Rubezahl

Rübezahl

Over all the vast under-world the mountain Gnome Rübezahl was lord; and

busy enough the care of his dominions kept him. There were the endless

treasure chambers to be gone through, and the hosts of gnomes to be

kept to their tasks. Some built strong barriers to hold back the fiery

rivers in the earth’s heart, and some had scalding vapours to change

dull stones to precious metal, or were hard at work filling every

cranny of the rocks with diamonds and rubies; for Rübezahl loved all

pretty things. Sometimes the fancy would take him to leave those gloomy

regions, and come out upon the green earth for a while, and bask in the

sunshine and hear the birds sing. And as gnomes live many hundreds of

years he saw strange things. For, the first time he came up, the great

hills were covered with thick forests, in which wild animals roamed,

and Rübezahl watched the fierce fights between bear and bison, or

chased the grey wolves, or amused himself by rolling great rocks down

into the desolate valleys, to hear the thunder of their fall echoing

among the hills. But the next time he ventured above ground, what was

his surprise to find everything changed! The dark woods were hewn down,

and in their place appeared blossoming orchards surrounding

cosy-looking thatched cottages; from every chimney the blue smoke

curled peacefully into the air, sheep and oxen fed in the flowery

meadows, while from the shade of the hedges came the music of the

shepherd’s pipe. The strangeness and pleasantness of the sight so

delighted the gnome that he never thought of resenting the intrusion of

these unexpected guests, who, without saying “by your leave” or “with

your leave,” had made themselves so very much at home upon his hills;

nor did he wish to interfere with their doings, but left them in quiet

possession of their homes, as a good householder leaves in peace the

swallows who have built their nests under his eaves. He was indeed

greatly minded to make friends with this being called “man,” so, taking

the form of an old field labourer, he entered the service of a farmer.

Under his care all the crops flourished exceedingly, but the master

proved to be wasteful and ungrateful, and Rübezahl soon left him, and

went to be shepherd to his next neighbour. He tended the flock so

diligently, and knew so well where to lead the sheep to the sweetest

pastures, and where among the hills to look for any who strayed away,

that they too prospered under his care, and not one was lost or torn by

wolves; but this new master was a hard man, and begrudged him his

well-earned wages. So he ran away and went to serve the judge. Here he

upheld the law with might and main, and was a terror to thieves and

evildoers; but the judge was a bad man, who took bribes, and despised

the law. Rübezahl would not be the tool of an unjust man, and so he

told his master, who thereupon ordered him to be thrown into prison. Of

course that did not trouble the gnome at all, he simply got out through

the keyhole, and went away down to his underground palace, very much

disappointed by his first experience of mankind. But, as time went on,

he forgot the disagreeable things that had happened to him, and thought

he would take another look at the upper world.

So he stole into the valley, keeping himself carefully hidden in copse

or hedgerow, and very soon met with an adventure; for, peeping through

a screen of leaves, he saw before him a green lawn where stood a

charming maiden, fresh as the spring, and beautiful to look upon.

Around her upon the grass lay her young companions, as if they had

thrown themselves down to rest after some merry game. Beyond them

flowed a little brook, into which a waterfall leapt from a high rock,

filling the air with its pleasant sound, and making a coolness even in

the sultry noontide. The sight of the maiden so pleased the gnome that,

for the first time, he wished himself a mortal; and, longing for a

better view of the gay company, he changed himself into a raven and

perched upon an oaktree which overhung the brook. But he soon found

that this was not at all a good plan. He could only see with a raven’s

eyes, and feel as a raven feels; and a nest of field-mice at the foot

of the tree interested him far more than the sport of the maidens. When

he understood this he flew down again in a great hurry into the

thicket, and took the form of a handsome young man—that was the best

way—and he fell in love with the girl then and there. The fair maiden

was the daughter of the king of the country, and she often wandered in

the forest with her play fellows gathering the wild flowers and fruits,

till the midday heat drove the merry band to the shady lawn by the

brook to rest, or to bathe in the cool waters. On this particular

morning the fancy took them to wander off again into the wood. This was

Master Rübezahl’s opportunity. Stepping out of his hiding-place he

stood in the midst of the little lawn, weaving his magic spells, till

slowly all about him changed, and when the maidens returned at noon to

their favourite resting-place they stood lost in amazement, and almost

fancied that they must be dreaming. The red rocks had become white

marble and alabaster; the stream that murmured and struggled before in

its rocky bed, flowed in silence now in its smooth channel, from which

a clear fountain leapt, to fall again in showers of diamond drops, now

on this side now on that, as the wandering breeze scattered it.

Daisies and forget-me-nots fringed its brink, while tall hedges of

roses and jasmine ringed it round, making the sweetest and daintiest

bower imaginable. To the right and left of the waterfall opened out a

wonderful grotto, its walls and arches glittering with many-coloured

rock-crystals, while in every niche were spread out strange fruits and

sweetmeats, the very sight of which made the princess long to taste

them. She hesitated a while, however, scarcely able to believe her

eyes, and not knowing if she should enter the enchanted spot or fly

from it. But at length curiosity prevailed, and she and her companions

explored to their heart’s content, and tasted and examined everything,

running hither and thither in high glee, and calling merrily to each

other.

At last, when they were quite weary, the princess cried out suddenly

that nothing would content her but to bathe in the marble pool, which

certainly did look very inviting; and they all went gaily to this new

amusement. The princess was ready first, but scarcely had she slipped

over the rim of the pool when down—down—down she sank, and vanished in

its depths before her frightened playmates could seize her by so much

as a lock of her floating golden hair!

Loudly did they weep and wail, running about the brink of the pool,

which looked so shallow and so clear, but which had swallowed up their

princess before their eyes. They even sprang into the water and tried

to dive after her, but in vain; they only floated like corks in the

enchanted pool, and could not keep under water for a second.

They saw at last that there was nothing for it but to carry to the king

the sad tidings of his beloved daughter’s disappearance. And what great

weeping and lamentation there was in the palace when the dreadful news

was told! The king tore his robes, dashed his golden crown from his

head, and hid his face in his purple mantle for grief and anguish at

the loss of the princess. After the first outburst of wailing, however,

he took heart and hurried off to see for himself the scene of this

strange adventure, thinking, as people will in sorrow, that there might

be some mistake after all. But when he reached the spot, behold, all

was changed again! The glittering grotto described to him by the

maidens had completely vanished, and so had the marble bath, the bower

of jasmine; instead, all was a tangle of flowers, as it had been of

old. The king was so much perplexed that he threatened the princess’s

playfellows with all sorts of punishments if they would not confess

something about her disappearance; but as they only repeated the same

story he presently put down the whole affair to the work of some sprite

or goblin, and tried to console himself for his loss by ordering a

grand hunt; for kings cannot bear to be troubled about anything long.

Meanwhile the princess was not at all unhappy in the palace of her

elfish lover.

When the water-nymphs, who were hiding in readiness, had caught her and

dragged her out of the sight of her terrified maidens, she herself had

not had time to be frightened. They swam with her quickly by strange

underground ways to a palace so splendid that her father’s seemed but a

poor cottage in comparison with it, and when she recovered from her

astonishment she found herself seated upon a couch, wrapped in a

wonderful robe of satin fastened with a silken girdle, while beside her

knelt a young man who whispered the sweetest speeches imaginable in her

ear. The gnome, for he it was, told her all about himself and his great

underground kingdom, and presently led her through the many rooms and

halls of the palace, and showed her the rare and wonderful things

displayed in them till she was fairly dazzled at the sight of so much

splendour. On three sides of the castle lay a lovely garden with masses

of gay, sweet flowers, and velvet lawns all cool and shady, which

pleased the eye of the princess. The fruit trees were hung with golden

and rosy apples, and nightingales sang in every bush, as the gnome and

the princess wandered in the leafy alleys, sometimes gazing at the

moon, sometimes pausing to gather the rarest flowers for her adornment.

And all the time he was thinking to himself that never, during the

hundreds of years he had lived, had he seen so charming a maiden. But

the princess felt no such happiness; in spite of all the magic delights

around her she was sad, though she tried to seem content for fear of

displeasing the gnome. However, he soon perceived her melancholy, and

in a thousand ways strove to dispel the cloud, but in vain. At last he

said to himself: “Men are sociable creatures, like bees or ants.

Doubtless this lovely mortal is pining for company. Who is there I can

find for her to talk to?”

Thereupon he hastened into the nearest field and dug up a dozen or so

of different roots—carrots, turnips, and radishes—and laying them

carefully in an elegant basket brought them to the princess, who sat

pensive in the shade of the rose-bower.

“Loveliest daughter of earth,” said the gnome, “banish all sorrow; no

more shall you be lonely in my dwelling. In this basket is all you need

to make this spot delightful to you. Take this little many-coloured

wand, and with a touch give to each root the form you desire to see.”

With this he left her, and the princess, without an instant’s delay,

opened the basket, and touching a turnip, cried eagerly: “Brunhilda, my

dear Brunhilda! come to me quickly!” And sure enough there was

Brunhilda, joyfully hugging and kissing her beloved princess, and

chattering as gaily as in the old days.

This sudden appearance was so delightful that the princess could hardly

believe her own eyes, and was quite beside herself with the joy of

having her dear playfellow with her once more. Hand in hand they

wandered about the enchanted garden, and gathered the golden apples

from the trees, and when they were tired of this amusement the princess

led her friend through all the wonderful rooms of the palace, until at

last they came to the one in which were kept all the marvellous dresses

and ornaments the gnome had given to his hoped-for bride. There they

found so much to amuse them that the hours passed like minutes. Veils,

girdles, and necklaces were tried on and admired, the imitation

Brunhilda knew so well how to behave herself, and showed so much taste

that nobody would ever have suspected that she was nothing but a turnip

after all. The gnome, who had secretly been keeping an eye upon them,

was very pleased with himself for having so well understood the heart

of a woman; and the princess seemed to him even more charming than

before. She did not forget to touch the rest of the roots with her

magic wand, and soon had all her maidens about her, and even, as she

had two tiny radishes to spare, her favourite cat, and her little dog

whose name was Beni.

And now all went cheerfully in the castle. The princess gave to each of

the maidens her task, and never was mistress better served. For a whole

week she enjoyed the delight of her pleasant company undisturbed. They

all sang, they danced, they played from morning to night; only the

princess noticed that day by day the fresh young faces of her maidens

grew pale and wan, and the mirror in the great marble hall showed her

that she alone still kept her rosy bloom, while Brunhilda and the rest

faded visibly. They assured her that all was well with them; but,

nevertheless, they continued to waste away, and day by day it became

harder to them to take part in the games of the princess, till at last,

one fine morning, when the princess started from bed and hastened out

to join her gay playfellows, she shuddered and started back at the

sight of a group of shrivelled crones, with bent backs and trembling

limbs, who supported their tottering steps with staves and crutches,

and coughed dismally. A little nearer to the hearth lay the once

frolicsome Beni, with all four feet stretched stiffly out, while the

sleek cat seemed too weak to raise his head from his velvet cushion.

The horrified princess fled to the door to escape from the sight of

this mournful company, and called loudly for the gnome, who appeared at

once, humbly anxious to do her bidding.

“Malicious Sprite,” she cried, “why do you begrudge me my playmates—the

greatest delight of my lonely hours? Isn’t this solitary life in such a

desert bad enough without your turning the castle into a hospital for

the aged? Give my maidens back their youth and health this very minute,

or I will never love you!”

“Sweetest and fairest of damsels,” cried the gnome, “do not be angry;

everything that is in my power I will do—but do not ask the impossible.

So long as the sap was fresh in the roots the magic staff could keep

them in the forms you desired, but as the sap dried up they withered

away. But never trouble yourself about that, dearest one, a basket of

fresh turnips will soon set matters right, and you can speedily call up

again every form you wish to see. The great green patch in the garden

will provide you with a more lively company.”

So saying the gnome took himself off. And the princess with her magic

wand touched the wrinkled old women, and left them the withered roots

they really were, to be thrown upon the rubbish heap; and with light

feet skipped off across to the meadow to take possession of the freshly

filled basket. But to her surprise she could not find it anywhere. Up

and down the garden she searched, spying into every corner, but not a

sign of it was to be found. By the trellis of grape vines she met the

gnome, who was so much embarrassed at the sight of her that she became

aware of his confusion while he was still quite a long way off.

“You are trying to tease me,” she cried, as soon as she saw him. “Where

have you hidden the basket? I have been looking for it at least an

hour.”

“Dear queen of my heart,” answered he, “I pray you to forgive my

carelessness. I promised more than I could perform. I have sought all

over the land for the roots you desire; but they are gathered in, and

lie drying in musty cellars, and the fields are bare and desolate, for

below in the valley winter reigns, only here in your presence spring is

held fast, and wherever your foot is set the gay flowers bloom. Have

patience for a little, and then without fail you shall have your

puppets to play with.”

Almost before the gnome had finished, the disappointed princess turned

away, and marched off to her own apartments, without deigning to answer

him.

The gnome, however, set off above ground as speedily as possible, and

disguising himself as a farmer, bought an ass in the nearest

market-town, and brought it back loaded with sacks of turnip, carrot,

and radish seed. With this he sowed a great field, and sent a vast army

of his goblins to watch and tend it, and to bring up the fiery rivers

from the heart of the earth near enough to warm and encourage the

sprouting seeds. Thus fostered they grew and flourished marvellously,

and promised a goodly crop.

The princess wandered about the field day by day, no other plants or

fruits in all her wonderful garden pleased her as much as these roots;

but still her eyes were full of discontent. And, best of all, she loved

to while away the hours in a shady fir-wood, seated upon the bank of a

little stream, into which she would cast the flowers she had gathered

and watch them float away.

The gnome tried hard by every means in his power to please the princess

and win her love, but little did he guess the real reason of his lack

of success. He imagined that she was too young and inexperienced to

care for him; but that was a mistake, for the truth was that another

image already filled her heart. The young Prince Ratibor, whose lands

joined her father’s, had won the heart of the princess; and the lovers

had been looking forward to the coming of their wedding-day when the

bride’s mysterious disappearance took place. The sad news drove Ratibor

distracted, and as the days went on, and nothing could be heard of the

princess, he forsook his castle and the society of men, and spent his

days in the wild forests, roaming about and crying her name aloud to

the trees and rocks. Meanwhile, the maiden, in her gorgeous prison,

sighed in secret over her grief, not wishing to arouse the gnome’s

suspicions. In her own mind she was wondering if by any means she might

escape from her captivity, and at last she hit upon a plan.

By this time spring once more reigned in the valley, and the gnome sent

the fires back to their places in the deeps of the earth, for the roots

which they had kept warm through all the cruel winter had now come to

their full size. Day by day the princess pulled up some of them, and

made experiments with them, conjuring up now this longed-for person,

and now that, just for the pleasure of seeing them as they appeared;

but she really had another purpose in view.

One day she changed a tiny turnip into a bee, and sent him off to bring

her some news of her lover.

“Fly, dear little bee, towards the east,” said she, “to my beloved

Ratibor, and softly hum into his ear that I love him only, but that I

am a captive in the gnome’s palace under the mountains. Do not forget a

single word of my greeting, and bring me back a message from my

beloved.”

So the bee spread his shining wings and flew away to do as he was

bidden; but before he was out of sight a greedy swallow made a snatch

at him, and to the great grief of the princess her messenger was eaten

up then and there.

After that, by the power of the wonderful wand she summoned a cricket,

and taught him this greeting:

“Hop, little cricket, to Ratibor, and chirp in his ear that I love him

only, but that I am held captive by the gnome in his palace under the

mountains.”

So the cricket hopped off gaily, determined to do his best to deliver

his message; but, alas! a long-legged stork who was prancing along the

same road caught him in her cruel beak, and before he could say a word

he had disappeared down her throat.

These two unlucky ventures did not prevent the princess from trying

once more.

This time she changed the turnip into a magpie.

“Flutter from tree to tree, chattering bird,” said she, “till you come

to Ratibor, my love. Tell him that I am a captive, and bid him come

with horses and men, the third day from this, to the hill that rises

from the Thorny Valley.”

The magpie listened, hopped awhile from branch to branch, and then

darted away, the princess watching him anxiously as far as she could

see.

Now Prince Ratibor was still spending his life in wandering about the

woods, and not even the beauty of the spring could soothe his grief.

One day, as he sat in the shade of an oak tree, dreaming of his lost

princess, and sometimes crying her name aloud, he seemed to hear

another voice reply to his, and, starting up, he gazed around him, but

he could see no one, and he had just made up his mind that he must be

mistaken, when the same voice called again, and, looking up sharply, he

saw a magpie which hopped to and fro among the twigs. Then Ratibor

heard with surprise that the bird was indeed calling him by name.

“Poor chatterpie,” said he; “who taught you to say that name, which

belongs to an unlucky mortal who wishes the earth would open and

swallow up him and his memory for ever?”

Thereupon he caught up a great stone, and would have hurled it at the

magpie, if it had not at that moment uttered the name of the princess.

This was so unexpected that the prince’s arm fell helplessly to his

side at the sound, and he stood motionless.

But the magpie in the tree, who, like all the rest of his family, was

not happy unless he could be for ever chattering, began to repeat the

message the princess had taught him; and as soon as he understood it,

Prince Ratibor’s heart was filled with joy. All his gloom and misery

vanished in a moment, and he anxiously questioned the welcome messenger

as to the fate of the princess.

But the magpie knew no more than the lesson he had learnt, so he soon

fluttered away; while the prince hurried back to his castle to gather

together a troop of horsemen, full of courage for whatever might

befall.

The princess meanwhile was craftily pursuing her plan of escape. She

left off treating the gnome with coldness and indifference; indeed,

there was a look in her eyes which encouraged him to hope that she

might some day return his love, and the idea pleased him mightily. The

next day, as soon as the sun rose, she made her appearance decked as a

bride, in the wonderful robes and jewels which the fond gnome had

prepared for her. Her golden hair was braided and crowned with myrtle

blossoms, and her flowing veil sparkled with gems. In these magnificent

garments she went to meet the gnome upon the great terrace.

“Loveliest of maidens,” he stammered, bowing low before her, “let me

gaze into your dear eyes, and read in them that you will no longer

refuse my love, but will make me the happiest being the sun shines

upon.”

So saying he would have drawn aside her veil; but the princess only

held it more closely about her.

“Your constancy has overcome me,” she said; “I can no longer oppose

your wishes. But believe my words, and suffer this veil still to hide

my blushes and tears.”

“Why tears, beloved one?” cried the gnome anxiously; “every tear of

yours falls upon my heart like a drop of molten gold. Greatly as I

desire your love, I do not ask a sacrifice.”

“Ah!” cried the false princess, “why do you misunderstand my tears? My

heart answers to your tenderness, and yet I am fearful. A wife cannot

always charm, and though YOU will never alter, the beauty of mortals is

as a flower that fades. How can I be sure that you will always be as

loving and charming as you are now?”

“Ask some proof, sweetheart,” said he. “Put my obedience and my

patience to some test by which you can judge of my unalterable love.”

“Be it so,” answered the crafty maiden. “Then give me just one proof of

your goodness. Go! count the turnips in yonder meadow. My wedding feast

must not lack guests. They shall provide me with bride-maidens too. But

beware lest you deceive me, and do not miss a single one. That shall be

the test of your truth towards me.”

Unwilling as the gnome was to lose sight of his beautiful bride for a

moment, he obeyed her commands without delay, and hurried off to begin

his task. He skipped along among the turnips as nimbly as a

grasshopper, and had soon counted them all; but, to be quite certain

that he had made no mistake, he thought he would just run over them

again. This time, to his great annoyance, the number was different; so

he reckoned them for the third time, but now the number was not the

same as either of the previous ones! And this was hardly to be wondered

at, as his mind was full of the princess’s pretty looks and words.

As for the maiden, no sooner was her deluded lover fairly out of sight

than she began to prepare for flight. She had a fine fresh turnip

hidden close at hand, which she changed into a spirited horse, all

saddled and bridled, and, springing upon its back, she galloped away

over hill and dale till she reached the Thorny Valley, and flung

herself into the arms of her beloved Prince Ratibor.

Meanwhile the toiling gnome went through his task over and over again

till his back ached and his head swam, and he could no longer put two

and two together; but as he felt tolerably certain of the exact number

of turnips in the field, big and little together, he hurried back eager

to prove to his beloved one what a delightful and submissive husband he

would be. He felt very well satisfied with himself as he crossed the

mossy lawn to the place where he had left her; but, alas! she was no

longer there.

He searched every thicket and path, he looked behind every tree, and

gazed into every pond, but without success; then he hastened into the

palace and rushed from room to room, peering into every hole and corner

and calling her by name; but only echo answered in the marble

halls—there was neither voice nor footstep.

Then he began to perceive that something was amiss, and, throwing off

the mortal form that encumbered him, he flew out of the palace, and

soared high into the air, and saw the fugitive princess in the far

distance just as the swift horse carried her across the boundary of his

dominions.

Furiously did the enraged gnome fling two great clouds together, and

hurl a thunderbolt after the flying maiden, splintering the rocky

barriers which had stood a thousand years. But his fury was vain, the

thunderclouds melted away into a soft mist, and the gnome, after flying

about for a while in despair, bewailing to the four winds his unhappy

fate, went sorrowfully back to the palace, and stole once more through

every room, with many sighs and lamentations. He passed through the

gardens which for him had lost their charm, and the sight of the

princess’s footprints on the golden sand of the pathway renewed his

grief. All was lonely, empty, sorrowful; and the forsaken gnome

resolved that he would have no more dealings with such false creatures

as he had found men to be.

Thereupon he stamped three times upon the earth, and the magic palace,

with all its treasures, vanished away into the nothingness out of which

he had called it; and the gnome fled once more to the depths of his

underground kingdom.

While all this was happening, Prince Ratibor was hurrying away with his

prize to a place of safety. With great pomp and triumph he restored the

lovely princess to her father, and was then and there married to her,

and took her back with him to his own castle.

But long after she was dead, and her children too, the villagers would

tell the tale of her imprisonment underground, as they sat carving wood

in the winter nights.

[Volksmärchen der Deutschen.]

Story Of The King Who Would Be Stronger Than Fate

Once upon a time, far away in the east country, there lived a king who

loved hunting so much that, when once there was a deer in sight, he was

careless of his own safety. Indeed, he often became quite separated

from his nobles and attendants, and in fact was particularly fond of

lonely adventures. Another of his favourite amusements was to give out

that he was not well, and could not be seen; and then, with the

knowledge only of his faithful Grand Wazeer, to disguise himself as a

pedlar, load a donkey with cheap wares, and travel about. In this way

he found out what the common people said about him, and how his judges

and governors fulfilled their duties.

One day his queen presented him with a baby daughter as beautiful as

the dawn, and the king himself was so happy and delighted that, for a

whole week, he forgot to hunt, and spent the time in public and private

rejoicing.

Not long afterwards, however, he went out after some deer which were to

be found in a far corner of his forests. In the course of the beat his

dogs disturbed a beautiful snow-white stag, and directly he saw it the

king determined that he would have it at any cost. So he put the spurs

to his horse, and followed it as hard as he could gallop. Of course all

his attendants followed at the best speed that they could manage; but

the king was so splendidly mounted, and the stag was so swift, that, at

the end of an hour, the king found that only his favourite hound and

himself were in the chase; all the rest were far, far behind and out of

sight.

Nothing daunted, however, he went on and on, till he perceived that he

was entering a valley with great rocky mountains on all sides, and that

his horse was getting very tired and trembled at every stride. Worse

than all evening was already drawing on, and the sun would soon set. In

vain had he sent arrow after arrow at the beautiful stag. Every shot

fell short, or went wide of the mark; and at last, just as darkness was

setting in, he lost sight altogether of the beast. By this time his

horse could hardly move from fatigue, his hound staggered panting along

beside him, he was far away amongst mountains where he had never been

before, and had quite missed his way, and not a human creature or

dwelling was in sight.

All this was very discouraging, but the king would not have minded if

he had not lost that beautiful stag. That troubled him a good deal, but

he never worried over what he could not help, so he got down from his

horse, slipped his arm through the bridle, and led the animal along the

rough path in hopes of discovering some shepherd’s hut, or, at least, a

cave or shelter under some rock, where he might pass the night.

Presently he heard the sound of rushing water, and made towards it. He

toiled over a steep rocky shoulder of a hill, and there, just below

him, was a stream dashing down a precipitous glen, and, almost beneath

his feet, twinkling and flickering from the level of the torrent, was a

dim light as of a lamp. Towards this light the king with his horse and

hound made his way, sliding and stumbling down a steep, stony path. At

the bottom the king found a narrow grassy ledge by the brink of the

stream, across which the light from a rude lantern in the mount of a

cave shed a broad beam of uncertain light. At the edge of the stream

sat an old hermit with a long white beard, who neither spoke nor moved

as the king approached, but sat throwing into the stream dry leaves

which lay scattered about the ground near him.

“Peace be upon you,” said the king, giving the usual country

salutation.

“And upon you peace,” answered the hermit; but still he never looked

up, nor stopped what he was doing.

For a minute or two the king stood watching him. He noticed that the

hermit threw two leaves in at a time, and watched them attentively.

Sometimes both were carried rapidly down by the stream; sometimes only

one leaf was carried off, and the other, after whirling slowly round

and round on the edge of the current, would come circling back on an

eddy to the hermit’s feet. At other times both leaves were held in the

backward eddy, and failed to reach the main current of the noisy

stream.

“What are you doing?” asked the king at last, and the hermit replied

that he was reading the fates of men; every one’s fate, he said, was

settled from the beginning, and, whatever it were, there was no escape

from it. The king laughed.

“I care little,” he said, “what my fate may be; but I should be curious

to know the fate of my little daughter.”

“I cannot say,” answered the hermit.

“Do you not know, then?” demanded the king.

“I might know,” returned the hermit, “but it is not always wisdom to

know much.”

But the king was not content with this reply, and began to press the

old man to say what he knew, which for a long time he would not do. At

last, however, the king urged him so greatly that he said:

“The king’s daughter will marry the son of a poor slave-girl called

Puruna, who belongs to the king of the land of the north. There is no

escaping from Fate.”

The king was wild with anger at hearing these words, but he was also

very tired; so he only laughed, and answered that he hoped there would

be a way out of THAT fate anyhow. Then he asked if the hermit could

shelter him and his beasts for the night, and the hermit said “Yes”;

so, very soon the king had watered and tethered his horse, and, after a

supper of bread and parched peas, lay down in the cave, with the hound

at his feet, and tried to go to sleep. But instead of sleeping he only

lay awake and thought of the hermit’s prophecy; and the more he thought

of it the angrier he felt, until he gnashed his teeth and declared that

it should never, never come true.

Morning came, and the king got up, pale and sulky, and, after learning

from the hermit which path to take, was soon mounted and found his way

home without much difficulty. Directly he reached his palace he wrote a

letter to the king of the land of the north, begging him, as a favour,

to sell him his slave girl Puruna and her son, and saying that, if he

consented, he would send a messenger to receive them at the river which

divided the kingdoms.

For five days he awaited the reply, and hardly slept or ate, but was as

cross as could be all the time. On the fifth day his messenger returned

with a letter to say that the king of the land of the north would not

sell, but he would give, the king the slave girl and her son. The king

was overjoyed. He sent for his Grand Wazeer and told him that he was

going on one of his lonely expeditions, and that the Wazeer must invent

some excuse to account for his absence. Next he disguised himself as an

ordinary messenger, mounted a swift camel, and sped away to the place

where the slave girl was to be handed over to him. When he got there he

gave the messengers who brought her a letter of thanks and a handsome

present for their master and rewards for themselves; and then without

delay he took the poor woman and her tiny baby-boy up on to his camel

and rode off to a wild desert.

After riding for a day and a night, almost without stopping, he came to

a great cave where he made the woman dismount, and, taking her and the

baby into the cave, he drew his sword and with one blow chopped her

head off. But although his anger made him cruel enough for anything so

dreadful, the king felt that he could not turn his great sword on the

helpless baby, who he was sure must soon die in this solitary place

without its mother; so he left it in the cave where it was, and,

mounting his camel, rode home as fast as he could.

Now, in a small village in his kingdom there lived an old widow who had

no children or relations of any kind. She made her living mostly by

selling the milk of a flock of goats; but she was very, very poor, and

not very strong, and often used to wonder how she would live if she got

too weak or ill to attend to her goats. Every morning she drove the

goats out into the desert to graze on the shrubs and bushes which grew

there, and every evening they came home of themselves to be milked and

to be shut up safely for the night.

One evening the old woman was astonished to find that her very best

nanny-goat returned without a drop of milk. She thought that some

naughty boy or girl was playing a trick upon her and had caught the

goat on its way home and stolen all the milk. But when evening after

evening the goat remained almost dry she determined to find out who the

thief was. So the next day she followed the goats at a distance and

watched them while they grazed. At length, in the afternoon, the old

woman noticed this particular nanny-goat stealing off by herself away

from the herd and she at once went after her. On and on the goat walked

for some way, and then disappeared into a cave in the rocks. The old

woman followed the goat into the cave and then, what should she see but

the animal giving her milk to a little boy-baby, whilst on the ground

near by lay the sad remains of the baby’s dead mother! Wondering and

frightened, the old woman thought at last that this little baby might

be a son to her in her old age, and that he would grow up and in time

to come be her comfort and support. So she carried home the baby to her

hut, and next day she took a spade to the cave and dug a grave where

she buried the poor mother.

Years passed by, and the baby grew up into a find handsome lad, as

daring as he was beautiful, and as industrious as he was brave. One

day, when the boy, whom the old woman had named Nur Mahomed, was about

seventeen years old, he was coming from his day’s work in the fields,

when he saw a strange donkey eating the cabbages in the garden which

surround their little cottage. Seizing a big stick, he began to beat

the intruder and to drive him out of his garden. A neighbour passing by

called out to him—“Hi! I say! why are you beating the pedlar’s donkey

like that?”

“The pedlar should keep him from eating my cabbages,” said Nur Mahomed;

“if he comes this evening here again I’ll cut off his tail for him!”

Whereupon he went off indoors, whistling cheerfully. It happened that

this neighbour was one of those people who make mischief by talking too

much; so, meeting the pedlar in the “serai,” or inn, that evening, he

told him what had occurred, and added: “Yes; and the young spitfire

said that if beating the donkey would not do, he would beat you also,

and cut your nose off for a thief!”

A few days later, the pedlar having moved on, two men appeared in the

village inquiring who it was who had threatened to ill-treat and to

murder an innocent pedlar. They declared that the pedlar, in fear of

his life, had complained to the king; and that they had been sent to

bring the lawless person who had said these things before the king

himself. Of course they soon found out about the donkey eating Nur

Mahomed’s cabbages, and about the young man’s hot words; but although

the lad assured them that he had never said anything about murdering

anyone, they replied they were ordered to arrest him, and bring him to

take his trial before the king. So, in spite of his protests, and the

wails of his mother, he was carried off, and in due time brought before

the king. Of course Nur Mahomed never guessed that the supposed pedlar

happened to have been the king himself, although nobody knew it.

But as he was very angry at what he had been told, he declared that he

was going to make an example of this young man, and intended to teach

him that even poor travelling pedlars could get justice in HIS country,

and be protected from such lawlessness. However, just as he was going

to pronounce some very heavy sentence, there was a stir in the court,

and up came Nur Mahomed’s old mother, weeping and lamenting, and

begging to be heard. The king ordered her to speak, and she began to

plead for the boy, declaring how good he was, and how he was the

support of her old age, and if he were put in prison she would die. The

king asked her who she was. She replied that she was his mother.

“His mother?” said the king; “you are too old, surely, to have so young

a son!”

Then the old woman, in her fright and distress, confessed the whole

story of how she found the baby, and how she rescued and brought him

up, and ended by beseeching the king for mercy.

It is easy to guess how, as the story came out, the king looked blacker

and blacker, and more and more grim, until at last he was half fainting

with rage and astonishment. This, then, was the baby he had left to

die, after cruelly murdering his mother! Surely fate might have spared

him this! He wished he had sufficient excuse to put the boy to death,

for the old hermit’s prophecy came back to him as strongly as ever; and

yet the young man had done nothing bad enough to deserve such a

punishment. Everyone would call him a tyrant if he were to give such an

order—in fact, he dared not try it!

At length he collected himself enough to say:—“If this young man will

enlist in my army I will let him off. We have need of such as him, and

a little discipline will do him good.” Still the old woman pleaded that

she could not live without her son, and was nearly as terrified at the

idea of his becoming a soldier as she was at the thought of his being

put in prison. But at length the king—determined to get the youth into

his clutches—pacified her by promising her a pension large enough to

keep her in comfort; and Nur Mahomed, to his own great delight, was

duly enrolled in the king’s army.

As a soldier Nur Mahomed seemed to be in luck. He was rather surprised,

but much pleased, to find that he was always one of those chosen when

any difficult or dangerous enterprise was afoot; and, although he had

the narrowest escapes on some occasions, still, the very desperateness

of the situations in which he found himself gave him special chances of

displaying his courage. And as he was also modest and generous, he

became a favourite with his officers and his comrades.

Thus it was not very surprising that, before very long, he became

enrolled amongst the picked men of the king’s bodyguard. The fact is,

that the king had hoped to have got him killed in some fight or

another; but, seeing that, on the contrary, he throve on hard knocks,

he was now determined to try more direct and desperate methods.

One day, soon after Nur Mahomed had entered the bodyguard, he was

selected to be one of the soldiers told off to escort the king through

the city. The procession was marching on quite smoothly, when a man,

armed with a dagger, rushed out of an alley straight towards the king.

Nur Mahomed, who was the nearest of the guards, threw himself in the

way, and received the stab that had been apparently intended for the

king. Luckily the blow was a hurried one, and the dagger glanced on is

breastbone, so that, although he received a severe wound, his youth and

strength quickly got the better of it. The king was, of course, obliged

to take some notice of this brave deed, and as a reward made him one of

his own attendants.

After this the strange adventures the young man passed through were

endless. Officers of the bodyguard were often sent on all sorts of

secret and difficult errands, and such errands had a curious way of

becoming necessary when Nur Mahomed was on duty. Once, while he was

taking a journey, a foot-bridge gave way under him; once he was

attacked by armed robbers; a rock rolled down upon him in a mountain

pass; a heavy stone coping fell from a roof at his feet in a narrow

city alley. Altogether, Nur Mahomed began to think that, somewhere or

other, he had made an enemy; but he was light-hearted, and the thought

did not much trouble him. He escaped somehow every time, and felt

amused rather than anxious about the next adventure.

It was the custom of that city that the officer for the day of the

palace guards should receive all his food direct from the king’s

kitchen. One day, when Nur Mahomed’s turn came to be on duty, he was

just sitting down to a delicious stew that had been sent in from the

palace, when one of those gaunt, hungry dogs, which, in eastern

countries, run about the streets, poked his nose in at the open

guard-room door, and looked at Nur Mahomed with mouth watering and

nostrils working. The kind-hearted young man picked out a lump of meat,

went to the door, and threw it outside to him. The dog pounced upon it,

and gulped it down greedily, and was just turning to go, when it

staggered, fell, rolled over, and died. Nur Mahomed, who had been

lazily watching him, stood still for a moment, then he came back

whistling softly. He gathered up the rest of his dinner and carefully

wrapped it up to carry away and bury somewhere; and then he sent back

the empty plates.

How furious the king was when, at the next morning’s durbar, Nur

Mahomed appeared before him fresh, alert and smiling as usual. He was

determined, however, to try once more, and bidding the young man come

into his presence that evening, gave orders that he was to carry a

secret despatch to the governor of a distant province. “Make your

preparations at once,” added he, “and be ready to start in the morning.

I myself will deliver you the papers at the last moment.”

Now this province was four or five days’ journey from the palace, and

the governor of it was the most faithful servant the king had. He could

be silent as the grave, and prided himself on his obedience. Whilst he

was an old and tried servant of the king’s, his wife had been almost a

mother to the young princess ever since the queen had died some years

before. It happened that, a little before this time, the princess had

been sent away for her health to another remote province; and whilst

she was there her old friend, the governor’s wife, had begged her to

come and stay with them as soon as she could.

The princess accepted gladly, and was actually staying in the

governor’s house at the very time when the king made up his mind to

send Nur Mahomed there with the mysterious despatch.

According to orders Nur Mahomed presented himself early the next

morning at the king’s private apartments. His best horse was saddled,

food placed in is saddle-bag, and with some money tied up in his

waist-band, he was ready to start. The king handed over to him a sealed

packet, desiring him to give it himself only into the hands of the

governor, and to no one else. Nur Mahomed hid it carefully in his

turban, swung himself into the saddle, and five minutes later rode out

of the city gates, and set out on his long journey.

The weather was very hot; but Nur Mahomed thought that the sooner his

precious letter was delivered the better; so that, by dint of riding

most of each night and resting only in the hottest part of the day, he

found himself, by noon on the third day, approaching the town which was

his final destination.

Not a soul was to be seen anywhere; and Nur Mahomed, stiff, dry,

thirsty, and tired, looked longingly over the wall into the gardens,

and marked the fountains, the green grass, the shady apricot orchards,

and giant mulberry trees, and wished he were there.

At length he reached the castle gates, and was at once admitted, as he

was in the uniform of the king’s bodyguard. The governor was resting,

the soldier said, and could not see him until the evening. So Nur

Mahomed handed over his horse to an attendant, and wandered down into

the lovely gardens he had seen from the road, and sat down in the shade

to rest himself. He flung himself on his back and watched the birds

twittering and chattering in the trees above him. Through the branches

he could see great patches of sky where the kites wheeled and circled

incessantly, with shrill whistling cried. Bees buzzed over the flowers

with a soothing sound, and in a few minutes Nur Mahomed was fast

asleep.

Every day, through the heat of the afternoon, the governor, and his

wife also, used to lie down for two or three hours in their own rooms,

and so, for the matter of that, did most people in the palace. But the

princess, like many other girls, was restless, and preferred to wander

about the garden, rather than rest on a pile of soft cushions. What a

torment her stout old attendants and servants sometime thought her when

she insisted on staying awake, and making them chatter or do something,

when they could hardly keep their eyes open! Sometimes, however, the

princess would pretend to go to sleep, and then, after all her women

had gladly followed her example, she would get up and go out by

herself, her veil hanging loosely about her. If she was discovered her

old hostess scolded her severely; but the princess only laughed, and

did the same thing next time.

This very afternoon the princess had left all her women asleep, and,

after trying in vain to amuse herself indoors, she had slipped out into

the great garden, and rambled about in all her favourite nooks and

corners, feeling quite safe as there was not a creature to be seen.

Suddenly, on turning a corner, she stopped in surprise, for before her

lay a man fast asleep! In her hurry she had almost tripped over him.

But there he was, a young man, tanned and dusty with travel, in the

uniform of an officer of the king’s guard. One of the few faults of

this lovely princess was a devouring curiosity, and she lived such an

idle life that she had plenty of time to be curious. Out of one of the

folds of this young man’s turban there peeped the corner of a letter!

She wondered what the letter was—whom it was for! She drew her veil a

little closer, and stole across on tip-toe and caught hold of the

corner of the letter. Then she pulled it a little, and just a little

more! A great big seal came into view, which she saw to be her

father’s, and at the sight of it she paused for a minute half ashamed

of what she was doing. But the pleasure of taking a letter which was

not meant for her was more than she could resist, and in another moment

it was in her hand. All at once she remembered that it would be death

to this poor officer if he lost the letter, and that at all hazards she

must put it back again. But this was not so easy; and, moreover, the

letter in her hand burnt her with longing to read it, and see what was

inside. She examined the seal. It was sticky with being exposed to the

hot sun, and with a very little effort it parted from the paper. The

letter was open and she read it! And this was what was written:

“Behead the messenger who brings this letter secretly and at once. Ask

no questions.”

The girl grew pale. What a shame! she thought. SHE would not let a

handsome young fellow like that be beheaded; but how to prevent it was

not quite clear at the moment. Some plan must be invented, and she

wished to lock herself in where no one could interrupt her, as might

easily happen in the garden. So she crept softly to her room, and took

a piece of paper and wrote upon it: “Marry the messenger who brings

this letter to the princess openly at once. Ask no questions.” And even

contrived to work the seals off the original letter and to fix them to

this, so that no one could tell, unless they examined it closely, that

it had ever been opened. Then she slipped back, shaking with fear and

excitement, to where the young officer still lay asleep, thrust the

letter into the fold so his turban, and hurried back to her room. It

was done!

Late in the afternoon Nur Mahomed woke, and, making sure that the

precious despatch was still safe, went off to get ready for his

audience with the governor. As soon as he was ushered into his presence

he took the letter from his turban and placed it in the governor’s

hands according to orders. When he had read it the governor was

certainly a little astonished; but he was told in the letter to “ask no

questions,” and he knew how to obey orders. He sent for his wife and

told her to get the princess ready to be married at once.

“Nonsense!” said his wife, “what in the world do you mean?”

“These are the king’s commands,” he answered; “go and do as I bid you.

The letter says ‘at once,’ and ‘ask no questions.’ The marriage,

therefore, must take place this evening.”

In vain did his wife urge every objection; the more she argued, the

more determined was her husband. “I know how to obey orders,” he said,

“and these are as plain as the nose on my face!” So the princess was

summoned, and, somewhat to their surprise, she seemed to take the news

very calmly; next Nur Mahomed was informed, and he was greatly

startled, but of course he could but be delighted at the great and

unexpected honour which he thought the king had done him. Then all the

castle was turned upside down; and when the news spread in the town,

THAT was turned upside down too. Everybody ran everywhere, and tried to

do everything at once; and, in the middle of it all, the old governor

went about with his hair standing on end, muttering something about

“obeying orders.”

And so the marriage was celebrated, and there was a great feast in the

castle, and another in the soldiers’ barracks, and illuminations all

over the town and in the beautiful gardens. And all the people declared

that such a wonderful sight had never been seen, and talked about it to

the ends of their lives.

The next day the governor despatched the princess and her bridegroom to

the king, with a troop of horsemen, splendidly dressed, and he sent a

mounted messenger on before them, with a letter giving the account of

the marriage to the king.

When the king got the governor’s letter, he grew so red in the face

that everyone thought he was going to have apoplexy. They were all very

anxious to know what had happened, but he rushed off and locked himself

into a room, where he ramped and raved until he was tired. Then, after

awhile, he began to think he had better make the best of it, especially

as the old governor had been clever enough to send him back his letter,

and the king was pretty sure that this was in the princess’s

handwriting. He was fond of his daughter, and though she had behaved

badly, he did not wish to cut HER head off, and he did not want people

to know the truth because it would make him look foolish. In fact, the

more he considered the matter, the more he felt that he would be wise

to put a good face on it, and to let people suppose that he had really

brought about the marriage of his own free will.

So, when the young couple arrived, the king received them with all

state, and gave his son-in-law a province to govern. Nur Mahomed soon

proved himself as able and honourable a governor as he was a brave

soldier; and, when the old king died, he became king in his place, and

reigned long and happily.

Nur Mahomed’s old mother lived for a long time in her “son’s” palace,

and died in peace. The princess, his wife, although she had got her

husband by a trick, found that she could not trick HIM, and so she

never tried, but busied herself in teaching her children and scolding

her maids. As for the old hermit, no trace of him was ever discovered;

but the cave is there, and the leaves lie thick in front of it unto

this day.

[Told the writer by an Indian.]