frog
There was once a King who for many years had been engaged in a war with
his neighbours; a great number of battles had been fought, and at last
the enemy laid siege to his capital. The King, fearing for the safety
of the Queen, begged her to retire to a fortified castle, which he
himself had never visited but once. The Queen endeavoured, with many
prayers and tears, to persuade him to allow her to remain beside him
and to share his fate, and it was with loud cries of grief that she
was put into her chariot by the King to be driven away. He ordered his
guards, however, to accompany her, and promised to steal away when
possible to visit her. He tried to comfort her with this hope, although
he knew that there was little chance of fulfilling it, for the castle
stood a long distance off, surrounded by a thick forest, and only those
who were well acquainted with the roads could possibly find their way
to it.
The Queen parted from her husband, broken-hearted at leaving him
exposed to the dangers of war; she travelled by easy stages, in
case the fatigue of so long a journey should make her ill; at last
she reached the castle, feeling low-spirited and distressed. When
sufficiently rested, she walked about the surrounding country, but
found nothing to interest her or divert her thoughts. She saw only
far-spreading desert tracts on either side, which gave her more pain
than pleasure to look upon; sadly she gazed around her, exclaiming at
intervals, “What a contrast between this place and that in which I have
lived all my life! If I stay here long I shall die! To whom have I to
talk in these solitudes? With whom can I share my troubles? What have
I done to the King that he should banish me? He wishes me, it seems,
to feel the full bitterness of our separation, by exiling me to this
miserable castle.”
Thus she lamented; and although the King wrote daily to her, and sent
her good news of the progress of the siege, she grew more and more
unhappy, and at last determined that she would return to him. Knowing,
however, that the officers who were in attendance upon her had received
orders not to take her back, unless the King sent a special messenger,
she kept her design secret, but ordered a small chariot to be built
for her, in which there was only room for one, saying that she should
like sometimes to accompany the hunt. She drove herself, and followed
so closely on the hounds, that the huntsmen were left behind; by this
means she had sole command of her chariot, and could get away whenever
she liked. Her only difficulty was her ignorance of the roads that
traversed the forest; but she trusted to the kindness of Providence to
bring her safely through it. She gave word that there was to be a great
hunt, and that she wished everybody to be there; she herself would go
in her chariot, and each was to follow a different route, that there
might be no possibility of escape for the wild beasts. Everything
was done according to her orders. The young Queen, feeling sure that
she should soon see her husband again, dressed herself as becomingly
as possible; her hat was covered with feathers of different colours,
the front of her dress lavishly trimmed with precious stones, and her
beauty, which was of no ordinary kind, made her seem, when so adorned,
a second Diana.
While everybody was occupied with the pleasures of the hunt, she gave
rein to her horses, encouraged them with voice and whip, and soon their
quickened pace became a gallop; then, taking the bit between their
teeth, they flew along at such a speed, that the chariot seemed borne
by the winds, and the eye could scarcely follow it. Too late the poor
Queen repented of her rashness: “What could I have been thinking of?”
she said. “How could I have imagined that I should be able to control
such wild and fiery horses? Alas! what will become of me? What would
the King do if he knew the great danger I am in, he who loves me so
dearly, and who only sent me away that I might be in greater safety!
This is my gratitude for his tender care!” The air resounded with her
piteous lamentations; she invoked Heaven, she called the fairies to her
assistance, but it seemed that all the powers had abandoned her. The
chariot was overthrown; she had not sufficient strength to jump quickly
enough to the ground, and her foot was caught between the wheel and the
axle-tree; it was only by a miracle she was saved.
[Illustration: Placing the queen on her back she carried her to her
cave]
She remained stretched on the ground at the foot of a tree; her heart
scarcely beat, she could not speak, and her face was covered with
blood. She lay thus for a long time; when at last she opened her eyes,
she saw, standing near her, a woman of gigantic stature, clothed only
in a lion’s skin, with bare arms and legs, her hair tied up with the
dried skin of a snake, the head of which dangled over her shoulders; in
her hand was a club made of stone, which served her as a walking-stick,
and a quiver full of arrows was fastened to her side. When the Queen
caught sight of this extraordinary figure, she felt sure that she was
dead, for she did not think it was possible that she could be alive
after such a terrible accident, and she said in a low voice to herself,
“I am not surprised that it is so difficult to resolve to die, since
what is to be seen in the other world is so frightful.” The giantess,
who overheard her words, could not help laughing at the Queen’s idea
that she was dead. “Take courage,” she said to her, “for know that
you are still among the living; but your fate is none the less sad.
I am the Fairy Lioness, whose dwelling is near here; you must come
and live with me.” The Queen looked sorrowfully at her, and said, “If
you will be good enough, Madam Lioness, to take me back to my castle,
and tell the King what ransom you demand, he loves me so dearly, that
he will not refuse you even the half of his kingdom.” “No,” replied
the giantess, “I am rich enough, but for some time past my lonely
life has seemed dull to me; you are intelligent, and will be able
perhaps to amuse me.” As she finished speaking, she took the form of
a lioness, and placing the Queen on her back, she carried her to the
depths of her cave, and there rubbed her with a spirit which quickly
healed the Queen’s wounds. But what surprise and misery for the Queen
to find herself in this dreadful abode! It was only reached by ten
thousand steps, which led down to the centre of the earth; there was
no light but that shed by a number of tall lamps, which were reflected
in a lake of quicksilver. This lake was covered with monsters, each
hideous enough to have frightened a less timid queen; there were owls,
screech-owls, ravens, and other birds of ill omen, filling the air with
discordant sounds; in the distance could be seen rising a mountain
whence flowed the sluggish waters of a stream composed of all the tears
shed by unhappy lovers, from the reservoirs of their sad loves. The
trees were bare of leaves and fruit, the ground covered with marigolds,
briars, and nettles.
The food corresponded to the climate of this miserable country; for a
few dried roots, some horse-chestnuts, and thorn-apples, were all that
was provided by the Fairy Lioness to appease the hunger of those who
fell into her hands.
As soon as the Queen was well enough to begin work, the fairy told her
she could build herself a hut, as she was going to remain with her
for the rest of her life. On hearing this, the Queen could no longer
restrain her tears: “Alas, what have I done to you,” she cried, “that
you should keep me here? If my death, which I feel is near, would give
you pleasure, I pray you, kill me, it is all the kindness I dare hope
from you; but do not condemn me to pass a long and melancholy life
apart from my husband.”
The Lioness only scoffed at her, and told her that the best thing she
could do was to dry her tears, and try to please her; that if she acted
otherwise, she would be the most miserable person in the world.
“What must I do then,” replied the Queen, “to soften your heart?”
“I am fond of fly-pasties,” said the Lioness. “You must find means
of procuring a sufficient number of flies to make me a large and
sweet-tasting one.” “But,” said the Queen, “I see no flies here, and
even were there any, it is not light enough to catch them; and if I
were to catch some, I have never in my life made pastry, so that you
are giving me orders which it is impossible for me to execute.” “No
matter,” said the pitiless Lioness; “that which I wish to have, I will
have.”
The Queen made no reply: she thought to herself, in spite of the cruel
fairy, that she had but one life to lose, and in the condition in which
she then was, what was there to fear in death? Instead, therefore, of
going in search of flies, she sat herself down under a yew tree, and
began to weep and complain: “Ah, my dear husband, what grief will be
yours, when you go to the castle to fetch me, and find I am not there;
you will think that I am dead, or faithless, and I would rather that
you should mourn the loss of my life, than that of my love; perhaps
someone will find the remains of my chariot in the forest, and all
the ornaments which I took with me to please you; and when you see
these, you will no longer doubt that death has taken me; and how can
I tell that you will not give to another the heart’s love which you
have shared with me? But, at least, I shall not have the pain of
knowing this, since I am not to return to the world.” She would have
continued communing thus with herself for a long time, if she had not
been interrupted by the dismal croaking of a raven above her head.
She lifted her eyes, and by the feeble light saw a large raven with a
frog in its bill, and about to swallow it. “Although I see no help at
hand for myself,” she said, “I will not let this poor frog perish if I
can save it; it suffers as much in its way, as I do in mine, although
our conditions are so different,” and picking up the first stick she
could find, she made the raven drop its prey. The frog fell to the
ground, where it lay for a time half-stunned, but finally recovering
its froggish senses, it began to speak, and said: “Beautiful Queen, you
are the first benevolent person that I have seen since my curiosity
first brought me here.” “By what wonderful power are you enabled to
speak, little Frog?” responded the Queen, “and what kind of people do
you see here? for as yet I have seen none.” “All the monsters that
cover the lake,” replied the little Frog, “were once in the world; some
on thrones, some in high positions at court; there are even here some
royal ladies, who caused much strife and bloodshed; it is they whom you
see changed into leeches; their fate condemns them to be here for a
time, but none of those who come return to the world better or wiser.”
“I can well understand,” said the Queen, “that many wicked people
together do not help to make each other better; but you, my little Frog
friend, what are you doing here?” “It was curiosity which led me here,”
she replied. “I am half a fairy, my powers are restricted with regard
to certain things, but far-reaching in others; if the Fairy Lioness
knew that I was in her dominions, she would kill me.”
“Whether fairy or half-fairy,” said the Queen, “I cannot understand how
you could have fallen into the raven’s clutches and been nearly eaten.”
“I can explain it in a few words,” replied the Frog. “When I have my
little cap of roses on my head, I fear nothing, as in that resides most
of my power; unfortunately, I had left it in the marsh, when that ugly
raven pounced upon me; if it had not been for you, madam, I should be
no more; and as you have saved my life, you have only to command, and I
will do all in my power to alleviate the sorrows of your own.” “Alas!
dear Frog,” said the Queen, “the wicked fairy who holds me captive
wishes me to make her a fly-pasty; but there are no flies here; if
there were any, I could not see in the dim light to catch them; I run a
chance, therefore, of being killed by her blows.”
“Leave it to me,” said the Frog. “I will soon get you some.” Whereupon
the Frog rubbed herself over with sugar, and more than six thousand
of her frog friends did likewise; then they repaired to a place where
the fairy kept a large store of flies, for the purpose of tormenting
some of her unhappy victims. As soon as they smelt the sugar, they flew
to it, and stuck to the frogs, and these kind helpers returned at a
gallop to the Queen. There had never been such a fly-catching before,
nor a better pasty, than that the Queen made for the fairy. The latter
was greatly surprised when the Queen handed it to her, and could not
imagine how she had been clever enough to catch the flies.
The Queen, finding herself exposed to the inclemencies of the poisonous
atmosphere, cut down some cypress branches, wherewith to build herself
a hut. The Frog generously offered her services, and putting herself at
the head of all those who had gone to collect the flies, they helped
the Queen to build as pretty a little tenement as the world could show.
Scarcely, however, had she laid herself down to rest, than the monsters
of the lake, jealous of her repose, came round her hut, and nearly
drove her distracted, by setting up a noise, more hideous than any ever
heard before.
She rose in fear and trembling and fled from the house: this was
exactly what the monsters desired. A dragon, who had formerly been a
tyrant of one of the finest states of the Universe, immediately took
possession of it.
The poor Queen tried to complain of the ill-treatment, but no one
would listen to her; the monsters laughed and hooted at her, and the
Fairy Lioness told her that if she came again to deafen her with
lamentations, she would give her a sound thrashing. She was forced,
therefore, to hold her tongue, and to have recourse to the Frog, who
was the kindest body in the world. They wept together; for as soon as
she put on her cap of roses, the Frog was able to laugh or weep like
anyone else. “I feel such an affection for you,” she said to the Queen,
“that I will re-build your house, even though I drive all the monsters
of the lake to despair.” She immediately cut some wood, and the little
rustic palace of the Queen was so quickly reared, that she was able
to sleep in it that night. The Frog, who thought of everything that
was necessary for the Queen’s comfort, made her a bed of wild thyme.
When the wicked fairy found out that the Queen did not sleep on the
ground, she sent for her: “What gods or men are they who protect you?”
she asked. “This land, watered only by showers of burning sulphur,
has never produced even a leaf of sage; I am told, nevertheless, that
sweet-smelling herbs spring up beneath your feet!”
“I cannot explain it, madam,” said the Queen, “unless the cause is due
to the child I hope one day to have, who will perhaps be less unhappy
than I am.”
“What I now wish for,” said the fairy, “is a bunch of the rarest
flowers; see if this coming happiness you speak of will obtain these
for you. If you fail to get them, blows will not fail to follow, for
these I often give, and know well how to administer.” The Queen began
to cry; such threats as these were anything but pleasant to her, and
she was in despair at the thought of the impossibility of finding
flowers.
She went back to her little house; her friend the Frog came to her:
“How unhappy you are!” she said to the Queen. “Alas! who would not be
so, dear friend? The fairy has ordered a bunch of the most beautiful
flowers, and where am I to find them? You see what sort of flowers grow
here; my life, nevertheless, is at stake, if I do not procure them
for her.” “Dear Queen,” said the Frog in tender tones, “we must try
our best to get you out of this difficulty. There lives a bat in this
neighbourhood, the only one with whom I have made acquaintance; she is
a good creature, and moves more quickly than I can; I will give her
my cap of roses, and aided by this, she will be able to find you the
flowers.” The Queen made a low curtsey: for there was no possible way
of embracing the Frog. The latter went off without delay to speak to
the bat; a few hours later she returned, bearing under her wings the
most exquisite flowers. The Queen hurried off with them to the fairy,
who was more overcome by surprise than before, unable to understand in
what miraculous way the Queen received help.
Meanwhile the Queen was continually thinking by what means she could
escape. She confided her longing to the Frog, who said to her, “Madam,
allow me first to consult my little cap, and we will then arrange
matters according to its advice.” She took her cap, placed it on some
straw, and then burned in front of it a few sprigs of juniper, some
capers, and two green peas; she then croaked five times, and the
ceremony being completed put on her cap again, and began speaking like
an oracle. “Fate, the ruler of all things, forbids you to leave this
place. You will have a little Princess, more beautiful than Venus
herself; do not trouble yourself about anything else, time alone can
comfort you.” The Queen’s head drooped, a few tears fell from her eyes,
but she resolved to trust her friend: “At least,” she said to her, “do
not leave me here alone; and befriend me when my little one is born.”
The Frog promised to remain with her, and comforted her as best she
could.
But it is now time to return to the King. While the enemy kept him
shut up in his capital, he could not continually send messengers to
the Queen. At last, however, after several sorties, he obliged the
besiegers to retire, and he rejoiced at his success less on his own
account, than on that of the Queen, whom he could now bring back in
safety. He was in total ignorance of the disaster which had befallen
her, for none of his officers had dared to tell him of it. They had
been into the forest and found the remains of the chariot, the runaway
horses, and the driving apparel which she had put on when going to find
her husband. As they were fully persuaded that she was dead, and had
been eaten by wild beasts, their only care was to make the King believe
that she had died suddenly. On receiving this mournful intelligence,
he thought he should die of grief; he tore his hair, he wept many
tears, and gave vent to his bereavement in every imaginable expression
of sorrow, cries, sobs, and sighs. For some days he would see no one,
nor allow himself to be seen; he then returned to his capital, and
entered on a long period of mourning, to which the sorrow of his heart
testified more sincerely than even his sombre garments of grief. All
the surrounding kings sent their ambassadors charged with messages of
condolence; and when the ceremonies, indispensable to these occasions,
were over, he granted his subjects a period of peace, exempting them
from military service, and helping them, in every possible way, to
improve their commerce.
[Illustration: A little princess had been born to her]
The Queen knew nothing of all this. Meanwhile a little Princess had
been born to her, as beautiful as the Frog had predicted, to whom they
gave the name of Moufette. The Queen had great difficulty in persuading
the fairy to allow her to bring up the child, for so ferocious was she,
that she would have liked to eat it. Moufette, a wonder of beauty, was
now six months old; the Queen, as she looked upon her with a tenderness
mingled with pity, continually said: “Ah! if your father could see you,
my poor little one, how delighted he would be! how dear you would be to
him! But even, already, maybe, he has begun to forget me; he believes,
no doubt, that we are lost to him in death; and perhaps another fills
the place in his heart, that once was mine.”
These sorrowful reflections caused her many tears; the Frog, who truly
loved her, seeing her cry like this, said to her one day: “If you would
like me to do so, madam, I will go and find the King, your husband; the
journey is long, and I travel but slowly; but, sooner or later, I shall
hope to arrive.” This proposal could not have been more warmly received
than it was; the Queen clasped her hands, and made Moufette clasp hers
too, in sign of the gratitude she felt towards Madam Frog, for offering
to undertake the journey. She assured her that the King also would not
be ungrateful; “but,” she continued, “of what use will it be to him to
know that I am in this melancholy abode; it will be impossible for him
to deliver me from it?” “Madam,” replied the Frog, “we must leave that
to Heaven; we can only do that which depends on ourselves.”
They said good-bye to one another; the Queen sent a message to the
King, written with her blood on a piece of rag; for she possessed
neither ink nor paper. She begged him to give attention to everything
the good Frog told him, and to believe all she said, as she was
bringing him news of herself.
The Frog was a year and four days climbing up the ten thousand steps
which lead from the dark country, in which she had left the Queen, up
into the world; it took her another year to prepare her equipage, for
she had too much pride to allow herself to appear at the Court like
a poor, common frog from the marshes. She had a little sedan-chair
made, large enough to hold two eggs comfortably; it was covered on the
outside with tortoise-shell, and lined with lizard-skin; then she chose
fifty maids of honour, these were the little green frogs which hop
about the meadows; each was mounted on a snail, furnished with a light
saddle, and rode in style with the leg thrown over the saddle-bow;
several water-rats, dressed as pages, ran before the snails, as her
body-guard; in short, nothing so pretty had ever been seen before, and
to crown it all, her cap of crimson roses, always fresh and in full
bloom, suited her in the most admirable manner. She was a bit of a
coquette in her way, so she felt obliged to add a little rouge and a
few patches; some said that she was painted as were many ladies of that
country, but inquiries into the matter proved that this report had only
been spread by her enemies.
The journey lasted seven years, during which time the poor Queen went
through unspeakable pains and suffering, and if it had not been for
the beautiful Moufette, who was a great comfort to her, she would have
died a hundred times over. This wonderful little creature could not
open her mouth or say a word, without filling her mother with delight;
indeed, everybody, with the exception of the Fairy Lioness, was
enchanted with her; at last, when the Queen had lived six years in this
horrible place, the fairy said that, provided everything she killed was
given to her, she might go hunting with her.
The joy of the Queen at once more seeing the sun may be imagined. So
unaccustomed had she grown to its light, that at first she thought it
would blind her. As for Moufette, she was so quick and intelligent,
that even, at five or six years of age, she never failed to hit her
mark, and so, in this way, the mother and daughter succeeded in
somewhat lessening the ferocity of the fairy.
The Frog travelled over mountains and valleys, never stopping day
or night; at last she drew near the capital, where the King was in
residence. She was surprised to see dancing and festivity in every
direction; there was laughter and singing, and the nearer she got to
the town, the more joyous and jubilant the people seemed. Her equipage
caused great astonishment, everyone went after it, and so large had the
crowd become by the time she had reached the town, that she had great
difficulty in making her way to the palace. Here everything was as
magnificent as possible, for the King, who had been a widower for nine
years, had at last yielded to the prayers of his subjects, and was on
the eve of marriage with a Princess, less beautiful, it is true, than
his wife, but not the less agreeable for that.
The kind Frog, having descended from her sedan-chair, entered the
royal presence, followed by her attendants. She had no need to ask for
audience, for the King, his affianced bride, and all the princes, were
all much too curious to know the reason of her coming, to think of
interrupting her. “Sire,” said she, “I hardly know if the news I bring
you will give you joy or sorrow; the marriage which you are about to
celebrate convinces me of your infidelity to the Queen.”
“Her memory is dear to me as ever,” said the King, unable to prevent
the falling of a tear or two; “but you must know, kind frog, that kings
are not always able to do what they wish; for the last nine years,
my subjects have been urging me to marry; I owe them an heir to the
throne, and I have therefore chosen this young Princess, who appears to
me all that is charming.” “I advise you not to marry her, for the Queen
is not dead; I bring you a letter from her, written with her own blood.
A little daughter, Moufette, has been born to you, more beautiful than
the heavens themselves.” The King took the rag, on which the Queen
had scrawled a few words; he kissed it, he bathed it in his tears, he
showed it to the whole assembly, saying that he recognised his wife’s
handwriting; he asked the Frog a thousand questions, which she answered
with vivacity and intelligence.
The betrothed Princess, and the ambassadors who had come to be present
at the marriage, began to pull long faces. One of the most important
of the guests turned to the King, and said, “Sire, can you think of
breaking so solemn an engagement, on the word of a toad like that? This
scum of the marshes has the insolence to come and tell lies before the
whole Court, for the pleasure of being heard!” “Know, your Excellency,”
replied the Frog, “that I am no scum of the marshes, and since I am
forced to exhibit my powers: Come forth, fairies all!” And thereupon
all the frogs, rats, snails, lizards, with the frog at their head,
suddenly appeared; not, however, in the usual form of these reptiles,
but with tall, majestic figures, pleasing countenances, and eyes more
brilliant than stars; each wore a jewelled crown on his head, and over
his shoulders a regal mantle of velvet, lined with ermine, with a
long train which was borne by dwarfs. At the same time was heard the
sound of trumpets, kettle-drums, hautboys, and drums, filling the air
with melodious and warlike music, and all the fairies began to dance
a ballet, their every step so light, that the slightest spring
lifted them to the vaulted ceiling of the room. The King and his
future Queen, surprised as they were at this, were no less astonished,
when they saw all these fairy ballet dancers suddenly change into
flowers, jasmine, jonquils, violets, pinks, and tube roses, which
still continued to dance as if they had legs and feet. It was like a
living flower-bed, of which every movement delighted both the eye and
the sense of smell. Another moment, and the flowers had disappeared;
in their place several fountains threw their waters into the air and
fell into an artificial lake at the foot of the castle walls; this was
covered with little painted and gilded boats, so pretty and dainty that
the Princess invited the ambassadors to go for a trip on the water.
They were all pleased to do so, thinking it was all a merry pastime,
which would end happily in the marriage festivities. But they had no
sooner embarked, than the boats, water, and fountains disappeared,
and the frogs were frogs again. The King asked what had become of the
Princess; the Frog replied, “Sire, no queen is yours, but your wife;
were I less attached to her than I am, I should not interfere; but she
is so deserving, and your daughter Moufette is so charming that you
ought not to delay a moment in going to their deliverance.” “I assure
you, Madam Frog,” said the King, “that if I did not believe my wife
to be dead, there is nothing in the world I would not do to see her
again.” “After the wonders I have shown you,” she replied, “it seems to
me that you ought to be more convinced of the truth of what I have told
you. Leave your kingdom in charge of trustworthy men, and start without
delay. Here is a ring which will furnish you with the means of seeing
the Queen, and of speaking with the Fairy Lioness, although she is the
most terrible creature in the world.”
[Illustration: The audience] [Illustration]
The King departed, refusing to have anyone to accompany him, after
making handsome presents to the Frog: “Do not be discouraged,” she said
to him; “you will meet with terrible difficulties, but I hope that you
will succeed according to your wishes.” Somewhat comforted by her
words, the King started in search of his dear wife, with no other guide
than his ring.
As Moufette grew older, her beauty became more perfect, and all the
monsters of the quicksilver lake fell in love with her; and the
dragons, with their hideous and terrifying forms, came and lay at her
feet. Although Moufette had seen them ever since she was born, her
beautiful eyes could not accustom themselves to the sight of these
creatures, and she would run away and hide in her mother’s arms. “Shall
we remain here long?” she asked her; “is there to be no end to our
misery?” The Queen spoke hopefully in order to cheer her child, but
in her heart she had no hope; the absence of the Frog, her unbroken
silence, the long time that had elapsed since she had news of the King,
all these things filled her with sorrow and despair.
The Fairy Lioness had gradually made it a practice to take them with
her hunting. She was fond of good things, and liked the game they
killed for her, and although all they got in return was the gift of
the head or the feet, it was something to be allowed to see again the
light of day. The fairy took the form of a lioness, the Queen and her
daughter seated themselves on her back, and thus they went hunting
through the forests.
The King happened to be resting in a forest one day, whither his ring
had guided him, and saw them pass like an arrow shot from the bow; he
was unseen of them, and when he tried to follow them, they vanished
completely from his sight. Notwithstanding the constant trouble she
had been in, the Queen still preserved her former beauty; she appeared
to her husband more charming than ever. He longed for her to return to
him, and feeling sure that the young Princess who was with her was his
dear little Moufette, he determined to face a thousand deaths, rather
than abandon his design of rescuing her.
By the help of his ring, he found his way into the obscure region
where the Queen had been so many years; he was not a little surprised
when he found himself descending to the centre of the earth, but every
fresh thing he saw astonished him more and more. The Fairy Lioness,
who knew everything, was aware of the day and the hour when he would
arrive; she would have given a great deal if the powers in league with
her had ordained otherwise; but she determined at least to oppose his
strength with the full might of her own.
She built a palace of crystal, which floated in the centre of the lake
of quicksilver, and rose and fell with its waves. In it she imprisoned
the Queen and her daughter, and then harangued all the monsters who
were in love with Moufette. “You will lose this beautiful Princess,”
she said to them, “if you do not help me to protect her from a knight
who has come to carry her away.” The monsters promised to leave nothing
in their power undone; they surrounded the palace of crystal; the
lightest in weight took their stations on the roof and walls; the
others kept guard at the doors, and the remainder in the lake.
The King, advised by his faithful ring, went first to the Fairy’s Cave;
she was awaiting him in her form of lioness. As soon as he appeared
she threw herself upon him; but he handled his sword with a valour
for which she was not prepared, and as she was putting out one of her
paws to fell him to the earth, he cut it off at the joint just where
the elbow comes. She uttered a loud cry and fell over; he went up to
her, put his foot on her throat and swore that he would kill her,
and in spite of her ungovernable fury and invulnerability, she felt
a little afraid. “What do you wish to do with me?” she asked. “What
do you want of me?” “I wish to punish you,” he replied proudly, “for
having carried away my wife, and you shall give her up to me or I will
strangle you on the spot.” “Look towards the lake,” she said, “and see
if I have the power to do so.” The King turned in the direction towards
which she pointed, and saw the Queen and her daughter in the palace of
crystal, which was floating like a vessel, without oars or rudder,
on the lake of quicksilver. He was ready to die with mingled joy and
sorrow; he called to them with all his might, and they heard him, but
how was he to reach them? While thinking over the means by which he
might accomplish this, the Fairy Lioness disappeared. He ran round and
round the lake, but whenever the palace came close enough to him, on
one side or the other, for him to spring upon it, it suddenly floated
away again with terrible swiftness, and so his hopes were continually
disappointed. The Queen, fearing he would at length grow weary, called
to him not to lose courage, that the Fairy Lioness wanted to tire him
out, but that true love knew how to face all difficulties. She and
Moufette then stretched out their hands towards him with imploring
gestures. Seeing this, the King was filled with renewed courage, and
raising his voice, he said that he would rather pass the remainder of
his life in this melancholy region than go away without them. He needed
great patience, for no king on earth ever spent such a wretched time
before. He had only the ground, covered with briars and thorns, for his
bed; his food consisted of wild fruits, more bitter than gall, and he
was incessantly engaged in defending himself from the monsters of the
lake.
Three years passed in this manner, and the King could not flatter
himself that he had gained the least advantage; he was almost in
despair, and over and over again was tempted to throw himself in the
lake, and he would certainly have done so if he could have thought that
by such a deed he might alleviate the sufferings of the Queen and the
Princess. He was running one day as usual, first to one side of the
lake then to the other, when one of the most hideous of the dragons
called him, and said to him: “If you will swear to me by your crown
and sceptre, by your royal mantle, by your wife and child, to give me,
whenever I shall ask for it, a certain delicate morsel to eat, for
which I have a taste, I will take you on my back, and I promise you
that none of the monsters of this lake, who guard the palace, shall
prevent us from carrying off the Queen and Princess Moufette.”
“Ah! my beloved Dragon!” cried the King, “I swear to you, and to all
the family of dragons, that I will give you your fill to eat of what
you like, and will for ever remain your humble servant.” “Do not make
any promises,” replied the Dragon, “if you have any thought of not
fulfilling them; for, in that case, misfortunes will fall upon you
that you will not forget as long as you live.” The King renewed his
protestations; he was dying of impatience to get possession of his dear
Queen. He mounted on the Dragon’s back, as if it was the finest horse
in the world, but the other monsters now advanced to bar his passage.
They fought together, nothing was to be heard but the sharp hissings of
the serpents, nothing to be seen but fire, and sulphur, and saltpetre,
falling in every direction. At last the King reached the palace, but
here his efforts had to be renewed, for the entrances were defended by
bats, owls, and ravens; however, the Dragon, with his claws, his teeth
and tail, cut to pieces even the boldest of these. The Queen, on her
side, who was looking on at this fierce encounter, kicked away pieces
of the wall, and armed herself with these to help her dear husband.
They were at last victorious; they ran into one another’s arms, and the
work of disenchantment was completed by a thunderbolt, which fell into
the lake and dried it up.
The friendly Dragon had disappeared with all the other monsters, and
the King, by what means he could not guess, found himself again in his
own capital, seated, with his Queen and Moufette, in a magnificent
dining-hall, with a table spread with exquisite meats in front of them.
Such joy and astonishment as theirs were unknown before. All their
subjects ran in to see the Queen and the young Princess, who, to add
to the wonder of it all, was so superbly dressed, that the eye could
hardly bear to look upon her dazzling jewels.
It is easy to imagine the festivities that now went on at the castle;
masquerades, running at the ring, and tournaments attracted the
greatest princes in the world; but even more were they attracted by the
bright eyes of Moufette. Among those who were the handsomest and most
accomplished in feats of arms, Prince Moufy everywhere was the most
conspicuous. He was universally admired and applauded, and Moufette,
who hitherto had been only in the company of dragons and serpents, did
not withhold her share of praise. No day passed but Prince Moufy showed
her some fresh attention, in the hope of pleasing her, for he loved her
deeply; and having offered himself as a suitor, he made known to the
King and Queen, that his principality was of a beauty and extent that
deserved their special attention.
The King replied that Moufette was at liberty to choose a husband, and
that he only wished to please her and make her happy. The Prince was
delighted with this answer, and having already become aware that he
was not indifferent to the Princess, offered her his hand. She assured
him that if he was not her husband, no other man should be, and Moufy,
overcome with joy, threw himself at her feet, and in affectionate
terms begged her to remember the promise she had given him. The Prince
and Princess were betrothed, and Prince Moufy then returned to his
principality to make preparations for the marriage. Moufette shed many
tears at his departure, for she was troubled with the presentiment of
evil which she could not explain. The Queen, seeing that the Prince was
also overcome with sorrow, gave him the portrait of her daughter, and
begged him rather to lessen the magnificence of the preparations than
to delay his return. The Prince, only too ready to obey such a command,
promised to comply with what would be for his own happiness.
The Princess occupied herself during his absence with her music, for
she had, in a few months, learnt to play well. One day, when she was
in the Queen’s room, the King rushed in, his face bathed in tears, and
taking his daughter in his arms: “Alas, my child,” he cried. “Alas!
wretched father, unhappy King!” He could say no more, for his voice was
stifled with sobs. The Queen and Princess, in great alarm, asked him
what was the matter, and at last he was able to tell them that a giant
of an enormous height, who gave himself out to be an ambassador from
the Dragon of the lake, had just arrived; that in accordance with the
promise, made by the King in return for the help he had received in
fighting the monsters, the Dragon demanded him to give up the Princess,
as he wished to make her into a pie for his dinner; the King added that
he had bound himself by solemn oaths to give him what he asked, and in
those days no one ever broke his word.
When the Queen heard this dreadful news, she uttered piercing cries,
and clasped her child to her breast. “My life shall be taken,” she
said, “before my daughter shall be delivered up to that monster; let
him rather take our kingdom and all that we possess. Unnatural father!
can you possibly consent to such a cruel thing? What! my child made
into a pie! The thought of it is intolerable! Send me this terrible
ambassador, maybe the sight of my anguish may touch his heart.”
The King made no reply, but went in search of the giant and brought
him to the Queen, who threw herself at his feet. She and her daughter
implored him to have mercy upon them, and to persuade the Dragon to
take everything they possessed, and to spare Moufette’s life; but the
giant replied that the matter did not rest with him, and that the
Dragon was so obstinate and so fond of good things, that all the powers
combined would not prevent him eating whatever he had taken into his
head he would like for a meal. He further advised them, as a friend,
to consent with a good grace, as otherwise greater evils might arise.
At these words the Queen fainted, and the Princess, had she not been
obliged to go to her mother’s assistance, would have done the same.
No sooner was the sad news spread through the palace, than the whole
town knew it. Nothing was heard but weeping and wailing, for Moufette
was greatly beloved. The King could not make up his mind to give her
to the giant, and the giant, who had already waited some days, began
to grow impatient, and to utter terrible threats. The King and Queen,
however, said to each other, “What worse thing could happen to us? If
the Dragon of the lake were to come and devour us all we could not be
more distressed; if Moufette is put into a pie, we are lost.”
The giant now told them that he had received a message from his master,
and that if the Princess would agree to marry a nephew of his, the
Dragon would let her live; that the nephew was young and handsome;
that, moreover, he was a Prince, and that she would be able to live
with him very happily. This proposal somewhat lessened their grief; the
Queen spoke to the Princess, but found her still more averse to this
marriage than to the thought of death. “I cannot save my life by being
unfaithful,” said Moufette. “You promised me to Prince Moufy, and I
will marry no one else; let me die; my death will ensure the peace of
your lives.” The King then came and endeavoured with all the tenderest
of expressions to persuade her; but nothing moved her, and finally it
was decided that she should be conducted to the summit of a mountain,
and there await the Dragon.
Everything was prepared for this great sacrifice; nothing so mournful
had before been seen; nothing to be met anywhere but black garments,
and pale and horrified faces. Four hundred maidens of the highest rank,
dressed in long white robes, and crowned with cypress, accompanied the
Princess, who was carried in an open litter of black velvet, that all
might look on this masterpiece of beauty. Her hair, tied with crape,
hung over her shoulders, and she wore a crown of jasmine, mingled
with a few marigolds. The grief of the King and Queen, who followed,
overcome by their deep sorrow, appeared the only thing that moved her.
The giant, armed from head to foot, marched beside the litter, and
looked with hungry eye at the Princess, as if anticipating his share
of her when she came to be eaten; the air resounded with sighs and
sobs, and the road was flooded with the tears of the onlookers.
“Ah! Frog, Frog,” cried the Queen, “you have indeed forsaken me! Alas!
why did you give me help in that unhappy region, and now withhold it
from me! Would that I had then died, I should not now be lamenting the
loss of all my hopes, I should not now have the anguish of seeing my
dear Moufette on the point of being devoured!” The procession meanwhile
was slowly advancing, and at last reached the summit of the fatal
mountain. Here the cries and lamentations were redoubled, nothing
more piteous had before been heard. The giant ordered everyone to say
farewell and to retire, and they all obeyed him, for in those days,
people were very simple and submissive, and never sought for a remedy
in their misfortunes.
The King and Queen, and all the Court, now ascended another mountain,
whence they could see all that happened to the Princess: and they had
not to wait long, before they saw a Dragon, half a league long, coming
through the air. His body was so heavy that, notwithstanding his six
large wings, he was hardly able to fly; he was covered with immense
blue scales, and poisonous tongues of flame; his tail was twisted into
as many as fifty and a half coils; each of his claws was the size of
a windmill, and three rows of teeth, as long as those of an elephant,
could be seen inside his wide-open jaw. As the Dragon slowly made his
way towards the mountain, the good, faithful Frog, mounted on the back
of a hawk, flew rapidly to Prince Moufy. She wore her cap of roses,
and although he was locked into his private room, she entered without
a key, and said, “What are you doing here, unhappy lover? You sit
dreaming of Moufette’s beauty, and at this very moment she is exposed
to the most frightful danger; here is a rose-leaf, by blowing upon it,
I can change it into a superb horse, as you will see.”
There immediately appeared a horse, green in colour, and with twelve
hoofs and three heads, of which one emitted fire, another bomb-shells,
and the third cannon-balls. She gave the Prince a sword, eight yards
long, and lighter than a feather. She clothed him with a single
diamond, which he put on like a coat, and which, although as hard as a
rock, was so pliable that he could move in it at his ease. “Go,” she
said, “run, fly to the rescue of her whom you love; the green horse I
have given you, will take you to her, and when you have delivered her,
let her know the share I have had in the matter.”
“Generous fairy,” cried the Prince, “I cannot at this moment show you
all my gratitude; but henceforth, I am your faithful servitor.”
He mounted the horse with the three heads, which instantly galloped off
on its twelve hoofs, and went at a greater rate than three of the best
ordinary horses, so that in a very little time the Prince reached the
mountain, when he found his dear Princess all alone, and saw the Dragon
slowly drawing near. The green horse immediately began to send forth
fire, bomb-shells, and cannon-balls, which not a little astonished the
monster; he received twenty balls in his throat, and his scales were
somewhat damaged, and the bomb-shells put out one of his eyes. He grew
furious, and made as if to throw himself on the Prince; but Moufy’s
long sword was so finely-tempered, that he could use it as he liked,
thrusting it in at times up to the hilt, and at others using it like a
whip; still he would have suffered from the Dragon’s claws, had it not
been for his diamond coat, which was impenetrable.
Moufette had recognised her lover a long way off, for the diamond
that covered him was transparent and bright, and she was seized with
mortal terror at the danger he was in. The King and Queen, however,
were filled with renewed hope, for it was such an unexpected thing
to see a horse with three heads and twelve hoofs, sending forth
fire and flame, and a Prince in a diamond suit and armed with a
formidable sword, arrive at such an opportune moment, and fight with
so much valour. The King put his hat on the top of his stick, and
the Queen tied her handkerchief to the end of another, as signals of
encouragement to the Prince; and all their Court followed suit. As
a fact, this was not necessary, for his own heart and the peril in
which he saw Moufette, were sufficient to animate his courage. And
what efforts did he not make! the ground was covered with stings,
claws, horns, wings, and scales of the Dragon; the earth was coloured
blue and green with the mingled blood of the Dragon and the horse.
Five times the Prince fell to the ground, but each time he rose again
and leisurely mounted his horse, and then there were cannonades, and
rushing of flames, and explosions, such as were never heard or seen
before. The Dragon’s strength at last gave way, and he fell; the Prince
gave him a final blow, and nobody could believe their eyes, when from
this last great wound, there stepped forth a handsome and charming
prince, in a coat of blue and gold velvet, embroidered with pearls,
while on his head he wore a little Grecian helmet, shaded with white
feathers. He rushed, his arms outspread, towards Prince Moufy, and
embraced him. “What do I not owe you, valiant liberator?” he cried.
“You have delivered me from a worse prison than ever before enclosed
a king; I have languished there since, sixteen years ago, the Fairy
Lioness condemned me to it; and, such was her power, that she would
have forced me, against my will, to devour that adorable Princess; lead
me to her feet, that I may explain to her my misfortune.”
[Illustration: A dragon half a league long coming through the air]
Prince Moufy, surprised and delighted at this extraordinary termination
to his adventure, showered civilities on the newly-found Prince. They
hastened to rejoin Moufette, who thanked Heaven a thousand times for
her unhoped-for happiness. The King, the Queen, and all the Court, were
already with her; everybody spoke at once, nobody listened to anybody
else, and they all shed nearly as many tears of joy as they had before
of grief. Finally, that nothing might be wanting to complete their
rejoicing, the good Frog appeared, flying through the air on her hawk,
which had little bells of gold on its feet. When the tinkle, tinkle, of
these was heard, everyone looked up, and saw the cap of roses shining
like the sun, and the Frog as beautiful as the dawn.
The Queen ran towards her, and took her by one of her little paws, and
in the same moment, the wise Frog became a great Queen, with a charming
countenance. “I come,” she cried, “to crown the faithful Moufette, who
preferred to risk her life, rather than be untrue to Prince Moufy.” She
thereupon took two myrtle wreaths, and placed them on the heads of the
lovers, and giving three taps with her wand, all the Dragon’s bones
formed themselves into a triumphal arch, in commemoration of the great
event which had just taken place.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
They all wended their way back to the town, singing wedding songs,
as gaily as they had before mournfully bewailed the sacrifice of the
Princess. The marriage took place the following day, and the joy with
which it was celebrated may be imagined.
* * * * *
When the Fay had finished all were agreed that her story was not a word
too long, and all thanked her as she flew back with daintily fluttering
little wings back to her place. All began wondering what the next story
would be like. They did not have to wonder long for Titania, turning
to King Oberon, said, “I have chosen several stories, you choose now.”
“I think,” said Oberon, “that the Scandinavian Dwarf who told us
our first tale about Thor and the wicked Loki could perhaps tell us
another.”
As soon as he spoke the Scandinavian Dwarf came forward, well pleased
of course at being so honoured, and said, “I will tell your Majesty,
then, a further tale of how it was that Thor managed to get the Heroes
out of a nasty fix into which they had got themselves with a dwarf who
lived in a dark underground place, who had made them promise that he
should marry their most beautiful Freya. It is the story,” he began,
“of the ambition and undoing of
[Illustration: The Scandinavian Dwarf]
[Illustration: Thou art pale about the nose]
Allwise the Dwarf
Allwise the Dwarf once by his cunning wiles entrapped the Heroes into
a promise that they would give him the beautiful Freya for his wife,
and he set out from his cavern home for Asgard that he might claim
fulfilment of the promise. Before leaving he gave orders to his servant
dwarfs that they should deck the place against his return with the
bride.
Now the Heroes of Asgard finding that they had been tricked into
making a promise which they did not intend marvelled how they might
spare themselves the fulfilling of it. Thor at length suggested that
as Allwise would visit Asgard by night, and as he could not bear the
sunlight, they should keep him engaged in talk until the sun rose, and
what is more he offered to do this himself, and so when the dwarf
reached the city of the Heroes it was Thor whom he first encountered,
and who hailed him thus: “What fellow art thou? Why art thou pale as
if thou hadst come from among the dead? Surely thou art but a sorry
bridegroom.”
Then answered the dwarf: “Allwise my name is; I dwell in a cavern
beneath the earth, and I am come to fetch my bride for the Heroes will
not break their plighted word.”
“I will break it,” said Thor firmly, “for Freya is my ward, and I was
not of those who made the promise to you. It is needful that I should
hallow the weddings of the Heroes.”
“Who is this fellow,” said Allwise the dwarf scornfully, “who claims to
control the fair-beaming maid?”
“Thor is my name,” answered the Hero wrathfully, “I am Longbeard’s son.
I have travelled far. Without my will thou shalt never have the maid,
or make this match.”
“I would rather have thy good will; I would sooner win than want the
snow-white maid.”
“The maiden’s love shall not be denied to thee, thou wise guest,” said
Thor with guile, “if thou canst tell me all that I want to know.”
“That can I do,” answered the dwarf confidently.
“Tell me, then, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole
history of mankind, how is the Earth, which lies about the sons of men,
called by all different beings that are?”
“It is ‘Earth’ among men; ‘Field’ among the Heroes; the Wanes call it
‘Way’; the Giants call it ‘Ever-green’; the Elfs call it ‘Growing,’ and
the High Gods call it ‘Clay.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is Heaven called by all the beings that are?”
“It is ‘Heaven’ among men; ‘Warmer’ among the Heroes; the Wanes call
it ‘Wind-woof’; the Giants call it ‘High-home’; the Elfs call it
‘Fair-roof’; and Dwarfs ‘Drip-hall.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Moon that all men see called by all the beings
that are?”
“It is ‘Moon’ among men; ‘Mylin’ among the Heroes; ‘Whirling-Wheel’ in
Hell; ‘Hastener’ by the Giants; ‘Sheen’ by the Dwarfs; while the Elfs
call it ‘Year-teller.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Sun that all men see called by all the beings
that are?”
“It is ‘Sol’ among men; ‘Sun’ among the Heroes; the Dwarfs call it
‘Day’s-child’; the Giants call it ‘Ever-glow’; ‘Fair-wheel’ the Elfs;
and ‘All-Sheer’ the sons of the Anses.”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how are the clouds that are mingled with shadows called by
all the beings that are?”
“‘Sky’ among men; ‘Shower-boder’ among the Heroes; ‘Wind-floe’ among
the Wanes; ‘Wet-boder’ among the Giants; ‘Weather-main’ among the Elfs;
and in Hell they call it ‘Helm-of-Darkness.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Wind, that travels so far, called by all the
beings that are?”
“‘Wind’ among men; ‘Waverer’ among the Heroes; ‘Whooper’ among
the Giants; the Elfs call it ‘Soft-Gale’; in Hell they call it
‘Whistle-Gust.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Calm that rests called by all the beings that
are?”
“‘Calm’ it is called among men; ‘Lee’ among the Heroes; the Wanes call
it ‘Wind-slack’; the Giants call it ‘Sultry’; the Elfs ‘Soul-of-Day’;
and the Dwarfs ‘Day’s Rest.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole
history of mankind, what is the Main which men row over called by all
the beings that are?”
[Illustration: Allwise the dwarf and Thor]
“It is ‘Sea’ among men; ‘Level’ among the Heroes; ‘Wave’ among the
Wanes; ‘Sound-ham’ among the Giants; the Elfs call it ‘Sea-blink,’ and
the Dwarfs call it ‘Deep.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is ‘Fire’ that burns before the sons of men called by
all the beings that are?”
“It is ‘Fire’ among men; and ‘Fire’ among the Heroes; the Wanes call
it ‘Wavy;’ ‘Greedy’ the Giants; ‘Furnace fire’ the Dwarfs; and in Hell
they call it ‘Destroyer.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Wood that grows before the sons of men called by
all the beings that are?”
“It is ‘Wood’ among men; ‘Wield-fire’ among the Heroes; in Hell it is
‘Cliff-wrack’; Giants call it ‘Firewood’; the Elfs ‘Fair-foliage’; and
the Wanes call it ‘Wand.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is Night, Norwis’ daughter, called by all the beings
that are?”
“‘Night’ among men; ‘Newl’ among the Heroes; ‘Unlight’ the Giants;
‘Sleep-joy’ the Elfs; and the Dwarfs call it ‘Sleep-fairy.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Seed that the sons of men sow called by all the
beings that are?”
“‘Bigg’ among men; ‘Barley’ among the Heroes; the Wanes call it
‘Waxth’; ‘Oat’ the Giants; the Elfs ‘Lees-staff’; in Hell it is
‘Blight.’”
“Tell me, Allwise, for methinks thou, Dwarf, knowest the whole history
of mankind, how is the Ale the sons of men drink called by all the
beings that are?”
“‘Ale’ among men; ‘Beer’ among the Heroes; the Wanes call it ‘Draught’;
‘Clear-lees’ the Giants; in Hell it is ‘Mead’; while the Dwarfs call it
‘Good cheer!’”
“Now,” said Thor, “I never on one man’s tongue saw more of the olden
words, but with great wiles, oh, Allwise, hast thou been beguiled, for
the Day is upon thee, Dwarf; the hall is full of sunshine.”
[Illustration: The dwarf was suddenly turned into a figure of stone]
It was even as Thor said the day had come, and with it the Dwarf
who had been kept in close talk without guessing why was suddenly
turned into a figure of stone, and the Heroes were relieved of their
rash promise to send the beautiful Freya from Asgard as wife of the
dark-loving Allwise.
* * * * *
The Scandinavian Dwarf having resumed his place, Oberon turned to his
Queen and said that her Nymphidia had given them all a very pretty
little song, perhaps some of her attendants had stories they would like
to tell.
“Of course they have,” replied Titania, and turned to the fairies
immediately about her throne, saying, “now who shall it be?”
Quick, as befitted her name, was the first to respond with, “If a very
short story will do I can tell one,” and Pink almost in the same breath
said “I can tell one if a very short one will do.”
Titania stopped the others who would have offered also, and said,
“Quick and Pink shall tell them, then.”
At once Quick took her place, and when all the fairy kingdom was
attentive began to tell about
[Illustration: Quick]
[Illustration: She held it up to the woman]
The Fairy at the Well
There was once a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so like
her mother in temper and face, that to have seen the one was to have
seen the other. They were both so disagreeable and proud, that it was
impossible to live with them. The younger, who was the exact portrait
of her father in her kindly and polite ways was also as beautiful a
girl as one could see. As we are naturally fond of those who resemble
us, the mother doted on her elder daughter, while for the younger she
had a most violent aversion, and made her take her meals in the kitchen
and work hard all day. Among other things that she was obliged to do,
this poor child was forced to go twice a day to fetch water from a
place a mile or more from the house, and carry back a large jug filled
to the brim. As she was standing one day by this spring, a poor woman
came up to her, and asked the girl to give her some water to drink.
“Certainly, my good woman,” she replied, and the beautiful girl at
once stooped and rinsed out the jug, and then, filling it with water
from the clearest part of the spring, she held it up to the woman,
continuing to support the jug, that she might drink with greater
comfort. Having drunk, the woman said to her, “You are so beautiful, so
good and kind, that I cannot refrain from conferring a gift upon you,”
for she was really a fairy, who had taken the form of a poor village
woman, in order to see how far the girl’s kindheartedness would go.
“This gift I make you,” continued the fairy, “that with every word you
speak, either a flower or a precious stone will fall from your mouth.”
The girl had no sooner reached home than her mother began scolding
her for being back so late. “I am sorry, mother,” said she, “to have
been out so long,” and as she spoke, there fell from her mouth two
roses, two pearls, and two large diamonds. The mother gazed at her in
astonishment. “What do I see!” she exclaimed, “pearls and diamonds seem
to be dropping from her mouth! How is this, my daughter?”--it was the
first time she had called her _daughter_. The poor child related in all
simplicity what had happened, letting fall quantities of diamonds in
the course of her narrative. “I must certainly send my other daughter
there,” said the mother. “Look, Fanchon, see what falls from your
sister’s mouth when she speaks! Would you not be glad to receive a
similar gift? All you have to do, is to go and fetch water from the
spring, and if an old woman asks you for some to drink, to give it
her nicely and politely.” “I should like to see myself going to the
spring,” answered the rude, cross girl.
“I insist on your going,” rejoined the mother, “and that at once.”
The elder girl went off, still grumbling; with her she took the
handsomest silver bottle she could find in the house.
She had no sooner arrived at the spring, than she saw a lady
magnificently dressed walking towards her from the wood, who approached
and asked for some water to drink. It was the same fairy who had
appeared to the sister, but she had now put on the airs and apparel of
a princess, as she wished to see how far this girl’s rudeness would go.
“Do you think I came here just to draw water for you?” answered the
arrogant and unmannerly girl; “I have, of course, brought this silver
bottle on purpose for madam to drink from! Well, all I have to say
is--drink from it if you like.”
[Illustration: How is this my daughter]
“You are scarcely polite,” said the fairy, without losing her temper;
“however, as you are so disobliging, I confer this gift upon you, that
with every word you speak, a snake or a toad shall fall from your
mouth.”
Directly her mother caught sight of her, she called out, “Well, my
daughter!” “Well, my mother!” replied the ill-tempered girl, throwing
out as she spoke two vipers and two toads. “Alack!” cried the mother,
“what do I see? This is her sister’s doing, but I will pay her out
for it,” and, so saying, she ran towards the younger girl with intent
to beat her. The unhappy girl fled from the house, and went and hid
herself in a neighbouring forest. The King’s son, who was returning
from hunting, met her, and seeing how beautiful she was, asked her what
she was doing there all alone, and why she was crying. “Alas! sir,
my mother has driven me from home.” The King’s son, seeing five or
six pearls and as many diamonds, falling from her mouth as she spoke,
asked her to explain how this was, and she told him all her tale. The
King’s son fell in love with her, and thinking that such a gift as she
possessed was worth more than any ordinary dower brought by another, he
carried her off to his father’s palace, and there married her.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
As for her sister, she made herself so hated, that her own mother
drove her from the house. The miserable girl, having gone about in
vain trying to find someone who would take her in, crept away into the
corner of a wood, and there died.
Of higher worth are gentle words
Than diamonds or gold,
And even o’er the minds of men
A greater power they hold.
It costs some pains to be polite,
And needs some kindly thought,
But soon or late, as here you see,
Reward will come unsought.
* * * * *
“I hope that Quick was short enough,” said Titania, laughingly, and
then turning to Pink said “and yours?”
“Will be shorter still, your Majesty,” promptly answered Pink, stepping
to the stool directly Quick had left it, and beginning at once the
story of
[Illustration: Pink]
[Illustration: They put the cake into the oven]
[Illustration: St Dolly slept on a flour sack]
Dolly, draw the Cake
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
At an early age St Dolly showed the sweetness of her nature by her
tender love for her widowed father, a baker, dwelling at Pie Corner,
with a large family of little children. It chanced that with bad
harvests bread became so dear that, of course, bakers were ruined by
high prices. The miller fell upon Dolly’s father, and swept the shop
with his golden thumb. Not a bed was left for the baker or his little
ones. St Dolly slept upon a flour sack, having prayed that good angels
would help her to help her father. Now sleeping, she dreamt that the
oven was lighted, and she felt falling in a shower about her, raisins,
currants, almonds, lemon peel, flour, with heavy drops of brandy.
Then in her dreams she saw the fairies gather up the things that
fell, and knead them into a cake. They put the cake into the oven,
and dancing round and round, the fairies vanished, crying, “Draw the
cake, Dolly--Dolly, draw the cake.” And Dolly awoke and drew the cake,
and, behold, it was the first Twelfth Cake, sugared at the top, and
bearing the images of Faith, Hope and Charity. Now this cake, shown in
the window, came to the king’s ear; and the king bought the cake, and
married Dolly to his grand falconer, to whom she proved a faithful and
loving wife, bearing him a baker’s dozen of lovely children.
* * * * *
There was a general laugh at Pink’s story, it was so _very_ short, and
Pink felt quite proud of herself in having got through her tale telling
about twice as quickly as Quick.
“Only two more stories,” said Oberon, “and then all must fly back to
their proper work as fairies. There are so many of us here that would
like to take a turn on the tale-teller’s stool that it is now not
easy to choose, so we will have our next story from the first fairy
who can get on the stool--but wait,” for as soon as Oberon spoke the
rush began, “you must all go to your places and start fair when I say
‘three.’” There was a pause while all settled back in their places, and
then Oberon said slowly, “One--Two--Three.”
As soon as the last word was heard there was such a scramble and rush
from all parts of the ring, some running, some flying, but the nimblest
of all was a Kobold, who seated himself firmly on the stool and would
not let himself be pushed off. As soon as it was seen that the stool
was occupied all the fairies who had tried to get there went laughing
merrily back to their places, and the Kobold triumphantly began the
story of
[Illustration: Seated himself firmly on the stool]
[Illustration: He ran away with it]
The Little Glass Shoe
A peasant, named John Wilde, found one time a glass shoe on one of the
hills where the little people used to dance. He clapped it instantly
into his pocket and ran away with it, keeping his hand as close on
his pocket as if he had a dove in it, for he knew that he had found a
treasure which the underground people must redeem at any price.
Others say that John Wilde lay in ambush one night for the underground
people, and gained an opportunity of pulling off one of their shoes,
by stretching himself there with a brandy-bottle beside him, and
acting like one that was dead drunk; for he was a very cunning man,
not over scrupulous in his morals, and had taken in many a one by his
craftiness, and, on this account, his name was in no good repute among
his neighbours, who, to say the truth, were willing to have as little
to do with him as possible. Many hold, too, that he was acquainted with
forbidden arts, and used to carry on an intercourse with the fiends and
old women that raised storms, and such like.
However, be this as it may, when John had gotten the shoe, he lost no
time in letting the folk that dwell under the ground know that he had
it. So at midnight he went to the Nine-hills, and cried with all his
might, “John Wilde of Rodenkirchen has got a beautiful glass shoe. Who
will buy it, who will buy it?” For he knew that the little one who had
lost the shoe must go barefoot till he got it again, and that is no
trifle, for the little people have generally to walk upon very hard and
stony ground.
John’s advertisement was speedily attended to. The little fellow who
had lost the shoe made no delay in setting about redeeming it. The
first free day he got, that he might come out into the daylight, he
came as a respectable merchant, and knocked at John Wilde’s door, and
asked if John had not a glass shoe to sell. “For,” says he, “they are
an article now in great demand, and are sought for in every market.”
John replied that it was true he had a very little little, nice, pretty
little glass shoe, but it was so small that even a dwarf’s foot would
be squeezed in it, and that God Almighty must make people on purpose
for it before it could be of any use, but that, for all that, it was an
extraordinary shoe and a valuable shoe, and a dear shoe, and it was not
every merchant that could afford to pay for it.
The merchant asked to see it, and when he had examined it, “Glass
shoes” said he, “are not by any means such rare articles, my good
friend, as you think here in Rodenkirchen, because you do not happen to
go much into the world. However,” said he, after hemming a little, “I
will give you a good price for it, because I happen to have the very
fellow of it.” And he bid the countryman a thousand dollars for it.
“A thousand dollars are money, my father used to say when he drove fat
oxen to market,” replied John Wilde, in a mocking tone; “but it will
not leave my hands for that shabby price, and, for my own part, it may
ornament the foot of my daughter’s doll. Harkye, friend; I have heard
a sort of little song sung about the glass shoe, and it is not for a
parcel of dirt that it will go out of my hands. Tell me now, my good
fellow, should you happen to know the knack of it, that in every furrow
I make when I am ploughing I should find a ducat. If not, the shoe is
still mine, and you may inquire for glass shoes at those other markets.”
The merchant made still a great many attempts, and twisted and turned
in every direction to get the shoe, but when he found the farmer
inflexible he agreed to what John desired, and swore to the performance
of it.
Cunning John believed in him, and gave him up the glass shoe, for he
knew right well with whom he had to do. So the business being ended,
away went the merchant with his glass shoe.
Without a moment’s delay, John repaired to his stable, got ready his
horses and his plough, and drove out to the field. He selected a piece
of ground where he would have the shortest turns possible, and began to
plough. Hardly had the plough turned up the first sod, when up sprang a
ducat out of the ground, and it was the same with every fresh furrow he
made. There was now no end of his ploughing, and John Wilde soon bought
eight new horses, and put them into the stable to the eight he already
had--and their mangers were never without plenty of oats in them--that
he might be able every two hours to yoke two fresh horses, and so be
enabled to drive them the faster.
John was now insatiable in ploughing, every morning he was out before
sunrise, and many a time he ploughed on till after midnight. Summer and
winter it was plough, plough with him evermore, except when the ground
was frozen as hard as a stone. But he always ploughed by himself, and
never suffered any one to go out with him, or to come to him when he
was at work, for John understood too well the nature of his crop to let
people see what it was he ploughed so constantly for.
But it fared far worse with himself than with his horses, who ate
good oats and were regularly changed and relieved, while he grew
pale and meagre by reason of his continual working and toiling. His
wife and children had no longer any comfort of him, he never went to
the ale-house or the club, he withdrew himself from every one, and
scarcely ever spoke a single word, but went about silent and wrapped up
in his own thoughts. All the day long he toiled for his ducats, and at
night he had to count them and to plan and meditate how he might find
out a still swifter kind of plough.
His wife and the neighbours lamented over his strange conduct, his
dulness and melancholy, and began to think that he was grown foolish.
Everybody pitied his wife and children, for they imagined that the
numerous horses that he kept in his stable, and the preposterous mode
of agriculture that he pursued, with his unnecessary and superfluous
ploughing, must soon leave him without house or land.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
But their anticipations were not fulfilled. True it is, the poor man
never enjoyed a happy or contented hour since he began to plough the
ducats up out of the ground. The old saying held good in his case,
that he who gives himself up to the pursuit of gold is half way in the
claws of the evil one. Flesh and blood cannot bear perpetual labour,
and John Wilde did not long hold out against this running through the
furrows day and night. He got through the first spring, but one day, in
the second, he dropped down at the tail of the plough like an exhausted
November fly. Out of the pure thirst after gold he was wasted away and
dried up to nothing whereas he had been a very strong and hearty man
the day the shoe of the little underground man fell into his hands.
His wife, however, found after him a considerable treasure, two great
nailed up chests full of good new ducats, and his sons purchased large
estates for themselves, and became lords and noblemen. But what good
did all that do poor John Wilde.
[Illustration: John understood too well the nature of his crop]
* * * * *
“And now,” said the King, “we come to our last story, and I think it
shall be told us by the fairy who comes from the furthest North.”
Several dwarfs and Elves started up at this word, but the King
signalled them back to their places; “No,” he said, “none of you is
the one from farthest North.” Then slowly up the middle of the circle
came a quaint little figure all in white with long white hair and
beard--looking, only of course the idea is ridiculous, like an _old_
fairy. He had come from the land of perpetual winter, where everything
is white as the everlasting snow, but though he looked old he was
lively and youthful as the most frolicsome of the flower fairies there.
He skipped briskly on to the stool, then passing his hand down his long
white beard--strange guest where all was so brilliantly coloured--he
began a story which he named
[Illustration: The dwarf from the North]
[Illustration: What should he see but a big white bear]
East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon
Once on a time there was a poor husbandman who had so many children
that he hadn’t much of either food or clothing to give them. Pretty
children they all were, but the prettiest was the youngest daughter,
who was so lovely there was no end to her loveliness.
So one day, ’twas on a Thursday evening late at the fall of the year,
the weather was so wild and rough outside, and it was so cruelly dark,
and rain fell and wind blew, till the walls of the cottage shook again.
There they all sat round the fire busy with this thing and that. But
just then, all at once, something gave three taps on the window-pane.
Then the father went out to see what was the matter; and, when he got
out of doors, what should he see but a great big White Bear.
“Good evening to you!” said the White Bear.
“The same to you,” said the man.
“Will you give me your youngest daughter? If you will, I’ll make you
as rich as you are now poor,” said the Bear.
Well, the man would not be at all sorry to be so rich, but still he
thought he must have a bit of a talk with his daughter first, so he
went in and told them how there was a great White Bear waiting outside,
who had given his word to make them so rich if he could only have the
youngest daughter.
The lassie said “No!” outright. Nothing could get her to say anything
else; so the man went out and settled it with the White Bear, that he
should come again the next Thursday evening and get an answer. Meantime
he talked his daughter over, and kept on telling her of all the riches
they would get, and how well off she would be herself, so at last she
thought better of it, and washed and mended her rags, made herself as
smart as she could, and was ready to start. I can’t say her packing
gave her much trouble.
Next Thursday evening came the White Bear to fetch her, and she got
upon his back with her bundle, and off they went. So when they had gone
a bit of the way, the White Bear said:--
“Are you afraid?”
“No! she wasn’t.”
“Well! mind and hold tight by my shaggy coat, and then there’s nothing
to fear,” said the Bear.
So she rode a long, long way, till they came to a great steep hill.
There on the face of it the White Bear gave a knock, and a door opened,
and they came into a castle, where there were many rooms all lit up,
rooms gleaming with silver and gold, and there too was a table ready
laid, and it was all as grand as grand could be. Then the White Bear
gave her a silver bell, saying that if she rang it when she wanted
anything she would get it at once.
Well, after she had eaten and drunk, and evening wore on, she got
sleepy after her journey, and thought she would like to go to bed,
so she rang the bell, and she had scarce taken hold of it before she
came into a chamber, where there was a bed made, as fair and white as
any one would wish to sleep in, with silken pillows and curtains and
gold fringe. All that was in the room was gold or silver, but when she
had gone to bed, and put out the light, a man came and laid himself
alongside her. That was the White Bear, who threw off his beast-shape
at night, but she never saw him, for he always came after she had put
out the light, and before the day dawned he was up and off again. So
things went on happily for a while, but at last she began to get silent
and sorrowful, for there she went about all day alone, and she longed
to go home to see her father and mother, and brothers and sisters. So
one day, when the White Bear asked what it was that she lacked, she
said it was so dull and lonely there, and how she longed to go home to
see her father and mother, and brothers and sisters, and that was why
she was so sad and sorrowful, because she couldn’t get to them.
“Well, well!” said the Bear, “perhaps there’s a cure for all this, but
you must promise me one thing, not to talk alone with your mother but
only when the rest are by to hear, for she’ll take you by the hand and
try to lead you into a room alone to talk, but you must mind and not do
that, else you’ll bring bad luck on both of us.”
So one Sunday the White Bear came and said now they could set off to
see her father and mother. Well, off they started, she sitting on his
back, and they went far and long. At last they came to a grand house,
and there her brothers and sisters were running about out of doors at
play, and everything was so pretty, ’twas a joy to see.
“This is where your father and mother live now,” said the White Bear,
“but don’t forget what I told you, else you’ll make us both unlucky.”
“No! bless her, she’d not forget”; and when she had reached the house,
the White Bear turned right about and left her.
Then when she went in to see her father and mother, there was such
joy, there was no end to it. None of them thought they could thank her
enough for all she had done for them. Now they had everything they
wished, as good as good could be, and they all wanted to know how she
got on where she lived.
Well, she said, it was very good to live where she did; she had all she
wished. What she said beside I don’t know, but I don’t think any of
them had the right end of the stick, or that they got much out of her.
But so in the afternoon, after they had done dinner, all happened as
the White Bear had said. Her mother wanted to talk with her alone in
her bedroom, but she minded what the White Bear had said, and wouldn’t
go upstairs.
“Oh! what we have to talk about will keep,” she said, and put her
mother off. But somehow or other, her mother got round her at last, and
she had to tell her the whole story. So she said, how every night, when
she had gone to bed, a man came and lay down beside her as soon as she
had put out the light, how she never saw him, because he was always up
and away before the morning dawned, and how she went about woeful and
sorrowing, for she thought she should so much like to see him, and how
all day long she walked about there alone, and how dull, and dreary,
and lonesome it was.
“My!” said her mother; “it may well be a Troll you slept with! But now
I’ll teach you a lesson how to set eyes on him. I’ll give you a bit of
candle, which you can carry home in your bosom; just light that while
he is asleep, but take care not to drop the tallow on him.”
Yes! she took the candle, and hid it in her bosom, and as night drew
on, the White Bear came and fetched her away.
But when they had gone a bit of the way, the White Bear asked if all
hadn’t happened as he had said.
“Well, she couldn’t say it hadn’t.”
“Now, mind,” said he, “if you have listened to your mother’s advice,
you have brought bad luck on us both, and then all that has passed
between us will be as nothing.”
“No,” she said, “she hadn’t listened to her mother’s advice.”
So when she had reached home, and had gone to bed, it was the old story
over again. There came a man and lay down beside her; but at dead of
night, when she heard he slept, she got up and struck a light, lit the
candle, and let the light shine on him, and so she saw that he was the
loveliest Prince one ever set eyes on, and she fell so deep in love
with him, on the spot, that she thought she couldn’t live if she didn’t
give him a kiss there and then. And so she did, but as she kissed him
she dropped three hot drops of tallow on his shirt, and he woke up.
“What have you done?” he cried; “now you have made us both unlucky, for
had you held out only this one year, I had been freed. For I have a
stepmother who has bewitched me, so that I am a White Bear by day and a
man by night. But now all ties are snapped between us, now I must set
off from you to her. She lives in a castle which stands +EAST O’ THE
SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON+, and there, too, is a Princess, with a nose
three ells long, and she’s the wife I must have now.”
She wept and took it ill, but there was no help for it; go he must.
Then she asked if she mightn’t go with him.
No, she mightn’t.
“Tell me the way then,” she said, “and I’ll search you out; that surely
I may get leave to do.”
“Yes, she might do that,” he said, “but there was no way to that place.
It lay +EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON+, and thither she’d never
find her way.”
So next morning when she woke up both Prince and castle were gone, and
then she lay on a little green patch, in the midst of the gloomy thick
wood, and by her side lay the same bundle of rags she had brought with
her from her old home.
So when she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and wept till she was
tired, she set out on her way, and walked many, many days, till she
came to a lofty rock. Under it sat an old hag, and played with a golden
apple which she tossed about. Her the lassie asked if she knew the
way to the prince, who lived with his stepmother in the Castle, that
lay +EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON+, and who was to marry the
Princess with a nose three ells long.
“How did you come to know about him?” asked the old hag; “but maybe you
are the lassie who ought to have had him?”
Yes, she was.
“So, so, it’s you, is it?” said the old hag. “Well, all I know about
him is, that he lives in the castle that lies +EAST O’ THE SUN AND
WEST O’ THE MOON+, and thither you’ll come, late or never; but still
you may have the loan of my horse, and on him you can ride to my next
neighbour. Maybe she’ll be able to tell you; and when you get there,
just give the horse a switch under the left ear, and beg him to be off
home; and, stay, this gold apple you may take with you.”
So she got upon the horse, and rode a long long time, till she
came to another rock, under which sat another old hag, with a gold
carding-comb. Her the lassie asked if she knew the way to the castle
that lay +EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON+, and she answered, like
the first old hag, that she knew nothing about it, except it was +EAST
O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON+.
“And thither you’ll come, late or never, but you shall have the loan of
my horse to my next neighbour; maybe she’ll tell you all about it; and
when you get there, just switch the horse under the left ear, and beg
him to be off home.”
And this old hag gave her the golden carding-comb; it might be she’d
find the use for it, she said. So the lassie got up on the horse,
and rode a far far way, and a weary time; and so at last she came to
another great rock, under which sat another old hag, spinning with a
golden spinning-wheel. Her, too, she asked if she knew the way to the
Prince, and where the castle was, that lay +EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’
THE MOON+. So it was the same thing again.
“Maybe it’s you that ought to have had the Prince?” said the old hag.
Yes, it was.
But she, too, didn’t know the way a bit better than the other two.
“+EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON+ it was” she knew--that was all.
“And thither you’ll come late or never; but I’ll lend you my horse, and
then I think you’d best ride to the East Wind and ask him; maybe he
knows those parts, and can blow you thither. But when you get to him,
you need only give the horse a switch under the left ear, and he’ll
trot home of himself.”
And so, too, she gave her the gold spinning-wheel. “Maybe you’ll find a
use for it,” said the old hag.
Then on she rode many many days, a weary time, before she got to the
East Wind’s house, but at last she did reach it, and then she asked the
East Wind if he could tell her the way to the Prince who dwelt EAST O’
THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON. Yes, the East Wind had often heard tell
of it, the Prince, and the Castle, but he couldn’t tell the way, for he
had never blown so far.
“But, if you will, I’ll go with you to my brother the West Wind, maybe
he knows, for he’s much stronger. So, if you will just get on my back,
I’ll carry you thither.”
Yes, she got on his back, and I should just think they went briskly
along.
So when they got there, they went into the West Wind’s house, and the
East Wind said the lassie he had brought was the one who ought to have
had the Prince who lived in the castle EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE
MOON; and so she had set out to seek him, and how he had come with
her, and would be glad to know if the West Wind knew how to get to the
castle.
“Nay,” said the West Wind, “so far I’ve never blown; but if you will
I’ll go with you to our brother the South Wind, for he’s much stronger
than either of us, and he has flapped his wings far and wide. Maybe
he’ll tell you. You can get on my back and I’ll carry you to him.”
Yes! she got on his back, and so they travelled to the South Wind, and
weren’t so very long on the way, I should think.
When they got there, the West Wind asked him if he could tell her the
way to the castle that lay EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON, for it
was she that ought to have had the Prince who lived there.
“You don’t say so. That’s she, is it?” said the South Wind. “Well, I
have blustered about in most places in my time, but so far have I never
blown; but if you will, I’ll take you to my brother the North Wind; he
is the oldest and the strongest of the whole lot of us, and if he don’t
know where it is, you’ll never find anyone in the world to tell you.
You can get on my back, and I’ll carry you thither.”
Yes! she got on his back, and away he went from his house at a fine
rate, and this time, too, she wasn’t long on her way.
So when they got to the North Wind’s house, he was so wild and cross,
cold puffs came from him a long way off.
“+NOW THEN, WHAT DO YOU WANT?+” he bawled out to them ever so far off,
so that it struck them with an icy shiver.
“Well,” said the South Wind, “you needn’t be so put out, for here I am,
your brother, the South Wind, and here is the lassie who ought to have
had the Prince who dwells in the castle that lies EAST O’ THE SUN AND
WEST O’ THE MOON, and now she wants to ask you if you ever were there,
and can tell her the way, for she would be so glad to find him again.”
“+YES, I KNOW WELL ENOUGH WHERE IT IS+,” said the North Wind; “once in
my life I blew an aspen-leaf thither, but I was so tired I couldn’t
blow a puff for ever so many days after it. But if you really wish to
go thither, and aren’t afraid to come along with me, I’ll take you on
my back and see if I can blow you thither.”
Yes! with all her heart; she must and would get thither if it were
possible in any way, and as for fear, however madly he went, she
wouldn’t be at all afraid.
“Very well then,” said the North Wind, “but you must sleep here
to-night, for we must have the whole day before us if we’re to get
there at all.”
Early next morning the North Wind woke her, and puffed himself up and
blew himself out, and made himself so stout and big, ’twas gruesome to
look at him; and so off they went, high up through the air, as if they
would never stop till they got to the world’s end.
Down here below there was such a storm; it threw down long tracts
of wood and many houses, and when it swept over the great sea ships
foundered by hundreds.
So they tore on and on--no one can believe how far they went--and all
the while they still went over the sea, and the North Wind got more and
more weary, and so out of breath he could scarce bring out a puff, and
his wings drooped and drooped, till at last he sunk so low that the
crests of the waves dashed over his heels.
“Are you afraid?” said the North Wind.
No! she wasn’t.
But they weren’t very far from land; and the North Wind had still so
much strength left in him that he managed to throw her up on the shore
under the windows of the castle which lay EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’
THE MOON; but then he was so weak and worn out, he had to stay there
and rest many days before he could get home again.
Next morning the lassie sat down under the castle window and began
to play with the gold apple; and the first person she saw was the
Long-nose who was to have the Prince.
“What do you want for your gold apple, you lassie?” said the Long-nose,
and threw up the window.
“It’s not for sale for gold or money,” said the lassie.
[Illustration: He was so worn out he had to rest many days before he
could get home again]
“If it’s not for sale for gold or money, what is it that you will sell
it for? You may name your own price,” said the Princess.
“Well, if I may get to the Prince who lives here and be with him
to-night, you shall have it,” said the lassie whom the North Wind had
brought.
Yes! she might; that could be done. So the Princess got the gold apple;
but when the lassie came up to the Prince’s bedroom at night he was
fast asleep; she called him and shook him, and between whiles she wept
sore; but all she could do she couldn’t wake him up. Next morning, as
soon as day broke, came the Princess with the long nose and drove her
out again.
So in the daytime she sat under the castle windows and began to card
with her golden carding-comb, and the same thing happened. The Princess
asked what she wanted for it; and she said it wasn’t for sale for gold
or money, but if she might get leave to go up to the Prince and be with
him that night, the Princess should have it. But when she went up, she
found him fast asleep again, and all she called, and all she shook, and
wept, and prayed, she couldn’t get life into him; and as soon as the
first gray peep of day came, then came the Princess with the long nose
and chased her out again.
So, in the daytime, the lassie sat down outside under the castle window
and began to spin with her golden spinning-wheel, and that, too, the
Princess with the long nose wanted to have. So she threw up the window
and asked what she wanted for it. The lassie said, as she had said
twice before, it wasn’t for sale for gold or money; but if she might go
up to the Prince who was there, and be with him alone that night, she
might have it.
Yes! she might do that and welcome. But now you must know there were
some folk who had been carried off thither, and as they sat in their
room, which was next the Prince, they had heard how a woman had been in
there, and wept and prayed, and called to him two nights running, and
they told that to the Prince.
That evening, when the Princess came with her sleepy drink, the Prince
made as if he drank, but threw it over his shoulder, for he could guess
it was a sleepy drink. So, when the lassie came in, she found the
Prince wide awake; and then she told him the whole story how she had
come thither.
“Ah,” said the Prince, “you’ve just come in the very nick of time for
to-morrow is to be our wedding-day; but now I won’t have the Long-nose,
and you are the only woman in the world who can set me free. I’ll say
I want to see what my wife is fit for, and beg her to wash the shirt
which has the three spots of tallow on it; she’ll say yes, for she
doesn’t know ’tis you who put them there; but that’s a work only for
Christian folk, and not for such a pack of Trolls, and so I’ll say that
I won’t have any other for my bride than the woman who can wash them
out, and ask you to do it.”
So there was great joy and love between them all that night. But next
day, when the wedding was to be, the Prince said:--
“First of all I’d like to see what my bride is fit for.”
“Yes,” said the stepmother, with all her heart.
“Well,” said the Prince, “I’ve got a fine shirt which I’d like for my
wedding-shirt, but somehow or other it has got three spots of tallow on
it, which I must have washed out; and I have sworn never to take any
other bride than the woman who’s able to do that. If she can’t she’s
not worth having.”
Well, that was no great thing, they said, so they agreed, and she with
the Long-nose began to wash away as hard as she could, but the more she
rubbed and scrubbed, the bigger the spots grew.
“Ah,” said the old hag, her mother, “you can’t wash; let me try.”
But she hadn’t long taken the shirt in hand, before it got far worse
than ever, and with all her rubbing, and wringing, and scrubbing the
spots grew bigger and blacker, and the darker and uglier was the shirt.
Then all the other trolls began to wash, but the longer it lasted the
blacker and uglier the shirt grew, till at last it was as black all
over as if it had been up the chimney.
“Ah,” said the Prince, “you’re none of you worth a straw; you can’t
wash. Why there, outside, sits a beggar lassie, I’ll be bound she knows
how to wash better than the whole lot of you. Come in, lassie,” he
shouted.
Well, in she came.
“Can you wash this shirt clean, lassie, you?” said he.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I think I can.”
And almost before she had taken it and dipped it in the water, it was
as white as driven snow, and whiter still.
“Yes; you are the lassie for me,” said the Prince.
At that the old hag flew into such a rage she burst on the spot, and
the Princess with the long nose after her, and the whole pack of Trolls
after her--at least I’ve never heard a word about them since.
As for the Prince and Princess, they set free all the poor folk who had
been carried off and shut up there, and they took with them all the
silver and gold, and flitted away as far as they could from the castle
that lay EAST O’ THE SUN AND WEST O’ THE MOON.
* * * * *
“Not quite the last,” exclaimed Queen Titania, and all the fairies who
had begun to move hurried back to their places. “Not quite the last,
for before we separate I will sing a song that you may tell to all the
human children that you meet, and it shall be called the song of Queen
Titania or
[Illustration: Queen Titania]
[Illustration: But when a bad child goes to bed]
Queen Mab
A little fairy comes at night,
Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,
And from the moon she flutters down.
She has a little silver wand,
And when a good child goes to bed,
She waves her wand from right to left,
And makes a circle round its head.
And then it dreams of pleasant things,
Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit,
And bow their branches at a wish:
Of arbours filled with dainty scents
From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
And glow-worms shining in the shade.
[Illustration: And from the moon she flutters down]
And talking birds with gifted tongues,
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
Through fairy hills and fairy dales.
But when a bad child goes to bed,
From left to right she weaves her rings
And then it dreams all through the night
Of only ugly horrid things.
Then lions come with glaring eyes,
And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,
And ogres draw their cruel knives,
To shed the blood of girls and boys.
[Illustration: Tailpiece]
Then stormy waves rush on to drown,
Or raging flames come scorching round,
Fierce dragons hover in the air,
And serpents crawl along the ground.
Then wicked children wake and weep,
And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
The night as pleasant as the day.
* * * * *
When the song was finished Oberon and Titania arose on their throne and
faint strains of music were heard in the air; for a moment the whole
place sparkled with light and colour, and then all the fairies had gone
in a flash to their distant places, and nothing but a faint circle of
darker grass showed where the great assembly had been. Away under a
shady tree Nick Bottom and his companions were fast asleep, and when
they awakened again they must have puzzled over what they had seen and
heard, and which no doubt they believed that they had only dreamed. But
we know better.
[Illustration: The End]
LETCHWORTH
THE TEMPLE PRESS
PRINTERS
[Illustration]
Transcriber’s Notes
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Small capitals are changed to all capitals and surrounded by +: +SMALL
CAPITALS+.
Illustrations have been moved so they do not break up the paragraphs.
Captions were taken from the List of Illustrations where none were
included.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected
after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and
consultation of external sources. Except for those changes noted below,
all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have
been retained.
The following corrections have been applied to the text (before/after):
(p. xiii)
The Fairyland buys not ...
“The Fairyland buys not ...
(p. xiv)
_Puck_ 98
_Tailpiece_ 97
_Tailpiece_ 97
_Puck_ 98
(p. xvi)
... with the sugar-loaf hat
... with the sugarloaf hat
(p. 33)
... the swallow, and I ...
... the swallow, “and I ...
(p. 38)
... near the fireplace that he ...
... near the fire-place that he ...
(p. 40)
... bespoke a bran-new set of ...
... bespoke a brand-new set of ...
(p. 44)
... as merrily at if nothing ...
... as merrily as if nothing ...
(p. 53)
... “It is not?” ...
... “It is not!” ...
(p. 53)
... be told in ten.
... be told in ten.”
(p. 68)
... in the picture book was alive, ...
... in the picture-book was alive, ...
(p. 76)
... bright day-light, and ...
... bright daylight, and ...
(p. 76)
... stay here If you are ...
... stay here. If you are ...
(p. 108)
... the next storyteller. Who was ...
... the next story-teller. Who was ...
(p. 121)
... favour for themselves
... favour for themselves.
(p. 124)
... many tricks. She then ...
... many tricks.” She then ...
(p. 131)
... about so? move on ...
... about so? Move on ...
(p. 161)
... bird like that I tell ...
... bird like that. I tell ...
(p. 162)
... of the cock-chafers; and these ...
... of the cockchafers; and these ...
(p. 162)
... replied the cock-chafer, “his ...
... replied the cockchafer, “his ...
(p. 162)
... answered the cock-chafer, “we know ...
... answered the cockchafer, “we know ...
(p. 162)
... brother embraced the cock-chafer, and they ...
... brother embraced the cockchafer, and they ...
(p. 176)
... and evening. The king was greatly ...
... and evening. The King was greatly ...
(p. 204)
... to abide spell-bound.
... to abide spellbound.
(p. 215)
... thou thinkest. When the ...
... thou thinkest.” When the ...
(p. 216)
... through the keyhole. The work, ...
... through the key-hole. The work, ...
(p. 221)
Neils was well satisfied ...
Niels was well satisfied ...
(p. 221)
... pocket,” replied Neils.
... pocket,” replied Niels.
(p. 221)
Neils took out of ...
Niels took out of ...
(p. 224/225)
... refreshing slumber But she ...
... refreshing slumber, but she ...
(p. 236)
... get a horse-back upon that ...
... get a horseback upon that ...
(p. 251)
“Now came the seventh ...
Now came the seventh ...
(p. 267)
... “Take courage.” she said ...
... “Take courage,” she said ...
(p. 291)
... size of a windwill, and ...
... size of a windmill, and ...
(p. 300)
... the Elfs”; and ...
... the Elfs; and ...
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