Motikatika

cried bitterly; but Motikatika said: “It is only just that he should be

eaten, and not I; for it was he, and not I, who sent you to fetch the

water.”

[Adapted from the Ba-Ronga (H. Junod).]

Niels And The Giants

On one of the great moors over in Jutland, where trees won’t grow

because the soil is so sandy and the wind so strong, there once lived a

man and his wife, who had a little house and some sheep, and two sons

who helped them to herd them. The elder of the two was called Rasmus,

and the younger Niels. Rasmus was quite content to look after sheep, as

his father had done before him, but Niels had a fancy to be a hunter,

and was not happy till he got hold of a gun and learned to shoot. It

was only an old muzzle-loading flint-lock after all, but Niels thought

it a great prize, and went about shooting at everything he could see.

So much did he practice that in the long run he became a wonderful

shot, and was heard of even where he had never been seen. Some people

said there was very little in him beyond this, but that was an idea

they found reason to change in the course of time.

The parents of Rasmus and Niels were good Catholics, and when they were

getting old the mother took it into her head that she would like to go

to Rome and see the Pope. The others didn’t see much use in this, but

she had her way in the end: they sold all the sheep, shut up the house,

and set out for Rome on foot. Niels took his gun with him.

“What do you want with that?” said Rasmus; “we have plenty to carry

without it.” But Niels could not be happy without his gun, and took it

all the same.

It was in the hottest part of summer that they began their journey, so

hot that they could not travel at all in the middle of the day, and

they were afraid to do it by night lest they might lose their way or

fall into the hands of robbers. One day, a little before sunset, they

came to an inn which lay at the edge of a forest.

“We had better stay here for the night,” said Rasmus.

“What an idea!” said Niels, who was growing impatient at the slow

progress they were making. “We can’t travel by day for the heat, and we

remain where we are all night. It will be long enough before we get to

Rome if we go on at this rate.”

Rasmus was unwilling to go on, but the two old people sided with Niels,

who said, “The nights aren’t dark, and the moon will soon be up. We can

ask at the inn here, and find out which way we ought to take.”

So they held on for some time, but at last they came to a small opening

in the forest, and here they found that the road split in two. There

was no sign-post to direct them, and the people in the inn had not told

them which of the two roads to take.

“What’s to be done now?” said Rasmus. “I think we had better have

stayed at the inn.”

“There’s no harm done,” said Niels. “The night is warm, and we can wait

here till morning. One of us will keep watch till midnight, and then

waken the other.”

Rasmus chose to take the first watch, and the others lay down to sleep.

It was very quiet in the forest, and Rasmus could hear the deer and

foxes and other animals moving about among the rustling leaves. After

the moon rose he could see them occasionally, and when a big stag came

quite close to him he got hold of Niels’ gun and shot it.

Niels was wakened by the report. “What’s that?” he said.

“I’ve just shot a stag,” said Rasmus, highly pleased with himself.

“That’s nothing,” said Niels. “I’ve often shot a sparrow, which is a

much more difficult thing to do.”

It was now close on midnight, so Niels began his watch, and Rasmus went

to sleep. It began to get colder, and Niels began to walk about a

little to keep himself warm. He soon found that they were not far from

the edge of the forest, and when he climbed up one of the trees there

he could see out over the open country beyond. At a little distance he

saw a fire, and beside it there sat three giants, busy with broth and

beef. They were so huge that the spoons they used were as large as

spades, and their forks as big as hay-forks: with these they lifted

whole bucketfuls of broth and great joints of meat out of an enormous

pot which was set on the ground between them. Niels was startled and

rather scared at first, but he comforted himself with the thought that

the giants were a good way off, and that if they came nearer he could

easily hide among the bushes. After watching them for a little,

however, he began to get over his alarm, and finally slid down the tree

again, resolved to get his gun and play some tricks with them.

When he had climbed back to his former position, he took good aim, and

waited till one of the giants was just in the act of putting a large

piece of meat into his mouth. Bang! went Niels’ gun, and the bullet

struck the handle of the fork so hard that the point went into the

giant’s chin, instead of his mouth.

“None of your tricks,” growled the giant to the one who sat next him.

“What do you mean by hitting my fork like that, and making me prick

myself?”

“I never touched your fork,” said the other. “Don’t try to get up a

quarrel with me.”

“Look at it, then,” said the first. “Do you suppose I stuck it into my

own chin for fun?”

The two got so angry over the matter that each offered to fight the

other there and then, but the third giant acted as peace-maker, and

they again fell to their eating.

While the quarrel was going on, Niels had loaded the gun again, and

just as the second giant was about to put a nice tit-bit into his

mouth, bang! went the gun again, and the fork flew into a dozen pieces.

This giant was even more furious than the first had been, and words

were just coming to blows, when the third giant again interposed.

“Don’t be fools,” he said to them; “what’s the good of beginning to

fight among ourselves, when it is so necessary for the three of us to

work together and get the upper hand over the king of this country. It

will be a hard enough task as it is, but it will be altogether hopeless

if we don’t stick together. Sit down again, and let us finish our meal;

I shall sit between you, and then neither of you can blame the other.”

Niels was too far away to hear their talk, but from their gestures he

could guess what was happening, and thought it good fun.

“Thrice is lucky,” said he to himself; “I’ll have another shot yet.”

This time it was the third giant’s fork that caught the bullet, and

snapped in two.

“Well,” said he, “if I were as foolish as you two, I would also fly

into a rage, but I begin to see what time of day it is, and I’m going

off this minute to see who it is that’s playing these tricks with us.”

So well had the giant made his observations, that though Niels climbed

down the tree as fast as he could, so as to hide among the bushes, he

had just got to the ground when the enemy was upon him.

“Stay where you are,” said the giant, “or I’ll put my foot on you, and

there won’t be much of you left after that.”

Niels gave in, and the giant carried him back to his comrades.

“You don’t deserve any mercy at our hands,” said his captor “but as you

are such a good shot you may be of great use to us, so we shall spare

your life, if you will do us a service. Not far from here there stands

a castle, in which the king’s daughter lives; we are at war with the

king, and want to get the upper hand of him by carrying off the

princess, but the castle is so well guarded that there is no getting

into it. By our skill in magic we have cast sleep on every living thing

in the castle, except a little black dog, and, as long as he is awake,

we are no better off than before; for, as soon as we begin to climb

over the wall, the little dog will hear us, and its barking will waken

all the others again. Having got you, we can place you where you will

be able to shoot the dog before it begins to bark, and then no one can

hinder us from getting the princess into our hands. If you do that, we

shall not only let you off, but reward you handsomely.”

Niels had to consent, and the giants set out for the castle at once. It

was surrounded by a very high rampart, so high that even the giants

could not touch the top of it. “How am I to get over that?” said Niels.

“Quite easily,” said the third giant; “I’ll throw you up on it.”

“No, thanks,” said Niels. “I might fall down on the other side, or

break my leg or neck, and then the little dog wouldn’t get shot after

all.”

“No fear of that,” said the giant; “the rampart is quite wide on the

top, and covered with long grass, so that you will come down as softly

as though you fell on a feather-bed.”

Niels had to believe him, and allowed the giant to throw him up. He

came down on his feet quite unhurt, but the little black dog heard the

dump, and rushed out of its kennel at once. It was just opening its

mouth to bark, when Niels fired, and it fell dead on the spot.

“Go down on the inside now,” said the giant, “and see if you can open

the gate to us.”

Niels made his way down into the courtyard, but on his way to the outer

gate he found himself at the entrance to the large hall of the castle.

The door was open, and the hall was brilliantly lighted, though there

was no one to be seen. Niels went in here and looked round him: on the

wall there hung a huge sword without a sheath, and beneath it was a

large drinking-horn, mounted with silver. Niels went closer to look at

these, and saw that the horn had letters engraved on the silver rim:

when he took it down and turned it round, he found that the inscription

was:—

Whoever drinks the wine I hold

Can wield the sword that hangs above;

Then let him use it for the right,

And win a royal maiden’s love.

Niels took out the silver stopper of the horn, and drank some of the

wine, but when he tried to take down the sword he found himself unable

to move it. So he hung up the horn again, and went further in to the

castle. “The giants can wait a little,” he said.

Before long he came to an apartment in which a beautiful princess lay

asleep in a bed, and on a table by her side there lay a gold-hemmed

handkerchief. Niels tore this in two, and put one half in his pocket,

leaving the other half on the table. On the floor he saw a pair of

gold-embroidered slippers, and one of these he also put in his pocket.

After that he went back to the hall, and took down the horn again.

“Perhaps I have to drink all that is in it before I can move the

sword,” he thought; so he put it to his lips again and drank till it

was quite empty. When he had done this, he could wield the sword with

the greatest of ease, and felt himself strong enough to do anything,

even to fight the giants he had left outside, who were no doubt

wondering why he had not opened the gate to them before this time. To

kill the giants, he thought, would be using the sword for the right;

but as to winning the love of the princess, that was a thing which the

son of a poor sheep-farmer need not hope for.

When Niels came to the gate of the castle, he found that there was a

large door and a small one, so he opened the latter.

“Can’t you open the big door?” said the giants; “we shall hardly be

able to get in at this one.”

“The bars are too heavy for me to draw,” said Niels; “if you stoop a

little you can quite well come in here.” The first giant accordingly

bent down and entered in a stooping posture, but before he had time to

straighten his back again Niels made a sweep with the sword, and oft

went the giant’s head. To push the body aside as it fell was quite easy

for Niels, so strong had the wine made him, and the second giant as he

entered met the same reception. The third was slower in coming, so

Niels called out to him: “Be quick,” he said, “you are surely the

oldest of the three, since you are so slow in your movements, but I

can’t wait here long; I must get back to my own people as soon as

possible.” So the third also came in, and was served in the same way.

It appears from the story that giants were not given fair play!

By this time day was beginning to break, and Niels thought that his

folks might already be searching for him, so, instead of waiting to see

what took place at the castle, he ran off to the forest as fast as he

could, taking the sword with him. He found the others still asleep, so

he woke them up, and they again set out on their journey. Of the

night’s adventures he said not a word, and when they asked where he got

the sword, he only pointed in the direction of the castle, and said,

“Over that way.” They thought he had found it, and asked no more

questions.

When Niels left the castle, he shut the door behind him, and it closed

with such a bang that the porter woke up. He could scarcely believe his

eyes when he saw the three headless giants lying in a heap in the

courtyard, and could not imagine what had taken place. The whole castle

was soon aroused, and then everybody wondered at the affair: it was

soon seen that the bodies were those of the king’s great enemies, but

how they came to be there and in that condition was a perfect mystery.

Then it was noticed that the drinking-horn was empty and the sword

gone, while the princess reported that half of her handkerchief and one

of her slippers had been taken away. How the giants had been killed

seemed a little clearer now, but who had done it was as great a puzzle

as before. The old knight who had charge of the castle said that in his

opinion it must have been some young knight, who had immediately set

off to the king to claim the hand of the princess. This sounded likely,

but the messenger who was sent to the Court returned with the news that

no one there knew anything about the matter.

“We must find him, however,” said the princess; “for if he is willing

to marry me I cannot in honour refuse him, after what my father put on

the horn.” She took council with her father’s wisest men as to what

ought to be done, and among other things they advised her to build a

house beside the highway, and put over the door this

inscription:—“Whoever will tell the story of his life, may stay here

three nights for nothing.” This was done, and many strange tales were

told to the princess, but none of the travellers said a word about the

three giants.

In the meantime Niels and the others tramped on towards Rome. Autumn

passed, and winter was just beginning when they came to the foot of a

great range of mountains, towering up to the sky. “Must we go over

these?” said they. “We shall be frozen to death or buried in the snow.”

“Here comes a man,” said Niels; “let us ask him the way to Rome.” They

did so, and were told that there was no other way.

“And is it far yet?” said the old people, who were beginning to be worn

out by the long journey. The man held up his foot so that they could

see the sole of his shoe; it was worn as thin as paper, and there was a

hole in the middle of it.

“These shoes were quite new when I left Rome,” he said, “and look at

them now; that will tell you whether you are far from it or not.”

This discouraged the old people so much that they gave up all thought

of finishing the journey, and only wished to get back to Denmark as

quickly as they could. What with the winter and bad roads they took

longer to return than they had taken to go, but in the end they found

themselves in sight of the forest where they had slept before.

“What’s this?” said Rasmus. “Here’s a big house built since we passed

this way before.”

“So it is,” said Peter; “let’s stay all night in it.”

“No, we can’t afford that,” said the old people; “it will be too dear

for the like of us.”

However, when they saw what was written above the door, they were all

well pleased to get a night’s lodging for nothing. They were well

received, and had so much attention given to them, that the old people

were quite put out by it. After they had got time to rest themselves,

the princess’s steward came to hear their story.

“You saw what was written above the door,” he said to the father. “Tell

me who you are and what your history has been.”

“Dear me, I have nothing of any importance to tell you,” said the old

man, “and I am sure we should never have made so bold as to trouble you

at all if it hadn’t been for the youngest of our two sons here.”

“Never mind that,” said the steward; “you are very welcome if you will

only tell me the story of your life.”

“Well, well, I will,” said he, “but there is nothing to tell about it.

I and my wife have lived all our days on a moor in North Jutland, until

this last year, when she took a fancy to go to Rome. We set out with

our two sons but turned back long before we got there, and are now on

our way home again. That’s all my own story, and our two sons have

lived with us all their days, so there is nothing more to be told about

them either.”

“Yes there is,” said Rasmus; “when we were on our way south, we slept

in the wood near here one night, and I shot a stag.”

The steward was so much accustomed to hearing stories of no importance

that he thought there was no use going further with this, but reported

to the princess that the newcomers had nothing to tell.

“Did you question them all?” she said.

“Well, no; not directly,” said he; “but the father said that none of

them could tell me any more than he had done.”

“You are getting careless,” said the princess; “I shall go and talk to

them myself.”

Niels knew the princess again as soon as she entered the room, and was

greatly alarmed, for he immediately supposed that all this was a device

to discover the person who had run away with the sword, the slipper and

the half of the handkerchief, and that it would fare badly with him if

he were discovered. So he told his story much the same as the others

did (Niels was not very particular), and thought he had escaped all

further trouble, when Rasmus put in his word. “You’ve forgotten

something, Niels,” he said; “you remember you found a sword near here

that night I shot the stag.”

“Where is the sword?” said the princess.

“I know,” said the steward, “I saw where he laid it down when they came

in;” and off he went to fetch it, while Niels wondered whether he could

make his escape in the meantime. Before he had made up his mind,

however, the steward was back with the sword, which the princess

recognised at once.

“Where did you get this?” she said to Niels.

Niels was silent, and wondered what the usual penalty was for a poor

sheep-farmer’s son who was so unfortunate as to deliver a princess and

carry off things from her bed-room.

“See what else he has about him,” said the princess to the steward, and

Niels had to submit to be searched: out of one pocket came a

gold-embroidered slipper, and out of another the half of a gold-hemmed

handkerchief.

“That is enough,” said the princess; “now we needn’t ask any more

questions. Send for my father the king at once.”

“Please let me go,” said Niels; “I did you as much good as harm, at any

rate.”

“Why, who said anything about doing harm?” said the princess. “You must

stay here till my father comes.”

The way in which the princess smiled when she said this gave Niels some

hope that things might not be bad for him after all, and he was yet

more encouraged when he thought of the words engraver on the horn,

though the last line still seemed too good to be true. However, the

arrival of the king soon settled the matter: the princess was willing

and so was Niels, and in a few days the wedding bells were ringing.

Niels was made an earl by that time, and looked as handsome as any of

them when dressed in all his robes. Before long the old king died, and

Niels reigned after him; but whether his father and mother stayed with

him, or went back to the moor in Jutland, or were sent to Rome in a

carriage and four, is something that all the historians of his reign

have forgotten to mention.

Shepherd Paul

Once upon a time a shepherd was taking his flock out to pasture, when

he found a little baby lying in a meadow, left there by some wicked

person, who thought it was too much trouble to look after it. The

shepherd was fond of children, so he took the baby home with him and

gave it plenty of milk, and by the time the boy was fourteen he could

tear up oaks as if they were weeds. Then Paul, as the shepherd had

called him, grew tired of living at home, and went out into the world

to try his luck.

He walked on for many miles, seeing nothing that surprised him, but in

an open space of the wood he was astonished at finding a man combing

trees as another man would comb flax.

“Good morning, friend,” said Paul; “upon my word, you must be a strong

man!”

The man stopped his work and laughed. “I am Tree Comber,” he answered

proudly; “and the greatest wish of my life is to wrestle with Shepherd

Paul.”

“May all your wishes be fulfilled as easily, for I am Shepherd Paul,

and can wrestle with you at once,” replied the lad; and he seized Tree

Comber and flung him with such force to the ground that he sank up to

his knees in the earth. However, in a moment he was up again, and

catching hold of Paul, threw him so that he sank up to his waist; but

then it was Paul’s turn again, and this time the man was buried up to

his neck. “That is enough,” cried he; “I see you are a smart fellow,

let us become friends.”

“Very good,” answered Paul, and they continued their journey together.

By-and-by they reached a man who was grinding stones to powder in his

hands, as if they had been nuts.

“Good morning,” said Paul politely; “upon my word, you must be a strong

fellow!”

“I am Stone Crusher,” answered the man, and the greatest wish of my

life is to wrestle with Shepherd Paul.”

“May all your wishes be as easily fulfilled, for I am Shepherd Paul,

and will wrestle with you at once,” and the sport began. After a short

time the man declared himself beaten, and begged leave to go with them;

so they all three travelled together.

A little further on they came upon a man who was kneading iron as if it

had been dough. “Good morning,” said Paul, “you must be a strong

fellow.”

“I am Iron Kneader, and should like to fight Shepherd Paul,” answered

he.

“Let us begin at once then,” replied Paul; and on this occasion also,

Paul got the better of his foe, and they all four continued their

journey.

At midday they entered a forest, and Paul stopped suddenly. “We three

will go and look for game,” he said, “and you, Tree Comber, will stay

behind and prepare a good supper for us.” So Tree Comber set to work to

boil and roast, and when dinner was nearly ready, a little dwarf with a

pointed beard strolled up to the place. “What are you cooking?” asked

he, “give me some of it.”

“I’ll give you some on your back, if you like,” answered Tree Comber

rudely. The dwarf took no notice, but waited patiently till the dinner

was cooked, then suddenly throwing Tree Comber on the ground, he ate up

the contents of the saucepan and vanished. Tree Comber felt rather

ashamed of himself, and set about boiling some more vegetables, but

they were still very hard when the hunters returned, and though they

complained of his bad cooking, he did not tell them about the dwarf.

Next day Stone Crusher was left behind, and after him Iron Kneader, and

each time the dwarf appeared, and they fared no better than Tree Comber

had done. The fourth day Paul said to them: “My friends, there must be

some reason why your cooking has always been so bad, now you shall go

and hunt and I will stay behind.” So they went off, amusing themselves

by thinking what was in store for Paul.

He set to work at once, and had just got all his vegetables simmering

in the pot when the dwarf appeared as before, and asked to have some of

the stew. “Be off,” cried Paul, snatching up the saucepan as he spoke.

The dwarf tried to get hold of his collar, but Paul seized him by the

beard, and tied him to a big tree so that he could not stir, and went

on quietly with his cooking. The hunters came back early, longing to

see how Paul had got on, and, to their surprise, dinner was quite ready

for them.

“You are great useless creatures,” said he, “who couldn’t even outwit

that little dwarf. When we have finished supper I will show you what I

have done with him!” But when they reached the place where Paul had

left the dwarf, neither he nor the tree was to be seen, for the little

fellow had pulled it up by the roots and run away, dragging it after

him. The four friends followed the track of the tree and found that it

ended in a deep hole. “He must have gone down here,” said Paul, “and I

will go after him. See! there is a basket that will do for me to sit

in, and a cord to lower me with. But when I pull the cord again, lose

no time in drawing the basket up.”

And he stepped into the basket, which was lowered by his friends.

At last it touched the ground and he jumped out and looked about him.

He was in a beautiful valley, full of meadows and streams, with a

splendid castle standing by. As the door was open he walked in, but a

lovely maiden met him and implored him to go back, for the owner of the

castle was a dragon with six heads, who had stolen her from her home

and brought her down to this underground spot. But Paul refused to

listen to all her entreaties, and declared that he was not afraid of

the dragon, and did not care how many heads he had; and he sat down

calmly to wait for him.

In a little while the dragon came in, and all the long teeth in his six

heads chattered with anger at the sight of the stranger.

“I am Shepherd Paul,” said the young man, “and I have come to fight

you, and as I am in a hurry we had better begin at once.”

“Very good,” answered the dragon. “I am sure of my supper, but let us

have a mouthful of something first, just to give us an appetite.”

Whereupon he began to eat some huge boulders as if they had been cakes,

and when he had quite finished, he offered Paul one. Paul was not fond

of boulders, but he took a wooden knife and cut one in two, then he

snatched up both halves in his hands and threw them with all his

strength at the dragon, so that two out of the six heads were smashed

in. At this the dragon, with a mighty roar, rushed upon Paul, but he

sprang on one side, and with a swinging blow cut off two of the other

heads. Then, seizing the monster by the neck, he dashed the remaining

heads against the rock.

When the maiden heard that the dragon was dead, she thanked her

deliverer with tears in her eyes, but told him that her two younger

sisters were in the power of dragons still fiercer and more horrible

than this one. He vowed that his sword should never rest in its sheath

till they were set free, and bade the girl come with him, and show him

the way.

The maiden gladly consented to go with him, but first she gave him a

golden rod, and bade him strike the castle with it. He did so, and it

instantly changed into a golden apple, which he put in his pocket.

After that, they started on their search.

They had not gone far before they reached the castle where the second

girl was confined by the power of the dragon with twelve heads, who had

stolen her from her home. She was overjoyed at the sight of her sister

and of Paul, and brought him a shirt belonging to the dragon, which

made every one who wore it twice as strong as they were before.

Scarcely had he put it on when the dragon came back, and the fight

began. Long and hard was the struggle, but Paul’s sword and his shirt

helped him, and the twelve heads lay dead upon the ground.

Then Paul changed the castle into an apple, which he put into his

pocket, and set out with the two girls in search of the third castle.

It was not long before they found it, and within the walls was the

third sister, who was younger and prettier than either of the other

two. Her husband had eighteen heads, but when he quitted the lower

regions for the surface of the earth, he left them all at home except

one, which he changed for the head of a little dwarf, with a pointed

beard.

The moment that Paul knew that this terrible dragon was no other than

the dwarf whom he had tied to the tree, he longed more than ever to fly

at his throat. But the thought of the eighteen heads warned him to be

careful, and the third sister brought him a silk shirt which would make

him ten times stronger than he was before.

He had scarcely put it on, when the whole castle began to shake

violently, and the dragon flew up the steps into the hall.

“Well, my friend, so we meet once more! Have you forgotten me? I am

Shepherd Paul, and I have come to wrestle with you, and to free your

wife from your clutches.”

“Ah, I am glad to see you again,” said the dragon. “Those were my two

brothers whom you killed, and now your blood shall pay for them.” And

he went into his room to look for his shirt and to drink some magic

wine, but the shirt was on Paul’s back, and as for the wine, the girl

had given a cupful to Paul and then had allowed the rest to run out of

the cask.

At this the dragon grew rather frightened, but in a moment had

recollected his eighteen heads, and was bold again.

“Come on,” he cried, rearing himself up and preparing to dart all his

heads at once at Paul. But Paul jumped underneath, and gave an upward

cut so that six of the heads went rolling down. They were the best

heads too, and very soon the other twelve lay beside them. Then Paul

changed the castle into an apple, and put it in his pocket. Afterwards

he and the three girls set off for the opening which led upwards to the

earth.

The basket was still there, dangling from the rope, but it was only big

enough to hold the three girls, so Paul sent them up, and told them to

be sure and let down the basket for him. Unluckily, at the sight of the

maidens’ beauty, so far beyond anything they had ever seen, the friends

forgot all about Paul, and carried the girls straight away into a far

country, so that they were not much better off than before. Meanwhile

Paul, mad with rage at the ingratitude of the three sisters, vowed he

would be revenged upon them, and set about finding some way of getting

back to earth. But it was not very easy, and for months, and months,

and months, he wandered about underground, and, at the end, seemed no

nearer to fulfilling his purpose than he was at the beginning.

At length, one day, he happened to pass the nest of a huge griffin, who

had left her young ones all alone. Just as Paul came along a cloud

containing fire instead of rain burst overhead, and all the little

griffins would certainly have been killed had not Paul spread his cloak

over the nest and saved them. When their father returned the young ones

told him what Paul had done, and he lost no time in flying after Paul,

and asking how he could reward him for his goodness.

“By carrying me up to the earth,” answered Paul; and the griffin

agreed, but first went to get some food to eat on the way, as it was a

long journey.

“Now get on my back,” he said to Paul, “and when I turn my head to the

right, cut a slice off the bullock that hangs on that side, and put it

in my mouth, and when I turn my head to the left, draw a cupful of wine

from the cask that hangs on that side, and pour it down my throat.”

For three days and three nights Paul and the griffin flew upwards, and

on the fourth morning it touched the ground just outside the city where

Paul’s friends had gone to live. Then Paul thanked him and bade him

farewell, and he returned home again.

At first Paul was too tired to do anything but sleep, but as soon as he

was rested he started off in search of the three faithless ones, who

almost died from fright at the sight of him, for they had thought he

would never come back to reproach them for their wickedness.

“You know what to expect,” Paul said to them quietly. “You shall never

see me again. Off with you!” He next took the three apples out of his

pocket and placed them all in the prettiest places he could find; after

which he tapped them with his golden rod, and they became castles

again. He gave two of the castles to the eldest sisters, and kept the

other for himself and the youngest, whom he married, and there they are

living still.

[From Ungarische Mährchen.]

How The Wicked Tanuki Was Punished

The hunters had hunted the wood for so many years that no wild animal

was any more to be found in it. You might walk from one end to the

other without ever seeing a hare, or a deer, or a boar, or hearing the

cooing of the doves in their nest. If they were not dead, they had

flown elsewhere. Only three creatures remained alive, and they had

hidden themselves in the thickest part of the forest, high up the

mountain. These were a grey-furred, long-tailed tanuki, his wife the

fox, who was one of his own family, and their little son.

The fox and the tanuki were very clever, prudent beasts, and they also

were skilled in magic, and by this means had escaped the fate of their

unfortunate friends. If they heard the twang of an arrow or saw the

glitter of a spear, ever so far off, they lay very still, and were not

to be tempted from their hiding-place, if their hunger was ever so

great, or the game ever so delicious. “We are not so foolish as to risk

our lives,” they said to each other proudly. But at length there came a

day when, in spite of their prudence, they seemed likely to die of

starvation, for no more food was to be had. Something had to be done,

but they did not know what.

Suddenly a bright thought struck the tanuki. “I have got a plan,” he

cried joyfully to his wife. “I will pretend to be dead, and you must

change yourself into a man, and take me to the village for sale. It

will be easy to find a buyer, tanukis’ skins are always wanted; then

buy some food with the money and come home again. I will manage to

escape somehow, so do not worry about me.”

The fox laughed with delight, and rubbed her paws together with

satisfaction. “Well, next time I will go,” she said, “and you can sell

me.” And then she changed herself into a man, and picking up the stiff

body of the tanuki, set off towards the village. She found him rather

heavy, but it would never have done to let him walk through the wood

and risk his being seen by somebody.

As the tanaki had foretold, buyers were many, and the fox handed him

over to the person who offered the largest price, and hurried to get

some food with the money. The buyer took the tanuki back to his house,

and throwing him into a corner went out. Directly the tanaki found he

was alone, he crept cautiously through a chink of the window, thinking,

as he did so, how lucky it was that he was not a fox, and was able to

climb. Once outside, he hid himself in a ditch till it grew dusk, and

then galloped away into the forest.

While the food lasted they were all three as happy as kings; but there

soon arrived a day when the larder was as empty as ever. “It is my turn

now to pretend to be dead,” cried the fox. So the tanuki changed

himself into a peasant, and started for the village, with his wife’s

body hanging over his shoulder. A buyer was not long in coming forward,

and while they were making the bargain a wicked thought darted into the

tanuki’s head, that if he got rid of the fox there would be more food

for him and his son. So as he put the money in his pocket he whispered

softly to the buyer that the fox was not really dead, and that if he

did not take care she might run away from him. The man did not need

twice telling. He gave the poor fox a blow on the head, which put an

end to her, and the wicked tanuki went smiling to the nearest shop.

In former times he had been very fond of his little son; but since he

had betrayed his wife he seemed to have changed all in a moment, for he

would not give him as much as a bite, and the poor little fellow would

have starved had he not found some nuts and berries to eat, and he

waited on, always hoping that his mother would come back.

At length some notion of the truth began to dawn on him; but he was

careful to let the old tanuki see nothing, though in his own mind he

turned over plans from morning till night, wondering how best he might

avenge his mother.

One morning, as the little tanuki was sitting with his father, he

remembered, with a start, that his mother had taught him all she knew

of magic, and that he could work spells as well as his father, or

perhaps better. “I am as good a wizard as you,” he said suddenly, and a

cold chill ran through the tanuki as he heard him, though he laughed,

and pretended to think it a joke. But the little tanaki stuck to his

point, and at last the father proposed they should have a wager.

“Change yourself into any shape you like,” said he, “and I will

undertake to know you. I will go and wait on the bridge which leads

over the river to the village, and you shall transform yourself into

anything you please, but I will know you through any disguise.” The

little tanuki agreed, and went down the road which his father had

pointed out. But instead of transforming himself into a different

shape, he just hid himself in a corner of the bridge, where he could

see without being seen.

He had not been there long when his father arrived and took up his

place near the middle of the bridge, and soon after the king came by,

followed by a troop of guards and all his court.

“Ah! he thinks that now he has changed himself into a king I shall not

know him,” thought the old tanuki, and as the king passed in his

splendid carriage, borne by his servants, he jumped upon it crying: “I

have won my wager; you cannot deceive me.” But in reality it was he who

had deceived himself. The soldiers, conceiving that their king was

being attacked, seized the tanuki by the legs and flung him over into

the river, and the water closed over him.

And the little tanoki saw it all, and rejoiced that his mother’s death

had been avenged. Then he went back to the forest, and if he has not

found it too lonely, he is probably living there still.

[From Japanische Mährchen.]

The Crab And The Monkey

There was once a crab who lived in a hole on the shady side of a

mountain. She was a very good housewife, and so careful and industrious

that there was no creature in the whole country whose hole was so neat

and clean as hers, and she took great pride in it.

One day she saw lying near the mouth of her hole a handful of cooked

rice which some pilgrim must have let fall when he was stopping to eat

his dinner. Delighted at this discovery, she hastened to the spot, and

was carrying the rice back to her hole when a monkey, who lived in some

trees near by, came down to see what the crab was doing. His eyes shone

at the sight of the rice, for it was his favourite food, and like the

sly fellow he was, he proposed a bargain to the crab. She was to give

him half the rice in exchange for the kernel of a sweet red kaki fruit

which he had just eaten. He half expected that the crab would laugh in

his face at this impudent proposal, but instead of doing so she only

looked at him for a moment with her head on one side and then said that

she would agree to the exchange. So the monkey went off with his rice,

and the crab returned to her hole with the kernel.

For some time the crab saw no more of the monkey, who had gone to pay a

visit on the sunny side of the mountain; but one morning he happened to

pass by her hole, and found her sitting under the shadow of a beautiful

kaki tree.

“Good day,” he said politely, “you have some very fine fruit there! I

am very hungry, could you spare me one or two?”

“Oh, certainly,” replied the crab, “but you must forgive me if I cannot

get them for you myself. I am no tree-climber.”

“Pray do not apologise,” answered the monkey. “Now that I have your

permission I can get them myself quite easily.” And the crab consented

to let him go up, merely saying that he must throw her down half the

fruit.

In another moment he was swinging himself from branch to branch, eating

all the ripest kakis and filling his pockets with the rest, and the

poor crab saw to her disgust that the few he threw down to her were

either not ripe at all or else quite rotten.

“You are a shocking rogue,” she called in a rage; but the monkey took

no notice, and went on eating as fast as he could. The crab understood

that it was no use her scolding, so she resolved to try what cunning

would do.

“Sir Monkey,” she said, “you are certainly a very good climber, but now

that you have eaten so much, I am quite sure you would never be able to

turn one of your somersaults.” The monkey prided himself on turning

better somersaults than any of his family, so he instantly went head

over heels three times on the bough on which he was sitting, and all

the beautiful kakis that he had in his pockets rolled to the ground.

Quick as lightning the crab picked them up and carried a quantity of

them into her house, but when she came up for another the monkey sprang

on her, and treated her so badly that he left her for dead. When he had

beaten her till his arm ached he went his way.

It was a lucky thing for the poor crab that she had some friends to

come to her help or she certainly would have died then and there. The

wasp flew to her, and took her back to bed and looked after her, and

then he consulted with a rice-mortar and an egg which had fallen out of

a nest near by, and they agreed that when the monkey returned, as he

was sure to do, to steal the rest of the fruit, that they would punish

him severely for the manner in which he had behaved to the crab. So the

mortar climbed up to the beam over the front door, and the egg lay

quite still on the ground, while the wasp set down the water-bucket in

a corner. Then the crab dug itself a deep hole in the ground, so that

not even the tip of her claws might be seen.

Soon after everything was ready the monkey jumped down from his tree,

and creeping to the door began a long hypocritical speech, asking

pardon for all he had done. He waited for an answer of some sort, but

none came. He listened, but all was still; then he peeped, and saw no

one; then he went in. He peered about for the crab, but in vain;

however, his eyes fell on the egg, which he snatched up and set on the

fire. But in a moment the egg had burst into a thousand pieces, and its

sharp shell struck him in the face and scratched him horribly. Smarting

with pain he ran to the bucket and stooped down to throw some water

over his head. As he stretched out his hand up started the wasp and

stung him on the nose. The monkey shrieked and ran to the door, but as

he passed through down fell the mortar and struck him dead. “After that

the crab lived happily for many years, and at length died in peace

under her own kaki tree.

[From Japanische Mährchen.]

The Horse Gullfaxi And The Sword Gunnfoder

Many many years ago there lived a king and queen who had one only son,

called Sigurd. When the little boy was only ten years old the queen,

his mother, fell ill and died, and the king, who loved her dearly,

built a splendid monument to his wife’s memory, and day after day he

sat by it and bewailed his sad loss.

One morning, as he sat by the grave, he noticed a richly dressed lady

close to him. He asked her name and she answered that it was Ingiborg,

and seemed surprised to see the king there all alone. Then he told her

how he had lost his queen, and how he came daily to weep at her grave.

In return, the lady informed him that she had lately lost her husband,

and suggested that they might both find it a comfort if they made

friends.

This pleased the king so much that he invited her to his palace, where

they saw each other often; and after a time he married her.

After the wedding was over he soon regained his good spirits, and used

to ride out hunting as in old days; but Sigurd, who was very fond of

his stepmother, always stayed at home with her.

One evening Ingiborg said to Sigurd: “To-morrow your father is going

out hunting, and you must go with him.” But Sigurd said he would much

rather stay at home, and the next day when the king rode off Sigurd

refused to accompany him. The stepmother was very angry, but he would

not listen, and at last she assured him that he would be sorry for his

disobedience, and that in future he had better do as he was told.

After the hunting party had started she hid Sigurd under her bed, and

bade him be sure to lie there till she called him.

Sigurd lay very still for a long while, and was just thinking it was no

good staying there any more, when he felt the floor shake under him as

if there were an earthquake, and peeping out he saw a great giantess

wading along ankle deep through the ground and ploughing it up as she

walked.

“Good morning, Sister Ingiborg,” cried she as she entered the room, “is

Prince Sigurd at home?”

“No,” said Ingiborg; “he rode off to the forest with his father this

morning.” And she laid the table for her sister and set food before

her. After they had both done eating the giantess said: “Thank you,

sister, for your good dinner—the best lamb, the best can of beer and

the best drink I have ever had; but—is not Prince Sigurd at home?”

Ingiborg again said “No”; and the giantess took leave of her and went

away. When she was quite out of sight Ingiborg told Sigurd to come out

of his hiding-place.

The king returned home at night, but his wife told him nothing of what

had happened, and the next morning she again begged the prince to go

out hunting with his father. Sigurd, however, replied as before, that

he would much rather stay at home.

So once more the king rode off alone. This time Ingiborg hid Sigurd

under the table, and scolded him well for not doing as she bade him.

For some time he lay quite still, and then suddenly the floor began to

shake, and a giantess came along wading half way to her knees through

the ground.

As she entered the house she asked, as the first one had done: “Well,

Sister Ingiborg, is Prince Sigurd at home?”

“No,” answered Ingiborg,” he rode off hunting with his father this

morning”; and going to the cupboard she laid the table for her sister.

When they had finished their meal the giantess rose and said: “Thank

you for all these nice dishes, and for the best lamb, the best can of

beer and the nicest drink I have ever had; but—is Prince Sigurd really

not at home?”

“No, certainly not!” replied Ingiborg; and with that they took leave of

each other.

When she was well out of sight Sigurd crept from under the table, and

his stepmother declared that it was most important that he should not

stay at home next day; but he said he did not see what harm could come

of it, and he did not mean to go out hunting, and the next morning,

when the king prepared to start, Ingiborg implored Sigurd to accompany

his father. But it was all no use, he was quite obstinate and would not

listen to a word she said. “You will have to hide me again,” said he,

so no sooner had the king gone than Ingiborg hid Sigurd between the

wall and the panelling, and by-and-by there was heard once more a sound

like an earthquake, as a great giantess, wading knee deep through the

ground, came in at the door.

“Good day, Sister Ingiborg!” she cried, in a voice like thunder; “is

Prince Sigurd at home?”

“Oh, no,” answered Ingiborg, “he is enjoying himself out there in the

forest. I expect it will be quite dark before he comes back again.”

“That’s a lie!” shouted the giantess. And they squabbled about it till

they were tired, after which Ingiborg laid the table; and when the

giantess had done eating she said: “Well, I must thank you for all

these good things, and for the best lamb, the best can of beer and the

best drink I have had for a long time; but—are you quite sure Prince

Sigurd is not at home?”

“Quite,” said Ingiborg. “I’ve told you already that he rode off with

his father this morning to hunt in the forest.”

At this the giantess roared out with a terrible voice: “If he is near

enough to hear my words, I lay this spell on him: Let him be half

scorched and half withered; and may he have neither rest nor peace till

he finds me.” And with these words she stalked off.

For a moment Ingiborg stood as if turned to stone, then she fetched

Sigurd from his hiding-place, and, to her horror, there he was, half

scorched and half withered.

“Now you see what has happened through your own obstinacy,” said she;

“but we must lose no time, for your father will soon be coming home.”

Going quickly into the next room she opened a chest and took out a ball

of string and three gold rings, and gave them to Sigurd, saying: “If

you throw this ball on the ground it will roll along till it reaches

some high cliffs. There you will see a giantess looking out over the

rocks. She will call down to you and say: ‘Ah, this is just what I

wanted! Here is Prince Sigurd. He shall go into the pot to-night’; but

don’t be frightened by her. She will draw you up with a long boat-hook,

and you must greet her from me, and give her the smallest ring as a

present. This will please her, and she will ask you to wrestle with

her. When you are exhausted, she will offer you a horn to drink out of,

and though she does not know it, the wine will make you so strong that

you will easily be able to conquer her. After that she will let you

stay there all night. The same thing will happen with my two other

sisters. But, above all, remember this: should my little dog come to

you and lay his paws on you, with tears running down his face, then

hurry home, for my life will be in danger. Now, good-bye, and don’t

forget your stepmother.”

Then Ingiborg dropped the ball on the ground, and Sigurd bade her

farewell.

That same evening the ball stopped rolling at the foot of some high

rocks, and on glancing up, Sigurd saw the giantess looking out at the

top.

“Ah, just what I wanted!” she cried out when she saw him; “here is

Prince Sigurd. He shall go into the pot to-night. Come up, my friend,

and wrestle with me.”

With these words she reached out a long boat hook and hauled him up the

cliff. At first Sigurd was rather frightened, but he remembered what

Ingiborg had said, and gave the giantess her sister’s message and the

ring.

The giantess was delighted, and challenged him to wrestle with her.

Sigurd was fond of all games, and began to wrestle with joy; but he was

no match for the giantess, and as she noticed that he was getting faint

she gave him a horn to drink out of, which was very foolish on her

part, as it made Sigurd so strong that he soon overthrew her.

“You may stay here to-night,” said she; and he was glad of the rest.

Next morning Sigurd threw down the ball again and away it rolled for

some time, till it stopped at the foot of another high rock. Then he

looked up and saw another giantess, even bigger and uglier than the

first one, who called out to him: “Ah, this is just what I wanted! Here

is Prince Sigurd. He shall go into the pot to-night. Come up quickly

and wrestle with me.” And she lost no time in hauling him up.

The prince gave her his stepmother’s message and the second largest

ring. The giantess was greatly pleased when she saw the ring, and at

once challenged Sigurd to wrestle with her.

They struggled for a long time, till at last Sigurd grew faint; so she

handed him a horn to drink from, and when he had drunk he became so

strong that he threw her down with one hand.

On the third morning Sigurd once more laid down his ball, and it rolled

far away, till at last it stopped under a very high rock indeed, over

the top of which the most hideous giantess that ever was seen looked

down.

When she saw who was there she cried out: “Ah, this is just what I

wanted! Here comes Prince Sigurd. Into the pot he goes this very night.

Come up here, my friend, and wrestle with me.” And she hauled him up

just as her sisters had done.

Sigurd then gave her his stepmother’s message and the last and largest

ring. The sight of the red gold delighted the giantess, and she

challenged Sigurd to a wrestling match. This time the fight was fierce

and long, but when at length Sigurd’s strength was failing the giantess

gave him something to drink, and after he had drunk it he soon brought

her to her knees. “You have beaten me,” she gasped, so now, listen to

me. “Not far from here is a lake. Go there; you will find a little girl

playing with a boat. Try to make friends with her, and give her this

little gold ring. You are stronger than ever you were, and I wish you

good luck.”

With these words they took leave of each other, and Sigurd wandered on

till he reached the lake, where he found the little girl playing with a

boat, just as he had been told. He went up to her and asked what her

name was.

She was called Helga, she answered, and she lived near by.

So Sigurd gave her the little gold ring, and proposed that they should

have a game. The little girl was delighted, for she had no brothers or

sisters, and they played together all the rest of the day.

When evening came Sigurd asked leave to go home with her, but Helga at

first forbade him, as no stranger had ever managed to enter their house

without being found out by her father, who was a very fierce giant.

However, Sigurd persisted, and at length she gave way; but when they

came near the door she held her glove over him and Sigurd was at once

transformed into a bundle of wool. Helga tucked the bundle under her

arm and threw it on the bed in her room.

Almost at the same moment her father rushed in and hunted round in

every corner, crying out: “This place smells of men. What’s that you

threw on the bed, Helga?”

“A bundle of wool,” said she.

“Oh, well, perhaps it was that I smelt,” said the old man, and troubled

himself no more.

The following day Helga went out to play and took the bundle of wool

with her under her arm. When she reached the lake she held her glove

over it again and Sigurd resumed his own shape.

They played the whole day, and Sigurd taught Helga all sorts of games

she had never even heard of. As they walked home in the evening she

said: “We shall be able to play better still to-morrow, for my father

will have to go to the town, so we can stay at home.”

When they were near the house Helga again held her glove over Sigurd,

and once more he was turned into a bundle of wool, and she carried him

in without his being seen.

Very early next morning Helga’s father went to the town, and as soon as

he was well out of the way the girl held up her glove and Sigurd was

himself again. Then she took him all over the house to amuse him, and

opened every room, for her father had given her the keys before he

left; but when they came to the last room Sigurd noticed one key on the

bunch which had not been used and asked which room it belonged to.”

Helga grew red and did not answer.

“I suppose you don’t mind my seeing the room which it opens?” asked

Sigurd, and as he spoke he saw a heavy iron door and begged Helga to

unlock it for him. But she told him she dared not do so, at least if

she did open the door it must only be a very tiny chink; and Sigurd

declared that would do quite well.

The door was so heavy, that it took Helga some time to open it, and

Sigurd grew so impatient that he pushed it wide open and walked in.

There he saw a splendid horse, all ready saddled, and just above it

hung a richly ornamented sword on the handle of which was engraved

these words: “He who rides this horse and wears this sword will find

happiness.”

At the sight of the horse Sigurd was so filled with wonder that he was

not able to speak, but at last he gasped out: “Oh, do let me mount him

and ride him round the house! Just once; I promise not to ask any

more.”

“Ride him round the house!” cried Helga, growing pale at the mere idea.

“Ride Gullfaxi! Why father would never, never forgive me, if I let you

do that.”

“But it can’t do him any harm,” argued Sigurd; “you don’t know how

careful I will be. I have ridden all sorts of horses at home, and have

never fallen off not once. Oh, Helga, do!”

“Well, perhaps, if you come back directly,” replied Helga, doubtfully;

“but you must be very quick, or father will find out!”

But, instead of mounting Gullfaxi, as she expected, Sigurd stood still.

“And the sword,” he said, looking fondly up to the place where it hung.

“My father is a king, but he has not got any sword so beautiful as

that. Why, the jewels in the scabbard are more splendid than the big

ruby in his crown! Has it got a name? Some swords have, you know.”

“It is called ‘Gunnfjoder,’ the ‘Battle Plume,’” answered Helga, “and

‘Gullfaxi’ means ‘Golden Mane.’ I don’t suppose, if you are to get on

the horse at all, it would matter your taking the sword too. And if you

take the sword you will have to carry the stick and the stone and the

twig as well.”

“They are easily carried,” said Sigurd, gazing at them with scorn;

“what wretched dried-up things! Why in the world do you keep them?”

“Bather says that he would rather lose Gullfaxi than lose them,”

replied Helga, “for if the man who rides the horse is pursued he has

only to throw the twig behind him and it will turn into a forest, so

thick that even a bird could hardly fly through. But if his enemy

happens to know magic, and can throw down the forest, the man has only

to strike the stone with the stick, and hailstones as large as pigeons’

eggs will rain down from the sky and will kill every one for twenty

miles round.”

Having said all this she allowed Sigurd to ride “just once” round the

house, taking the sword and other things with him. But when he had

ridden round, instead of dismounting, he suddenly turned the horse’s

head and galloped away.

Soon after this Helga’s father came home and found his daughter in

tears. He asked what was the matter, and when he heard all that had

happened, he rushed off as fast as he could to pursue Sigurd.

Now, as Sigurd happened to look behind him he saw the giant coming

after him with great strides, and in all haste he threw the twig behind

him. Immediately such a thick wood sprang up at once between him and

his enemy that the giant was obliged to run home for an axe with which

to cut his way through.

The next time Sigurd glanced round, the giant was so near that he

almost touched Gullfaxi’s tail. In an agony of fear Sigurd turned

quickly in his saddle and hit the stone with the stick. No sooner had

he done this than a terrible hailstorm burst behind, and the giant was

killed on the spot.

But had Sigurd struck the stone without turning round, the hail would

have driven right into his face and killed him instead.

After the giant was dead Sigurd rode on towards his own home, and on

the way he suddenly met his stepmother’s little dog, running to meet

him, with tears pouring down its face. He galloped on as hard as he

could, and on arriving found nine men-servants in the act of tying

Queen Ingiborg to a post in the courtyard of the palace, where they

intended to burn her.

Wild with anger Prince Sigurd sprang from his horse and, sword in hand,

fell on the men and killed them all. Then he released his stepmother,

and went in with her to see his father.

The king lay in bed sick with sorrow, and neither eating nor drinking,

for he thought that his son had been killed by the queen. He could

hardly believe his own eyes for joy when he saw the prince, and Sigurd

told him all his adventures.

After that Prince Sigurd rode back to fetch Helga, and a great feast

was made which lasted three days; and every one said no bride was ever

seen so beautiful as Helga, and they lived happily for many, many

years, and everybody loved them.

[From Islandische Mährchen.]

The Story Of The Sham Prince, Or The Ambitious Tailor

Once upon a time there lived a respectable young tailor called Labakan,

who worked for a clever master in Alexandria. No one could call Labakan

either stupid or lazy, for he could work extremely well and

quickly—when he chose; but there was something not altogether right

about him. Sometimes he would stitch away as fast as if he had a

red-hot needle and a burning thread, and at other times he would sit

lost in thought, and with such a queer look about him that his

fellow-workmen used to say, “Labakan has got on his aristocratic face

today.”

On Fridays he would put on his fine robe which he had bought with the

money he had managed to save up, and go to the mosque. As he came back,

after prayers, if he met any friend who said “Good-day,” or “How are

you, friend Labakan?” he would wave his hand graciously or nod in a

condescending way; and if his master happened to say to him, as he

sometimes did, “Really, Labakan, you look like a prince,” he was

delighted, and would answer, “Have you noticed it too?” or “Well, so I

have long thought.”

Things went on like this for some time, and the master put up with

Labakan’s absurdities because he was, on the whole, a good fellow and a

clever workman.

One day, the sultan’s brother happened to be passing through

Alexandria, and wanted to have one of his state robes altered, so he

sent for the master tailor, who handed the robe over to Labakan as his

best workman.

In the evening, when every one had left the workshop and gone home, a

great longing drove Labakan back to the place where the royal robe

hung. He stood a long time gazing at it, admiring the rich material and

the splendid embroidery in it. At last he could hold out no longer. He

felt he must try it on, and lo! and behold, it fitted as though it had

been made for him.

“Am not I as good a prince as any other?” he asked himself, as he

proudly paced up and down the room. “Has not the master often said that

I seemed born to be a prince?”

It seemed to him that he must be the son of some unknown monarch, and

at last he determined to set out at once and travel in search of his

proper rank.

He felt as if the splendid robe had been sent him by some kind fairy,

and he took care not to neglect such a precious gift. He collected all

his savings, and, concealed by the darkness of the night, he passed

through the gates of Alexandria.

The new prince excited a good deal of curiosity where ever he went, for

his splendid robe and majestic manner did not seem quite suitable to a

person travelling on foot. If anyone asked questions, he only replied

with an important air of mystery that he had his own reasons for not

riding.

However, he soon found out that walking made him ridiculous, so at last

he bought a quiet, steady old horse, which he managed to get cheap.

One day, as he was ambling along upon Murva (that was the horse’s

name), a horseman overtook him and asked leave to join him, so that

they might both beguile the journey with pleasant talk. The newcomer

was a bright, cheerful, good-looking young man, who soon plunged into

conversation and asked many questions. He told Labakan that his own

name was Omar, that he was a nephew of Elfi Bey, and was travelling in

order to carry out a command given him by his uncle on his death bed.

Labakan was not quite so open in his confidences, but hinted that he

too was of noble birth and was travelling for pleasure.

The two young men took a fancy to each other and rode on together. On

the second day of their journey Labakan questioned Omar as to the

orders he had to carry out, and to his surprise heard this tale.

Elfi Bey, Pacha of Cairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest

childhood, and the boy had never known his parents. On his deathbed

Elfi Bey called Omar to him, and then told him that he was not his

nephew, but the son of a great king, who, having been warned of coming

dangers by his astrologers, had sent the young prince away and made a

vow not to see him till his twenty-second birthday.

Elfi Bey did not tell Omar his father’s name, but expressly desired him

to be at a great pillar four days’ journey east of Alexandria on the

fourth day of the coming month, on which day he would be twenty-two

years old. Here he would meet some men, to whom he was to hand a dagger

which Elfi Bey gave him, and to say “Here am I for whom you seek.”

If they answered: “Praised be the Prophet who has preserved you,” he

was to follow them, and they would take him to his father.

Labakan was greatly surprised and interested by this story, but after

hearing it he could not help looking on Prince Omar with envious eyes,

angry that his friend should have the position he himself longed so

much for. He began to make comparisons between the prince and himself,

and was obliged to confess that he was a fine-looking young man with

very good manners and a pleasant expression.

At the same time, he felt sure that had he been in the prince’s place

any royal father might have been glad to own him.

These thoughts haunted him all day, and he dreamt them all night. He

woke very early, and as he saw Omar sleeping quietly, with a happy

smile on his face, a wish arose in his mind to take by force or by

cunning the things which an unkind fate had denied him.

The dagger which was to act as a passport was sticking in Omar’s

girdle. Labakan drew it gently out, and hesitated for a moment whether

or not to plunge it into the heart of the sleeping prince. However, he

shrank from the idea of murder, so he contented himself with placing

the dagger in his own belt, and, saddling Omar’s swift horse for

himself, was many miles away before the prince woke up to realise his

losses.

For two days Labakan rode on steadily, fearing lest, after all, Omar

might reach the meeting place before him. At the end of the second day

he saw the great pillar at a distance. It stood on a little hill in the

middle of a plain, and could be seen a very long way off. Labakan’s

heart beat fast at the sight. Though he had had some time in which to

think over the part he meant to play his conscience made him rather

uneasy. However, the thought that he must certainly have been born to

be a king supported him, and he bravely rode on.

The neighbourhood was quite bare and desert, and it was a good thing

that the new prince had brought food for some time with him, as two

days were still wanting till the appointed time.

Towards the middle of the next day he saw a long procession of horses

and camels coming towards him. It halted at the bottom of the hill, and

some splendid tents were pitched. Everything looked like the escort of

some great man. Labakan made a shrewd guess that all these people had

come here on his account; but he checked his impatience, knowing that

only on the fourth day could his wishes be fulfilled.

The first rays of the rising sun woke the happy tailor. As he began to

saddle his horse and prepare to ride to the pillar, he could not help

having some remorseful thoughts of the trick he had played and the

blighted hopes of the real prince. But the die was cast, and his vanity

whispered that he was as fine looking a young man as the proudest king

might wish his son to be, and that, moreover, what had happened had

happened.

With these thoughts he summoned up all his courage sprang on his horse,

and in less than a quarter of an hour was at the foot of the hill. Here

he dismounted, tied the horse to a bush, and, drawing out Prince Omar’s

dagger climbed up the hill.

At the foot of the pillar stood six men round a tall and stately

person. His superb robe of cloth of gold was girt round him by a white

cashmere shawl, and his white, richly jewelled turban showed that he

was a man of wealth and high rank.

Labakan went straight up to him, and, bending low, handed him the

dagger, saying: “Here am I whom you seek.”

“Praised be the Prophet who has preserved you! replied the old man with

tears of joy. “Embrace me, my dear son Omar!”

The proud tailor was deeply moved by these solemn words, and with

mingled shame and joy sank into the old king’s arms.

But his happiness was not long unclouded. As he raised his head he saw

a horseman who seemed trying to urge a tired or unwilling horse across

the plain.

Only too soon Labakan recognised his own old horse, Murva, and the real

Prince Omar, but having once told a lie he made up his mind not to own

his deceit.

At last the horseman reached the foot of the hill. Here he flung

himself from the saddle and hurried up to the pillar.

“Stop!” he cried, “whoever you may be, and do not let a disgraceful

impostor take you in. My name is Omar, and let no one attempt to rob me

of it.”

This turn of affairs threw the standers-by into great surprise. The old

king in particular seemed much moved as he looked from one face to the

other. At last Labakan spoke with forced calmness, “Most gracious lord

and father, do not let yourself be deceived by this man. As far as I

know, he is a half-crazy tailor’s apprentice from Alexandria, called

Labakan, who really deserves more pity than anger.”

These words infuriated the prince. Foaming with rage, he tried to press

towards Labakan, but the attendants threw themselves upon him and held

him fast, whilst the king said, “Truly, my dear son, the poor fellow is

quite mad. Let him be bound and placed on a dromedary. Perhaps we may

be able to get some help for him.”

The prince’s first rage was over, and with tears he cried to the king,

“My heart tells me that you are my father, and in my mother’s name I

entreat you to hear me.”

“Oh! heaven forbid!” was the reply. “He is talking nonsense again. How

can the poor man have got such notions into his head?”

With these words the king took Labakan’s arm to support him down the

hill. They both mounted richly caparisoned horses and rode across the

plain at the head of their followers.

The unlucky prince was tied hand and foot, and fastened on a dromedary,

a guard riding on either side and keeping a sharp look-out on him.

The old king was Sached, Sultan of the Wachabites. For many years he

had had no children, but at length the son he had so long wished for

was born. But the sooth-sayers and magicians whom he consulted as to

the child’s future all said that until he was twenty-two years old he

stood in danger of being injured by an enemy. So, to make all safe, the

sultan had confided the prince to his trusty friend Elfi Bey, and

deprived himself of the happiness of seeing him for twenty-two years.

All this the sultan told Labakan, and was much pleased by his

appearance and dignified manner.

When they reached their own country they were received with every sign

of joy, for the news of the prince’s safe return had spread like

wildfire, and every town and village was decorated, whilst the

inhabitants thronged to greet them with cries of joy and thankfulness.

All this filled Labakan’s proud heart with rapture, whilst the

unfortunate Omar followed in silent rage and despair.

At length they arrived in the capital, where the public rejoicings were

grander and more brilliant than anywhere else. The queen awaited them

in the great hall of the palace, surrounded by her entire court. It was

getting dark, and hundreds of coloured hanging lamps were lit to turn

night into day.

The brightest hung round the throne on which the queen sat, and which

stood above four steps of pure gold inlaid with great amethysts. The

four greatest nobles in the kingdom held a canopy of crimson silk over

the queen, and the Sheik of Medina fanned her with a peacock-feather

fan.

In this state she awaited her husband and her son. She, too, had not

seen Omar since his birth, but so many dreams had shown her what he

would look like that she felt she would know him among a thousand.

And now the sound of trumpets and drums and of shouts and cheers

outside announced the long looked for moment. The doors flew open, and

between rows of low-bending courtiers and servants the king approached

the throne, leading his pretended son by the hand.

“Here,” said he, “is he for whom you have been longing so many years.”

But the queen interrupted him, “That is not my son!” she cried. “That

is not the face the Prophet has shown me in my dreams!”

Just as the king was about to reason with her, the door was thrown

violently open, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his keepers,

whom he had managed to get away from. He flung himself down before the

throne, panting out, “Here will I die; kill me at once, cruel father,

for I cannot bear this shame any longer.”

Everyone pressed round the unhappy man, and the guards were about to

seize him, when the queen, who at first was dumb with surprise, sprang

up from her throne.

“Hold!” cried she. “This and no other is the right one; this is the one

whom my eyes have never yet seen, but whom my heart recognises.”

The guards had stepped back, but the king called to them in a furious

voice to secure the madman.

“It is I who must judge,” he said in tones of command; “and this matter

cannot be decided by women’s dreams, but by certain unmistakable signs.

This one” (pointing to Labakan) “is my son, for it was he who brought

me the token from my friend Elfi—the dagger.”

“He stole it from me,” shrieked Omar; “he betrayed my unsuspicious

confidence.”

But the king would not listen to his son’s voice, for he had always

been accustomed to depend on his own judgment. He let the unhappy Omar

be dragged from the hall, whilst he himself retired with Labakan to his

own rooms, full of anger with the queen his wife, in spite of their

many years of happy life together.

The queen, on her side, was plunged in grief, for she felt certain that

an impostor had won her husband’s heart and taken the place of her real

son.

When the first shock was over she began to think how she could manage

to convince the king of his mistake. Of course it would be a difficult

matter, as the man who declared he was Omar had produced the dagger as

a token, besides talking of all sorts of things which happened when he

was a child. She called her oldest and wisest ladies about her and

asked their advice, but none of them had any to give. At last one very

clever old woman said: “Did not the young man who brought the dagger

call him whom your majesty believes to be your son Labakan, and say he

was a crazy tailor?”

“Yes,” replied the queen; “but what of that?”

“Might it not be,” said the old lady, “that the impostor has called

your real son by his own name? If this should be the case, I know of a

capital way to find out the truth.”

And she whispered some words to the queen, who seemed much pleased, and

went off at once to see the king.

Now the queen was a very wise woman, so she pretended to think she

might have made a mistake, and only begged to be allowed to put a test

to the two young men to prove which was the real prince.

The king, who was feeling much ashamed of the rage he had been in with

his dear wife, consented at once, and she said: “No doubt others would

make them ride or shoot, or something of that sort, but every one

learns these things. I wish to set them a task which requires sharp

wits and clever hands, and I want them to try which of them can best

make a kaftan and pair of trousers.”

The king laughed. “No, no, that will never do. Do you suppose my son

would compete with that crazy tailor as to which could make the best

clothes? Oh, dear, no, that won’t do at all.”

But the queen claimed his promise, and as he was a man of his word the

king gave in at last. He went to his son and begged that he would

humour his mother, who had set her heart on his making a kaftan.

The worthy Labakan laughed to himself. “If that is all she wants,”

thought he, “her majesty will soon be pleased to own me.”

Two rooms were prepared, with pieces of material, scissors, needles and

threads, and each young man was shut up in one of them.

The king felt rather curious as to what sort of garment his son would

make, and the queen, too, was very anxious as to the result of her

experiment.

On the third day they sent for the two young men and their work.

Labakan came first and spread out his kaftan before the eyes of the

astonished king. “See, father,” he said; “see, my honoured mother, if

this is not a masterpiece of work. I’ll bet the court tailor himself

cannot do better.

The queen smiled and turned to Omar: “And what have you done, my son?”

Impatiently he threw the stuff and scissors down on the floor. “I have

been taught how to manage a horse, to draw a sword, and to throw a

lance some sixty paces, but I never learnt to sew, and such a thing

would have been thought beneath the notice of the pupil of Elfi Bey,

the ruler of Cairo.”

“Ah, true son of your father,” cried the queen; “if only I might

embrace you and call you son! Forgive me, my lord and husband,” she

added, turning to the king, “for trying to find out the truth in this

way. Do you not see yourself now which is the prince and which the

tailor? Certainly this kaftan is a very fine one, but I should like to

know what master taught this young man how to make clothes.”

The king sat deep in thought, looking now at his wife and now at

Labakan, who was doing his best to hide his vexation at his own

stupidity. At last the king said: “Even this trial does not satisfy me;

but happily I know of a sure way to discover whether or not I have been

deceived.”

He ordered his swiftest horse to be saddled, mounted, and rode off

alone into a forest at some little distance. Here lived a kindly fairy

called Adolzaide, who had often helped the kings of his race with her

good advice, and to her he betook himself.

In the middle of the forest was a wide open space surrounded by great

cedar trees, and this was supposed to be the fairy’s favourite spot.

When the king reached this place he dismounted, tied his horse to the

tree, and standing in the middle of the open place said: “If it is true

that you have helped my ancestors in their time of need, do not despise

their descendant, but give me counsel, for that of men has failed me.”

He had hardly finished speaking when one of the cedar trees opened, and

a veiled figure all dressed in white stepped from it.

“I know your errand, King Sached,” she said; “it is an honest one, and

I will give you my help. Take these two little boxes and let the two

men who claim to be your son choose between them. I know that the real

prince will make no mistake.”

She then handed him two little boxes made of ivory set with gold and

pearls. On the lid of each (which the king vainly tried to open) was an

inscription in diamonds. On one stood the words “Honour and Glory,” and

on the other “Wealth and Happiness.”

“It would be a hard choice,” thought the king as he rode home.

He lost no time in sending for the queen and for all his court, and

when all were assembled he made a sign, and Labakan was led in. With a

proud air he walked up to the throne, and kneeling down, asked:

“What does my lord and father command?”

The king replied: “My son, doubts have been thrown on your claim to

that name. One of these boxes contains the proofs of your birth. Choose

for yourself. No doubt you will choose right.”

He then pointed to the ivory boxes, which were placed on two little

tables near the throne.

Labakan rose and looked at the boxes. He thought for some minutes, and

then said: “My honoured father, what can be better than the happiness

of being your son, and what nobler than the riches of your love. I

choose the box with the words ‘Wealth and Happiness.’”

“We shall see presently if you have chosen the right one. For the

present take a seat there beside the Pacha of Medina,” replied the

king.

Omar was next led in, looking sad and sorrowful. He threw himself down

before the throne and asked what was the king’s pleasure. The king

pointed out the two boxes to him, and he rose and went to the tables.

He carefully read the two mottoes and said: “The last few days have

shown me how uncertain is happiness and how easily riches vanish away.

Should I lose a crown by it I make my choice of ‘Honour and Glory.’”

He laid his hand on the box as he spoke, but the king signed to him to

wait, and ordered Labakan to come to the other table and lay his hand

on the box he had chosen.

Then the king rose from his throne, and in solemn silence all present

rose too, whilst he said: “Open the boxes, and may Allah show us the

truth.”

The boxes were opened with the greatest ease. In the one Omar had

chosen lay a little gold crown and sceptre on a velvet cushion. In

Labakan’s box was found—a large needle with some thread!

The king told the two young men to bring him their boxes. They did so.

He took the crown in his hand, and as he held it, it grew bigger and

bigger, till it was as large as a real crown. He placed it on the head

of his son Omar, kissed him on the forehead, and placed him on his

right hand. Then, turning to Labakan, he said: “There is an old

proverb, ‘The cobbler sticks to his last.’ It seems as though you were

to stick to your needle. You have not deserved any mercy, but I cannot

be harsh on this day. I give you your life, but I advise you to leave

this country as fast as you can.”

Full of shame, the unlucky tailor could not answer. He flung himself

down before Omar, and with tears in his eyes asked: “Can you forgive

me, prince?”

“Go in peace,” said Omar as he raised him.

“Oh, my true son!” cried the king as he clasped the prince in his arms,

whilst all the pachas and emirs shouted, “Long live Prince Omar!”

In the midst of all the noise and rejoicing Labakan slipped off with

his little box under his arm. He went to the stables, saddled his old

horse, Murva, and rode out of the gate towards Alexandria. Nothing but

the ivory box with its diamond motto was left to show him that the last

few weeks had not been a dream.

When he reached Alexandria he rode up to his old master’s door. When he

entered the shop, his master came forward to ask what was his pleasure,

but as soon as he saw who it was he called his workmen, and they all

fell on Labakan with blows and angry words, till at last he fell, half

fainting, on a heap of old clothes.

The master then scolded him soundly about the stolen robe, but in vain

Labakan told him he had come to pay for it and offered three times its

price. They only fell to beating him again, and at last pushed him out

of the house more dead than alive.

He could do nothing but remount his horse and ride to an inn. Here he

found a quiet place in which to rest his bruised and battered limbs and

to think over his many misfortunes. He fell asleep fully determined to

give up trying to be great, but to lead the life of an honest workman.

Next morning he set to work to fulfil his good resolutions. He sold his

little box to a jeweller for a good price, bought a house and opened a

workshop. Then he hung up a sign with, “Labakan, Tailor,” over his

door, and sat down to mend his own torn clothes with the very needle

which had been in the ivory box.

After a while he was called away, and when he went back to his work he

found a wonderful thing had happened! The needle was sewing away all by

itself and making the neatest little stitches, such as Labakan had

never been able to make even at his best.

Certainly even the smallest gift of a kind fairy is of great value, and

this one had yet another advantage, for the thread never came to an

end, however much the needle sewed.

Labakan soon got plenty of customers. He used to cut out the clothes,

make the first stitch with the magic needle, and then leave it to do

the rest. Before long the whole town went to him, for his work was both

so good and so cheap. The only puzzle was how he could do so much,

working all alone, and also why he worked with closed doors.

And so the promise on the ivory box of “Wealth and Happiness” came true

for him, and when he heard of all the brave doings of Prince Omar, who

was the pride and darling of his people and the terror of his enemies,

the ex-prince thought to himself, “After all, I am better off as a

tailor, for ‘Honour and Glory’ are apt to be very dangerous things.”

The Colony Of Cats

Long, long ago, as far back as the time when animals spoke, there lived

a community of cats in a deserted house they had taken possession of

not far from a large town. They had everything they could possibly

desire for their comfort, they were well fed and well lodged, and if by

any chance an unlucky mouse was stupid enough to venture in their way,

they caught it, not to eat it, but for the pure pleasure of catching

it. The old people of the town related how they had heard their parents

speak of a time when the whole country was so overrun with rats and

mice that there was not so much as a grain of corn nor an ear of maize

to be gathered in the fields; and it might be out of gratitude to the

cats who had rid the country of these plagues that their descendants

were allowed to live in peace. No one knows where they got the money to

pay for everything, nor who paid it, for all this happened so very long

ago. But one thing is certain, they were rich enough to keep a servant;

for though they lived very happily together, and did not scratch nor

fight more than human beings would have done, they were not clever

enough to do the housework themselves, and preferred at all events to

have some one to cook their meat, which they would have scorned to eat

raw. Not only were they very difficult to please about the housework,

but most women quickly tired of living alone with only cats for

companions, consequently they never kept a servant long; and it had

become a saying in the town, when anyone found herself reduced to her

last penny: “I will go and live with the cats,” and so many a poor

woman actually did.

Now Lizina was not happy at home, for her mother, who was a widow, was

much fonder of her elder daughter; so that often the younger one fared

very badly, and had not enough to eat, while the elder could have

everything she desired, and if Lizina dared to complain she was certain

to have a good beating.

At last the day came when she was at the end of her courage and

patience, and exclaimed to her mother and sister:

“As you hate me so much you will be glad to be rid of me, so I am going

to live with the cats!”

“Be off with you!” cried her mother, seizing an old broom-handle from

behind the door. Poor Lizina did not wait to be told twice, but ran off

at once and never stopped till she reached the door of the cats’ house.

Their cook had left them that very morning, with her face all

scratched, the result of such a quarrel with the head of the house that

he had very nearly scratched out her eyes. Lizina therefore was warmly

welcomed, and she set to work at once to prepare the dinner, not

without many misgivings as to the tastes of the cats, and whether she

would be able to satisfy them.

Going to and fro about her work, she found herself frequently hindered

by a constant succession of cats who appeared one after another in the

kitchen to inspect the new servant; she had one in front of her feet,

another perched on the back of her chair while she peeled the

vegetables, a third sat on the table beside her, and five or six others

prowled about among the pots and pans on the shelves against the wall.

The air resounded with their purring, which meant that they were

pleased with their new maid, but Lizina had not yet learned to

understand their language, and often she did not know what they wanted

her to do. However, as she was a good, kindhearted girl, she set to

work to pick up the little kittens which tumbled about on the floor,

she patched up quarrels, and nursed on her lap a big tabby—the oldest

of the community—which had a lame paw. All these kindnesses could

hardly fail to make a favourable impression on the cats, and it was

even better after a while, when she had had time to grow accustomed to

their strange ways. Never had the house been kept so clean, the meats

so well served, nor the sick cats so well cared for. After a time they

had a visit from an old cat, whom they called their father, who lived

by himself in a barn at the top of the hill, and came down from time to

time to inspect the little colony. He too was much taken with Lizina,

and inquired, on first seeing her: “Are you well served by this nice,

black-eyed little person?” and the cats answered with one voice: “Oh,

yes, Father Gatto, we have never had so good a servant!”

At each of his visits the answer was always the same; but after a time

the old cat, who was very observant, noticed that the little maid had

grown to look sadder and sadder. “What is the matter, my child has any

one been unkind to you?” he asked one day, when he found her crying in

her kitchen. She burst into tears and answered between her sobs: “Oh,

no! they are all very good to me; but I long for news from home, and I

pine to see my mother and my sister.”

Old Gatto, being a sensible old cat, understood the little servant’s

feelings. “You shall go home,” he said, “and you shall not come back

here unless you please. But first you must be rewarded for all your

kind services to my children. Follow me down into the inner cellar,

where you have never yet been, for I always keep it locked and carry

the key away with me.”

Lizina looked round her in astonishment as they went down into the

great vaulted cellar underneath the kitchen. Before her stood the big

earthenware water jars, one of which contained oil, the other a liquid

shining like gold. “In which of these jars shall I dip you?” asked

Father Gatto, with a grin that showed all his sharp white teeth, while

his moustaches stood out straight on either side of his face. The

little maid looked at the two jars from under her long dark lashes: “In

the oil jar,” she answered timidly, thinking to herself: “I could not

ask to be bathed in gold.”

But Father Gatto replied: “No, no; you have deserved something better

than that.” And seizing her in his strong paws he plunged her into the

liquid gold. Wonder of wonders! when Lizina came out of the jar she

shone from head to foot like the sun in the heavens on a fine summer’s

day. Her pretty pink cheeks and long black hair alone kept their

natural colour, otherwise she had become like a statue of pure gold.

Father Gatto purred loudly with satisfaction. “Go home,” he said, “and

see your mother and sisters; but take care if you hear the cock crow to

turn towards it; if on the contrary the ass brays, you must look the

other way.”

The little maid, having gratefully kissed the white paw of the old cat,

set off for home; but just as she got near her mother’s house the cock

crowed, and quickly she turned towards it. Immediately a beautiful

golden star appeared on her forehead, crowning her glossy black hair.

At the same time the ass began to bray, but Lizina took care not to

look over the fence into the field where the donkey was feeding. Her

mother and sister, who were in front of their house, uttered cries of

admiration and astonishment when they saw her, and their cries became

still louder when Lizina, taking her handkerchief from her pocket, drew

out also a handful of gold.

For some days the mother and her two daughters lived very happily

together, for Lizina had given them everything she had brought away

except her golden clothing, for that would not come off, in spite of

all the efforts of her sister, who was madly jealous of her good

fortune. The golden star, too, could not be removed from her forehead.

But all the gold pieces she drew from her pockets had found their way

to her mother and sister.

“I will go now and see what I can get out of the pussies,” said

Peppina, the elder girl, one morning, as she took Lizina’s basket and

fastened her pockets into her own skirt. “I should like some of the

cats’ gold for myself,” she thought, as she left her mother’s house

before the sun rose.

The cat colony had not yet taken another servant, for they knew they

could never get one to replace Lizina, whose loss they had not yet

ceased to mourn. When they heard that Peppina was her sister, they all

ran to meet her. “She is not the least like her,” the kittens whispered

among themselves.

“Hush, be quiet!” the older cats said; “all servants cannot be pretty.”

No, decidedly she was not at all like Lizina. Even the most reasonable

and large-minded of the cats soon acknowledged that.

The very first day she shut the kitchen door in the face of the

tom-cats who used to enjoy watching Lizina at her work, and a young and

mischievous cat who jumped in by the open kitchen window and alighted

on the table got such a blow with the rolling-pin that he squalled for

an hour.

With every day that passed the household became more and more aware of

its misfortune.

The work was as badly done as the servant was surly and disagreeable;

in the corners of the rooms there were collected heaps of dust;

spiders’ webs hung from the ceilings and in front of the window-panes;

the beds were hardly ever made, and the feather beds, so beloved by the

old and feeble cats, had never once been shaken since Lizina left the

house. At Father Gatto’s next visit he found the whole colony in a

state of uproar.

“Caesar has one paw so badly swollen that it looks as if it were

broken,” said one. “Peppina kicked him with her great wooden shoes on.

Hector has an abscess in his back where a wooden chair was flung at

him; and Agrippina’s three little kittens have died of hunger beside

their mother, because Peppina forgot them in their basket up in the

attic. There is no putting up with the creature—do send her away,

Father Gatto! Lizina herself would not be angry with us; she must know

very well what her sister is like.”

“Come here,” said Father Gatto, in his most severe tones to Peppina.

And he took her down into the cellar and showed her the same two great

jars that he had showed Lizina. “In which of these shall I dip you?” he

asked; and she made haste to answer: “In the liquid gold,” for she was

no more modest than she was good and kind.

Father Gatto’s yellow eyes darted fire. “You have not deserved it,” he

uttered, in a voice like thunder, and seizing her he flung her into the

jar of oil, where she was nearly suffocated. When she came to the

surface screaming and struggling, the vengeful cat seized her again and

rolled her in the ash-heap on the floor; then when she rose, dirty,

blinded, and disgusting to behold, he thrust her from the door, saying:

“Begone, and when you meet a braying ass be careful to turn your head

towards it.”

Stumbling and raging, Peppina set off for home, thinking herself

fortunate to find a stick by the wayside with which to support herself.

She was within sight of her mother’s house when she heard in the meadow

on the right, the voice of a donkey loudly braying. Quickly she turned

her head towards it, and at the same time put her hand up to her

forehead, where, waving like a plume, was a donkey’s tail. She ran home

to her mother at the top of her speed, yelling with rage and despair;

and it took Lizina two hours with a big basin of hot water and two

cakes of soap to get rid of the layer of ashes with which Father Gatto

had adorned her. As for the donkey’s tail, it was impossible to get rid

of that; it was as firmly fixed on her forehead as was the golden star

on Lizina’s. Their mother was furious. She first beat Lizina

unmercifully with the broom, then she took her to the mouth of the well

and lowered her into it, leaving her at the bottom weeping and crying

for help.

Before this happened, however, the king’s son in passing the mother’s

house had seen Lizina sitting sewing in the parlour, and had been

dazzled by her beauty. After coming back two or three times, he at last

ventured to approach the window and to whisper in the softest voice:

“Lovely maiden, will you be my bride?” and she had answered: “I will.”

Next morning, when the prince arrived to claim his bride, he found her

wrapped in a large white veil. “It is so that maidens are received from

their parents’ hands,” said the mother, who hoped to make the king’s

son marry Peppina in place of her sister, and had fastened the donkey’s

tail round her head like a lock of hair under the veil. The prince was

young and a little timid, so he made no objections, and seated Peppina

in the carriage beside him.

Their way led past the old house inhabited by the cats, who were all at

the window, for the report had got about that the prince was going to

marry the most beautiful maiden in the world, on whose forehead shone a

golden star, and they knew that this could only be their adored Lizina.

As the carriage slowly passed in front of the old house, where cats

from all parts of world seemed to be gathered a song burst from every

throat:

Mew, mew, mew!

Prince, look quick behind you!

In the well is fair Lizina,

And you’ve got nothing but Peppina.

When he heard this the coachman, who understood the cat’s language

better than the prince, his master, stopped his horses and asked:

“Does your highness know what the grimalkins are saying?” and the song

broke forth again louder than ever.

With a turn of his hand the prince threw back the veil, and discovered

the puffed-up, swollen face of Peppina, with the donkey’s tail twisted

round her head. “Ah, traitress!” he exclaimed, and ordering the horses

to be turned round, he drove the elder daughter, quivering with rage,

to the old woman who had sought to deceive him. With his hand on the

hilt of his sword he demanded Lizina in so terrific a voice that the

mother hastened to the well to draw her prisoner out. Lizina’s clothing

and her star shone so brilliantly that when the prince led her home to

the king, his father, the whole palace was lit up. Next day they were

married, and lived happy ever after; and all the cats, headed by old

Father Gatto, were present at the wedding.

How To Find Out A True Friend

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who longed to have a son.

As none came, one day they made a vow at the shrine of St. James that

if their prayers were granted the boy should set out on a pilgrimage as

soon as he had passed his eighteenth birthday. And fancy their delight

when one evening the king returned home from hunting and saw a baby

lying in the cradle.

All the people came crowding round to peep at it, and declared it was

the most beautiful baby that ever was seen. Of course that is what they

always say, but this time it happened to be true. And every day the boy

grew bigger and stronger till he was twelve years old, when the king

died, and he was left alone to take care of his mother.

In this way six years passed by, and his eighteenth birthday drew near.

When she thought of this the queen’s heart sank within her, for he was

the light of her eyes and how was she to send him forth to the unknown

dangers that beset a pilgrim? So day by day she grew more and more

sorrowful, and when she was alone wept bitterly.

Now the queen imagined that no one but herself knew how sad she was,

but one morning her son said to her, “Mother, why do you cry the whole

day long?”

“Nothing, nothing, my son; there is only one thing in the world that

troubles me.”

“What is that one thing?” asked he. “Are you afraid your property is

badly managed? Let me go and look into the matter.”

This pleased the queen, and he rode off to the plain country, where his

mother owned great estates; but everything was in beautiful order, and

he returned with a joyful heart, and said, “Now, mother, you can be

happy again, for your lands are better managed than anyone else’s I

have seen. The cattle are thriving; the fields are thick with corn, and

soon they will be ripe for harvest.”

“That is good news indeed,” answered she; but it did not seem to make

any difference to her, and the next morning she was weeping and wailing

as loudly as ever.

“Dear mother,” said her son in despair, “if you will not tell me what

is the cause of all this misery I shall leave home and wander far

through the world.”

“Ah, my son, my son,” cried the queen, “it is the thought that I must

part from you which causes me such grief; for before you were born we

vowed a vow to St. James that when your eighteenth birthday was passed

you should make a pilgrimage to his shrine, and very soon you will be

eighteen, and I shall lose you. And for a whole year my eyes will never

be gladdened by the sight of you, for the shrine is far away.”

“Will it take no longer than that to reach it?” said he. “Oh, don’t be

so wretched; it is only dead people who never return. As long as I am

alive you may be sure I will come back to you.”

After this manner he comforted his mother, and on his eighteenth

birthday his best horse was led to the door of the palace, and he took

leave of the queen in these words, “Dear mother, farewell, and by the

help of fate I shall return to you as soon as I can.”

The queen burst into tears and wept sore; then amidst her sobs she drew

three apples from her pocket and held them out, saying, “My son, take

these apples and give heed unto my words. You will need a companion in

the long journey on which you are going. If you come across a young man

who pleases you beg him to accompany you, and when you get to an inn

invite him to have dinner with you. After you have eaten cut one of

these apples in two unequal parts, and ask him to take one. If he takes

the larger bit, then part from him, for he is no true friend to you.

But if he takes the smaller bit treat him as your brother, and share

with him all you have.” Then she kissed her son once more, and blessed

him, and let him go.

The young man rode a long way without meeting a single creature, but at

last he saw a youth in the distance about the same age as himself, and

he spurred his horse till he came up with the stranger, who stopped and

asked:

“Where are you going, my fine fellow?”

“I am making a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James, for before I was

born my mother vowed that I should go forth with a thank offering on my

eighteenth birthday.”

“That is my case too,” said the stranger, “and, as we must both travel

in the same direction, let us bear each other company.”

The young man agreed to this proposal, but he took care not to get on

terms of familiarity with the new comer until he had tried him with the

apple.

By-and-by they reached an inn, and at sight of it the king’s son said,

“I am very hungry. Let us enter and order something to eat.” The other

consented, and they were soon sitting before a good dinner.

When they had finished the king’s son drew an apple from his pocket,

and cut it into a big half and a little half, and offered both to the

stranger, who took the biggest bit. “You are no friend of mine,”

thought the king’s son, and in order to part company with him he

pretended to be ill and declared himself unable to proceed on his

journey.

“Well, I can’t wait for you,” replied the other; “I am in haste to push

on, so farewell.”

“Farewell,” said the king’s son, glad in his heart to get rid of him so

easily. The king’s son remained in the inn for some time, so as to let

the young man have a good start; them he ordered his horse and rode

after him. But he was very sociable and the way seemed long and dull by

himself. “Oh, if I could only meet with a true friend,” he thought, “so

that I should have some one to speak to. I hate being alone.”

Soon after he came up with a young man, who stopped and asked him,

“Where are you going, my fine fellow?” The king’s son explained the

object of his journey, and the young man answered, as the other had

done, that he also was fulfilling the vow of his mother made at his

birth.

“Well, we can ride on together,” said the king’s son, and the road

seemed much shorter now that he had some one to talk to.

At length they reached an inn, and the king’s son exclaimed, “I am very

hungry; let us go in and get something to eat.”

When they had finished the king’s son drew an apple out of his pocket

and cut it in two; he held the big bit and the little bit out to his

companion, who took the big bit at once and soon ate it up. “You are no

friend of mine,” thought the king’s son, and began to declare he felt

so ill he could not continue his journey. When he had given the young

man a good start he set off himself, but the way seemed even longer and

duller than before. “Oh, if I could only meet with a true friend he

should be as a brother to me,” he sighed sadly; and as the thought

passed through his mind, he noticed a youth going the same road as

himself.

The youth came up to him and said, “Which way are you going, my fine

fellow?” And for the third time the king’s son explained all about his

mother’s vow. Why, that is just like me,” cried the youth.

“Then let us ride on together,” answered the king’s son.

Now the miles seemed to slip by, for the new comer was so lively and

entertaining that the king’s son could not help hoping that he indeed

might prove to be the true friend.

More quickly than he could have thought possible they reached an inn by

the road-side, and turning to his companion the king’s son said, “I am

hungry; let us go in and have something to eat.” So they went in and

ordered dinner, and when they had finished the king’s son drew out of

his pocket the last apple, and cut it into two unequal parts, and held

both out to the stranger. And the stranger took the little piece, and

the heart of the king’s son was glad within him, for at last he had

found the friend he had been looking for. “Good youth,” he cried, “we

will be brothers, and what is mine shall be thine, and what is thine

shall be mine. And together we will push on to the shrine, and if one

of us dies on the road the other shall carry his body there.” And the

stranger agreed to all he said, and they rode forward together.

It took them a whole year to reach the shrine, and they passed through

many different lands on their way. One day they arrived tired and

half-starved in a big city, and said to one another, “Let us stay here

for a little and rest before we set forth again.” So they hired a small

house close to the royal castle, and took up their abode there.

The following morning the king of the country happened to step on to

his balcony, and saw the young men in the garden, and said to himself,

“Dear me, those are wonderfully handsome youths; but one is handsomer

than the other, and to him will I give my daughter to wife;” and indeed

the king’s son excelled his friend in beauty.

In order to set about his plan the king asked both the young men to

dinner, and when they arrived at the castle he received them with the

utmost kindness, and sent for his daughter, who was more lovely than

both the sun and moon put together. But at bed-time the king caused the

other young man to be given a poisoned drink, which killed him in a few

minutes, for he thought to himself, “If his friend dies the other will

forget his pilgrimage, and will stay here and marry my daughter.”

When the king’s son awoke the next morning he inquired of the servants

where his friend had gone, as he did not see him. “He died suddenly

last night,” said they, “and is to be buried immediately.”

But the king’s son sprang up, and cried, “If my friend is dead I can

stay here no longer, and cannot linger an hour in this house.”

“Oh, give up your journey and remain here,” exclaimed the king, “and

you shall have my daughter for your wife.” “No,” answered the king’s

son, “I cannot stay; but, I pray you, grant my request, and give me a

good horse, and let me go in peace, and when I have fulfilled my vow

then I will return and marry your daughter.”

So the king, seeing no words would move him, ordered a horse to be

brought round, and the king’s son mounted it, and took his dead friend

before him on the saddle, and rode away.

Now the young man was not really dead, but only in a deep sleep.

When the king’s son reached the shrine of St. James he got down from

his horse, took his friend in his arms as if he had been a child, and

laid him before the altar. “St. James,” he said, “I have fulfilled the

vow my parents made for me. I have come myself to your shrine, and have

brought my friend. I place him in your hands. Restore him to life, I

pray, for though he be dead yet has he fulfilled his vow also.” And,

behold! while he yet prayed his friend got up and stood before him as

well as ever. And both the young men gave thanks, and set their faces

towards home.

When they arrived at the town where the king dwelt they entered the

small house over against the castle. The news of their coming spread

very soon, and the king rejoiced greatly that the handsome young prince

had come back again, and commanded great feasts to be prepared, for in

a few days his daughter should marry the king’s son. The young man

himself could imagine no greater happiness, and when the marriage was

over they spent some months at the court making merry.

At length the king’s son said, “My mother awaits me at home, full of

care and anxiety. Here I must remain no longer, and to-morrow I will

take my wife and my friend and start for home.” And the king was

content that he should do so, and gave orders to prepare for their

journey.

Now in his heart the king cherished a deadly hate towards the poor

young man whom he had tried to kill, but who had returned to him

living, and in order to do him hurt sent him on a message to some

distant spot. “See that you are quick,” said he, “for your friend will

await your return before he starts.” The youth put spurs to his horse

and departed, bidding the prince farewell, so that the king’s message

might be delivered the sooner. As soon as he had started the king went

to the chamber of the prince, and said to him, “If you do not start

immediately, you will never reach the place where you must camp for the

night.”

“I cannot start without my friend,” replied the king’s son.

“Oh, he will be back in an hour,” replied the king, “and I will give

him my best horse, so that he will be sure to catch you up.” The king’s

son allowed himself to be persuaded and took leave of his

father-in-law, and set out with his wife on his journey home.

Meanwhile the poor friend had been unable to get through his task in

the short time appointed by the king, and when at last he returned the

king said to him,

“Your comrade is a long way off by now; you had better see if you can

overtake him.”

So the young man bowed and left the king’s presence, and followed after

his friend on foot, for he had no horse. Night and day he ran, till at

length he reached the place where the king’s son had pitched his tent,

and sank down before him, a miserable object, worn out and covered with

mud and dust. But the king’s son welcomed him with joy, and tended him

as he would his brother.

And at last they came home again, and the queen was waiting and

watching in the palace, as she had never ceased to do since her son had

rode away. She almost died of joy at seeing him again, but after a

little she remembered his sick friend, and ordered a bed to be made

ready and the best doctors in all the country to be sent for. When they

heard of the queen’s summons they flocked from all parts, but none

could cure him. After everyone had tried and failed a servant entered

and informed the queen that a strange old man had just knocked at the

palace gate and declared that he was able to heal the dying youth. Now

this was a holy man, who had heard of the trouble the king’s son was

in, and had come to help.

It happened that at this very time a little daughter was born to the

king’s son, but in his distress for his friend he had hardly a thought

to spare for the baby. He could not be prevailed on to leave the sick

bed, and he was bending over it when the holy man entered the room. “Do

you wish your friend to be cured?” asked the new comer of the king’s

son. “And what price would you pay?”

“What price?” answered the king’s son; “only tell me what I can do to

heal him.”

“Listen to me, then,” said the old man. “This evening you must take

your child, and open her veins, and smear the wounds of your friend

with her blood. And you will see, he will get well in an instant.”

At these words the king’s son shrieked with horror, for he loved the

baby dearly, but he answered, “I have sworn that I would treat my

friend as if he were my brother, and if there is no other way my child

must be sacrificed.”

As by this time evening had already fallen he took the child and opened

its veins, and smeared the blood over the wounds of the sick man, and

the look of death departed from him, and he grew strong and rosy once

more. But the little child lay as white and still as if she had been

dead. They laid her in the cradle and wept bitterly, for they thought

that by the next morning she would be lost to them.

At sunrise the old man returned and asked after the sick man.

“He is as well as ever,” answered the king’s son.

“And where is your baby?”

“In the cradle yonder, and I think she is dead,” replied the father

sadly.

“Look at her once more,” said the holy man, and as they drew near the

cradle there lay the baby smiling up at them.

“I am St. James of Lizia,” said the old man, “and I have come to help

you, for I have seen that you are a true friend. From henceforward live

happily, all of you, together, and if troubles should draw near you

send for me, and I will aid you to get through them.”

With these words he lifted his hand in blessing and vanished.

And they obeyed him, and were happy and content, and tried to make the

people of the land happy and contented too.

[From Sicilianische Mährchen Gonzenbach.]

Clever Maria

There was once a merchant who lived close to the royal palace, and had

three daughters. They were all pretty, but Maria, the youngest, was the

prettiest of the three. One day the king sent for the merchant, who was

a widower, to give him directions about a journey he wished the good

man to take. The merchant would rather not have gone, as he did not

like leaving his daughters at home, but he could not refuse to obey the

king’s commands, and with a heavy heart he returned home to say

farewell to them. Before he left, he took three pots of basil, and gave

one to each girl, saying, “I am going a journey, but I leave these

pots. You must let nobody into the house. When I come back, they will

tell me what has happened.” “Nothing will have happened,” said the

girls.

The father went away, and the following day the king, accompanied by

two friends, paid a visit to the three girls, who were sitting at

supper. When they saw who was there, Maria said, “Let us go and get a

bottle of wine from the cellar. I will carry the key, my eldest sister

can take the light, while the other brings the bottle.” But the king

replied, “Oh, do not trouble; we are not thirsty.” “Very well, we will

not go,” answered the two elder girls; but Maria merely said, “I shall

go, anyhow.” She left the room, and went to the hall where she put out

the light, and putting down the key and the bottle, ran to the house of

a neighbour, and knocked at the door. “Who is there so late?” asked the

old woman, thrusting her head out of the window.

“Oh, let me in,” answered Maria. “I have quarrelled with my eldest

sister, and as I do not want to fight any more, I have come to beg you

to allow me to sleep with you.”

So the old woman opened the door and Maria slept in her house. The king

was very angry at her for playing truant, but when she returned home

the next day, she found the plants of her sisters withered away,

because they had disobeyed their father. Now the window in the room of

the eldest overlooked the gardens of the king, and when she saw how

fine and ripe the medlars were on the trees, she longed to eat some,

and begged Maria to scramble down by a rope and pick her a few, and she

would draw her up again. Maria, who was good-natured, swung herself

into the garden by the rope, and got the medlars, and was just making

the rope fast under her arms so as to be hauled up, when her sister

cried: “Oh, there are such delicious lemons a little farther on. You

might bring me one or two.” Maria turned round to pluck them, and found

herself face to face with the gardener, who caught hold of her,

exclaiming, “What are you doing here, you little thief?” “Don’t call me

names,” she said, “or you will get the worst of it,” giving him as she

spoke such a violent push that he fell panting into the lemon bushes.

Then she seized the cord and clambered up to the window.

The next day the second sister had a fancy for bananas and begged so

hard, that, though Maria had declared she would never do such a thing

again, at last she consented, and went down the rope into the king’s

garden. This time she met the king, who said to her, “Ah, here you are

again, cunning one! Now you shall pay for your misdeeds.”

And he began to cross-question her about what she had done. Maria

denied nothing, and when she had finished, the king said again, “Follow

me to the house, and there you shall pay the penalty.” As he spoke, he

started for the house, looking back from time to time to make sure that

Maria had not run away. All of a sudden, when he glanced round, he

found she had vanished completely, without leaving a trace of where she

had gone. Search was made all through the town, and there was not a

hole or corner which was not ransacked, but there was no sign of her

anywhere. This so enraged the king that he became quite ill, and for

many months his life was despaired of.

Meanwhile the two elder sisters had married the two friends of the

king, and were the mothers of little daughters. Now one day Maria stole

secretly to the house where her elder sister lived, and snatching up

the children put them into a beautiful basket she had with her, covered

with flowers inside and out, so that no one would ever guess it held

two babies. Then she dressed herself as a boy, and placing the basket

on her head, she walked slowly past the palace, crying as she went:

“Who will carry these flowers to the king, who lies sick of love?”

And the king in his bed heard what she said, and ordered one of his

attendants to go out and buy the basket. It was brought to his bedside,

and as he raised the lid cries were heard, and peeping in he saw two

little children. He was furious at this new trick which he felt had

been played on him by Maria, and was still looking at them, wondering

how he should pay her out, when he was told that the merchant, Maria’s

father, had finished the business on which he had been sent and

returned home. Then the king remembered how Maria had refused to

receive his visit, and how she had stolen his fruit, and he determined

to be revenged on her. So he sent a message by one of his pages that

the merchant was to come to see him the next day, and bring with him a

coat made of stone, or else he would be punished. Now the poor man had

been very sad since he got home the evening before, for though his

daughters had promised that nothing should happen while he was away, he

had found the two elder ones married without asking his leave. And now

there was this fresh misfortune, for how was he to make a coat of

stone? He wrung his hands and declared that the king would be the ruin

of him, when Maria suddenly entered. “Do not grieve about the coat of

stone, dear father; but take this bit of chalk, and go to the palace

and say you have come to measure the king.” The old man did not see the

use of this, but Maria had so often helped him before that he had

confidence in her, so he put the chalk in his pocket and went to the

palace.

“That is no good,” said the king, when the merchant had told him what

he had come for.

“Well, I can’t make the coat you want,” replied he.

“Then if you would save your head, hand over to me your daughter

Maria.”

The merchant did not reply, but went sorrowfully back to his house,

where Maria sat waiting for him.

“Oh, my dear child, why was I born? The king says that, instead of the

coat, I must deliver you up to him.”

“Do not be unhappy, dear father, but get a doll made, exactly like me,

with a string attached to its head, which I can pull for ‘Yes’ and

‘No.’”

So the old man went out at once to see about it.

The king remained patiently in his palace, feeling sure that this time

Maria could not escape him; and he said to his pages, “If a gentleman

should come here with his daughter and ask to be allowed to speak with

me, put the young lady in my room and see she does not leave it.”

When the door was shut on Maria, who had concealed the doll under her

cloak, she hid herself under the couch, keeping fast hold of the string

which was fastened to its head.

“Senhora Maria, I hope you are well,” said the king when he entered the

room. The doll nodded. “Now we will reckon up accounts,” continued he,

and he began at the beginning, and ended up with the flower-basket, and

at each fresh misdeed Maria pulled the string, so that the doll’s head

nodded assent. “Who-so mocks at me merits death,” declared the king

when he had ended, and drawing his sword, cut off the doll’s head. It

fell towards him, and as he felt the touch of a kiss, he exclaimed,

“Ah, Maria, Maria, so sweet in death, so hard to me in life! The man

who could kill you deserves to die!” And he was about to turn his sword

on himself, when the true Maria sprung out from under the bed, and

flung herself into his arms. And the next day they were married and

lived happily for many years.

[From the Portuguese.]

The Magic Kettle

Right in the middle of Japan, high up among the mountains, an old man

lived in his little house. He was very proud of it, and never tired of

admiring the whiteness of his straw mats, and the pretty papered walls,

which in warm weather always slid back, so that the smell of the trees

and flowers might come in.

One day he was standing looking at the mountain opposite, when he heard

a kind of rumbling noise in the room behind him. He turned round, and

in the corner he beheld a rusty old iron kettle, which could not have

seen the light of day for many years. How the kettle got there the old

man did not know, but he took it up and looked it over carefully, and

when he found that it was quite whole he cleaned the dust off it and

carried it into his kitchen.

“That was a piece of luck,” he said, smiling to himself; “a good kettle

costs money, and it is as well to have a second one at hand in case of

need; mine is getting worn out, and the water is already beginning to

come through its bottom.”

Then he took the other kettle off the fire, filled the new one with

water, and put it in its place.

No sooner was the water in the kettle getting warm than a strange thing

happened, and the man, who was standing by, thought he must be

dreaming. First the handle of the kettle gradually changed its shape

and became a head, and the spout grew into a tail, while out of the

body sprang four paws, and in a few minutes the man found himself

watching, not a kettle, but a tanuki! The creature jumped off the fire,

and bounded about the room like a kitten, running up the walls and over

the ceiling, till the old man was in an agony lest his pretty room

should be spoilt. He cried to a neighbour for help, and between them

they managed to catch the tanuki, and shut him up safely in a wooden

chest. Then, quite exhausted, they sat down on the mats, and consulted

together what they should do with this troublesome beast. At length

they decided to sell him, and bade a child who was passing send them a

certain tradesman called Jimmu.

When Jimmu arrived, the old man told him that he had something which he

wished to get rid of, and lifted the lid of the wooden chest, where he

had shut up the tanuki. But, to his surprise, no tanuki was there,

nothing but the kettle he had found in the corner. It was certainly

very odd, but the man remembered what had taken place on the fire, and

did not want to keep the kettle any more, so after a little bargaining

about the price, Jimmu went away carrying the kettle with him.

Now Jimmu had not gone very far before he felt that the kettle was

getting heavier and heavier, and by the time he reached home he was so

tired that he was thankful to put it down in the corner of his room,

and then forgot all about it. In the middle of the night, however, he

was awakened by a loud noise in the corner where the kettle stood, and

raised himself up in bed to see what it was. But nothing was there

except the kettle, which seemed quiet enough. He thought that he must

have been dreaming, and fell asleep again, only to be roused a second

time by the same disturbance. He jumped up and went to the corner, and

by the light of the lamp that he always kept burning he saw that the

kettle had become a tanuki, which was running round after his tail.

After he grew weary of that, he ran on the balcony, where he turned

several somersaults, from pure gladness of heart. The tradesman was

much troubled as to what to do with the animal, and it was only towards

morning that he managed to get any sleep; but when he opened his eyes

again there was no tanuki, only the old kettle he had left there the

night before.

As soon as he had tidied his house, Jimmu set off to tell his story to

a friend next door. The man listened quietly, and did not appear so

surprised as Jimmu expected, for he recollected having heard, in his

youth, something about a wonder-working kettle. “Go and travel with it,

and show it off,” said he, “and you will become a rich man; but be

careful first to ask the tanuki’s leave, and also to perform some magic

ceremonies to prevent him from running away at the sight of the

people.”

Jimmu thanked his friend for his counsel, which he followed exactly.

The tanuki’s consent was obtained, a booth was built, and a notice was

hung up outside it inviting the people to come and witness the most

wonderful transformation that ever was seen.

They came in crowds, and the kettle was passed from hand to hand, and

they were allowed to examine it all over, and even to look inside. Then

Jimmu took it back, and setting it on the platform, commanded it to

become a tanuki. In an instant the handle began to change into a head,

and the spout into a tail, while the four paws appeared at the sides.

“Dance,” said Jimmu, and the tanuki did his steps, and moved first on

one side and then on the other, till the people could not stand still

any longer, and began to dance too. Gracefully he led the fan dance,

and glided without a pause into the shadow dance and the umbrella

dance, and it seemed as if he might go on dancing for ever. And so very

likely he would, if Jimmu had not declared he had danced enough, and

that the booth must now be closed.

Day after day the booth was so full it was hardly possible to enter it,

and what the neighbour foretold had come to pass, and Jimmu was a rich

man. Yet he did not feel happy. He was an honest man, and he thought

that he owed some of his wealth to the man from whom he had bought the

kettle. So, one morning, he put a hundred gold pieces into it, and

hanging the kettle once more on his arm, he returned to the seller of

it. “I have no right to keep it any longer,” he added when he had ended

his tale, “so I have brought it back to you, and inside you will find a

hundred gold pieces as the price of its hire.”

The man thanked Jimmu, and said that few people would have been as

honest as he. And the kettle brought them both luck, and everything

went well with them till they died, which they did when they were very

old, respected by everyone.

[Adapted from Japanische Mährchen]