An Impossible Enchantment

An Impossible Enchantment There once lived a king who was much loved by his people, and he, too, loved them warmly. He led a very happy life, but he had the greatest dislike to the idea of marrying, nor had he ever felt the slightest wish to fall in love. His subjects begged him to marry, and at last he promised to try to do so. But as, so far, he had never cared for any woman he had seen, he made up his mind to travel in hopes of meeting some lady he could love. So he arranged all the affairs of state in an orderly manner, and set out, attended by only one equerry, who, though not very clever, had most excellent good sense. These people indeed generally make the best fellow travellers. The king explored several countries, doing all he could to fall in love, but in vain; and at the end of two years’ journeys he turned his face towards home, with as free a heart as when he set out. As he was riding along through a forest he suddenly heard the most awful miawing and shrieking of cats you can imagine. The noise drew nearer, and nearer, and at last they saw a hundred huge Spanish cats rush through the trees close to them. They were so closely packed together that you could easily have covered them with a large cloak, and all were following the same track. They were closely pursued by two enormous apes, dressed in purple suits, with the prettiest and best made boots you ever saw. The apes were mounted on superb mastiffs, and spurred them on in hot haste, blowing shrill blasts on little toy trumpets all the time. The king and his equerry stood still to watch this strange hunt, which was followed by twenty or more little dwarfs, some mounted on wolves, and leading relays, and others with cats in leash. The dwarfs were all dressed in purple silk liveries like the apes. A moment later a beautiful young woman mounted on a tiger came in sight. She passed close to the king, riding at full speed, without taking any notice of him; but he was at once enchanted by her, and his heart was gone in a moment. To his great joy he saw that one of the dwarfs had fallen behind the rest, and at once began to question him. The dwarf told him that the lady he had just seen was the Princess Mutinosa, the daughter of the king in whose country they were at that moment. He added that the princess was very fond of hunting, and that she was now in pursuit of rabbits. The king then asked the way to the court, and having been told it, hurried off, and reached the capital in a couple of hours. As soon as he arrived, he presented himself to the king and queen, and on mentioning his own name and that of his country, was received with open arms. Not long after, the princess returned, and hearing that the hunt had been very successful, the king complimented her on it, but she would not answer a word. Her silence rather surprised him, but he was still more astonished when he found that she never spoke once all through supper-time. Sometimes she seemed about to speak, but whenever this was the case her father or mother at once took up the conversation. However, this silence did not cool the king’s affection, and when he retired to his rooms at night he confided his feelings to his faithful equerry. But the equerry was by no means delighted at his king’s love affair, and took no pains to hide his disappointment. ‘But why are you vexed?’ asked the king. ‘Surely the princess is beautiful enough to please anyone?’ ‘She is certainly very handsome,’ replied the equerry, ‘but to be really happy in love something more than beauty is required. To tell the truth, sire,’ he added, ‘her expression seems to me hard.’ ‘That is pride and dignity,’ said the king, ‘and nothing can be more becoming.’ ‘Pride or hardness, as you will,’ said the equerry; ‘but to my mind the choice of so many fierce creatures for her amusements seems to tell of a fierce nature, and I also think there is something suspicious in the care taken to prevent her speaking.’ The equerry’s remarks were full of good sense; but as opposition is only apt to increase love in the hearts of men, and especially of kings who hate being contradicted, this king begged, the very next day, for the hand of the Princess Mutinosa. It was granted him on two conditions. The first was that the wedding should take place the very next day; and the second, that he should not speak to the princess till she was his wife; to all of which the king agreed, in spite of his equerry’s objections, so that the first word he heard his bride utter was the ‘Yes’ she spoke at their marriage. Once married, however, she no longer placed any check on herself, and her ladies-in-waiting came in for plenty of rude speeches----even the king did not escape scolding; but as he was a good-tempered man, and very much in love, he bore it patiently. A few days after the wedding the newly married pair set out for their kingdom without leaving many regrets behind. The good equerry’s fears proved only too true, as the king found out to his cost. The young queen made her self most disagreeable to all her court, her spite and bad temper knew no bounds, and before the end of a month she was known far and wide as a regular vixen. One day, when riding out, she met a poor old woman walking along the road, who made a curtsy and was going on, when the queen had her stopped, and cried: ‘You are a very impertinent person; don’t you know that I am the queen? And how dare you not make me a deeper curtsy?’ ‘Madam,’ said the old woman, ‘I have never learnt how to measure curtsies; but I had no wish to fail in proper respect.’ ‘What!’ screamed the queen; ‘she dares to answer! Tie her to my horse’s tail and I’ll just carry her at once to the best dancing-master in the town to learn how to curtsy.’ The old woman shrieked for mercy, but the queen would not listen, and only mocked when she said she was protected by the fairies. At last the poor old thing submitted to be tied up, but when the queen urged her horse on he never stirred. In vain she spurred him, he seemed turned to bronze. At the same moment the cord with which the old woman was tied changed into wreaths of flowers, and she herself into a tall and stately lady. Looking disdainfully at the queen, she said, ‘Bad woman, unworthy of your crown; I wished to judge for myself whether all I heard of you was true. I have now no doubt of it, and you shall see whether the fairies are to be laughed at.’ So saying the fairy Placida (that was her name) blew a little gold whistle, and a chariot appeared drawn by six splendid ostriches. In it was seated the fairy queen, escorted by a dozen other fairies mounted on dragons. All having dismounted, Placida told her adventures, and the fairy queen approved all she had done, and proposed turning Mutinosa into bronze like her horse. Placida, however, who was very kind and gentle, begged for a milder sentence, and at last it was settled that Mutinosa should become her slave for life unless she should have a child to take her place. The king was told of his wife’s fate and submitted to it, which, as he could do nothing to help it, was the only course open to him. The fairies then all dispersed, Placida taking her slave with her, and on reaching her palace she said: ‘You ought by rights to be scullion, but as you have been delicately brought up the change might be too great for you. I shall therefore only order you to sweep my rooms carefully, and to wash and comb my little dog.’ Mutinosa felt there was no use in disobeying, so she did as she was bid and said nothing. After some time she gave birth to a most lovely little girl, and when she was well again the fairy gave her a good lecture on her past life, made her promise to behave better in future, and sent her back to the king, her husband. Placida now gave herself up entirely to the little princess who was left in her charge. She anxiously thought over which of the fairies she would invite to be godmothers, so as to secure the best gift, for her adopted child. At last she decided on two very kindly and cheerful fairies, and asked them to the christening feast. Directly it was over the baby was brought to them in a lovely crystal cradle hung with red silk curtains embroidered with gold. The little thing smiled so sweetly at the fairies that they decided to do all they could for her. They began by naming her Graziella, and then Placida said: ‘You know, dear sisters, that the commonest form of spite or punishment amongst us consists of changing beauty to ugliness, cleverness to stupidity, and oftener still to change a person’s form altogether. Now, as we can only each bestow one gift, I think the best plan will be for one of you to give her beauty, the other good understanding, whilst I will undertake that she shall never be changed into any other form.’ The two godmothers quite agreed, and as soon as the little princess had received their gifts, they went home, and Placida gave herself up to the child’s education. She succeeded so well with it, and little Graziella grew so lovely, that when she was still quite a child her fame was spread abroad only too much, and one day Placida was surprised by a visit from the Fairy Queen, who was attended by a very grave and severe-looking fairy. The queen began at once: ‘I have been much surprised by your behaviour to Mutinosa; she had insulted our whole race, and deserved punishment. You might forgive your own wrongs if you chose, but not those of others. You treated her very gently whilst she was with you, and I come now to avenge our wrongs on her daughter. You have ensured her being lovely and clever, and not subject to change of form, but I shall place her in an enchanted prison, which she shall never leave till she finds herself in the arms of a lover whom she herself loves. It will be my care to prevent anything of the kind happening.’ The enchanted prison was a large high tower in the midst of the sea, built of shells of all shapes and colours. The lower floor was like a great bathroom, where the water was let in or off at will. The first floor contained the princess’s apartments, beautifully furnished. On the second was a library, a large wardrobe-room filled with beautiful clothes and every kind of linen, a music-room, a pantry with bins full of the best wines, and a store-room with all manner of preserves, bonbons, pastry and cakes, all of which remained as fresh as if just out of the oven. The top of the tower was laid out like a garden, with beds of the loveliest flowers, fine fruit trees, and shady arbours and shrubs, where many birds sang amongst the branches. The fairies escorted Graziella and her governess, Bonnetta, to the tower, and then mounted a dolphin which was waiting for them. At a little distance from the tower the queen waved her wand and summoned two thousand great fierce sharks, whom she ordered to keep close guard, and not to let a soul enter the tower. The good governess took such pains with Graziella’s education that when she was nearly grown up she was not only most accomplished, but a very sweet, good girl. One day, as the princess was standing on a balcony, she saw the most extraordinary figure rise out of the sea. She quickly called Bonnetta to ask her what it could be. It looked like some kind of man, with a bluish face and long sea-green hair. He was swimming towards the tower, but the sharks took no notice of him. ‘It must be a merman,’ said Bonnetta. ‘A man, do you say?’ cried Graziella; ‘let us hurry down to the door and see him nearer.’ When they stood in the doorway the merman stopped to look at the princess and made many signs of admiration. His voice was very hoarse and husky, but when he found that he was not understood he took to signs. He carried a little basket made of osiers and filled with rare shells, which he presented to the princess. She took it with signs of thanks; but as it was getting dusk she retired, and the merman plunged back into the sea. When they were alone, Graziella said to her governess: ‘What a dreadful-looking creature that was! Why do those odious sharks let him come near the tower? I suppose all men are not like him?’ ‘No, indeed,’ replied Bonnetta. ‘I suppose the sharks look on him as a sort of relation, and so did not attack him.’ A few days later the two ladies heard a strange sort of music, and looking out of the window, there was the merman, his head crowned with water plants, and blowing a great sea-shell with all his might. They went down to the tower door, and Graziella politely accepted some coral and other marine curiosities he had brought her. After this he used to come every evening, and blow his shell, or dive and play antics under the princess’s window. She contented herself with bowing to him from the balcony, but she would not go down to the door in spite of all his signs. Some days later he came with a person of his own kind, but of another sex. Her hair was dressed with great taste, and she had a lovely voice. This new arrival induced the ladies to go down to the door. They were surprised to find that, after trying various languages, she at last spoke to them in their own, and paid Graziella a very pretty compliment on her beauty. The mermaid noticed that the lower floor was full of water. ‘Why,’ cried she, ‘that is just the place for us, for we can’t live quite out of water.’ So saying, she and her brother swam in and took up a position in the bathroom, the princess and her governess seating themselves on the steps which ran round the room. ‘No doubt, madam,’ said the mermaid, ‘you have given up living on land so as to escape from crowds of lovers; but I fear that even here you cannot avoid them, for my brother is already dying of love for you, and I am sure that once you are seen in our city he will have many rivals.’ She then went on to explain how grieved her brother was not to be able to make himself understood, adding: ‘I interpret for him, having been taught several languages by a fairy.’ ‘Oh, then, you have fairies, too?’ asked Graziella, with a sigh. ‘Yes, we have,’ replied the mermaid; ‘but if I am not mistaken you have suffered from the fairies on earth.’ The princess, on this, told her entire history to the mermaid, who assured her how sorry she felt for her, but begged her not to lose courage; adding, as she took her leave: Perhaps, some day, you may find a way out of your difficulties.’ The princess was delighted with this visit and with the hopes the mermaid held out. It was something to meet someone fresh to talk to. ‘We will make acquaintance with several of these people,’ she said to her governess, ‘and I dare say they are not all as hideous as the first one we saw. Anyhow, we shan’t be so dreadfully lonely.’ ‘Dear me,’ said Bonnetta, ‘how hopeful young people are to be sure! As for me I feel afraid of these folk. But what do you think of the lover you have captivated?’ ‘Oh, I could never love him,’ cried the princess; ‘I can’t bear him. But, perhaps, as his sister says they are related to the fairy Marina, they may be of some use to us.’ The mermaid often returned, and each time she talked of her brother’s love, and each time Graziella talked of her longing to escape from her prison, till at length the mermaid promised to bring the fairy Marina to see her, in hopes she might suggest something. Next day the fairy came with the mermaid, and the princess received her with delight. After a little talk she begged Graziella to show her the inside of the tower and let her see the garden on the top, for with the help of crutches she could manage to move about, and being a fairy could live out of water for a long time, provided she wetted her forehead now and then. Graziella gladly consented, and Bonnetta stayed below with the mermaid. When they were in the garden the fairy said: ‘Let us lose no time, but tell me how I can be of use to you.’ Graziella then told all her story and Marina replied: ‘My dear princess, I can do nothing for you as regards dry land, for my power does not reach beyond my own element. I can only say that if you will honour my cousin by accepting his hand, you could then come and live amongst us. I could teach you in a moment to swim and dive with the best of us. I can harden your skin without spoiling its colour. My cousin is one of the best matches in the sea, and I will bestow so many gifts on him that you will be quite happy.’ The fairy talked so well and so long that the princess was rather impressed, and promised to think the matter over. Just as they were going to leave the garden they saw a ship sailing nearer the tower than any other had done before. On the deck lay a young man under a splendid awning, gazing at the tower through a spy-glass; but before they could see anything clearly the ship moved away, and the two ladies parted, the fairy promising to return shortly. As soon as she was gone Graziella told her governess what she had said. Bonnetta was not at all pleased at the turn matters were taking, for she did not fancy being turned into a mermaid in her old age. She thought the matter well over, and this was what she did. She was a very clever artist, and next morning she began to paint a picture of a handsome young man, with beautiful curly hair, a fine complexion, and lovely blue eyes. When it was finished she showed it to Graziella, hoping it would show her the difference there was between a fine young man and her marine suitor. The princess was much struck by the picture, and asked anxiously whether there could be any man so good looking in the world. Bonnetta assured her that there were plenty of them; indeed, many far handsomer. ‘I can hardly believe that,’ cried the princess; ‘but, alas! If there are, I don’t suppose I shall ever see them or they me, so what is the use? Oh, dear, how unhappy I am!’ She spent the rest of the day gazing at the picture, which certainly had the effect of spoiling all the merman’s hopes or prospects. After some days, the fairy Marina came back to hear what was decided; but Graziella hardly paid any attention to her, and showed such dislike to the idea of the proposed marriage that the fairy went off in a regular huff. Without knowing it, the princess had made another conquest. On board the ship which had sailed so near was the handsomest prince in the world. He had heard of the enchanted tower, and determined to get as near it as he could. He had strong glasses on board, and whilst looking through them he saw the princess quite clearly, and fell desperately in love with her at once. He wanted to steer straight for the tower and to row off to it in a small boat, but his entire crew fell at his feet and begged him not to run such a risk. The captain, too, urged him not to attempt it. ‘You will only lead us all to certain death,’ he said. ‘Pray anchor nearer land, and I will then seek a kind fairy I know, who has always been most obliging to me, and who will, I am sure, try to help your Highness.’ The prince rather unwillingly listened to reason. He landed at the nearest point, and sent off the captain in all haste to beg the fairy’s advice and help. Meantime he had a tent pitched on the shore, and spent all his time gazing at the tower and looking for the princess through his spyglass. After a few days the captain came back, bringing the fairy with him. The prince was delighted to see her, and paid her great attention. ‘I have heard about this matter,’ she said; ‘and, to lose no time, I am going to send off a trusty pigeon to test the enchantment. If there is any weak spot he is sure to find it out and get in. I shall bid him bring a flower back as a sign of success; and if he does so I quite hope to get you in too.’ ‘But,’ asked the prince, ‘could I not send a line by the pigeon to tell the princess of my love?’ ‘Certainly,’ replied the fairy, ‘it would be a very good plan.’ So the prince wrote as follows:--- ‘Lovely Princess,---I adore you, and beg you to accept my heart, and to believe there is nothing I will not do to end your misfortunes.---BLONDEL. This note was tied round the pigeon’s neck, and he flew off with it at once. He flew fast till he got near the tower, when a fierce wind blew so hard against him that he could not get on. But he was not to be beaten, but flew carefully round the top of the tower till he came to one spot which, by some mistake, had not been enchanted like the rest. He quickly slipped into the arbour and waited for the princess. Before long Graziella appeared alone, and the pigeon at once fluttered to meet her, and seemed so tame that she stopped to caress the pretty creature. As she did so she saw it had a pink ribbon round its neck, and tied to the ribbon was a letter. She read it over several times and then wrote this answer:--- ‘You say you love me; but I cannot promise to love you without seeing you. Send me your portrait by this faithful messenger. If I return it to you, you must give up hope; but if I keep it you will know that to help me will be to help yourself.---GRAZIELA. Before flying back the pigeon remembered about the flower, so, seeing one in the princess’s dress, he stole it and flew away. The prince was wild with joy at the pigeon’s return with the note. After an hour’s rest the trusty little bird was sent back again, carrying a miniature of the prince, which by good luck he had with him. On reaching the tower the pigeon found the princess in the garden. She hastened to untie the ribbon, and on opening the miniature case what was her surprise and delight to find it very like the picture her governess had painted for her. She hastened to send the pigeon back, and you can fancy the prince’s joy when he found she had kept his portrait. ‘Now,’ said the fairy, ‘let us lose no more time. I can only make you happy by changing you into a bird, but I will take care to give you back your proper shape at the right time.’ The prince was eager to start, so the fairy, touching him with her wand, turned him into the loveliest humming-bird you ever saw, at the same time letting him keep the power of speech. The pigeon was told to show him the way. Graziella was much surprised to see a perfectly strange bird, and still more so when it flew to her saying, ‘Good-morning, sweet princess.’ She was delighted with the pretty creature, and let him perch on her finger, when he said, ‘Kiss, kiss, little birdie,’ which she gladly did, petting and stroking him at the same time. After a time the princess, who had been up very early, grew tired, and as the sun was hot she went to lie down on a mossy bank in the shade of the arbour. She held the pretty bird near her breast, and was just falling asleep, when the fairy contrived to restore the prince to his own shape, so that as Graziella opened her eyes she found herself in the arms of a lover whom she loved in return! At the same moment her enchantment came to an end. The tower began to rock and to split. Bonnetta hurried up to the top so that she might at least perish with her dear princess. Just as she reached the garden, the kind fairy who had helped the prince arrived with the fairy Placida, in a car of Venetian glass drawn by six eagles. ‘Come away quickly,’ they cried, ‘the tower is about to sink!’ The prince, princess, and Bonnetta lost no time in stepping into the car, which rose in the air just as, with a terrible crash, the tower sank into the depths of the sea, for the fairy Marina and the mermen had destroyed its foundations to avenge themselves on Graziella. Luckily their wicked plans were defeated, and the good fairies took their way to the kingdom of Graziella’s parents. They found that Queen Mutinosa had died some years ago, but her kind husband lived on peaceably, ruling his country well and happily. He received his daughter with great delight, and there were universal rejoicings at the return of the lovely princess. The wedding took place the very next day, and, for many days after, balls, dinners, tournaments, concerts and all sorts of amusements went on all day and all night. All the fairies were carefully invited, and they came in great state, and promised the young couple their protection and all sorts of good gifts. Prince Blondel and Princess Graziella lived to a good old age, beloved by every one, and loving each other more and more as time went on. The Story Of Dschemil and Dschemila There was once a man whose name was Dschemil, and he had a cousin who was called Dschemila. They had been betrothed by their parents when they were children, and now Dschemil thought that the time had come for them to be married, and he went two or three days’ journey, to the nearest big town, to buy furniture for the new house. While he was away, Dschemila and her friends set off to the neighbouring woods to pick up sticks, and as she gathered them she found an iron mortar lying on the ground. She placed it on her bundle of sticks, but the mortar would not stay still, and whenever she raised the bundle to put it on her shoulders it slipped off sideways. At length she saw the only way to carry the mortar was to tie it in the very middle of her bundle, and had just unfastened her sticks, when she heard her companions’ voices. ‘Dschemila, what are you doing? it is almost dark, and if you mean to come with us you must be quick!’ But Dschemila only replied, ‘You had better go back without me, for I am not going to leave my mortar behind, if I stay here till midnight.’ ‘Do as you like,’ said the girls, and started on their walk home. The night soon fell, and at the last ray of light the mortar suddenly became an ogre, who threw Dschemila on his back, and carried her off into a desert place, distant a whole month’s journey from her native town. Here he shut her into a castle, and told her not to fear, as her life was safe. Then he went back to his wife, leaving Dschemila weeping over the fate that she had brought upon herself. Meanwhile the other girls had reached home, and Dschemila’s mother came out to look for her daughter. ‘What have you done with her?’ she asked anxiously. ‘We had to leave her in the wood,’ they replied, ‘for she had picked up an iron mortar, and could not manage to carry it.’ So the old woman set off at once for the forest, calling to her daughter as she hurried along. ‘Do go home,’ cried the townspeople, as they heard her; ‘we will go and look for your daughter; you are only a woman, and it is a task that needs strong men.’ But she answered, ‘Yes, go; but I will go with you! Perhaps it will be only her corpse that we shall find after all. She has most likely been stung by asps, or eaten by wild beasts.’ The men, seeing her heart was bent on it, said no more, but told one of the girls she must come with them, and show them the place where they had left Dschemila. They found the bundle of wood lying where she had dropped it, but the maiden was nowhere to be seen. ‘Dschemila! Dschemila!’ cried they; but nobody answered. ‘If we make a fire, perhaps she will see it,’ said one of the men. And they lit a fire, and then went, one this way, and one that, through the forest, to look for her, whispering to each other that if she had been killed by a lion they would be sure to find some trace of it; or if she had fallen asleep, the sound of their voices would wake her; or if a snake had bitten her, they would at least come on her corpse. All night they searched, and when morning broke and they knew no more than before what had become of the maiden, they grew weary, and said to the mother: ‘It is no use. Let us go home, nothing has happened to your daughter, except that she has run away with a man.’ ‘Yes, I will come,’ answered she, ‘but I must first look in the river. Perhaps some one has thrown her in there.’ But the maiden was not in the river. For four days the father and mother waited and watched for their child to come back; then they gave up hope, and said to each other: ‘What is to be done? What are we to say to the man to whom Dschemila is betrothed? Let us kill a goat, and bury its head in the grave, and when the man returns we must tell him Dschemila is dead.’ Very soon the bridegroom came back, bringing with him carpets and soft cushions for the house of his bride. And as he entered the town Dschemila’s father met him, saying, ‘Greeting to you. She is dead.’ At these words the young man broke into loud cries, and it was some time before he could speak. Then he turned to one of the crowd who had gathered round him, and asked: ‘Where have they buried her?’ ‘Come to the churchyard with me,’ answered he; and the young man went with him, carrying with him some of the beautiful things he had brought. These he laid on the grass and then began to weep afresh. All day he stayed, and at nightfall he gathered up his stuffs and carried them to his own house. But when the day dawned he took them in his arms and returned to the grave, where he remained as long as it was light, playing softly on his flute. And this he did daily for six months. One morning, a man who was wandering through the desert, having lost his way, came upon a lonely castle. The sun was very hot, and the man was very tired, so he said to himself, ‘I will rest a little in the shadow of this castle.’ He stretched himself out comfortably, and was almost asleep, when he heard a voice calling to him softly: ‘Are you a ghost,’ it said, ‘or a man?’ He looked up, and saw a girl leaning out of a window, and he answered: ‘I am a man, and a better one, too, than your father or your grandfather.’ ‘May all good luck be with you,’ said she; ‘but what has brought you into this land of ogres and horrors?’ ‘Does an ogre really live in this castle?’ asked he. ‘Certainly he does,’ replied the girl, ‘and as night is not far off he will be here soon. So, dear friend, depart quickly, lest he return and snap you up for supper.’ ‘But I am so thirsty!’ said the man. ‘Be kind, and give me some drink, or else I shall die! Surely, even in this desert there must be some spring?’ ‘Well, I have noticed that whenever the ogre brings back water he always comes from that side; so if you follow the same direction perhaps you may find some.’ The man jumped up at once and was about to start, when the maiden spoke again: ‘Tell me, where are you going?’ ‘Why do you want to know?’ ‘I have an errand for you; but tell me first whether you go east or west.’ ‘I travel to Damascus.’ ‘Then do this for me. As you pass through our village, ask for a man called Dschemil, and say to him: “Dschemila greets you, from the castle, which lies far away, and is rocked by the wind. In my grave lies only a goat. So take heart.”’ And the man promised, and went his way, till he came to a spring of water. And he drank a great draught and then lay on the bank and slept quietly. When he woke he said to himself, ‘The maiden did a good deed when she told me where to find water. A few hours more, and I should have been dead. So I will do her bidding, and seek out her native town and the man for whom the message was given.’ For a whole month he travelled, till at last he reached the town where Dschemil dwelt, and as luck would have it, there was the young man sitting before his door with his beard unshaven and his shaggy hair hanging over his eyes. ‘Welcome, stranger,’ said Dschemil, as the man stopped. ‘Where have you come from?’ ‘I come from the west, and go towards the east,’ he answered. ‘Well, stop with us awhile, and rest and eat!’ said Dschemil. And the man entered; and food was set before him, and he sat down with the father of the maiden and her brothers, and Dschemil. Only Dschemil himself was absent, squatting on the threshold. ‘Why do you not eat too?’ asked the stranger. But one of the young men whispered hastily: ‘Leave him alone. Take no notice! It is only at night that he ever eats.’ So the stranger went on silently with his food. Suddenly one of Dschemil’s brothers called out and said: ‘Dschemil, bring us some water!’ And the stranger remembered his message and said: ‘Is there a man here named “Dschemil”? I lost my way in the desert, and came to a castle, and a maiden looked out of the window and...’ ‘Be quiet,’ they cried, fearing that Dschemil might hear. But Dschemil had heard, and came forward and said: ‘What did you see? Tell me truly, or I will cut off your head this instant!’ ‘My lord,’ replied the stranger, ‘as I was wandering, hot and tired, through the desert, I saw near me a great castle, and I said aloud, “I will rest a little in its shadow.” And a maiden looked out of a window and said, “Are you a ghost or a man?” And I answered, “I am a man, and a better one, too, than your father or your grandfather.” And I was thirsty and asked for water, but she had none to give me, and I felt like to die. Then she told me that the ogre, in whose castle she dwelt, brought in water always from the same side, and that if I too went that way most likely I should come to it. But before I started she begged me to go to her native town, and if I met a man called Dschemil I was to say to him, “Dschemila greets you, from the castle which lies far away, and is rocked by the wind. In my grave lies only a goat. So take heart.”’ Then Dschemil turned to his family and said: ‘Is this true? and is Dschemila not dead at all, but simply stolen from her home?’ ‘No, no,’ replied they, ‘his story is a pack of lies. Dschemila is really dead. Everybody knows it.’ ‘That I shall see for myself,’ said Dschemil, and, snatching up a spade, hastened off to the grave where the goat’s head lay buried. And they answered, ‘Then hear what really happened. When you were away, she went with the other maidens to the forest to gather wood. And there she found an iron mortar, which she wished to bring home; but she could not carry it, neither would she leave it. So the maidens returned without her, and as night was come, we all set out to look for her, but found nothing. And we said, “The bridegroom will be here to-morrow, and when he learns that she is lost, he will set out to seek her, and we shall lose him too. Let us kill a goat, and bury it in her grave, and tell him she is dead.” Now you know, so do as you will. Only, if you go to seek her, take with you this man with whom she has spoken that he may show you the way.’ ‘Yes; that is the best plan,’ replied Dschemil; ‘so give me food, and hand me my sword, and we will set out directly.’ But the stranger answered: ‘I am not going to waste a whole month in leading you to the castle! If it were only a day or two’s journey I would not mind; but a month--no!’ ‘Come with me then for three days,’ said Dschemil, ‘and put me in the right road, and I will reward you richly.’ ‘Very well,’ replied the stranger, ‘so let it be.’ For three days they travelled from sunrise to sunset, then the stranger said: ‘Dschemil?’ ‘Yes,’ replied he. ‘Go straight on till you reach a spring, then go on a little farther, and soon you will see the castle standing before you.’ ‘So I will,’ said Dschemil. ‘Farewell, then,’ said the stranger, and turned back the way he had come. It was six and twenty days before Dschemil caught sight of a green spot rising out of the sandy desert, and knew that the spring was near at last. He hastened his steps, and soon was kneeling by its side, drinking thirstily of the bubbling water. Then he lay down on the cool grass, and began to think. ‘If the man was right, the castle must be somewhere about. I had better sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I shall be able to see where it is.’ So he slept long and peacefully. When he awoke the sun was high, and he jumped up and washed his face and hands in the spring, before going on his journey. He had not walked far, when the castle suddenly appeared before him, though a moment before not a trace of it could be seen. ‘How am I to get in?’ he thought. ‘I dare not knock, lest the ogre should hear me. Perhaps it would be best for me to climb up the wall, and wait to see what will happen. So he did, and after sitting on the top for about an hour, a window above him opened, and a voice said: ‘Dschemil!’ He looked up, and at the sight of Dschemila, whom he had so long believed to be dead, he began to weep. ‘Dear cousin,’ she whispered, ‘what has brought you here?’ ‘My grief at losing you.’ ‘Oh! go away at once. If the ogre comes back he will kill you.’ ‘I swear by your head, queen of my heart, that I have not found you only to lose you again! If I must die, well, I must!’ ‘Oh, what can I do for you?’ ‘Anything you like!’ ‘If I let you down a cord, can you make it fast under your arms, and climb up?’ ‘Of course I can,’ said he. So Dschemila lowered the cord, and Dschemil tied it round him, and climbed up to her window. Then they embraced each other tenderly, and burst into tears of joy. ‘But what shall I do when the ogre returns?’ asked she. ‘Trust to me,’ he said. Now there was a chest in the room, where Dschemila kept her clothes. And she made Dschemil get into it, and lie at the bottom, and told him to keep very still. He was only hidden just in time, for the lid was hardly closed when the ogre’s heavy tread was heard on the stairs. He flung open the door, bringing men’s flesh for himself and lamb’s flesh for the maiden. ‘I smell the smell of a man!’ he thundered. ‘What is he doing here?’ ‘How could any one have come to this desert place?’ asked the girl, and burst into tears. ‘Do not cry,’ said the ogre; ‘perhaps a raven has dropped some scraps from his claws.’ ‘Ah, yes, I was forgetting,’ answered she. ‘One did drop some bones about.’ ‘Well, burn them to powder,’ replied the ogre, ‘so that I may swallow it.’ So the maiden took some bones and burned them, and gave them to the ogre, saying, ‘Here is the powder, swallow it.’ And when he had swallowed the powder the ogre stretched himself out and went to sleep. In a little while the man’s flesh, which the maiden was cooking for the ogre’s supper, called out and said: ‘Hist! Hist! A man lies in the kist!’ And the lamb’s flesh answered: ‘He is your brother, And cousin of the other.’ The ogre moved sleepily, and asked, ‘What did the meat say, Dschemila?’ ‘Only that I must be sure to add salt.’ ‘Well, add salt.’ ‘Yes, I have done so,’ said she. The ogre was soon sound asleep again, when the man’s flesh called out a second time: ‘Hist! Hist! A man lies in the kist!’ And the lamb’s flesh answered: ‘He is your brother, And cousin of the other.’ ‘What did it say, Dschemila?’ asked the ogre. ‘Only that I must add pepper.’ ‘Well, add pepper.’ ‘Yes, I have done so,’ said she. The ogre had had a long day’s hunting, and could not keep himself awake. In a moment his eyes were tight shut, and then the man’s flesh called out for the third time: ‘Hist! Hist A man lies in the kist,’ And the lamb’s flesh answered: ‘He is your brother, And cousin of the other.’ ‘What did it say, Dschemila?’ asked the ogre. ‘Only that it was ready, and that I had better take it off the fire.’ ‘Then if it is ready, bring it to me, and I will eat it.’ So she brought it to him, and while he was eating she supped off the lamb’s flesh herself, and managed to put some aside for her cousin. When the ogre had finished, and had washed his hands, he said to Dschemila: ‘Make my bed, for I am tired.’ So she made his bed, and put a nice soft pillow for his head, and tucked him up. ‘Father,’ she said suddenly. ‘Well, what is it?’ ‘Dear father, if you are really asleep, why are your eyes always open?’ ‘Why do you ask that, Dschemila? Do you want to deal treacherously with me?’ ‘No, of course not, father. How could I, and what would be the use of it?’ ‘Well, why do you want to know?’ ‘Because last night I woke up and saw the whole place shining in a red light, which frightened me.’ ‘That happens when I am fast asleep.’ ‘And what is the good of the pin you always keep here so carefully?’ ‘If I throw that pin in front of me, it turns into an iron mountain.’ ‘And this darning needle?’ ‘That becomes a sea.’ ‘And this hatchet?’ ‘That becomes a thorn hedge, which no one can pass through. But why do you ask all these questions? I am sure you have something in your head.’ ‘Oh, I just wanted to know; and how could anyone find me out here?’ and she began to cry. ‘Oh, don’t cry, I was only in fun,’ said the ogre. He was soon asleep again, and a yellow light shone through the castle. ‘Come quick!’ called Dschemil from the chest; ‘we must fly now while the ogre is asleep.’ ‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘there is a yellow light shining. I don’t think he is asleep.’ So they waited for an hour. Then Dschemil whispered again: ‘Wake up! There is no time to lose!’ ‘Let me see if he is asleep,’ said she, and she peeped in, and saw a red light shining. Then she stole back to her cousin, and asked, ‘But how are we to get out?’ ‘Get the rope, and I will let you down.’ So she fetched the rope, the hatchet, and the pin and the needles, and said, ‘Take them, and put them in the pocket of your cloak, and be sure not to lose them.’ Dschemil put them carefully in his pocket, and tied the rope round her, and let her down over the wall. ‘Are you safe?’ he asked. ‘Yes, quite.’ ‘Then untie the rope, so that I may draw it up.’ And Dschemila did as she was told, and in a few minutes he stood beside her. Now all this time the ogre was asleep, and had heard nothing. Then his dog came to him and said, ‘O, sleeper, are you having pleasant dreams? Dschemila has forsaken you and run away.’ The ogre got out of bed, gave the dog a kick, then went back again, and slept till morning. When it grew light, he rose, and called, ‘Dschemila! Dschemila!’ but he only heard the echo of his own voice! Then he dressed himself quickly; buckled on his sword and whistled to his dog, and followed the road which he knew the fugitives must have taken. ‘Cousin,’ said Dschemila suddenly, and turning round as she spoke. ‘What is it?’ answered he. ‘The ogre is coming after us. I saw him.’ ‘But where is he? I don’t see him.’ ‘Over there. He only looks about as tall as a needle.’ Then they both began to run as fast as they could, while the ogre and his dog kept drawing always nearer. A few more steps, and he would have been by their side, when Dschemila threw the darning needle behind her. In a moment it became an iron mountain between them and their enemy. ‘We will break it down, my dog and I,’ cried the ogre in a rage, and they dashed at the mountain till they had forced a path through, and came ever nearer and nearer. ‘Cousin!’ said Dschemila suddenly. ‘What is it?’ ‘The ogre is coming after us with his dog.’ ‘You go on in front then,’ answered he; and they both ran on as fast as they could, while the ogre and the dog drew always nearer and nearer. ‘They are close upon us!’ cried the maiden, glancing behind, ‘you must throw the pin.’ So Dschemil took the pin from his cloak and threw it behind him, and a dense thicket of thorns sprang up round them, which the ogre and his dog could not pass through. ‘I will get through it somehow, if I burrow underground,’ cried he, and very soon he and the dog were on the other side. ‘Cousin,’ said Dschemila, ‘they are close to us now.’ ‘Go on in front, and fear nothing,’ replied Dschemil. So she ran on a little way, and then stopped. ‘He is only a few yards away now,’ she said, and Dschemil flung the hatchet on the ground, and it turned into a lake. ‘I will drink, and my dog shall drink, till it is dry,’ shrieked the ogre, and the dog drank so much that it burst and died. But the ogre did not stop for that, and soon the whole lake was nearly dry. Then he exclaimed, ‘Dschemila, let your head become a donkey’s head, and your hair fur!’ But when it was done, Dschemil looked at her in horror, and said, ‘She is really a donkey, and not a woman at all!’ And he left her, and went home. For two days poor Dschemila wandered about alone, weeping bitterly. When her cousin drew near his native town, he began to think over his conduct, and to feel ashamed of himself. ‘Perhaps by this time she has changed back to her proper shape,’ he said to himself, ‘I will go and see!’ So he made all the haste he could, and at last he saw her seated on a rock, trying to keep off the wolves, who longed to have her for dinner. He drove them off and said, ‘Get up, dear cousin, you have had a narrow escape.’ Dschemila stood up and answered, ‘Bravo, my friend. You persuaded me to fly with you, and then left me helplessly to my fate.’ ‘Shall I tell you the truth?’ asked he. ‘Tell it.’ ‘I thought you were a witch, and I was afraid of you.’ ‘Did you not see me before my transformation? and did you not watch it happen under your very eyes, when the ogre bewitched me?’ ‘What shall I do?’ said Dschemil. ‘If I take you into the town, everyone will laugh, and say, “Is that a new kind of toy you have got? It has hands like a woman, feet like a woman, the body of a woman; but its head is the head of an ass, and its hair is fur.”’ ‘Well, what do you mean to do with me?’ asked Dschemila. ‘Better take me home to my mother by night, and tell no one anything about it.’ ‘So I will,’ said he. They waited where they were till it was nearly dark, then Dschemil brought his cousin home. ‘Is that Dschemil?’ asked the mother when he knocked softly. ‘Yes, it is.’ ‘And have you found her?’ ‘Yes, and I have brought her to you.’ ‘Oh, where is she? let me see her!’ cried the mother. ‘Here, behind me,’ answered Dschemil. But when the poor woman caught sight of her daughter, she shrieked, and exclaimed, ‘Are you making fun of me? When did I ever give birth to an ass?’ ‘Hush!’ said Dschemil, ‘it is not necessary to let the whole world know! And if you look at her body, you will see two scars on it.’ ‘Mother,’ sobbed Dschemila, ‘do you really not know your own daughter?’ ‘Yes, of course I know her.’ ‘What are her two scars then?’ ‘On her thigh is a scar from the bite of a dog, and on her breast is the mark of a burn, where she pulled a lamp over her when she was little.’ ‘Then look at me, and see if I am not your daughter,’ said Dschemila, throwing off her clothes and showing her two scars. And at the sight her mother embraced her, weeping. ‘Dear daughter,’ she cried, ‘what evil fate has befallen you?’ ‘It was the ogre who carried me off first, and then bewitched me,’ answered Dschemila. ‘But what is to be done with you?’ asked her mother. ‘Hide me away, and tell no one anything about me. And you, dear cousin, say nothing to the neighbours, and if they should put questions, you can make answer that I have not yet been found.’ ‘So I will,’ replied he. Then he and her mother took her upstairs and hid her in a cupboard, where she stayed for a whole month, only going out to walk when all the world was asleep. Meanwhile Dschemil had returned to his own home, where his father and mother, his brothers and neighbours, greeted him joyfully. ‘When did you come back?’ said they, ‘and have you found Dschemila?’ ‘No, I searched the whole world after her, and could hear nothing of her.’ ‘Did you part company with the man who started with you?’ ‘Yes; after three days he got so weak and useless he could not go on. It must be a month by now since he reached home again. I went on and visited every castle, and looked in every house. But there were no signs of her; and so I gave it up.’ And they answered him: ‘We told you before that it was no good. An ogre or an ogress must have snapped her up, and how can you expect to find her?’ ‘I loved her too much to be still,’ he said. But his friends did not understand, and soon they spoke to him again about it. ‘We will seek for a wife for you. There are plenty of girls prettier than Dschemila.’ ‘I dare say; but I don’t want them.’ ‘But what will you do with all the cushions and carpets, and beautiful things you bought for your house?’ ‘They can stay in the chests.’ ‘But the moths will eat them! For a few weeks, it is of no consequence, but after a year or two they will be quite useless.’ ‘And if they have to lie there ten years I will have Dschemila, and her only, for my wife. For a month, or even two months, I will rest here quietly. Then I will go and seek her afresh.’ ‘Oh, you are quite mad! Is she the only maiden in the world? There are plenty of others better worth having than she is.’ ‘If there are I have not seen them! And why do you make all this fuss? Every man knows his own business best. ‘Why, it is you who are making all the fuss yourself.’ But Dschemil turned and went into the house, for he did not want to quarrel. Three months later a Jew, who was travelling across the desert, came to the castle, and laid himself down under the wall to rest. In the evening the ogre saw him there and said to him, ‘Jew, what are you doing here? Have you anything to sell?’ ‘I have only some clothes,’ answered the Jew, who was in mortal terror of the ogre. ‘Oh, don’t be afraid of me,’ said the ogre, laughing. ‘I shall not eat you. Indeed, I mean to go a bit of the way with you myself.’ ‘I am ready, gracious sir,’ replied the Jew, rising to his feet. ‘Well, go straight on till you reach a town, and in that town you will find a maiden called Dschemila and a young man called Dschemil. Take this mirror and this comb with you, and say to Dschemila, “Your father, the ogre, greets you, and begs you to look at your face in this mirror, and it will appear as it was before, and to comb your hair with this comb, and it will be as formerly.” If you do not carry out my orders, I will eat you the next time we meet.’ ‘Oh, I will obey you punctually,’ cried the Jew. After thirty days the Jew entered the gate of the town, and sat down in the first street he came to, hungry, thirsty, and very tired. Quite by chance, Dschemil happened to pass by, and seeing a man sitting there, full in the glare of the sun, he stopped, and said, ‘Get up at once, Jew; you will have a sunstroke if you sit in such a place.’ ‘Ah, good sir,’ replied the Jew, ‘for a whole month I have been travelling, and I am too tired to move.’ ‘Which way did you come?’ asked Dschemil. ‘From out there,’ answered the Jew pointing behind him. ‘And you have been travelling for a month, you say? Well, did you see anything remarkable?’ ‘Yes, good sir; I saw a castle, and lay down to rest under its shadow. And an ogre woke me, and told me to come to this town, where I should find a young man called Dschemil, and a girl called Dschemila.’ ‘My name is Dschemil. What does the ogre want with me?’ ‘He gave me some presents for Dschemila. How can I see her?’ ‘Come with me, and you shall give them into her own hands.’ So the two went together to the house of Dschemil’s uncle, and Dschemil led the Jew into his aunt’s room. ‘Aunt!’ he cried, ‘this Jew who is with me has come from the ogre, and has brought with him, as presents, a mirror and a comb which the ogre has sent her.’ ‘But it may be only some wicked trick on the part of the ogre,’ said she. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ answered the young man, ‘give her the things.’ Then the maiden was called, and she came out of her hiding place, and went up to the Jew, saying, ‘Where have you come from, Jew?’ ‘From your father the ogre.’ ‘And what errand did he send you on?’ ‘He told me I was to give you this mirror and this comb, and to say “Look in this mirror, and comb your hair with this comb, and both will become as they were formerly.”’ And Dschemila took the mirror and looked into it, and combed her hair with the comb, and she had no longer an ass’s head, but the face of a beautiful maiden. Great was the joy of both mother and cousin at this wonderful sight, and the news that Dschemila had returned soon spread, and the neighbours came flocking in with greetings. ‘When did you come back?’ ‘My cousin brought me.’ ‘Why, he told us he could not find you!’ ‘Oh, I did that on purpose,’ answered Dschemil. ‘I did not want everyone to know.’ Then he turned to his father and his mother, his brothers and his sisters-in-law, and said, ‘We must set to work at once, for the wedding will be to-day.’ A beautiful litter was prepared to carry the bride to her new home, but she shrank back, saying, ‘I am afraid, lest the ogre should carry me off again.’ ‘How can the ogre get at you when we are all here?’ they said. ‘There are two thousand of us all told, and every man has his sword.’ ‘He will manage it somehow,’ answered Dschemila, ‘he is a powerful king!’ ‘She is right,’ said an old man. ‘Take away the litter, and let her go on foot if she is afraid.’ ‘But it is absurd!’ exclaimed the rest; ‘how can the ogre get hold of her?’ ‘I will not go,’ said Dschemila again. ‘You do not know that monster; I do.’ And while they were disputing the bridegroom arrived. ‘Let her alone. She shall stay in her father’s house. After all, I can live here, and the wedding feast shall be made ready.’ And so they were married at last, and died without having had a single quarrel. [Marehen und Gedichte aus der Stadt Tripolis,]