The Snow Man

now.

‘He is getting on very well,’ said the clerk.

‘I suppose he can’t say anything yet?’ said the man.

‘Oh, yes,’ said the clerk, ‘he can say “Moo” now.’

‘Do you think he will get on with his learning?’ asked the peasant.

‘Oh, yes,’ said the clerk, ‘but I shall want another hundred dollars for

books. Peter can’t learn well out of the ones that he has got.’

‘Well, well,’ said the man, ‘what must be spent shall be spent.’

So he gave the clerk the third hundred dollars for books, and a cask of

good old ale for Peter. The clerk drank the ale himself, and gave the

calf milk, which he thought would be better for it.

Some weeks passed, during which the peasant did not come round to ask

after the calf, being frightened lest it should cost him another hundred

dollars, for he had begun to squirm a bit at having to part with so much

money. Meanwhile the clerk decided that the calf was as fat as it could

be, so he killed it. After he had got all the beef out of the way he

went inside, put on his black clothes, and made his way to the peasant’s

house.

As soon as he had said ‘Good-day’ he asked, ‘Has Peter come home here?’

‘No, indeed, he hasn’t,’ said the man; ‘surely he hasn’t run away?’

‘I hope,’ said the clerk, ‘that he would not behave so contemptibly

after all the trouble I have had to teach him, and all that I have spent

upon him. I have had to spend at least a hundred dollars of my own money

to buy books for him before I got him so far on. He could say anything

he liked now, so he said to-day that he longed to see his parents

again. I was willing to give him that pleasure, but I was afraid that he

wouldn’t be able to find the way here by himself, so I made myself ready

to go with him. When we had got outside the house I remembered that I

had left my stick inside, and went in again to get it. When I came out

again Peter had gone off on his own account. I thought he would be here,

and if he isn’t I don’t know where he is.’

The peasant and his wife began to lament bitterly that Peter had run

away in this fashion just when they were to have so much joy of him, and

after they had spent so much on his education. The worst of it was that

now they had no heir after all. The clerk comforted them as best he

could; he also was greatly distressed that Peter should have behaved

in such a way just when he should have gained honour from his pupil.

Perhaps he had only gone astray, and he would advertise him at church

next Sunday, and find out where anyone had seen him. Then he bade them

‘Good-bye,’ and went home nad dined on a good fat veal roast.

Now it so happened that the clerk took in a newspaper, and one day he

chanced to read in its columns of a new merchant who had settled in

a town at some distance, and whose name was ‘Peter Bull.’ He put the

newspaper in his pocket, and went round to the sorrowing couple who had

lost their heir. He read the paragraph to them, and added, ‘I wonder,

now, whether that could be your bull-calf Peter?’

‘Yes, of course it is,’ said the man; ‘who else would it be?’

His wife then spoke up and said, ‘You must set out, good man, and see

about him, for it is him, I am perfectly certain. Take a good sum of

money with you, too; for who knows but what he may want some cash now

that he has turned a merchant!’

Next day the man got a bag of money on his back and a sandwich in his

pocket, and his pipe in his mouth, and set out for the town where the

new merchant lived. It was no short way, and he travelled for many days

before he finally arrived there. He reached it one morning, just at

daybreak, found out the right place, and asked if the merchant was at

home. Yes, he was, said the people, but he was not up yet.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said the peasant, ‘for I am his father. Just show

me up to his bedroom.’

He was shown up to the room, and as soon as he entered it, ad caught

sight of the merchant, he recognised him at once. He had the same broad

forehead, the same thick neck, and same red hair, but in other respects

he was now like a human being. The peasant rushed straight up to him

and took a firm hold of him. ‘O Peter,’ said he, ‘what a sorrow you have

caused us, both myself and your mother, by running off like this just

as we had got you well educated! Get up, now, so that I can see you

properly, and have a talk with you.’

The merchant thought that it was a lunatic who had made his way in to

him, and thought it best to take things quietly.

‘All right,’ said he, ‘I shall do so at once.’ He got out of bed and

made haste to dress himself.

‘Ay,’ said the peasant, ‘now I can see how clever our clerk is. He

has done well by you, for now you look just like a human being. If one

didn’t know it, one would never think that it was you we got from the

red cow; will you come home with me now?’

‘No,’ said the merchant, ‘I can’t find time just now. I have a big

business to look after.’

‘You could have the farm at once, you know,’ said the peasant, ‘and we

old people would retire. But if you would rather stay in business, of

course you may do so. Are you in want of anything?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the merchant; ‘I want nothing so much as money. A

merchant has always a use for that.’

‘I can well believe that,’ said the peasant, ‘for you had nothing at all

to start with. I have brought some with me for that very end.’ With

that he emptied his bag of money out upon the table, so that it was all

covered with bright dollars.

When the merchant saw what kind of man he had before him he began to

speak him fair, and invited him to stay with him for some days, so that

they might have some more talk together.

‘Very well,’ said the peasant, ‘but you must call me “Father.”’

‘I have neither father nor mother alive,’ said Peter Bull.

‘I know that,’ said the man; ‘your real father was sold at Hamburg last

Michaelmas, and your real mother died while calving in spring; but my

wife and I have adopted you as our own, and you are our only heir, so

you must call me “Father.”’

Peter Bull was quite willing to do so, and it was settled that he should

keep the money, while the peasant made his will and left to him all that

he had, before he went home to his wife, and told her the whole story.

She was delighted to hear that it was true enough about Peter Bull--that

he was no other than their own bull-calf.

‘You must go at once and tell the clerk,’ said she, ‘and pay him the

hundred dollars of his own money that he spent upon our son. He has

earned them well, and more besides, for all the joy he has given us in

having such a son and heir.’

The man agreed with this, and thanked the clerk for all he had done, and

gave him two hundred dollars. Then he sold the farm, and removed with

his wife to the town where their dear son and heir was living. To him

they gave all their wealth, and lived with him till their dying day.

The Bird ‘Grip’

Translated from the Swedish.

It happened once that a king, who had a great kingdom and three sons,

became blind, and no human skill or art could restore to him his sight.

At last there came to the palace an old woman, who told him that in the

whole world there was only one thing that could give him back his sight,

and that was to get the bird Grip; his song would open the King’s eyes.

When the king’s eldest son heard this he offered to bring the bird Grip,

which was kept in a cage by a king in another country, and carefully

guarded as his greatest treasure. The blind king was greatly rejoiced at

his son’s resolve, fitted him out in the best way he could, and let him

go. When the prince had ridden some distance he came to an inn, in which

there were many guests, all of whom were merry, and drank and sang and

played at dice. This joyous life pleased the prince so well that he

stayed in the inn, took part in the playing and drinking, and forgot

both his blind father and the bird Grip.

Meanwhile the king waited with both hope and anxiety for his son’s

return, but as time went on and nothing was heard of him, the second

prince asked leave to go in search of his brother, as well as to bring

the bird Grip. The king granted his request, and fitted him out in

the finest fashion. But when the prince came to the inn and found his

brother among his merry companions, he also remained there and forgot

both the bird Grip and his blind father.

When the king noticed that neither of his sons returned, although a long

time had passed since the second one set out, he was greatly distressed,

for not only had he lost all hope of getting back his sight, but he had

also lost his two eldest sons. The youngest now came to him, and offered

to go in search of his brothers and to bring the bird Grip; he was quite

certain that he would succeed in this. The king was unwilling to risk

his third son on such an errand, but he begged so long that his father

had at last to consent. This prince also was fitted out in the finest

manner, like his brothers, and so rode away.

He also turned into the same inn as his brothers, and when these saw

him they assailed him with many entreaties to remain with them and share

their merry life. But he answered that now, when he had found them,

his next task was to get the bird Grip, for which his blind father was

longing, and so he had not a single hour to spare with them in the inn.

He then said farewell to his brothers, and rode on to find another inn

in which to pass the night. When he had ridden a long way, and it began

to grow dark, he came to a house which lay deep in the forest. Here he

was received in a very friendly manner by the host, who put his horse

into the stable, and led the prince himself into the guest-chamber,

where he ordered a maid-servant to lay the cloth and set down the

supper. It was now dark, and while the girl was laying the cloth and

setting down the dishes, and the prince had begun to appease his hunger,

he heard the most piteous shrieks and cries from the next room. He

sprang up from the table and asked the girl what those cries were, and

whether he had fallen into a den of robbers. The girl answered that

these shrieks were heard every night, but it was no living being who

uttered them; it was a dead man, who life the host had taken because

he could not pay for the meals he had had in the inn. The host further

refused to bury the dead man, as he had left nothing to pay the expenses

of the funeral, and every night he went and scourged the dead body of

his victim.

When she had said this she lifted the cover off one of the dishes, and

the prince saw that there lay on it a knife and an axe. He understood

then that the host meant to ask him by this what kind of death he

preferred to die, unless he was willing to ransom his life with his

money. He then summoned the host, gave him a large sum for his own life,

and paid the dead man’s debt as well, besides paying him for burying the

body, which the murderer now promised to attend to.

The prince, however, felt that his life was not safe in this murderer’s

den, and asked the maid to help him to escape that night. She replied

that the attempt to do so might cost her her own life, as the key of the

stable in which the prince’s horse stood lay under the host’s pillow;

but, as she herself was a prisoner there, she would help him to escape

if he would take her along with him. He promised to do so, and they

succeeded in getting away from the inn, and rode on until they came to

another far away from it, where the prince got a good place for the girl

before proceeding on his journey.

As he now rode all alone through a forest there met him a fox, who

greeted him in a friendly fashion, and asked him where he was going, and

on what errand he was bent. The prince answered that his errand was too

important to be confided to everyone that he met.

‘You are right in that,’ said the fox, ‘for it relates to the bird Grip,

which you want to take and bring home to your blind father; I could help

you in this, but in that case you must follow my counsel.’

The prince thought that this was a good offer, especially as the fox was

ready to go with him and show him the way to the castle, where the bird

Grip sat in his cage, and so he promised to obey the fox’s instructions.

When they had traversed the forest together they saw the castle at some

distance. Then the fox gave the prince three grains of gold, one of

which he was to throw into the guard-room, another into the room where

the bird Grip sat, and the third into its cage. He could then take the

bird, but he must beware of stroking it; otherwise it would go ill with

him.

The prince took the grains of gold, and promised to follow the fox’s

directions faithfully. When he came to the guard-room of the castle he

threw one of the grains in there, and the guards at once fell asleep.

The same thing happened with those who kept watch in the room beside the

bird Grip, and when he threw the third grain into its cage the bird also

fell asleep. When the prince got the beautiful bird into his hand he

could not resist the temptation to stroke it, whereupon it awoke and

began to scream. At this the whole castle woke up, and the prince was

taken prisoner.

As he now sat in his prison, and bitterly lamented that his own

disobedience had brought himself into trouble, and deprived his father

of the chance of recovering his sight, the fox suddenly stood in front

of him. The prince was very pleased to see it again, and received

with great meekness all its reproaches, as well as promised to be more

obedient in the future, if the fox would only help him out of his fix.

The fox said that he had come to assist him, but he could do no more

than advise the prince, when he was brought up for trial, to answer

‘yes’ to all the judge’s questions, and everything would go well. The

prince faithfully followed his instructions, so that when the judge

asked him whether he had meant to steal the bird Grip he said ‘Yes,’

and when the judge asked him if he was a master-thief he again answered

‘Yes.’

When the king heard that he admitted being a master-thief, he said that

he would forgive him the attempt to steal the bird if he would go to

the next kingdom and carry off the world’s most beautiful princess, and

bring her to him. To this also the prince said ‘Yes.’

When he left the castle he met the fox, who went along with him to the

next kingdom, and when they came near the castle there, gave him three

grains of gold--one to throw into the guard-room, another into the

princess’s chamber, and the third into her bed. At the same time he

strictly warned him not to kiss the princess. The prince went into the

castle, and did with the grains of gold as the fox had told him, so that

sleep fell upon everyone there; but when he had taken the princess into

his arms he forgot the fox’s warning, at the sight of her beauty, and

kissed her. Then both she and all the others in the castle woke; the

prince was taken prisoner, and put into a strong dungeon.

Here the fox again came to him and reproached him with his disobedience,

but promised to help him out of this trouble also if he would answer

‘yes’ to everything they asked him at his trial. The prince willingly

agreed to this, and admitted to the judge that he had meant to steal the

princess, and that he was a master-thief.

When the king learned this he said he would forgive his offence if he

would go to the next kingdom and steal the horse with the four golden

shoes. To this also the prince said ‘Yes.’

When he had gone a little way from the castle he met the fox, and they

continued on their journey together. When they reached the end of it the

prince for the third time received three grains of gold from the fox,

with directions to throw one into the guard-chamber, another into the

stable, and the third into the horse’s stall. But the fox told him that

above the horse’s stall hung a beautiful golden saddle, which he must

not touch, if he did not want to bring himself into new troubles worse

than those he had escaped from, for then the fox could help him no

longer.

The prince promised to be firm this time. He threw the grains of gold in

the proper places, and untied the horse, but with that he caught

sight of the golden saddle, and thought that none but it could suit so

beautiful a horse, especially as it had golden shoes. But just as he

stretched out his hand to take it he received from some invisible being

so hard a blow on the arm that it was made quite numb. This recalled to

him his promise and his danger, so he led out the horse without looking

at the golden saddle again.

The fox was waiting for him outside the castle, and the prince confessed

to him that he had very nearly given way to temptation this time as

well. ‘I know that,’ said the fox, ‘for it was I who struck you over the

arm.’

As they now went on together the prince said that he could not forget

the beautiful princess, and asked the fox whether he did not think that

she ought to ride home to his father’s palace on this horse with the

golden shoes. The fox agreed that this would be excellent; if the prince

would now go and carry her off he would give him three grains of gold

for that purpose. The prince was quite ready, and promised to keep

better command of himself this time, and not kiss her.

He got the grains of gold and entered the castle, where he carried off

the princess, set her on the beautiful horse, and held on his way. When

they came near to the castle where the bird Grip sat in his cage he

again asked the fox for three grains of gold. These he got, and with

them he was successful in carrying off the bird.

He was now full of joy, for his blind father would now recover his

sight, while he himself owned the world’s most beautiful princess and

the horse with the golden shoes.

The prince and princess travelled on together with mirth and happiness,

and the fox followed them until they came to the forest where the prince

first met with him.

‘Here our ways part,’ said the fox. ‘You have now got all that your

heart desired, and you will have a prosperous journey to your father’s

palace if only you do not ransom anyone’s life with money.’

The prince thanked the fox for all his help, promised to give heed to

his warning, said farewell to him, and rode on, with the princess by his

side and the bird Grip on his wrist.

They soon arrived at the inn where the two eldest brothers had stayed,

forgetting their errand. But now no merry song or noise of mirth was

heard from it. When the prince came nearer he saw two gallows erected,

and when he entered the inn along with the princess he saw that all the

rooms were hung with black, and that everything inside foreboded sorrow

and death. He asked the reason of this, and was told that two princes

were to be hanged that day for debt; they had spent all their money in

feasting and playing, and were now deeply in debt to the host, and as

no one could be found to ransom their lives they were about to be hanged

according to the law.

The prince knew that it was his two brothers who had thus forfeited

their lives and it cut him to the heart to think that two princes should

suffer such a shameful death; and, as he had sufficient money with him,

he paid their debts, and so ransomed their lives.

At first the brothers were grateful for their liberty, but when they

saw the youngest brother’s treasures they became jealous of his good

fortune, and planned how to bring him to destruction, and then take the

bird Grip, the princess, and the horse with the golden shoes, and convey

them to their blind father. After they had agreed on how to carry out

their treachery they enticed the prince to a den of lions and threw him

down among them. Then they set the princess on horseback, took the bird

Grip, and rode homeward. The princess wept bitterly, but they told her

that it would cost her her life if she did not say that the two brothers

had won all the treasures.

When they arrived at their father’s palace there was great rejoicing,

and everyone praised the two princes for their courage and bravery.

When the king inquired after the youngest brother they answered that

he had led such a life in the inn that he had been hanged for debt. The

king sorrowed bitterly over this, because the youngest prince was his

dearest son, and the joy over the treasures soon died away, for the

bird Grip would not sing so that the king might recover his sight, the

princess wept night and day, and no one dared to venture so close to the

horse as to have a look at his golden shoes.

Now when the youngest prince was thrown down into the lions’ den he

found the fox sitting there, and the lions, instead of tearing him to

pieces, showed him the greatest friendliness. Nor was the fox angry with

him for having forgot his last warning. He only said that sons who could

so forget their old father and disgrace their royal birth as those had

done would not hesitate to betray their brother either. Then he took the

prince up out of the lion’s den and gave him directions what to do now

so as to come by his rights again.

The prince thanked the fox with all his heart for his true friendship,

but the fox answered that if he had been of any use to him he would now

for his own part ask a service of him. The prince replied that he would

do him any service that was in his power.

‘I have only one thing to ask of you,’ said the fox, ‘and that is, that

you should cut off my head with your sword.’

The prince was astonished, and said that he could not bring himself to

cut the had off his truest friend, and to this he stuck in spite of all

the fox’s declarations that it was the greatest service he could do him.

At this the fox became very sorrowful, and declared that the prince’s

refusal to grant his request now compelled him to do a deed which he was

very unwilling to do--if the prince would not cut off his head, then

he must kill the prince himself. Then at last the prince drew his good

sword and cut off the fox’s head, and the next moment a youth stood

before him.

‘Thanks,’ said he, ‘for this service, which has freed me from a spell

that not even death itself could loosen. I am the dead man who lay

unburied in the robber’s inn, where you ransomed me and gave me

honourable burial, and therefore I have helped you in your journey.’

With this they parted and the prince, disguising himself as a

horse-shoer, went up to his father’s palace and offered his services

there.

The king’s men told him that a horse-shoer was indeed wanted at the

palace, but he must be one who could lift up the feet of the horse with

the golden shoes, and such a one they had not yet been able to find. The

prince asked to see the horse, and as soon as he entered the stable the

steed began to neigh in a friendly fashion, and stood as quiet and still

as a lamb while the prince lifted up his hoofs, one after the other, and

showed the king’s men the famous golden shoes.

After this the king’s men began to talk about the bird Grip, and how

strange it was that he would not sing, however well he was attended to.

The horse-shoer then said that he knew the bird very well; he had seen

it when it sat in its cage in another king’s palace, and if it did

not sing now it must be because it did not have all that it wanted. He

himself knew so much about the bird’s ways that if he only got to see it

he could tell at once what it lacked.

The king’s men now took counsel whether they ought to take the stranger

in before the king, for in his chamber sat the bird Grip along with the

weeping princess. It was decided to risk doing so, and the horse-shoer

was led into the king’s chamber, where he had no sooner called the bird

by its name than it began to sing and the princess to smile. Then the

darkness cleared away from the king’s eyes, and the more the bird sang

the more clearly did he see, till at last in the strange horse-shoer

he recognised his youngest son. Then the princess told the king how

treacherously his eldest sons had acted, and he had them banished from

his kingdom; but the youngest prince married the princess, and got the

horse with the golden shoes and half the kingdom from his father, who

kept for himself so long as he lived the bird Grip, which now sang with

all its heart to the king and all his court.

Snowflake

Slavonic story. Contes Populaires Slaves, traduits par Louis Leger.

Paris: Leroux, Editeur.

Once upon a time there lived a peasant called Ivan, and he had a wife

whose name was Marie. They would have been quite happy except for one

thing: they had no children to play with, and as they were now old

people they did not find that watching the children of their neighbours

at all made up to them for having one of their own.

One winter, which nobody living will ever forget, the snow lay so deep

that it came up to the knees of even the tallest man. When it had all

fallen, and the sun was shining again, the children ran out into the

street to play, and the old man and his wife sat at their window and

gazed at them. The children first made a sort of little terrace, and

stamped it hard and firm, and then they began to make a snow woman. Ivan

and Marie watched them, the while thinking about many things.

Suddenly Ivan’s face brightened, and, looking at his wife, he said,

‘Wife, why shouldn’t we make a snow woman too?’

‘Why not?’ replied Marie, who happened to be in a very good temper; ‘it

might amuse us a little. But there is no use making a woman. Let us make

a little snow child, and pretend it is a living one.’

‘Yes, let us do that,’ said Ivan, and he took down his cap and went into

the garden with his old wife.

Then the two set to work with all their might to make a doll out of

the snow. They shaped a little body and two little hands and two little

feet. On top of all they placed a ball of snow, out of which the head

was to be.

‘What in the world are you doing?’ asked a passer-by.

‘Can’t you guess?’ returned Ivan.

‘Making a snow-child,’ replied Marie.

They had finished the nose and the chin. Two holes were left for the

eyes, and Ivan carefully shaped out the mouth. No sooner had he done so

than he felt a warm breath upon his cheek. He started back in surprise

and looked--and behold! the eyes of the child met his, and its lips,

which were as red as raspberries, smiled at him!

‘What is it?’ cried Ivan, crossing himself. ‘Am I mad, or is the thing

bewitched?’

The snow-child bent its head as if it had been really alive. It moved

its little arms and its little legs in the snow that lay about it just

as the living children did theirs.

‘Ah! Ivan, Ivan,’ exclaimed Marie, trembling with joy, ‘heaven has sent

us a child at last!’ And she threw herself upon Snowflake (for that was

the snow-child’s name) and covered her with kisses. And the loose snow

fell away from Snowflake as an egg shell does from an egg, and it was a

little girl whom Marie held in her arms.

‘Oh! my darling Snowflake!’ cried the old woman, and led her into the

cottage.

And Snowflake grew fast; each hour as well as each day made a

difference, and every day she became more and more beautiful. The old

couple hardly knew how to contain themselves for joy, and thought of

nothing else. The cottage was always full of village children, for they

amused Snowflake, and there was nothing in the world they would not

have done to amuse her. She was their doll, and they were continually

inventing new dresses for her, and teaching her songs or playing with

her. Nobody knew how clever she was! She noticed everything, and could

learn a lesson in a moment. Anyone would have taken her for thirteen

at least! And, besides all that, she was so good and obedient; and

so pretty, too! Her skin was as white as snow, her eyes as blue as

forget-me-nots, and her hair was long and golden. Only her cheeks had no

colour in them, but were as fair as her forehead.

So the winter went on, till at last the spring sun mounted higher in the

heavens and began to warm the earth. The grass grew green in the fields,

and high in the air the larks were heard singing. The village girls met

and danced in a ring, singing, ‘Beautiful spring, how came you here?

How came you here? Did you come on a plough, or was it a harrow?’ Only

Snowflake sat quite still by the window of the cottage.

‘What is the matter, dear child?’ asked Marie. ‘Why are you so sad? Are

you ill? or have they treated you unkindly?’

‘No,’ replied Snowflake, ‘it is nothing, mother; no one has hurt me; I

am well.’

The spring sun had chased away the last snow from its hiding place under

the hedges; the fields were full of flowers; nightingales sang in the

trees, and all the world was gay. But the gayer grew the birds and the

flowers the sadder became Snowflake. She hid herself from her playmates,

and curled herself up where the shadows were deepest, like a lily

amongst its leaves. Her only pleasure was to lie amid the green willows

near some sparkling stream. At the dawn and at twilight only she seemed

happy. When a great storm broke, and the earth was white with hail, she

became bright and joyous as the Snowflake of old; but when the clouds

passed, and the hail melted beneath the sun, Snowflake would burst into

tears and weep as a sister would weep over her brother.

The spring passed, and it was the eve of St. John, or Midsummer Day.

This was the greatest holiday of the year, when the young girls met in

the woods to dance and play. They went to fetch Snowflake, and said to

Marie: ‘Let her come and dance with us.’

But Marie was afraid; she could not tell why, only she could not bear

the child to go. Snowflake did not wish to go either, but they had no

excuse ready. So Marie kissed the girl and said: ‘Go, my Snowflake, and

be happy with your friends, and you, dear children, be careful of her.

You know she is the light of my eyes to me.’

‘Oh, we will take care of her,’ cried the girls gaily, and they ran off

to the woods. There they wore wreaths, gathered nosegays, and sang songs

some sad, some merry. And whatever they did Snowflake did too.

When the sun set they lit a fire of dry grass, and placed themselves in

a row, Snowflake being the last of all. ‘Now, watch us,’ they said, ‘and

run just as we do.’

And they all began to sing and to jump one after another across the

fire.

Suddenly, close behind them, they heard a sigh, then a groan. ‘Ah!’ They

turned hastily and looked at each other. There was nothing. They

looked again. Where was Snowflake? She has hidden herself for fun, they

thought, and searched for her everywhere. ‘Snowflake! Snowflake!’ But

there was no answer. ‘Where can she be? Oh, she must have gone home.’

They returned to the village, but there was no Snowflake.

For days after that they sought her high and low. They examined every

bush and every hedge, but there was no Snowflake. And long after

everyone else had given up hope Ivan and Marie would wander through the

woods crying ‘Snowflake, my dove, come back, come back!’ And sometimes

they thought they heard a call, but it was never the voice of Snowflake.

And what had become of her? Had a fierce wild beast seized her and

dragged her into his lair in the forest? Had some bird carried her off

across the wide blue sea?

No, no beast had touched her, no bird had borne her away. With the

first breath of flame that swept over her when she ran with her friends

Snowflake had melted away, and a little soft haze floating upwards was

all that remained of her.

I Know What I Have Learned

From the Danish.

There was once a man who had three daughters, and they were all married

to trolls, who lived underground. One day the man thought that he would

pay them a visit, and his wife gave him some dry bread to eat by the

way. After he had walked some distance he grew both tired and hungry, so

he sat down on the east side of a mound and began to eat his dry bread.

The mound then opened, and his youngest daughter came out of it, and

said, ‘Why, father! why are you not coming in to see me?’

‘Oh,’ said he, ‘if I had known that you lived here, and had seen any

entrance, I would have come in.’

Then he entered the mound along with her.

The troll came home soon after this, and his wife told him that her

father was come, and asked him to go and buy some beef to make broth

with.

‘We can get it easier than that!’ said the troll.

He fixed an iron spike into one of the beams of the roof, and ran his

head against this till he had knocked several large pieces off his head.

He was just as well as ever after doing this, and they got their broth

without further trouble.

The troll then gave the old man a sackful of money, and laden with this

he betook himself homewards. When he came near his home he remembered

that he had a cow about to calve, so he laid down the money on the

ground, ran home as fast as he could, and asked his wife whether the cow

had calved yet.

‘What kind of a hurry is this to come home in?’ said she. ‘No, the cow

has not calved yet.’

‘Then you must come out and help me in with a sackful of money,’ said

the man.

‘A sackful of money?’ cried his wife.

‘Yes, a sackful of money,’ said he. ‘Is that so very wonderful?’

His wife did not believe very much what he told her, but she humoured

him, and went out with him.

When they came to the spot where he had left it there was no money

there; a thief had come along and stolen it. His wife then grew angry

and scolded him heartily.

‘Well, well!’ said he, ‘hang the money! I know what I have learned.’

‘What have you learned?’ said she.

‘Ah! I know that,’ said the man.

After some time had passed the man had a mind to visit his second eldest

daughter. His wife again gave him some dry bread to eat, and when he

grew tired and hungry he sat down on the east side of a mound and began

to eat it. As he sat there his daughter came up out of the mound, and

invited him to come inside, which he did very willingly.

Soon after this the troll came home. It was dark by that time, and his

wife bade him go and buy some candles.

‘Oh, we shall soon get a light,’ said the troll. With that he dipped his

fingers into the fire, and they then gave light without being burned in

the least.

The old man got two sacks of money here, and plodded away homewards with

these. When he was very nearly home he again thought of the cow that

was with calf, so he laid down the money, ran home, and asked his wife

whether the cow had calved yet.

‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ said she. ‘You come hurrying as if

the whole house was about to fall. You may set your mind at rest: the

cow has not calved yet.’

The man now asked her to come and help him home with the two sacks of

money. She did not believe him very much, but he continued to assure her

that it was quite true, till at last she gave in and went with him. When

they came to the spot there had again been a thief there and taken the

money. It was no wonder that the woman was angry about this, but the man

only said, ‘Ah, if you only knew what I have learned.’

A third time the man set out--to visit his eldest daughter. When he

came to a mound he sat down on the east side of it and ate the dry bread

which his wife had given him to take with him. The daughter then came

out of the mound and invited her father to come inside.

In a little the troll came home, and his wife asked him to go and buy

some fish.

‘We can get them much more easily than that,’ said the troll. ‘Give me

your dough trough and your ladle.’

They seated themselves in the trough, and rowed out on the lake which

was beside the mound. When they had got out a little way the troll said

to his wife, ‘Are my eyes green?’

‘No, not yet,’ said she.

He rowed on a little further and asked again, ‘Are my eyes not green

yet?’

‘Yes,’ said his wife, ‘they are green now.’

Then the troll sprang into the water and ladled up so many fish that in

a short time the trough could hold no more. They then rowed home again,

and had a good meal off the fish.

The old man now got three sacks full of money, and set off home with

them. When he was almost home the cow again came into his head, and he

laid down the money. This time, however, he took his wooden shoes and

laid them above the money, thinking that no one would take it after

that. Then he ran home and asked his wife whether the cow had calved. It

had not, and she scolded him again for behaving in this way, but in the

end he persuaded her to go with him to help him with the three sacks of

money.

When they came to the spot they found only the wooden shoes, for a thief

had come along in the meantime and taken all the money. The woman was

very angry, and broke out upon her husband; but he took it all very

quietly, and only said, ‘Hang the money! I know what I have learned.’

‘What have you learned I should like to know?’ said his wife.

‘You will see that yet,’ said the man.

One day his wife took a fancy for broth, and said to him, ‘Oh, go to the

village, and buy a piece of beef to make broth.’

‘There’s no need of that,’ said he; ‘we can get it an easier way.’ With

that he drove a spike into a beam, and ran his head against it, and in

consequence had to lie in bed for a long time afterwards.

After he had recovered from this his wife asked him one day to go and

buy candles, as they had none.

‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s no need for that;’ and he stuck his hand into

the fire. This also made him take to bed for a good while.

When he had got better again his wife one day wanted fish, and asked him

to go and buy some. The man, however, wished again to show what he had

learned, so he asked her to come along with him and bring her dough

trough and a ladle. They both seated themselves in this, and rowed upon

the lake. When they had got out a little way the man said, ‘Are my eyes

green?’

‘No,’ said his wife; ‘why should they be?’

They rowed a little further out, and he asked again, ‘Are my eyes not

green yet?’

‘What nonsense is this?’ said she; ‘why should they be green?’

‘Oh, my dear,’ said he, ‘can’t you just say that they are green?’

‘Very well,’ said she, ‘they are green.’

As soon as he heard this he sprang out into the water with the ladle for

the fishes, but he just got leave to stay there with them!

The Cunning Shoemaker

Sicilianische Mahrchen.

Once upon a time there lived a shoemaker who could get no work to do,

and was so poor that he and his wife nearly died of hunger. At last he

said to her, ‘It is no use waiting on here--I can find nothing; so I

shall go down to Mascalucia, and perhaps there I shall be more lucky.’

So down he went to Mascalucia, and walked through the streets crying,

‘Who wants some shoes?’ And very soon a window was pushed up, and a

woman’s head was thrust out of it.

‘Here are a pair for you to patch,’ she said. And he sat down on her

doorstep and set about patching them.

‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked when they were done.

‘A shilling.’

‘Here is eighteen pence, and good luck to you.’ And he went his way. He

turned into the next street and set up his cry again, and it was not

long before another window was pushed up and another head appeared.

‘Here are some shoes for you to patch.’

And the shoemaker sat down on the doorstep and patched them.

‘How much do I owe you?’ asked the woman when the shoes were finished.

‘A florin.’

‘Here is a crown piece, and good luck to you.’ And she shut the window.

‘Well,’ thought the shoemaker, ‘I have done finely. But I will not go

back to my wife just yet, as, if I only go on at this rate, I shall soon

have enough money to buy a donkey.’

Having made up his mind what was best to do, he stayed in the town a few

days longer till he had four gold pieces safe in his purse. Then he went

to the market and for two of them he bought a good strong donkey, and,

mounting on its back, he rode home to Catania. But as he entered a thick

wood he saw in the distance a band of robbers who were coming quickly

towards him.

‘I am lost,’ thought he; ‘they are sure to take from me all the money

that I have earned, and I shall be as poor as ever I was. What can I

do?’ However, being a clever little man and full of spirit, he did not

lose heart, but, taking five florins, he fastened them out of sight

under the donkey’s thick mane. Then he rode on.

Directly the robber came up to him they seized him exactly as he had

foretold and took away all his money.

‘Oh, dear friends!’ he cried, wringing his hands, ‘I am only a poor

shoemaker, and have nothing but this donkey left in the world.’

As he spoke the donkey gave himself a shake, and down fell the five

florins.

‘Where did that come from?’ asked the robbers.

‘Ah,’ replied the shoemaker, ‘you have guessed my secret. The donkey is

a golden donkey, and supplies me with all my money.’

‘Sell him to us,’ said the robbers. ‘We will give you any price you

like.’

The shoemaker at first declared that nothing would induce him to sell

him, but at last he agreed to hand him over to the robbers for fifty

gold pieces. ‘But listen to what I tell you,’ said he. ‘You must each

take it in turn to own him for a night and a day, or else you will all

be fighting over the money.’

With these words they parted, the robbers driving the donkey to their

cave in the forest and the shoemaker returning home, very pleased with

the success of his trick. He just stopped on the way to pick up a good

dinner, and the next day spent most of his gains in buying a small

vineyard.

Meanwhile the robbers had arrived at the cave where they lived, and the

captain, calling them all round him, announced that it as his right to

have the donkey for the first night. His companions agreed, and then he

told his wife to put a mattress in the stable. She asked if he had gone

out of his mind, but he answered crossly, ‘What is that to you? Do as

you are bid, and to-morrow I will bring you some treasures.’

Very early the captain awoke and searched the stable, but could find

nothing, and guessed that Master Joseph had been making fun of them.

‘Well,’ he said to himself, ‘if I have been taken in, the others shall

not come off any better.’

So, when one of his men arrived and asked him eagerly how much money he

had got, he answered gaily, ‘Oh, comrade, if you only knew! But I shall

say nothing about it till everyone has had his turn!’

One after another they all took the donkey, but no money was forthcoming

for anybody. At length, when all the band had been tricked, they held a

council, and resolved to march to the shoemaker’s house and punish him

well for his cunning. Just as before, the shoemaker saw them a long way

off, and began to think how he could outwit them again. When he had hit

upon a plan he called his wife, and said to her, ‘Take a bladder and

fill it with blood, and bind it round your neck. When the robbers come

and demand the money they gave me for the donkey I shall shout to you

and tell you to get it quickly. You must argue with me, and decline to

obey me, and then I shall plunge my knife into the bladder, and you must

fall to the ground as if you were dead. There you must lie till I play

on my guitar; then get up and begin to dance.’

The wife made haste to do as she was bid, and there was no time to lose,

for the robbers were drawing very near the house. They entered with a

great noise, and overwhelmed the shoemaker with reproaches for having

deceived them about the donkey.

‘The poor beast must have lost its power owing to the change of

masters,’ said he; ‘but we will not quarrel about it. You shall have

back the fifty gold pieces that you gave for him. ‘Aite,’ he cried to his

wife, ‘go quickly to the chest upstairs, and bring down the money for

these gentlemen.’

‘Wait a little,’ answered she; ‘I must first bake this fish. It will be

spoilt if I leave it now.’

‘Go this instant, as you are bid,’ shouted the shoemaker, stamping as if

he was in a great passion; but, as she did not stir, he drew his knife,

and stabbed her in the neck. The blood spurted out freely, and she fell

to the ground as if she was dead.

‘What have you done?’ asked the robbers, looking at him in dismay. ‘The

poor woman was doing nothing.’

‘Perhaps I was hasty, but it is easily set right,’ replied the

shoemaker, taking down his guitar and beginning to play. Hardly had he

struck the first notes than his wife sat up; then got on her feet and

danced.

The robbers stared with open mouths, and at last they said, ‘Master

Joseph, you may keep the fifty gold pieces. But tell us what you will

take for your guitar, for you must sell it to us?’

‘Oh, that is impossible!’ replied the shoemaker, ‘for every time I have

a quarrel with my wife I just strike her dead, and so give vent to my

anger. This has become such a habit with me that I don’t think I could

break myself of it; and, of course, if I got rid of the guitar I could

never bring her back to life again.’

However, the robbers would not listen to him, and at last he consented

to take forty gold pieces for the guitar.

Then they all returned to their cave in the forest, delighted with their

new purchase, and longing for a chance of trying its powers. But the

captain declared that the first trial belonged to him, and after that

the others might have their turn.

That evening he called to his wife and said, ‘What have you got for

supper?’

‘Macaroni,’ answered she.

‘Why have you not boiled a fish?’ he cried, and stabber in the neck so

that she fell dead. The captain, who was not in the least angry, seized

the guitar and began to play; but, let him play as loud as he would, the

dead woman never stirred. ‘Oh, lying shoemaker! Oh, abominable knave!

Twice has he got the better of me. But I will pay him out!’

So he raged and swore, but it did him no good. The fact remained that he

had killed his wife and could not bring her back again.

The next morning came one of the robbers to fetch the guitar, and to

hear what had happened.

‘Well, how have you got on?’

‘Oh, splendidly! I stabbed my wife, and then began to play, and now she

is as well as ever.’

‘Did you really? Then this evening I will try for myself.’

Of course the same thing happened over again, till all the wives had

been killed secretly, and when there were no more left they whispered to

each other the dreadful tale, and swore to be avenged on the shoemaker.

The band lost no time in setting out for his house, and, as before,

the shoemaker saw them coming from afar. He called to his wife, who was

washing in the kitchen: ‘Listen, Aita: when the robbers come and ask for

me say I have gone to the vineyard. Then tell the dog to call me, and

chase him from the house.’

When he had given these directions he ran out of the back door and hid

behind a barrel. A few minutes later the robbers arrived, and called

loudly for the shoemaker.

‘Alas! good gentlemen, he is up in the vineyard, but I will send the

dog after him at once. Here! now quickly to the vineyard, and tell your

master some gentlemen are here who wish to speak to him. Go as fast as

you can.’ And she opened the door and let the dog out.

‘You can really trust the dog to call your husband?’ asked the robbers.

‘Dear me, yes! He understands everything, and will always carry any

message I give him.’

By-and-bye the shoemaker came in and said, ‘Good morning, gentlemen; the

dog tells me you wish to speak to me.’

‘Yes, we do,’ replied the robber; ‘we have come to speak to you about

that guitar. It is your fault that we have murdered all our wives; and,

though we played as you told us, none of them ever came back to life.’

‘You could not have played properly,’ said the shoemaker. ‘It was your

own fault.’

‘Well, we will forget all about it,’ answered the robbers, ‘if you will

only sell us your dog.’

‘Oh, that is impossible! I should never get on without him.’

But the robbers offered him forty gold pieces, and at last he agreed to

let them have the dog.

So they departed, taking the dog with them, and when they got back to

their cave the captain declared that it was his right to have the first

trial.

He then called his daughter, and said to her, ‘I am going to the inn; if

anybody wants me, loose the dog, and send him to call me.’

About an hour after some one arrived on business, and the girl untied

the dog and said, ‘Go to the inn and call my father!’ The dog bounded

off, but ran straight to the shoemaker.

When the robber got home and found no dog he thought ‘He must have gone

back to his old master,’ and, though night had already fallen, he went

off after him.

‘Master Joseph, is the dog here?’ asked he.

‘Ah! yes, the poor beast is so fond of me! You must give him time to get

accustomed to new ways.’

So the captain brought the dog back, and the following morning handed

him over to another of the band, just saying that the animal really

could do what the shoemaker had said.

The second robber carefully kept his own counsel, and fetched the dog

secretly back from the shoemaker, and so on through the whole band. At

length, when everybody had suffered, they met and told the whole story,

and next day they all marched off in fury to the man who had made game

of them. After reproaching him with having deceived them, they tied him

up in a sack, and told him they were going to throw him into the sea.

The shoemaker lay quite still, and let them do as they would.

They went on till they came to a church, and the robbers said, ‘The sun

is hot and the sack is heavy; let us leave it here and go in and rest.’

So they put the sack down by the roadside, and went into the church.

Now, on a hill near by there was a swineherd looking after a great herd

of pigs and whistling merrily.

When Master Joseph heard him he cried out as loud as he could, ‘I won’t;

I won’t, I say.’

‘What won’t you do?’ asked the swineherd.

‘Oh,’ replied the shoemaker. ‘They want me to marry the king’s daughter,

and I won’t do it.’

‘How lucky you are!’ sighed the swineherd. ‘Now, if it were only me!’

‘Oh, if that’s all!’ replied the cunning shoemaker, ‘get you into this

sack, and let me out.’

Then the swineherd opened the sack and took the place of the shoemaker,

who went gaily off, driving the pigs before him.

When the robbers were rested they came out of the church, took up the

sack, and carried it to the sea, where they threw it in, and it sank

directly. As they came back they met the shoemaker, and stared at him

with open mouths.

‘Oh, if you only knew how many pigs live in the sea,’ he cried. ‘And the

deeper you go the more there are. I have just brought up these, and mean

to return for some more.’

‘There are still some left there?’

‘Oh, more than I could count,’ replied the shoemaker. ‘I will show you

what you must do.’ Then he led the robbers back to the shore. ‘Now,’

said he, ‘you must each of you tie a stone to your necks, so that you

may be sure to go deep enough, for I found the pigs that you saw very

deep down indeed.’

Then the robbers all tied stones round their necks, and jumped in, and

were drowned, and Master Joseph drove his pigs home, and was a rich man

to the end of his days.

The King Who Would Have a Beautiful Wife

Sicilianische Mahrchen.

Fifty years ago there lived a king who was very anxious to get married;

but, as he was quite determined that his wife should be as beautiful as

the sun, the thing was not so easy as it seemed, for no maiden came up

to his standard. Then he commanded a trusty servant to search through

the length and breadth of the land till he found a girl fair enough to

be queen, and if he had the good luck to discover one he was to bring

her back with him.

The servant set out at once on his journey, and sought high and low-in

castles and cottages; but though pretty maidens were plentiful as

blackberries, he felt sure that none of them would please the king.

One day he had wandered far and wide, and was feeling very tired and

thirsty. By the roadside stood a tiny little house, and here he knocked

and asked for a cup of water. Now in this house dwelt two sisters, and

one was eighty and the other ninety years old. They were very poor, and

earned their living by spinning. This had kept their hands very soft and

white, like the hands of a girl, and when the water was passed through

the lattice, and the servant saw the small, delicate fingers, he said to

himself: ‘A maiden must indeed be lovely if she has a hand like that.’

And he made haste back, and told the king.

‘Go back at once,’ said his majesty, ‘and try to get a sight of her.’

The faithful servant departed on his errand without losing any time,

and again he knocked at the door of the little house and begged for some

water. As before, the old woman did not open the door, but passed the

water through the lattice.

‘Do you live here alone?’ asked the man.

‘No,’ replied she, ‘my sister lives with me. We are poor girls, and have

to work for our bread.’

‘How old are you?’

‘I am fifteen, and she is twenty.’

Then the servant went back to the king, and told him all he knew. And

his majesty answered: ‘I will have the fifteen-year-old one. Go and

bring her here.’

The servant returned a third time to the little house and knocked at the

door. In reply to his knock the lattice window was pushed open, and a

voice inquired what it was he wanted.

‘The king has desired me to bring back the youngest of you to become his

queen,’ he replied.

‘Tell his majesty I am ready to do his bidding, but since my birth no

ray of light has fallen upon my face. If it should ever do so I shall

instantly grow black. Therefore beg, I pray you, his most gracious

majesty to send this evening a shut carriage, and I will return in it to

the castle.

When the king heard this he ordered his great golden carriage to be

prepared, and in it to be placed some magnificent robes; and the old

woman wrapped herself in a thick veil, and was driven to the castle.

The king was eagerly awaiting her, and when she arrived he begged her

politely to raise her veil and let him see her face.

But she answered: ‘Here the tapers are too bright and the light too

strong. Would you have me turn black under your very eyes?’

And the king believed her words, and the marriage took place without the

veil being once lifted. Afterwards, when they were alone, he raised the

corner, and knew for the first time that he had wedded a wrinkled old

woman. And, in a furious burst of anger, he dashed open the window and

flung her out. But, luckily for her, her clothes caught on a nail in the

wall, and kept her hanging between heaven and earth.

While she was thus suspended, expecting every moment to be dashed to the

ground, four fairies happened to pass by.

‘Look, sisters,’ cried one, ‘surely that is the old woman that the king

sent for. Shall we wish that her clothes may give way, and that she

should be dashed to the ground?’

‘Oh no! no!’ exclaimed another. ‘Let us wish her something good. I

myself will wish her youth.’

‘And I beauty.’

‘And I wisdom.’

‘And I a tender heart.’

So spake the fairies, and went their way, leaving the most beautiful

maiden in the world behind them.

The next morning when the king looked from his window he saw this lovely

creature hanging on the nail. ‘Ah! what have I done? Surely I must have

been blind last night!’

And he ordered long ladders to be brought and the maiden to be rescued.

Then he fell on his knees before her, and prayed her to forgive him, and

a great feast was made in her honour.

Some days after came the ninety-year-old sister to the palace and asked

for the queen.

‘Who is that hideous old witch?’ said the king.

‘Oh, an old neighbour of mine, who is half silly,’ she replied.

But the old woman looked at her steadily, and knew her again, and said:

‘How have you managed to grow so young and beautiful? I should like to

be young and beautiful too.’

This question she repeated the whole day long, till at length the queen

lost patience and said: ‘I had my old head cut off, and this new head

grew in its place.’

Then the old woman went to a barber, and spoke to him, saying, ‘I will

give you all you ask if you will only cut off my head, so that I may

become young and lovely.’

‘But, my good woman, if I do that you will die!’

But the old woman would listen to nothing; and at last the barber took

out his knife and struck the first blow at her neck.

‘Ah!’ she shrieked as she felt the pain.

‘Il faut souffrir pour etre belle,’ said the barber, who had been in

France.

And at the second blow her head rolled off, and the old woman was dead

for good and all.

Catherine and Her Destiny

Sicilianische Mahrchen von Laura Gonzenbach. Leipzig, Engelmann, 1870.

Long ago there lived a rich merchant who, besides possessing more

treasures than any king in the world, had in his great hall three

chairs, one of silver, one of gold, and one of diamonds. But his

greatest treasure of all was his only daughter, who was called

Catherine.

One day Catherine was sitting in her own room when suddenly the door

flew open, and in came a tall and beautiful woman holding in her hands a

little wheel.

‘Catherine,’ she said, going up to the girl, ‘which would you rather

have-a happy youth or a happy old age?’

Catherine was so taken by surprise that she did not know what to answer,

and the lady repeated again, ‘Which would you rather have-a happy youth

or a happy old age?’

Then Catherine thought to herself, ‘If I say a happy youth, then I shall

have to suffer all the rest of my life. No, I would bear trouble now,

and have something better to look forward to.’ So she looked up and

replied, ‘Give me a happy old age.’

‘So be it,’ said the lady, and turned her wheel as she spoke, vanishing

the next moment as suddenly as she had come.

Now this beautiful lady was the Destiny of poor Catherine.

Only a few days after this the merchant heard the news that all his

finest ships, laden with the richest merchandise, had been sunk in a

storm, and he was left a beggar. The shock was too much for him. He took

to his bed, and in a short time he was dead of his disappointment.

So poor Catherine was left alone in the world without a penny or a

creature to help her. But she was a brave girl and full of spirit, and

soon made up her mind that the best thing she could do was to go to the

nearest town and become a servant. She lost no time in getting herself

ready, and did not take long over her journey; and as she was passing

down the chief street of the town a noble lady saw her out of the

window, and, struck by her sad face, said to her: ‘Where are you going

all alone, my pretty girl?’

‘Ah, my lady, I am very poor, and must go to service to earn my bread.’

‘I will take you into my service,’ said she; and Catherine served her

well.

Some time after her mistress said to Catherine, ‘I am obliged to go out

for a long while, and must lock the house door, so that no thieves shall

get in.’

So she went away, and Catherine took her work and sat down at the

window. Suddenly the door burst open, and in came her Destiny.

‘Oh! so here you are, Catherine! Did you really think I was going to

leave you in peace?’ And as she spoke she walked to the linen press

where Catherine’s mistress kept all her finest sheets and underclothes,

tore everything in pieces, and flung them on the floor. Poor Catherine

wrung her hands and wept, for she thought to herself, ‘When my lady

comes back and sees all this ruin she will think it is my fault,’ and

starting up, she fled through the open door. Then Destiny took all the

pieces and made them whole again, and put them back in the press, and

when everything was tidy she too left the house.

When the mistress reached home she called Catherine, but no Catherine

was there. ‘Can she have robbed me?’ thought the old lady, and looked

hastily round the house; but nothing was missing. She wondered why

Catherine should have disappeared like this, but she heard no more of

her, and in a few days she filled her place.

Meanwhile Catherine wandered on and on, without knowing very well where

she was going, till at last she came to another town. Just as before,

a noble lady happened to see her passing her window, and called out to

her, ‘Where are you going all alone, my pretty girl?’

And Catherine answered, ‘Ah, my lady, I am very poor, and must go to

service to earn my bread.’

‘I will take you into my service,’ said the lady; and Catherine served

her well, and hoped she might now be left in peace. But, exactly as

before, one day that Catherine was left in the house alone her Destiny

came again and spoke to her with hard words: ‘What! are you here now?’

And in a passion she tore up everything she saw, till in sheer misery

poor Catherine rushed out of the house. And so it befell for seven

years, and directly Catherine found a fresh place her Destiny came and

forced her to leave it.

After seven years, however, Destiny seemed to get tired of persecuting

her, and a time of peace set in for Catherine. When she had been chased

away from her last house by Destiny’s wicked pranks she had taken

service with another lady, who told her that it would be part of her

daily work to walk to a mountain that overshadowed the town, and,

climbing up to the top, she was to lay on the ground some loaves

of freshly baked bread, and cry with a loud voice, ‘O Destiny, my

mistress,’ three times. Then her lady’s Destiny would come and take away

the offering. ‘That will I gladly do,’ said Catherine.

So the years went by, and Catherine was still there, and every day

she climbed the mountain with her basket of bread on her arm. She was

happier than she had been, but sometimes, when no one saw her, she would

weep as she thought over her old life, and how different it was to the

one she was now leading. One day her lady saw her, and said, ‘Catherine,

what is it? Why are you always weeping?’ And then Catherine told her

story.

‘I have got an idea,’ exclaimed the lady. ‘To-morrow, when you take the

bread to the mountain, you shall pray my Destiny to speak to yours, and

entreat her to leave you in peace. Perhaps something may come of it!’

At these words Catherine dried her eyes, and next morning, when she

climbed the mountain, she told all she had suffered, and cried, ‘O

Destiny, my mistress, pray, I entreat you, of my Destiny that she may

leave me in peace.’

And Destiny answered, ‘Oh, my poor girl, know you not your Destiny lies

buried under seven coverlids, and can hear nothing? But if you will come

to-morrow I will bring her with me.’

And after Catherine had gone her way her lady’s Destiny went to find

her sister, and said to her, ‘Dear sister, has not Catherine suffered

enough? It is surely time for her good days to begin?’

And the sister answered, ‘To-morrow you shall bring her to me, and I

will give her something that may help her out of her need.’

The next morning Catherine set out earlier than usual for the mountain,

and her lady’s Destiny took the girl by the hand and led her to her

sister, who lay under the seven coverlids. And her Destiny held out

to Catherine a ball of silk, saying, ‘Keep this--it may be useful some

day;’ then pulled the coverings over her head again.

But Catherine walked sadly down the hill, and went straight to her lady

and showed her the silken ball, which was the end of all her high hopes.

‘What shall I do with it?’ she asked. ‘It is not worth sixpence, and it

is no good to me!’

‘Take care of it,’ replied her mistress. ‘Who can tell how useful it may

be?’

A little while after this grand preparations were made for the king’s

marriage, and all the tailors in the town were busy embroidering fine

clothes. The wedding garment was so beautiful nothing like it had ever

been seen before, but when it was almost finished the tailor found that

he had no more silk. The colour was very rare, and none could be found

like it, and the king made a proclamation that if anyone happened to

possess any they should bring it to the court, and he would give them a

large sum.

‘Catherine!’ exclaimed the lady, who had been to the tailors and seen

the wedding garment, ‘your ball of silk is exactly the right colour.

Bring it to the king, and you can ask what you like for it.’

Then Catherine put on her best clothes and went to the court, and looked

more beautiful than any woman there.

‘May it please your majesty,’ she said, ‘I have brought you a ball of

silk of the colour you asked for, as no one else has any in the town.’

‘Your majesty,’ asked one of the courtiers, ‘shall I give the maiden its

weight in gold?’

The king agreed, and a pair of scales were brought; and a handful of

gold was placed in one scale and the silken ball in the other. But lo!

let the king lay in the scales as many gold pieces as he would, the silk

was always heavier still. Then the king took some larger scales, and

heaped up all his treasures on one side, but the silk on the other

outweighed them all. At last there was only one thing left that had not

been put in, and that was his golden crown. And he took it from his head

and set it on top of all, and at last the scale moved and the ball had

founds its balance.

‘Where got you this silk?’ asked the king.

‘It was given me, royal majesty, by my mistress,’ replied Catherine.

‘That is not true,’ said the king, ‘and if you do not tell me the truth

I will have your head cut off this instant.’

So Catherine told him the whole story, and how she had once been as rich

as he.

Now there lived at the court a wise woman, and she said to Catherine,

‘You have suffered much, my poor girl, but at length your luck has

turned, and I know by the weighing of the scales through the crown that

you will die a queen.’

‘So she shall,’ cried the king, who overheard these words; ‘she shall

die my queen, for she is more beautiful than all the ladies of the

court, and I will marry no one else.’

And so it fell out. The king sent back the bride he had promised to wed

to her own country, and the same Catherine was queen at the marriage

feast instead, and lived happy and contented to the end of her life.

How the Hermit Helped to Win the King’s Daughter

Sicilianische Mahrchen

Long ago there lived a very rich man who had three sons. When he felt

himself to be dying he divided his property between them, making them

share alike, both in money and lands. Soon after he died the king set

forth a proclamation through the whole country that whoever could build

a ship that should float both on land and sea should have his daughter

to wife.

The eldest brother, when he heard it, said to the other, ‘I think I will

spend some of my money in trying to build that ship, as I should like

to have the king for my father-in-law.’ So he called together all the

shipbuilders in the land, and gave them orders to begin the ship without

delay. And trees were cut down, and great preparations made, and in a

few days everybody knew what it was all for; and there was a crowd of

old people pressing round the gates of the yard, where the young man

spent the most of his day.

‘Ah, master, give us work,’ they said, ‘so that we may earn our bread.’

But he only gave them hard words, and spoke roughly to them. ‘You are

old, and have lost your strength; of what use are you?’ And he drove

them away. Then came some boys and prayed him, “master, give us work,’

but he answered them, ‘Of what use can you be, weaklings as you are! Get

you gone!’ And if any presented themselves that were not skilled workmen

he would have none of them.

At last there knocked at the gate a little old man with a long white

beard, and said, ‘Will you give me work, so that I may earn my bread?’

But he was only driven away like the rest.

The ship took a long while to build, and cost a great deal of money, and

when it was launched a sudden squall rose, and it fell to pieces, and

with it all the young man’s hopes of winning the princess. By this time

he had not a penny left, so he went back to his two brothers and

told his tale. And the second brother said to himself as he listened,

‘Certainly he has managed very badly, but I should like to see if I

can’t do better, and win the princess for my own self.’ So he called

together all the shipbuilders throughout the country, and gave them

orders to build a ship which should float on the land as well as on the

sea. But his heart was no softer than his brother’s, and every man that

was not a skilled workman was chased away with hard words. Last came the

white-bearded man, but he fared no better than the rest.

When the ship was finished the launch took place, and everything seemed

going smoothly when a gale sprang up, and the vessel was dashed to

pieces on the rocks. The young man had spent his whole fortune on it,

and now it was all swallowed up, was forced to beg shelter from his

youngest brother. When he told his story the youngest said to himself,

‘I am not rich enough to support us all three. I had better take my

turn, and if I manage to win the princess there will be her fortune

as well as my own for us to live on.’ So he called together all the

shipbuilders in the kingdom, and gave orders that a new ship should be

built. Then all the old people came and asked for work, and he answered

cheerfully, ‘Oh, yes, there is plenty for everybody;’ and when the boys

begged to be allowed to help he found something that they could do. And

when the old man with the long white beard stood before him, praying

that he might earn his bread, he replied, ‘Oh, father, I could not

suffer you to work, but you shall be overseer, and look after the rest.’

Now the old man was a holy hermit, and when he saw how kind-hearted the

youth was he determined to do all he could for him to gain the wish of

his heart.

By-and-bye, when the ship was finished, the hermit said to his young

friend, ‘Now you can go and claim the king’s daughter, for hte ship will

float both by land and sea.’

‘Oh, good father,’ cried the young man, ‘you will not forsake me? Stay

with me, I pray you, and lead me to the king!’

‘If you wish it, I will,’ said the hermit, ‘on condition that you will

give me half of anything you get.’

‘Oh, if that is all,’ answered he, ‘it is easily promised!’ And they set

out together on the ship.

After they had gone some distance they saw a man standing in a thick

fog, which he was trying to put into a sack.

‘Oh, good father,’ exclaimed the youth, ‘what can he be doing?’

‘Ask him,’ said the old man.

‘What are you doing, my fine fellow?’

‘I am putting the fog into my sack. That is my business.’

‘Ask him if he will come with us,’ whispered the hermit.

And the man answered: ‘If you will give me enough to eat and drink I

will gladly stay with you.’

So they took him on their ship, and the youth said, as they started off

again, ‘Good father, before we were two, and now we are three!’

After they had travelled a little further they met a man who had torn up

half the forest, and was carrying all the trees on his shoulders.

‘Good father,’ exclaimed the youth, ‘only look! What can he have done

that for?’

‘Ask him why he has torn up all those trees.’

And the man replied, ‘Why, I’ve merely been gathering a handful of

brushwood.’

‘Beg him to come with us,’ whispered the hermit.

And the strong man answered: ‘Willingly, as long as you give me enough

to eat and drink.’ And he came on the ship.

And the youth said to the hermit, ‘Good father, before we were three,

and now we are four.’

The ship travelled on again, and some miles further on they saw a man

drinking out of a stream till he had nearly drunk it dry.

‘Good father,’ said the youth, ‘just look at that man! Did you ever see

anybody drink like that?’

‘Ask him why he does it,’ answered the hermit.

‘Why, there is nothing very odd in taking a mouthful of water!’ replied

the man, standing up.

‘Beg him to come with us.’ And the youth did so.

‘With pleasure, as long as you give me enough to eat and drink.’

And the youth whispered to the hermit, ‘Good father, before we were

four, and now we are five.’

A little way along they noticed another man in the middle of a stream,

who was shooting into the water.

‘Good father,’ said the youth, ‘what can he be shooting at?’

‘Ask him,’ answered the hermit.

‘Hush, hush!’ cried the man; ‘now you have frightened it away. In the

Underworld sits a quail on a tree, and I wanted to shoot it. That is my

business. I hit everything I aim at.’

‘Ask him if he will come with us.’

And the man replied, ‘With all my heart, as long as I get enough to eat

and drink.’

So they took him into the ship, and the young man whispered, ‘Good

father, before we were five, and now we are six.’

Off they went again, and before they had gone far they met a man

striding towards them whose steps were so long that while one foot was

on the north of the island the other was right down in the south.

‘Good father, look at him! What long steps he takes!’

‘Ask him why he does it,’ replied the hermit.

‘Oh, I am only going out for a little walk,’ answered he.

‘Ask him if he will come with us.’

‘Gladly, if you will give me as much as I want to eat and drink,’ said

he, climbing up into the ship.

And the young man whispered, ‘Good father, before we were six, and

now we are seven.’ But the hermit knew what he was about, and why he

gathered these strange people into the ship.

After many days, at last they reached the town where lived the king and

his daughter. They stopped the vessel right in front of the palace, and

the young man went in and bowed low before the king.

‘O Majesty, I have done your bidding, and now is the ship built that

can travel over land and sea. Give me my reward, and let me have your

daughter to wife.’

But the king said to himself, ‘What! am I to wed my daughter to a man of

whom I know nothing. Not even whether he be rich or poor--a knight or a

beggar.’

And aloud he spake: It is not enough that you have managed to build the

ship. You must find a runner who shall take this letter to the ruler of

the Underworld, and bring me the answer back in an hour.’

‘That is not in the bond,’ answered the young man.

‘Well, do as you like,’ replied the king, ‘only you will not get my

daughter.’

The young man went out, sorely troubled, to tell his old friend what had

happened.

‘Silly boy!’ cried the hermit, ‘Accept his terms at once. And send off

the long-legged man with the letter. He will take it in no time at all.’

So the youth’s heard leapt for joy, and he returned to the king.

‘Majesty, I accept your terms. HEre is the messenger who will do what

you wish.’

The king had no choice but to give the man the letter, and he strode

off, making short work of the distance that lay between the palace and

the Underworld. He soon found the ruler, who looked at the letter, and

said to him, ‘Wait a little while i write the answer;’ but the man was

soo tired with his quick walk that he went sound asleep and forgot all

about his errand.

All this time the youth was anxiously counting the minutes till he

could get back, and stood with his eyes fixed on the road down which his

messenger must come.

‘What can be keeping him,’ he said to the hermit when the hour was

nearly up. Then the hermit sent for the man who could hit everything he

aimed at, and said to him, ‘Just see why the messenger stays so long.’

‘Oh, he is sound asleep in the palace of the Underworld. However, I can

wake him.’

Then he drew his bow, and shot an arrow straight into the man’s knee.

The messenger awoke with such a start, and when he saw that the hour had

almost run out he snatched up the answer and rushed back with such speed

that the clock had not yet struck when he entered the palace.

Now the young man thought he was sure of his bride, but the king said,

“Still you have not done enough. Before I give you my daughter you must

find a man who can drink half the contents of my cellar in one day.’

‘That is not in the bond,’ complained the poor youth.

‘Well, do as you like, only you will not get my daughter.’

The young man went sadly out, and asked the hermit what he was to do.

‘Silly boy!’ said he. ‘Why, tell the man to do it who drinks up

everything.’

So they sent for the man and said, ‘Do you think you are able to drink

half the royal cellar in one day?’

‘Dear me, yes, and as much more as you want,’ answered he. ‘I am never

satisfied.’

The king was not pleased at the young man agreeing so readily, but he

had no choice, and ordered the servant to be taken downstairs. Oh, how

he enjoyed himself! All day long he drank, and drank, and drank, till

instead of half the cellar, he had drunk the whole, and there was not

a cask but what stood empty. And when the king saw this he said to the

youth, ‘You have conquered, and I can no longer withhold my daughter.

But, as her dowry, I shall only give so much as one man can carry away.’

‘But,’ answered he, ‘let a man be ever so strong, he cannot carry more

than a hundredweight, and what is that for a king’s daughter?’

‘Well, do as you like; I have said my say. It is your affair--not mine.’

The young man was puzzled, and did not know what to reply, for, though

he would gladly have married the princess without a sixpence, he had

spent all his money in building the ship, and knew he could not give her

all she wanted. So he went to the hermit and said to him, ‘The king will

only give for her dowry as much as a man can carry. I have no money of

my own left, and my brothers have none either.’

‘Silly boy! Why, you have only got to fetch the man who carried half the

forest on his shoulders.’

And the youth was glad, and called the strong man, and told him what he

must do. ‘Take everything you can, till you are bent double. Never mind

if you leave the palace bare.’

The strong man promised, and nobly kept his word. He piled all he

could see on his back--chairs, tables, wardrobes, chests of gold and

silver--till there was nothing left to pile. At last he took the king’s

crown, and put it on the top. He carried his burden to the ship and

stowed his treasures away, and the youth followed, leading the king’s

daughter. But the king was left raging in his empty palace, and he

called together his army, and got ready his ships of war, in order that

he might go after the vessel and bring back what had been taken away.

And the king’s ships sailed very fast, and soon caught up the little

vessel, and the sailors all shouted for joy. Then the hermit looked out

and saw how near they were, and he said to the youth, ‘Do you see that?’

The youth shrieked and cried, ‘Ah, good father, it is a fleet of ships,

and they are chasing us, and in a few moments they will be upon us.’

But the hermit bade him call the man who had the fog in his sack, and

the sack was opened and the fog flew out, and hung right round the

king’s ships, so that they could see nothing. So they sailed back to the

palace, and told the king what strange things had happened. Meanwhile

the young man’s vessel reached home in safety.

‘Well, here you are once more’ said the hermit; ‘and now you can fulfil

the promise you made me to give me the half of all you had.’

‘That will I do with all my heart,’ answered the youth, and began to

divide all his treasures, putting part on one side for himself and

setting aside the other for his friend. ‘Good father, it is finished,’

said he at length; ‘there is nothing more left to divide.’

‘Nothing more left!’ cried the hermit. ‘Why, you have forgotten the best

thing of all!’

‘What can that be?’ asked he. ‘We have divided everything.’

‘And the king’s daughter?’ said the hermit.

Then the young man’s heart stood still, for he loved her dearly. But he

answered, ‘It is well; I have sworn, and I will keep my word,’ and drew

his sword to cut her in pieces. When the hermit saw that he held his

honour dearer than his wife he lifted his hand and cried, ‘Hold! she

is yours, and all the treasures too. I gave you my help because you had

pity on those that were in need. And when you are in need yourself, call

upon me, and I will come to you.’

As he spoke he softly touched their heads and vanished.

The next day the wedding took place, and the two brothers came to the

house, and they all lived happily together, but they never forgot the

holy man who had been such a good friend.

The Water of Life

Cuentos Populars Catalans, per lo Dr. D. Francisco de S. Maspous y

Labros. Barcelona, 1885.

Three brothers and one sister lived together in a small cottage, and

they loved one another dearly. One day the eldest brother, who had never

done anything but amuse himself from sunrise to sunset, said to the

rest, ‘Let us all work hard, and perhaps we shall grow rich, and be able

to build ourselves a palace.’

And his brothers and sister answered joyfully, ‘Yes, we will all work!’

So they fell to working with all their might, till at last they became

rich, and were able to build themselves a beautiful palace; and everyone

came from miles round to see its wonders, and to say how splendid it

was. No one thought of finding any faults, till at length an old woman,

who had been walking through the rooms with a crowd of people, suddenly

exclaimed, ‘Yes, it is a splendid palace, but there is still something

it needs!’

‘And what may that be?’

‘A church.’

When they heard this the brothers set to work again to earn some more

money, and when they had got enough they set about building a church,

which should be as large and beautiful as the palace itself.

And after the church was finished greater numbers of people than

ever flocked to see the palace and the church and vast gardens and

magnificent halls.

But one day, as the brothers were as usual doing the honours to their

guests, an old man turned to them and said, ‘Yes, it is all most

beautiful, but there is still something it needs!’

‘And what may that be?’

‘A pitcher of the water of life, a branch of the tree the smell of whose

flowers gives eternal beauty, and the talking bird.’

‘And where am I to find all those?’

‘Go to the mountain that is far off yonder, and you will find what you

seek.’

After the old man had bowed politely and taken farewell of them the

eldest brother said to the rest, ‘I will go in search of the water of

life, and the talking bird, and the tree of beauty.’

‘But suppose some evil thing befalls you?’ asked his sister. ‘How shall

we know?’

‘You are right,’ he replied; ‘ I had not thought of that!’

Then they followed the old man, and said to him, ‘My eldest brother

wishes to seek for the water of life, and the tree of beauty, and the

talking bird, that you tell him are needful to make our palace perfect.

But how shall we know if any evil thing befall him?’

So the old man took them a knife, and gave it to them, saying, ‘Keep

this carefully, and as long as the blade is bright all is well; but if

the blade is bloody, then know that evil has befallen him.’

The brothers thanked him, and departed, and went straight to the palace,

where they found the young man making ready to set out for the mountain

where the treasures he longed for lay hid.

And he walked, and he walked, and he walked, till he had gone a great

way, and there he met a giant.

‘Can you tell me how much further I have still to go before I reach that

mountain yonder?’

‘And why do you wish to go there?’

‘I am seeking the water of life, the talking bird, and a branch of the

tree of beauty.’

‘Many have passed by seeking those treasures, but none have ever come

back; and you will never come back either, unless you mark my words.

Follow this path, and when you reach the mountain you will find it

covered with stones. Do not stop to look at them, but keep on your way.

As you go you will hear scoffs and laughs behind you; it will be the

stones that mock. Do not heed them; above all, do not turn round. If you

do you will become as one of them. Walk straight on till you get to the

top, and then take all you wish for.’

The young man thanked him for his counsel, and walked, and walked, and

walked, till he reached the mountain. And as he climbed he heard behind

him scoffs and jeers, but he kept his ears steadily closed to them. At

last the noise grew so loud that he lost patience, and he stooped to

pick up a stone to hurl into the midst of the clamour, when suddenly his

arm seemed to stiffen, and the next moment he was a stone himself!

That day his sister, who thought her brother’s steps were long in

returning, took out the knife and found the blade was red as blood. Then

she cried out to her brothers that something terrible had come to pass.

‘I will go and find him,’ said the second. And he went.

And he walked, and he walked, and he walked, till he met the giant, and

asked him if he had seen a young man travelling towards the mountain.

And the giant answered, ‘Yes, I have seen him pass, but I have not seen

him come back. The spell must have worked upon him.’

‘Then what can I do to disenchant him, and find the water of life, the

talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty?’

‘Follow this path, and when you reach the mountain you will find it

covered with stones. Do not stop to look at them, but climb steadily on.

Above all, heed not the laughs and scoffs that will arise on all sides,

and never turn round. And when you reach the top you can then take all

you desire.’

The young man thanked him for his counsel, and set out for the mountain.

But no sooner did he reach it than loud jests and gibes broke out on

every side, and almost deafened him. For some time he let them rail,

and pushed boldly on, till he had passed the place which his brother had

gained; then suddenly he thought that among the scoffing sounds he heard

his brother’s voice. He stopped and looked back; and another stone was

added to the number.

Meanwhile the sister left at home was counting the days when her two

brothers should return to her. The time seemed long, and it would be

hard to say how often she took out the knife and looked at its polished

blade to make sure that this one at least was still safe. The blade was

always bright and clear; each time she looked she had the happiness of

knowing that all was well, till one evening, tired and anxious, as she

frequently was at the end of the day, she took it from its drawer, and

behold! the blade was red with blood. Her cry of horror brought her

youngest brother to her, and, unable to speak, she held out the knife!

‘I will go,’ he said.

So he walked, and he walked, and he walked, until he met the giant, and

he asked, ‘Have two young men, making for yonder mountain, passed this

way?’

And the giant answered, ‘Yes, they have passed by, but they never came

back, and by this I know that the spell has fallen upon them.’

‘Then what must I do to free them, and to get the water of life, and the

talking bird, and the branch of the tree of beauty?’

‘Go to the mountain, which you will find so thickly covered with stones

that you will hardly be able to place your feet, and walk straight

forward, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, and paying

no heed to the laughs and scoffs which will follow you, till you reach

the top, and then you may take all that you desire.’

The young man thanked the giant for his counsel, and set forth to the

mountain. And when he began to climb there burst forth all around him

a storm of scoffs and jeers; but he thought of the giant’s words, and

looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, till the mountain top

lay straight before him. A moment now and he would have gained it, when,

through the groans and yells, he heard his brothers’ voices. He turned,

and there was one stone the more.

And all this while his sister was pacing up and down the palace, hardly

letting the knife out of her hand, and dreading what she knew she would

see, and what she did see. The blade grew red before her eyes, and she

said, ‘Now it is my turn.’

So she walked, and she walked, and she walked till she came to the

giant, and prayed him to tell her if he had seen three young men pass

that way seeking the distant mountain.

‘I have seen them pass, but they have never returned, and by this I know

that the spell has fallen upon them.’

‘And what must I do to set them free, and to find the water of life, and

the talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty?’

‘You must go to that mountain, which is so full of stones that your

feet will hardly find a place to tread, and as you climb you will hear

a noise as if all the stones in the world were mocking you; but pay

no heed to anything you may hear, and, once you gain the top, you have

gained everything.’

The girl thanked him for his counsel, and set out for the mountain; and

scarcely had she gone a few steps upwards when cries and screams broke

forth around her, and she felt as if each stone she trod on was a living

thing. But she remembered the words of the giant, and knew not what had

befallen her brothers, and kept her face steadily towards the mountain

top, which grew nearer and nearer every moment. But as she mounted the

clamour increased sevenfold: high above them all rang the voices of her

three brothers. But the girl took no heed, and at last her feet stood

upon the top.

Then she looked round, and saw, lying in a hollow, the pool of the water

of life. And she took the brazen pitcher that she had brought with her,

and filled it to the brim. By the side of the pool stood the tree of

beauty, with the talking bird on one of its boughs; and she caught the

bird, and placed it in a cage, and broke off one of the branches.

After that she turned, and went joyfully down the hill again, carrying

her treasures, but her long climb had tired her out, and the brazen

pitcher was very heavy, and as she walked a few drops of the water spilt

on the stones, and as it touched them they changed into young men and

maidens, crowding about her to give thanks for their deliverance.

So she learnt by this how the evil spell might be broken, and she

carefully sprinkled every stone till there was not one left--only a

great company of youths and girls who followed her down the mountain.

When they arrived at the palace she did not lose a moment in planting

the branch of the tree of beauty and watering it with the water of life.

And the branch shot up into a tree, and was heavy with flowers, and the

talking bird nestled in its branches.

Now the fame of these wonders was noised abroad, and the people flocked

in great numbers to see the three marvels, and the maiden who had won

them; and among the sightseers came the king’s son, who would not go

till everything was shown him, and till he had heard how it had all

happened. And the prince admired the strangeness and beauty of the

treasures in the palace, but more than all he admired the beauty and

courage of the maiden who had brought them there. So he went home and

told his parents, and gained their consent to wed her for his wife.

Then the marriage was celebrated in the church adjoining the palace.

Then the bridegroom took her to his own home, where they lived happy for

ever after.

The Wounded Lion

Cuentos Populars Catalans.

There was once a girl so poor that she had nothing to live on, and

wandered about the world asking for charity. One day she arrived at

a thatched cottage, and inquired if they could give her any work. The

farmer said he wanted a cowherd, as his own had left him, and if the

girl liked the place she might take it. So she became a cowherd.

One morning she was driving her cows through the meadows when she heard

near by a loud groan that almost sounded human. She hastened to the spot

from which the noise came, and found it proceeded from a lion who lay

stretched upon the ground.

You can guess how frightened she was! But the lion seemed in such pain

that she was sorry for him, and drew nearer and nearer till she saw he

had a large thorn in one foot. She pulled out the thorn and bound up the

place, and the lion was grateful, and licked her hand by way of thanks

with his big rough tongue.

When the girl had finished she went back to find the cows, but they had

gone, and though she hunted everywhere she never found them; and she had

to return home and confess to her master, who scolded her bitterly, and

afterwards beat her. Then he said, ‘Now you will have to look after the

asses.’

So every day she had to take the asses to the woods to feed, until one

morning, exactly a year after she had found the lion, she heard a groan

which sounded quite human. She went straight to the place from which the

noise came, and, to her great surprise, beheld the same lion stretched

on the ground with a deep wound across his face.

This time she was not afraid at all, and ran towards him, washing the

wound and laying soothing herbs upon it; and when she had bound it up

the lion thanked her in the same manner as before.

After that she returned to her flock, but they were nowhere to be

seen. She searched here and she searched there, but they had vanished

completely!

Then she had to go home and confess to her master, who first scolded her

and afterwards beat her. ‘Now go,’ he ended, ‘and look after the pigs!’

So the next day she took out the pigs, and found them such good feeding

grounds that they grew fatter every day.

Another year passed by, and one morning when the maiden was out with her

pigs she heard a groan which sounded quite human. She ran to see what

it was, and found her old friend the lion, wounded through and through,

fast dying under a tree.

She fell on her knees before him and washed his wounds one by one, and

laid healing herbs upon them. And the lion licked her hands and thanked

her, and asked if she would not stay and sit by him. But the girl said

she had her pigs to watch, and she must go and see after them.

So she ran to the place where she had left them, but they had vanished

as if the earth had swallowed them up. She whistled and called, but only

the birds answered her.

Then she sank down on the ground and wept bitterly, not daring to return

home until some hours had passed away.

And when she had had her cry out she got up and searched all up and down

the wood. But it was no use; there was not a sign of the pigs.

At last she thought that perhaps if she climbed a tree she might

see further. But no sooner was she seated on the highest branch than

something happened which put the pigs quite out of her head. This was a

handsome young man who was coming down the path; and when he had almost

reached the tree he pulled aside a rock and disappeared behind it.

The maiden rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had been dreaming. Next

she thought, ‘I will not stir from here till I see him come out, and

discover who he is.’ Accordingly she waited, and at dawn the next

morning the rock moved to one side and a lion came out.

When he had gone quite out of sight the girl climbed down from the tree

and went to the rock, which she pushed aside, and entered the opening

before her. The path led to a beautiful house. She went in, swept and

dusted the furniture, and put everything tidy. Then she ate a very good

dinner, which was on a shelf in the corner, and once more clambered up

to the top of her tree.

As the sun set she saw the same young man walking gaily down the path,

and, as before, he pushed aside the rock and disappeared behind it.

Next morning out came the lion. He looked sharply about him on all

sides, but saw no one, and then vanished into the forest.

The maiden then came down from the tree and did exactly as she had done

the day before. Thus three days went by, and every day she went and

tidied up the palace. At length, when the girl found she was no nearer

to discovering the secret, she resolved to ask him, and in the evening

when she caught sight of him coming through the wood she came down from

the tree and begged him to tell her his name.

The young man looked very pleased to see her, and said he thought it

must be she who had secretly kept his house for so many days. And he

added that he was a prince enchanted by a powerful giant, but was only

allowed to take his own shape at night, for all day he was forced to

appear as the lion whom she had so often helped; and, more than this,

it was the giant who had stolen the oxen and the asses and the pigs in

revenge for her kindness.

And the girl asked him, ‘What can I do to disenchant you?’

But he said he was afraid it was very difficult, because the only way

was to get a lock of hair from the head of a king’s daughter, to spin

it, and to make from it a cloak for the giant, who lived up on the top

of a high mountain.

‘Very well,’ answered the girl, ‘I will go to the city, and knock at

the door of the king’s palace, and ask the princess to take me as a

servant.’

So they parted, and when she arrived at the city she walked about the

streets crying, ‘Who will hire me for a servant? Who will hire me for a

servant?’ But, though many people liked her looks, for she was clean and

neat, the maiden would listen to none, and still continued crying, ‘Who

will hire me for a servant? Who will hire me for a servant?’

At last there came the waiting-maid of the princess.

‘What can you do?’ she said; and the girl was forced to confess that she

could do very little.

‘Then you will have to do scullion’s work, and wash up dishes,’ said

she; and they went straight back to the palace.

Then the maiden dressed her hair afresh, and made herself look very neat

and smart, and everyone admired and praised her, till by-and-bye it came

to the ears of the princess. And she sent for the girl, and when she saw

her, and how beautifully she had dressed her hair, the princess told her

she was to come and comb out hers.

Now the hair of the princess was very thick and long, and shone like

the sun. And the girl combed it and combed it till it was brighter than

ever. And the princess was pleased, and bade her come every day and comb

her hair, till at length the girl took courage, and begged leave to cut

off one of the long, thick locks.

The princess, who was very proud of her hair, did not like the idea of

parting with any of it, so she said no. But the girl could not give

up hope, and each day she entreated to be allowed to cut off just one

tress. At length the princess lost patience, and exclaimed, ‘You may

have it, then, on condition that you shall find the handsomest prince in

the world to be my bridegroom!’

And the girl answered that she would, and cut off the lock, and wove it

into a coat that glittered like silk, and brought it to the young man,

who told her to carry it straight to the giant. But that she must be

careful to cry out a long way off what she had with her, or else he

would spring upon her and run her through with his sword.

So the maiden departed and climbed up the mountain, but before she

reached the top the giant heard her footsteps, and rushed out breathing

fire and flame, having a sword in one hand and a club in the other. But

she cried loudly that she had brought him the coat, and then he grew

quiet, and invited her to come into his house.

He tried on the coat, but it was too short, and he threw it off, and

declared it was no use. And the girl picked it up sadly, and returned

quite in despair to the king’s palace.

The next morning, when she was combing the princess’s hair, she begged

leave to cut off another lock. At first the princess said no, but the

girl begged so hard that at length she gave in on condition that she

should find her a prince as bridegroom.

The maiden told her that she had already found him, and spun the lock

into shining stuff, and fastened it on to the end of the coat. And when

it was finished she carried it to the giant.

This time it fitted him, and he was quite pleased, and asked her what

he could give her in return. And she said that the only reward he could

give her was to take the spell off the lion and bring him back to his

own shape.

For a long time the giant would not hear of it, but in the end he gave

in, and told her exactly how it must all be done. She was to kill the

lion herself and cut him up very small; then she must burn him, and cast

his ashes into the water, and out of the water the prince would come

free from enchantment for ever.

But the maiden went away weeping, lest the giant should have deceived

her, and that after she had killed the lion she would find she had also

slain the prince.

Weeping she came down the mountain, and weeping she joined the prince,

who was awaiting her at the bottom; and when he had heard her story he

comforted her, and bade her be of good courage, and to do the bidding of

the giant.

And the maiden believed what the prince told her; and in the morning

when he put on his lion’s form she took a knife and slew him, and cut

him up very small, and burnt him, and cast his ashes into the water, and

out of the water came the prince, beautiful as the day, and as glad to

look upon as the sun himself.

Then the young man thanked the maiden for all she had done for him, and

said she should be his wife and none other. But the maiden only wept

sore, and answered that that she could never be, for she had given her

promise to the princess when she cut off her hair that the prince should

wed her and her only.

But the prince replied, ‘If it is the princess, we must go quickly. Come

with me.’

So they went together to the king’s palace. And when the king and queen

and princess saw the young man a great joy filled their hearts, for they

knew him for the eldest son, who had long ago been enchanted by a giant

and lost to them.

And he asked his parents’ consent that he might marry the girl who had

saved him, and a great feast was made, and the maiden became a princess,

and in due time a queen, and she richly deserved all the honours

showered upon her.

The Man Without a Heart

Once upon a time there were seven brothers, who were orphans, and had no

sister. Therefore they were obliged to do all their own housework. This

they did not like at all; so after much deliberation they decided to get

married. There were, unfortunately, no young girls to be found in the

place where they lived; but the elder brothers agreed to go out into the

world and seek for brides, promising to bring back a very pretty wife

for the youngest also if he would meanwhile stay at home and take care

of the house. He consented willingly, and the six young men set off in

good spirits.

On their way they came to a small cottage standing quite by itself in

a wood; and before the door stood an old, old man, who accosted the

brothers saying, ‘Hullo, you young fellows! Whither away so fast and

cheerily?’

‘We are going to find bonny brides for ourselves, and one for our

youngest brother at home,’ they replied.

‘Oh! dear youths,’ said the old man, ‘I am terribly lonely here; pray

bring a bride for me also; only remember, she must be young and pretty.’

‘What does a shrivelled old grey thing like that want with a pretty

young bride?’ thought the brothers, and went on their way.

Presently they came to a town where were seven sisters, as young and as

lovely as anyone could wish. Each brother chose one, and the youngest

they kept for their brother at home. Then the whole party set out on the

return journey, and again their path led through the wood and past the

old man’s cottage.

There he stood before the door, and cried: ‘Oh! you fine fellows, what a

charming bride you have brought me!’

‘She is not for you, said the young men. ‘She is for our youngest

brother, as we promised.’

‘What!’ said the old man, ‘promised! I’ll make you eat your promises!’

And with that he took his magic wand, and, murmuring a charm, he touched

both brothers and brides, and immediately they were turned into grey

stones.

Only the youngest sister he had not bewitched. He took her into the

cottage, and from that time she was obliged to keep house for him. She

was not very unhappy, but one thought troubled her. What if the old man

should die and leave her here alone in the solitary cottage deep in the

heart of the wood! She would be as ‘terribly lonely’ as he had formerly

been.

One day she told him of her fear.

‘Don’t be anxious,’ he said. ‘You need neither fear my death nor desire

it, for I have no heart in my breast! However, if I should die, you will

find my wand above the door, and with it you can set free your sisters

and their lovers. Then you will surely have company enough.’

‘Where in all the world do you keep your heart, if not in your breast?’

asked the girl.

‘Do you want to know everything?’ her husband said. ‘Well, if you must

know, my heart is in the bed-cover.’

When the old man had gone out about his business his bride passed her

time in embroidering beautiful flowers on the bed quilt to make his

heart happy. The old man was much amused. He laughed, and said to

her: ‘You are a good child, but I was only joking. My heart is really

in--in--’

‘Now where is it, dear husband?’

‘It is in the doorway,’ he replied.

Next day, while he was out, the girl decorated the door with gay

feathers and fresh flowers, and hung garlands upon it. And on his return

the old fellow asked what it all meant.

‘I did it to show my love for your heart,’ said the girl.

And again the old man smiled, saying, ‘You are a dear child, but my

heart is not in the doorway.’

Then the poor young bride was very vexed, and said, ‘Ah, my dear! you

really have a heart somewhere, so you may die and leave me all alone.’

The old man did his best to comfort her by repeating all he had said

before, but she begged him afresh to tell her truly where his heart was

and at last he told her.

‘Far, far from here,’ said he, ‘in a lonely spot, stands a great church,

as old as old can be. Its doors are of iron, and round it runs a deep

moat, spanned by no bridge. Within that church is a bird which flies up

and down; it never eats, and never drinks, and never dies. No one can

catch it, and while that bird lives so shall I, for in it is my heart.’

It made the little bride quite sad to think she could do nothing to show

her love for the old man’s heart. She used to think about it as she sat

all alone during the long days, for her husband was almost always out.

One day a young traveller came past the house, and seeing such a pretty

girl he wished her ‘Good day.’

She returned his greeting, and as he drew near she asked him whence he

came and where he was going.

‘Alas!’ sighed the youth, ‘I am very sorrowful. I had six brothers, who

went away to find brides for themselves and one for me; but they have

never come home, so now I am going to look for them.’

‘Oh, good friend,’ said the girl, ‘you need go no farther. Come, sit

down, eat and drink, and afterwards I’ll tell you all about it.’

She gave him food, and when he had finished his meal she told him how

his brothers had come to the town where she lived with her sisters, how

they had each chosen a bride, and, taking herself with them, had started

for home. She wept as she told how the others were turned to stone,

and how she was kept as the old man’s bride. She left out nothing, even

telling him the story of her husband’s heart.

When the young man heard this he said: ‘I shall go in search of the

bird. It may be that God will help me to find and catch it.’

‘Yes, do go,’ she said; ‘it will be a good deed, for then you can set

your brothers and my sisters free.’ Then she hid the young man, for it

was now late, and her husband would soon be home.

Next morning, when the old man had gone out, she prepared a supply of

provisions for her guest, and sent him off on his travels, wishing him

good luck and success.

He walked on and on till he thought it must be time for breakfast; so

he opened his knapsack, and was delighted to find such a store of good

things. ‘What a feast!’ he exclaimed; ‘will anyone come and share it?’

‘Moo-oo,’ sounded close behind him, and looking round he saw a great

red ox, which said, ‘I have much pleasure in accepting your kind

invitation.’

‘I’m delighted to see you. Pray help yourself. All I have is at your

service,’ said the hospitable youth. And the ox lay down comfortably,

licking his lips, and made a hearty meal.

‘Many thanks to you,’ said the animal as it rose up. ‘When you are

in danger or necessity call me, even if only by a thought,’ and it

disappeared among the bushes.

The young man packed up all the food that was left, and wandered on till

the shortening shadows and his own hunger warned him that it was midday.

he laid the cloth on the ground and spread out his provisions, saying

at the same time: ‘Dinner is ready, and anyone who wishes to share it is

welcome.’

Then there was a great rustling in the undergrowth, and out ran a wild

boar, grunting, ‘Umph, umph, umph; someone said dinner was ready. Was it

you? and did you mean me to come?’

‘By all means. Help yourself to what I have,’ said the young traveller.

And the two enjoyed their meal together.

Afterwards the boar got up, saying, ‘Thank you; when in need you be you

must quickly call for me,’ and he rolled off.

For a long time the youth walked on. By evening he was miles away. He

felt hungry again, and, having still some provisions left, thought he

had better make ready his supper. When it was all spread out he cried as

before, ‘Anyone who cares to share my meal is welcome.’

He heard a sound overhead like the flapping of wings, and a shadow was

cast upon the ground. Then a huge griffin appeared, saying: ‘I heard

someone giving an invitation to eat; is there anything for me?’

‘Why not?’ said the youth. ‘Come down and take all you want. There won’t

be much left after this.’

So the griffin alighted and ate his fill, saying, as he flew away, ‘Call

me if you need me.’

‘What a hurry he was in!’ the youth said to himself. ‘He might have been

able to direct me to the church, for I shall never find it alone.’

He gathered up his things, and started to walk a little farther before

resting. He had not gone far when all of a sudden he saw the church!

He soon came to it, or rather to the wide and deep moat which surrounded

it without a single bridge by which to cross.

It was too late to attempt anything now; and, besides, the poor youth

was very tired, so he lay down on the ground and fell fast asleep.

Next morning, when he awoke, he began to wish himself over the moat;

and the thought occurred to him that if only the red ox were there,

and thirsty enough to drink up all the water in the moat, he might walk

across it dry shod.

Scarcely had the thought crossed his brain before the ox appeared and

began to drink up the water.

The grateful youth hastened across as soon as the moat was dry, but

found it impossible to penetrate the thick walls and strong iron doors

of the church.

‘I believe that big boar would be of more use here than I am,’ he

thought, and lo! at the wish the wild boar came and began to push hard

against the wall. He managed to loosen one stone with his tusks, and,

having made a beginning, stone after stone was poked out till he had

made quite a large hole, big enough to let a man go through.

The young man quickly entered the church, and saw a bird flying about,

but he could not catch it.

‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, ‘if only the griffin were here, he would soon catch

it.’

At these words the griffin appeared, and, seizing the bird, gave it to

the youth, who carried it off carefully, while the griffin flew away.

The young man hurried home as fast as possible, and reached the cottage

before evening. He told his story to the little bride, who, after giving

him some food and drink, hid him with his bird beneath the bed.

Presently the old man came home, and complained of feeling ill. Nothing,

he said, would go well with him any more: his ‘heart bird’ was caught.

The youth under the bed heard this, and thought, ‘This old fellow has

done me no particular harm, but then he has bewitched my brothers and

their brides, and has kept my bride for himself, and that is certainly

bad enough.’

So he pinched the bird, and the old man cried, ‘Ah! I feel death

gripping me! Child, I am dying!’

With these words he fell fainting from his chair, and as the youth,

before he knew what he was doing, had squeezed the bird to death, the

old man died also.

Out crept the young man from under the bed, and the girl took the magic

wand (which she found where the old man had told her), and, touching the

twelve grey stones, transformed them at once into the six brothers and

their brides.

Then there was great joy, and kissing and embracing. And there lay the

old man, quite dead, and no magic wand could restore him to life, even

had they wished it.

After that they all went away and were married, and lived many years

happily together.

The Two Brothers

Sicilianische Malirchen. L. Gonzenbach.

Long ago there lived two brothers, both of them very handsome, and both

so very poor that they seldom had anything to eat but the fish which

they caught. One day they had been out in their boat since sunrise

without a single bite, and were just thinking of putting up their lines

and going home to bed when they felt a little feeble tug, and, drawing

in hastily, they found a tiny fish at the end of the hook.

‘What a wretched little creature!’ cried one brother. ‘However, it is

better than nothing, and I will bake him with bread crumbs and have him

for supper.’

‘Oh, do not kill me yet!’ begged the fish; ‘I will bring you good

luck--indeed I will!’

‘You silly thing!’ said the young man; ‘I’ve caught you, and I shall eat

you.’

But his brother was sorry for the fish, and put in a word for him.

‘Let the poor little fellow live. He would hardly make one bite, and,

after all, how do we know we are not throwing away our luck! Put him

back into the sea. It will be much better.’

‘If you will let me live,’ said the fish, ‘you will find on the sands

to-morrow morning two beautiful horses splendidly saddled and bridled,

and on them you can go through the world as knights seeking adventures.’

‘Oh dear, what nonsense!’ exclaimed the elder; ‘and, besides, what proof

have we that you are speaking the truth?’

But again the younger brother interposed: ‘Oh, do let him live! You know

if he is lying to us we can always catch him again. It is quite worth

while trying.’

At last the young man gave in, and threw the fish back into the sea; and

both brothers went supperless to bed, and wondered what fortune the next

day would bring.

At the first streaks of dawn they were both up, and in a very few

minutes were running down to the shore. And there, just as the fish had

said, stood two magnificent horses, saddled and bridled, and on their

backs lay suits of armour and under-dresses, two swords, and two purses

of gold.

‘There!’ said the younger brother. ‘Are you not thankful you did not

eat that fish? He has brought us good luck, and there is no knowing how

great we may become! Now, we will each seek our own adventures. If you

will take one road I will go the other.’

‘Very well,’ replied the elder; ‘but how shall we let each other know if

we are both living?’

‘Do you see this fig-tree?’ said the younger. ‘Well, whenever we want

news of each other we have only to come here and make a slit with our

swords in the back. If milk flows, it is a sign that we are well and

prosperous; but if, instead of milk, there is blood, then we are either

dead or in great danger.’

Then the two brothers put on their armour, buckled their swords, and

pocketed their purees; and, after taking a tender farewell of each

other, they mounted their horses and went their various ways.

The elder brother rode straight on till he reached the borders of a

strange kingdom. He crossed the frontier, and soon found himself on

the banks of a river; and before him, in the middle of the stream, a

beautiful girl sat chained to a rock and weeping bitterly. For in this

river dwelt a serpent with seven heads, who threatened to lay waste the

whole land by breathing fire and flame from his nostrils unless the king

sent him every morning a man for his breakfast. This had gone on so long

that now there were no men left, and he had been obliged to send his

own daughter instead, and the poor girl was waiting till the monster got

hungry and felt inclined to eat her.

When the young man saw the maiden weeping bitterly he said to her, ‘What

is the matter, my poor girl?’

‘Oh!’ she answered, ‘I am chained here till a horrible serpent with

seven heads comes to eat me. Oh, sir, do not linger here, or he will eat

you too.’

‘I shall stay,’ replied the young man, ‘for I mean to set you free.’

‘That is impossible. You do not know what a fearful monster the serpent

is; you can do nothing against him.’

‘That is my affair, beautiful captive,’ answered he; ‘only tell me,

which way will the serpent come?’

‘Well, if you are resolved to free me, listen to my advice. Stand a

little on one side, and then, when the serpent rises to the surface, I

will say to him, “O serpent, to-day you can eat two people. But you had

better begin first with the young man, for I am chained and cannot run

away.” When he hears this most likely he will attack you.’

So the young man stood carefully on one side, and by-and-bye he heard

a great rushing in the water; and a horrible monster came up to the

surface and looked out for the rock where the king’s daughter was

chained, for it was getting late and he was hungry.

But she cried out, ‘O serpent, to-day you can eat two people. And you

had better begin with the young man, for I am chained and cannot run

away.’

Then the serpent made a rush at the youth with wide open jaws to swallow

him at one gulp, but the young man leaped aside and drew his sword,

and fought till he had cut off all the seven heads. And when the great

serpent lay dead at his feet he loosed the bonds of the king’s daughter,

and she flung herself into his arms and said, ‘You have saved me from

that monster, and now you shall be my husband, for my father has made

a proclamation that whoever could slay the serpent should have his

daughter to wife.’

But he answered, ‘I cannot become your husband yet, for I have still far

to travel. But wait for me seven years and seven months. Then, if I do

not return, you are free to marry whom you will. And in case you should

have forgotten, I will take these seven tongues with me so that when I

bring them forth you may know that I am really he who slew the serpent.’

So saying he cut out the seven tongues, and the princess gave him a

thick cloth to wrap them in; and he mounted his horse and rode away.

Not long after he had gone there arrived at the river a slave who had

been sent by the king to learn the fate of his beloved daughter. And

when the slave saw the princess standing free and safe before him, with

the body of the monster lying at her feet, a wicked plan came into his

head, and he said, ‘Unless you promise to tell your father it was I who

slew the serpent, I will kill you and bury you in this place, and no one

will ever know what befell.’

What could the poor girl do? This time there was no knight to come to

her aid. So she promised to do as the slave wished, and he took up the

seven heads and brought the princess to her father.

Oh, how enchanted the king was to see her again, and the whole town

shared his joy!

And the slave was called upon to tell how he had slain the monster, and

when he had ended the king declared that he should have the princess to

wife.

But she flung herself at her father’s feet, and prayed him to delay.

‘You have passed your royal word, and cannot go back from it Yet grant

me this grace, and let seven years and seven months go by before you

wed me. When they are over, then I will marry the slave.’ And the king

listened to her, and seven years and seven months she looked for her

bridegroom, and wept for him night and day.

All this time the young man was riding through the world, and when the

seven years and seven months were over he came back to the town where

the princess lived--only a few days before the wedding. And he stood

before the king, and said to him: ‘Give me your daughter, O king, for

I slew the seven-headed serpent. And as a sign that my words are true,

look on these seven tongues, which I cut from his seven heads, and on

this embroidered cloth, which was given me by your daughter.’

Then the princess lifted up her voice and said, ‘Yes, dear father, he

has spoken the truth, and it is he who is my real bridegroom. Yet pardon

the slave, for he was sorely tempted.’

But the king answered, ‘Such treachery can no man pardon. Quick, away

with him, and off with his head!’

So the false slave was put to death, that none might follow in his

footsteps, and the wedding feast was held, and the hearts of all

rejoiced that the true bridegroom had come at last.

These two lived happy and contentedly for a long while, when one

evening, as the young man was looking from the window, he saw on a

mountain that lay out beyond the town a great bright light.

‘What can it be?’ he said to his wife.

‘Ah! do not look at it,’ she answered, ‘for it comes from the house of

a wicked witch whom no man can manage to kill.’ But the princess had

better have kept silence, for her words made her husband’s heart burn

within him, and he longed to try his strength against the witch’s

cunning. And all day long the feeling grew stronger, till the next

morning he mounted his horse, and in spite of his wife’s tears, he rode

off to the mountain.

The distance was greater than he thought, and it was dark before he

reached the foot of the mountain; indeed, he could not have found the

road at all had it not been for the bright light, which shone like the

moon on his path. At length he came to the door of a fine castle, which

had a blaze streaming from every window. He mounted a flight of steps

and entered a hall where a hideous old woman was sitting on a golden

chair.

She scowled at the young man and said, ‘With a single one of the hairs

of my head I can turn you into stone.’

‘Oh, what nonsense!’ cried he. ‘Be quiet, old woman. What could you

do with one hair?’ But the witch pulled out a hair and laid it on his

shoulder, and his limbs grew cold and heavy, and he could not stir.

Now at this very moment the younger brother was thinking of him, and

wondering how he had got on during all the years since they had parted.

‘I will go to the fig-tree,’ he said to himself, ‘to see whether he is

alive or dead.’ So he rode through the forest till he came where the

fig-tree stood, and cut a slit in the bark, and waited. In a moment a

little gurgling noise was heard, and out came a stream of blood, running

fast. ‘Ah, woe is me!’ he cried bitterly. ‘My brother is dead or dying!

Shall I ever reach him in time to save his life?’ Then, leaping on his

horse, he shouted, ‘Now, my steed, fly like the wind!’ and they rode

right through the world, till one day they came to the town where the

young man and his wife lived. Here the princess had been sitting every

day since the morning that her husband had left her, weeping bitter

tears, and listening for his footsteps. And when she saw his brother

ride under the balcony she mistook him for her own husband, for they

were so alike that no man might tell the difference, and her heart

bounded, and, leaning down, she called to him, ‘At last! at last! how

long have I waited for thee!’ When the younger brother heard these words

he said to himself, ‘So it was here that my brother lived, and this

beautiful woman is my sister-in-law,’ but he kept silence, and let her

believe he was indeed her husband. Full of joy, the princess led him to

the old king, who welcomed him as his own son, and ordered a feast to

be made for him. And the princess was beside herself with gladness, but

when she would have put her arms round him and kissed him he held up

his hand to stop her, saying, ‘Touch me not,’ at which she marvelled

greatly.

In this manner several days went by. And one evening, as the young man

leaned from the balcony, he saw a bright light shining on the mountain.

‘What can that be?’ he said to the princess.

‘Oh, come away,’ she cried; ‘has not that light already proved your

bane? Do you wish to fight a second time with that old witch?’

He marked her words, though she knew it not, and they taught him where

his brother was, and what had befallen him. So before sunrise he stole

out early, saddled his horse, and rode off to the mountain. But the way

was further than he thought, and on the road he met a little old man who

asked him whither he was going.

Then the young man told him his story, and added. ‘Somehow or other I

must free my brother, who has fallen into the power of an old witch.’

‘I will tell you what you must do,’ said the old man. ‘The witch’s power

lies in her hair; so when you see her spring on her and seize her by

the hair, and then she cannot harm you. Be very careful never to let her

hair go, bid her lead you to your brother, and force her to bring him

back to life. For she has an ointment that will heal all wounds, and

even wake the dead. And when your brother stands safe and well before

you, then cut off her head, for she is a wicked woman.’

The young man was grateful for these words, and promised to obey them.

Then he rode on, and soon reached the castle. He walked boldly up the

steps and entered the hall, where the hideous old witch came to meet

him. She grinned horribly at him, and cried out, ‘With one hair of my

head I can change you into stone.’

‘Can you, indeed?’ said the young man, seizing her by the hair. ‘You old

wretch! tell me what you have done with my brother, or I will cut your

head off this very instant.’ Now the witch’s strength was all gone from

her, and she had to obey.

‘I will take you to your brother,’ she said, hoping to get the better of

him by cunning, ‘but leave me alone. You hold me so tight that I cannot

walk.’

‘You must manage somehow,’ he answered, and held her tighter than ever.

She led him into a large hall filled with stone statues, which once had

been men, and, pointing out one, she said, ‘There is your brother.’

The young man looked at them all and shook his head. ‘My brother is not

here. Take me to him, or it will be the worse for you.’ But she tried

to put him off with other statues, though it was no good, and it was

not until they had reached the last hall of all that he saw his brother

lying on the ground.

‘That is my brother,’ said he. ‘Now give me the ointment that will

restore him to life.’

Very unwillingly the old witch opened a cupboard close by filled with

bottles and jars, and took down one and held it out to the young man.

But he was on the watch for trickery, and examined it carefully, and saw

that it had no power to heal. This happened many times, till at length

she found it was no use, and gave him the one he wanted. And when he

had it safe he made her stoop down and smear it over his brother’s face,

taking care all the while never to loose her hair, and when the dead

man opened his eyes the youth drew his sword and cut off her head with

a single blow. Then the elder brother got up and stretched himself, and

said, ‘Oh, how long I have slept! And where am I?’

‘The old witch had enchanted you, but now she is dead and you are free.

We will wake up the other knights that she laid under her spells, and

then we will go.’

This they did, and, after sharing amongst them the jewels and gold they

found in the castle, each man went his way. The two brothers remained

together, the elder tightly grasping the ointment which had brought him

back to life.

They had much to tell each other as they rode along, and at last the

younger man exclaimed, ‘O fool, to leave such a beautiful wife to go and

fight a witch! She took me for her husband, and I did not say her nay.’

When the elder brother heard this a great rage filled his heart, and,

without saying one word, he drew his sword and slew his brother, and his

body rolled in the dust. Then he rode on till he reached his home,

where his wife was still sitting, weeping bitterly. When she saw him

she sprang up with a cry, and threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh, how long

have I waited for thee! Never, never must you leave me any more!’

When the old king heard the news he welcomed him as a son, and made

ready a feast, and all the court sat down. And in the evening, when the

young man was alone with his wife, she said to him, ‘Why would you not

let me touch you when you came back, but always thrust me away when I

tried to put my arms round you or kiss you?’

Then the young man understood how true his brother had been to him, and

he sat down and wept and wrung his hands because of the wicked murder

that he had done. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, for he remembered the

ointment which lay hidden in his garments, and he rushed to the place

where his brother still lay. He fell on his knees beside the body, and,

taking out the salve, he rubbed it over the neck where the wound was

gaping wide, and the skin healed and the sinews grew strong, and the

dead man sat up and looked round him. And the two brothers embraced each

other, and the elder asked forgiveness for his wicked blow; and they

went back to the palace together, and were never parted any more.

Master and Pupil

From the Danish.

There was once a man who had a son who was very clever at reading, and

took great delight in it. He went out into the world to seek service

somewhere, and as he was walking between some mounds he met a man, who

asked him where he was going.

‘I am going about seeking for service,’ said the boy.

‘Will you serve me?’ asked the man.

‘Oh, yes; just as readily you as anyone else,’ said the boy.

‘But can you read?’ asked the man.

‘As well as the priest,’ said the boy.

Then I can’t have you,’ said the man. ‘In fact, I was just wanting a boy

who couldn’t read. His only work would be to dust my old books.’

The man then went on his way, and left the boy looking after him.

‘It was a pity I didn’t get that place,’ thought he ‘That was just the

very thing for me.’

Making up his mind to get the situation if possible, he hid himself

behind one of the mounds, and turned his jacket outside in, so that the

man would not know him again so easily. Then he ran along behind the

mounds, and met the man at the other end of them.

‘Where are you going, my little boy?’ said the man, who did not notice

that it was the same one he had met before.

‘I am going about seeking for service?’ said the boy.

‘Will you serve me?’ asked the man.

‘Oh, yes; just as readily you as anyone else,’ said the boy.

‘But can you read?’ said the man.

‘No, I don’t know a single letter,’ said the boy.

The man then took him into his service, and all the work he had to do

was to dust his master’s books. But as he did this he had plenty of time

to read them as well, and he read away at them until at last he was just

as wise as his master--who was a great wizard--and could perform all

kinds of magic. Among other feats, he could change himself into the

shape of any animal, or any other thing that he pleased.

When he had learned all this he did not think it worth while staying

there any longer, so he ran away home to his parents again. Soon after

this there was a market in the next village, and the boy told his mother

that he had learned how to change himself into the shape of any animal

he chose.

‘Now,’ said he, ‘I shall change myself to a horse, and father can take

me to market and sell me. I shall come home again all right.’

His mother was frightened at the idea, but the boy told her that she

need not be alarmed; all would be well. So he changed himself to a

horse, such a fine horse, too, that his father got a high price for it

at the market; but after the bargain was made, and the money paid, the

boy changed again to his own shape, when no one was looking, and went

home.

The story spread all over the country about the fine horse that had been

sold and then had disappeared, and at last the news came to the ears of

the wizard.

‘Aha!’ said he, ‘this is that boy of mine, who befooled me and ran away;

but I shall have him yet.’

The next time that there was a market the boy again changed himself to

a horse, and was taken thither by his father. The horse soon found a

purchaser, and while the two were inside drinking the luck-penny the

wizard came along and saw the horse. He knew at once that it was not an

ordinary one, so he also went inside, and offered the purchaser far more

than he had paid for it, so the latter sold it to him.

The first thing the wizard now did was to lead the horse away to a smith

to get a red-hot nail driven into its mouth, because after that it could

not change its shape again. When the horse saw this it changed itself

to a dove, and flew up into the air. The wizard at once changed himself

into a hawk, and flew up after it. The dove now turned into a gold ring,

and fell into a girl’s lap. The hawk now turned into a man, and offered

the girl a great sum of money for the gold ring, but she would not part

with it, seeing that it had fallen down to her, as it were, from Heaven.

However, the wizard kept on offering her more and more for it, until at

last the gold ring grew frightened, and changed itself into a grain of

barley, which fell on the ground. The man then turned into a hen, and

began to search for the grain of barley, but this again changed itself

to a pole-cat, and took off the hen’s head with a single snap.

The wizard was now dead, the pole-cat put on human shape, and the youth

afterwards married the girl, and from that time forward let all his

magic arts alone.

The Golden Lion

Sicilianische Mahrchen. L. Gonzenbach.

There was once a rich merchant who had three sons, and when they were

grown up the eldest said to him, ‘Father, I wish to travel and see the

world. I pray you let me.’

So the father ordered a beautiful ship to be fitted up, and the young

man sailed away in it. After some weeks the vessel cast anchor before a

large town, and the merchant’s son went on shore.

The first thing he saw was a large notice written on a board saying that

if any man could find the king’s daughter within eight days he should

have her to wife, but that if he tried and failed his head must be the

forfeit.

‘Well,’ thought the youth as he read this proclamation, ‘that ought not

to be a very difficult matter;’ and he asked an audience of the king,

and told him that he wished to seek for the princess.

‘Certainly,’ replied the king. ‘You have the whole palace to search in;

but remember, if you fail it will cost you your head.’

So saying, he commanded the doors to be thrown open, and food and drink

to be set before the young man, who, after he had eaten, began to look

for the princess. But though he visited every corner and chest and

cupboard, she was not in any of them, and after eight days he gave it up

and his head was cut off.

All this time his father and brothers had had no news of him, and were

very anxious. At last the second son could bear it no longer, and said,

‘Dear father, give me, I pray you, a large ship and some money, and let

me go and seek for my brother.’

So another ship was fitted out, and the young man sailed away, and was

blown by the wind into the same harbour where his brother had landed.

Now when he saw the first ship lying at anchor his heart beat high,

and he said to himself, ‘My brother cannot surely be far off,’ and he

ordered a boat and was put on shore.

As he jumped on to the pier his eye caught the notice about the

princess, and he thought, ‘He has undertaken to find her, and has

certainly lost his head. I must try myself, and seek him as well as her.

It cannot be such a very difficult matter.’ But he fared no better than

his brother, and in eight days his head was cut off.

So now there was only the youngest at home, and when the other two never

came he also begged for a ship that he might go in search of his lost

brothers. And when the vessel started a high wind arose, and blew him

straight to the harbour where the notice was set.

‘Oho!’ said he, as he read, ‘whoever can find the king’s daughter shall

have her to wife. It is quite clear now what has befallen my brothers.

But in spite of that I think I must try my luck,’ and he took the road

to the castle.

On the way he met an old woman, who stopped and begged.

‘Leave me in peace, old woman,’ replied he.

‘Oh, do not send me away empty,’ she said. ‘You are such a handsome

young man you will surely not refuse an old woman a few pence.’

‘I tell you, old woman, leave me alone.’

‘You are in some trouble?’ she asked. ‘Tell me what it is, and perhaps I

can help you.’

Then he told her how he had set his heart on finding the king’s

daughter.

‘I can easily manage that for you as long as you have enough money.’

‘Oh, as to that, I have plenty,’ answered he.

‘Well, you must take it to a goldsmith and get him to make it into a

golden lion, with eyes of crystal; and inside it must have something

that will enable it to play tunes. When it is ready bring it to me.’

The young man did as he was bid, and when the lion was made the old

woman hid the youth in it, and brought it to the king, who was so

delighted with it that he wanted to buy it. But she replied, ‘It does

not belong to me, and my master will not part from it at any price.’

‘At any rate, leave it with me for a few days,’ said he; ‘I should like

to show it to my daughter.’

‘Yes, I can do that,’ answered the old woman; ‘but to-morrow I must have

it back again. And she went away.

The king watched her till she was quite out of sight, so as to make sure

that she was not spying upon him; then he took the golden lion into his

room and lifted some loose boards from the floor. Below the floor there

was a staircase, which he went down till he reached a door at the

foot. This he unlocked, and found himself in a narrow passage closed by

another door, which he also opened. The young man, hidden in the golden

lion, kept count of everything, and marked that there were in all seven

doors. After they had all been unlocked the king entered a lovely hall,

where the princess was amusing herself with eleven friends. All twelve

girls wore the same clothes, and were as like each other as two peas.

‘What bad luck!’ thought the youth. ‘Even supposing that I managed to

find my way here again, I don’t see how I could ever tell which was the

princess.’

And he stared hard at the princess as she clapped her hands with joy and

ran up to them, crying, ‘ Oh, do let us keep that delicious beast for

to-night; it will make such a nice plaything.’

The king did not stay long, and when he left he handed over the lion to

the maidens, who amused themselves with it for some time, till they got

sleepy, and thought it was time to go to bed. But the princess took the

lion into her own room and laid it on the floor.

She was just beginning to doze when she heard a voice quite close to

her, which made her jump. ‘O lovely princess, if you only knew what

I have gone through to find you!’ The princess jumped out of bed

screaming, ‘The lion! the lion!’ but her friends thought it was a

nightmare, and did not trouble themselves to get up.

‘O lovely úprincess!’ continued the voice, ‘fear nothing! I am the son

of a rich merchant, and desire above all things to have you for my wife.

And in order to get to you I have hidden myself in this golden lion.’

‘What use is that?’ she asked. ‘For if you cannot pick me out from among

my companions you will still lose your head.’

‘I look to you to help me,’ he said. ‘I have done so much for you that

you might do this one thing for me.’

‘Then listen to me. On the eighth day I will tie a white sash round my

waist, and by that you will know me.’

The next morning the king came very early to fetch the lion, as the old

woman was already at the palace asking for it. When they were safe from

view she let the young man out, and he returned to the king and told him

that he wished to find the princess.

‘Very good,’ said the king, who by this time was almost tired of

repeating the same words; ‘but if you fail your head will be the

forfeit.’

So the youth remained quietly in the castle, eating and looking at all

the beautiful things around him, and every now and then pretending to

be searching busily in all the closets and corners. On the eighth day he

entered the room where the king was sitting. ‘Take up the floor in this

place,’ he said. The king gave a cry, but stopped himself, and asked,

‘What do you want the floor up for? There is nothing there.’

But as all his courtiers were watching him he did not like to make any

more objections, and ordered the floor to be taken up, as the young man

desired. The youth then want straight down the staircase till he reached

the door; then he turned and demanded that the key should be brought.

So the king was forced to unlock the door, and the next and the next and

the next, till all seven were open, and they entered into the hall where

the twelve maidens were standing all in a row, so like that none might

tell them apart. But as he looked one of them silently drew a white sash

from her pocket and slipped it round her waist, and the young man sprang

to her and said, ‘This is the princess, and I claim her for my wife.’

And the king owned himself beaten, and commanded that the wedding feast

should be held.

After eight days the bridal pair said farewell to the king, and set

sail for the youth’s own country, taking with them a whole shipload of

treasures as the princess’s dowry. But they did not forget the old woman

who had brought about all their happiness, and they gave her enough

money to make her comfortable to the end of her days.

The Sprig of Rosemary

Cuentos Populars Catalans, per lo Dr. D. Francisco de S. Maspons y

Labros (Barcelona: Libreria de Don Alvar Verdaguer 1885).

Once upon a time there lived a man with one daughter and he made her

work hard all the day. One morning when she had finished everything he

had set her to do, he told her to go out into the woods and get some dry

leaves and sticks to kindle a fire.

The girl went out, and soon collected a large bundle, and then she

plucked at a sprig of sweet-smelling rosemary for herself. But the

harder she pulled the firmer seemed the plant, and at last, determined

not to be beaten, she gave one great tug, and the rosemary remained in

her hands.

Then she heard a voice close to her saying, ‘Well?’ and turning she saw

before her a handsome young man, who asked why she had come to steal his

firewood.

The girl, who felt much confused, only managed to stammer out as an

excuse that her father had sent her.

‘Very well,’ replied the young man; ‘then come with me.’

So he took her through the opening made by the torn-up root, and they

travelled till they reached a beautiful palace, splendidly furnished,

but only lighted from the top. And when they had entered he told

her that he was a great lord, and that never had he seen a maiden so

beautiful as she, and that if she would give him her heart they would be

married and live happy for ever after.

And the maiden said ‘yes, she would,’ and so they were married.

The next day the old dame who looked after the house handed her all the

keys, but pointed her out one that she would do well never to use, for

if she did the whole palace would fall to the ground, and the grass

would grow over it, and the damsel herself would be remembered no more.

The bride promised to be careful, but in a little while, when there was

nothing left for her to do, she began to wonder what could be in the

chest, which was opened by the key. As everybody knows, if we once begin

to think we soon begin to do, and it was not very long before the key

was no longer in the maiden’s hand but in the lock of the chest. But the

lock was stiff and resisted all her efforts, and in the end she had to

break it. And what was inside after all? Why, nothing but a serpent’s

skin, which her husband, who was, unknown to her, a magician, put on

when he was at work; and at the sight of it the girl was turning away

in disgust, when the earth shook violently under her feet, the palace

vanished as if it had never been, and the bride found herself in the

middle of a field, not knowing where she was or whither to go. She burst

into a flood of bitter tears, partly at her own folly, but more for the

loss of her husband, whom she dearly loved. Then, breaking a sprig of

rosemary off a bush hard by, she resolved, cost what it might, to seek

him through the world till she found him. So she walked and she walked

and she walked, till she arrived at a house built of straw. And she

knocked at the door, and asked if they wanted a servant. The mistress

said she did, and if the girl was willing she might stay. But day by day

the poor maiden grew more and more sad, till at last her mistress begged

her to say what was the matter. Then she told her story--how she was

going through the world seeking after her husband.

And her mistress answered her, ‘Where he is, none can tell better than

the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind, for they go everywhere!’

On hearing these words the damsel set forth once more, and walked till

she reached the Golden Castle, where lived the Sun. And she knocked

boldly at the door, saying, ‘All hail, O Sun! I have come to ask if, of

your charity, you will help me in my need. By my own fault have I fallen

into these straits, and I am weary, for I seek my husband through the

wide world.’

‘Indeed!’ spoke the Sun. ‘Do you, rich as you are, need help? But though

you live in a palace without windows, the Sun enters everywhere, and he

knows you.’

Then the bride told him the whole story. and did not hide her own

ill-doing. And the Sun listened, and was sorry for her; and though he

could not tell her where to go, he gave her a nut, and bid her open it

in a time of great distress. The damsel thanked him with all her heart,

and departed, and walked and walked and walked, till she came to another

castle, and knocked at the door which was opened by an old woman.

‘All hail!’ said the girl. ‘I have come, of your charity, to ask your

help!’

‘It is my mistress, the Moon, you seek. I will tell her of your prayer.’

So the Moon came out, and when she saw the maiden she knew her again,

for she had watched her sleeping both in the cottage and in the palace.

And she spake to her and said:

‘Do you, rich as you are, need help?’

Then the girl told her the whole story, and the Moon listened, and

was sorry for her; and though she could not tell her where to find her

husband, she gave her an almond, and told her to crack it when she was

in great need. So the damsel thanked her, and departed, and walked and

walked and walked till she came to another castle. And she knocked at

the door, and said:

‘All hail! I have come to ask if, of your charity, you will help me in

my need.’

‘It is my lord, the Wind, that you want,’ answered the old woman who

opened it. ‘I will tell him of your prayer.’

And the Wind looked on her and knew her again, for he had seen her in

the cottage and in the palace, and he spake to her and said:

‘Do you, rich as you are, want help?’

And she told him the whole story. And the Wind listened, and was sorry

for her, and he gave her a walnut that she was to eat in time of need.

But the girl did not go as the Wind expected. She was tired and sad, and

knew not where to turn, so she began to weep bitterly. The Wind wept too

for company, and said:

‘Don’t be frightened; I will go and see if I can find out something.’

And the Wind departed with a great noise and fuss, and in the twinkling

of an eye he was back again, beaming with delight.

‘From what one person and another have let fall,’ he exclaimed, ‘I have

contrived to learn that he is in the palace of the king, who keeps him

hidden lest anyone should see him; and that to-morrow he is to marry the

princess, who, ugly creature that she is, has not been able to find any

man to wed her.’

Who can tell the despair which seized the poor maiden when she heard

this news! As soon as she could speak she implored the Wind to do all

he could to get the wedding put off for two or three days, for it would

take her all that time to reach the palace of the king.

The Wind gladly promised to do what he could, and as he travelled much

faster than the maiden he soon arrived at the palace, where he found

five tailors working night and day at the wedding clothes of the

princess.

Down came the Wind right in the middle of their lace and satin and

trimmings of pearl! Away they all went whiz! through the open windows,

right up into the tops of the trees, across the river, among the dancing

ears of corn! After them ran the tailors, catching, jumping, climbing,

but all to no purpose! The lace was torn, the satin stained, the pearls

knocked off! There was nothing for it but to go to the shops to buy

fresh, and to begin all over again! It was plainly quite impossible that

the wedding clothes could be ready next day.

However, the king was much too anxious to see his daughter married to

listen to any excuses, and he declared that a dress must be put together

somehow for the bride to wear. But when he went to look at the princess,

she was such a figure that he agreed that it would be unfitting for her

position to be seen in such a gown, and he ordered the ceremony and the

banquet to be postponed for a few hours, so that the tailors might take

the dress to pieces and make it fit.

But by this time the maiden had arrived footsore and weary at the

castle, and as soon as she reached the door she cracked her nut and

drew out of it the most beautiful mantle in the world. Then she rang the

bell, and asked:

‘Is not the princess to be married to-day?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Ask her if she would like to buy this mantle.’

And when the princess saw the mantle she was delighted, for her wedding

mantle had been spoilt with all the other things, and it was too late to

make another. So she told the maiden to ask what price she would, and it

should be given her.

The maiden fixed a large sum, many pieces of gold, but the princess had

set her heart on the mantle, and gave it readily.

Now the maiden hid her gold in the pocket of her dress, and turned away

from the castle. The moment she was out of sight she broke her almond,

and drew from it the most magnificent petticoats that ever were seen.

Then she went back to the castle, and asked if the princess wished to

buy any petticoats. No sooner did the princess cast her eyes on the

petticoats than she declared they were even more beautiful than the

mantle, and that she would give the maiden whatever price she wanted for

them. And the maiden named many pieces of gold, which the princess paid

her gladly, so pleased was she with her new possessions.

Then the girl went down the steps where none could watch her and

cracked her walnut, and out came the most splendid court dress that any

dressmaker had ever invented; and, carrying it carefully in her arms,

she knocked at the door, and asked if the princess wished to buy a court

dress.

When the message was delivered the princess sprang to her feet with

delight, for she had been thinking that after all it was not much use to

have a lovely mantle and elegant petticoats if she had no dress, and she

knew the tailors would never be ready in time. So she sent at once to

say she would buy the dress, and what sum did the maiden want for it.

This time the maiden answered that the price of the dress was the

permission to see the bridegroom.

The princess was not at all pleased when she heard the maiden’s reply,

but, as she could not do without the dress, she was forced to give in,

and contented herself with thinking that after all it did not matter

much.

So the maiden was led to the rooms which had been given to her husband.

And when she came near she touched him with the sprig of rosemary that

she carried; and his memory came back, and he knew her, and kissed her,

and declared that she was his true wife, and that he loved her and no

other.

Then they went back to the maiden’s home, and grew to be very old, and

lived happy all the days of their life.

The White Dove

From the Danish.

A king had two sons. They were a pair of reckless fellows, who always

had something foolish to do. One day they rowed out alone on the sea in

a little boat. It was beautiful weather when they set out, but as soon

as they had got some distance from the shore there arose a terrific

storm. The oars went overboard at once, and the little boat was tossed

about on the rolling billows like a nut-shell. The princes had to hold

fast by the seats to keep from being thrown out of the boat.

In the midst of all this they met a wonderful vessel--it was a

dough-trough, in which there sat an old woman. She called to them, and

said that they could still get to shore alive if they would promise her

the son that was next to come to their mother the queen.

‘We can’t do that,’ shouted the princes; ‘he doesn’t belong to us so we

can’t give him away.’

‘Then you can rot at the bottom of the sea, both of you,’ said the old

woman; ‘and perhaps it may be the case that your mother would rather

keep the two sons she has than the one she hasn’t got yet.’

Then she rowed away in her dough-trough, while the storm howled still

louder than before, and the water dashed over their boat until it was

almost sinking. Then the princes thought that there was something in

what the old woman had said about their mother, and being, of course,

eager to save their lives, they shouted to her, and promised that she

should have their brother if she would deliver them from this danger. As

soon as they had done so the storm ceased and the waves fell. The boat

drove ashore below their father’s castle, and both princes were received

with open arms by their father and mother, who had suffered great

anxiety for them.

The two brothers said nothing about what they had promised, neither at

that time nor later on when the queen’s third son came, a beautiful boy,

whom she loved more than anything else in the world. He was brought up

and educated in his father’s house until he was full grown, and still

his brothers had never seen or heard anything about the witch to whom

they had promised him before he was born.

It happened one evening that there arose a raging storm, with mist and

darkness. It howled and roared around the king’s palace, and in the

midst of it there came a loud knock on the door of the hall where the

youngest prince was. He went to the door and found there an old woman

with a dough- trough on her back, who said to him that he must go with

her at once; his brothers had promised him to her if she would save

their lives.

‘Yes,’ said he; ‘if you saved my brothers’ lives, and they promised me

to you, then I will go with you.’

They therefore went down to the beach together, where he had to take his

seat in the trough, along with the witch, who sailed away with him, over

the sea, home to her dwelling.

The prince was now in the witch’s power, and in her service. The first

thing she set him to was to pick feathers. ‘The heap of feathers that

you see here,’ said she, ‘you must get finished before I come home in

the evening, otherwise you shall be set to harder work.’ He started

to the feathers, and picked and picked until there was only a single

feather left that had not passed through his hands. But then there came

a whirlwind and sent all the feathers flying, and swept them along the

floor into a heap, where they lay as if they were trampled together.

He had now to begin all his work over again, but by this time it only

wanted an hour of evening, when the witch was to be expected home, and

he easily saw that it was impossible for him to be finished by that

time.

Then he heard something tapping at the window pane, and a thin voice

said, ‘Let me in, and I will help you.’ It was a white dove, which sat

outside the window, and was pecking at it with its beak. He opened the

window, and the dove came in and set to work at once, and picked all

the feathers out of the heap with its beak. Before the hour was past the

feathers were all nicely arranged: the dove flew out at the window, and

at, the same moment the witch came in at the door.

‘Well, well,’ said she, ‘it was more than I would have expected of you

to get all the feathers put in order so nicely. However, such a prince

might be expected to have neat fingers.’

Next morning the witch said to the prince, ‘To-day you shall have some

easy work to do. Outside the door I have some firewood lying; you must

split that for me into little bits that I can kindle the fire with. That

will soon be done, but you must be finished before I come home.’

The prince got a little axe and set to work at once. He split and clove

away, and thought that he was getting on fast; but the day wore on until

it was long past midday, and he was still very far from having finished.

He thought, in fact, that the pile of wood rather grew bigger than

smaller, in spite of what he took off it; so he let his hands fall by

his side, and dried the sweat from his forehead, and was ill at ease,

for he knew that it would be bad for him if he was not finished with the

work before the witch came home.

Then the white dove came flying and settled down on the pile of wood,

and cooed and said, ‘Shall I help you?’

‘Yes,’ said the prince, ‘many thanks for your help yesterday, and for

what you offer to-day.’ Thereupon the little dove seized one piece of

wood after another and split it with its beak. The prince could not take

away the wood as quickly as the dove could split it, and in a short time

it was all cleft into little sticks.

The dove then flew up on his shoulder and sat there and the prince

thanked it, and stroked and caressed its white feathers, and kissed

its little red beak. With that it was a dove no longer, but a beautiful

young maiden, who stood by his side. She told him then that she was a

princess whom the witch had stolen, and had changed to this shape,

but with his kiss she had got her human form again; and if he would be

faithful to her, and take her to wife, she could free them both from the

witch’s power.

The prince was quite captivated by the beautiful princess, and was quite

willing to do anything whatsoever to get her for himself.

She then said to him, ‘When the witch comes home you must ask her to

grant you a wish, when you have accomplished so well all that she has

demanded of you. When she agrees to this you must ask her straight out

for the princess that she has flying about as a white dove. But just now

you must take a red silk thread and tie it round my little finger, so

that you may be able to recognise me again, into whatever shape she

turns me.’

The prince made haste to get the silk thread tied round her little white

finger; at the same moment the princess became a dove again and flew

away, and immediately after that the old witch came home with her

dough-trough on he back.

‘Well,’ said she, ‘I must say that you are clever at your work, and it

is something, too, that such princely hands are not accustomed to.’

‘Since you are so well pleased with my work, said the prince, ‘you

will, no doubt, be willing to give me a little pleasure too, and give me

something that I have taken a fancy to.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ said the old woman; ‘what is it that you want?’

‘I want the princess here who is in the shape of a white dove,’ said the

prince.

‘What nonsense!’ said the witch. ‘Why should you imagine that there are

princesses here flying about in the shape of white doves? But if you

will have a princess, you can get one such as we have them.’ She then

came to him, dragging a shaggy little grey ass with long ears. ‘Will you

have this?’ said she; ‘you can’t get any other princess!’

The prince used his eyes and saw the red silk thread on one of the ass’s

hoofs, so he said, ‘Yes, just let me have it.’

‘What will you do with it?’ asked the witch.

‘I will ride on it,’ said the prince; but with that the witch dragged

it away again, and came back with an old, wrinkled, toothless hag, whose

hands trembled with age. ‘You can have no other princess,’ said she.

‘Will you have her?’

‘Yes, I will,’ said the prince, for he saw the red silk thread on the

old woman’s finger.

At this the witch became so furious that she danced about and knocked

everything to pieces that she could lay her hands upon, so that the

splinters flew about the ears of the prince and princess, who now stood

there in her own beautiful shape.

Then their marriage had to be celebrated, for the witch had to stick

to what she had promised, and he must get the princess whatever might

happen afterwards.

The princess now said to him, ‘At the marriage feast you may eat what

you please, but you must not drink anything whatever, for if you do that

you will forget me.’

This, however, the prince forgot on the wedding day, and stretched out

his hand and took a cup of wine; but the princess was keeping watch over

him, and gave him a push with her elbow, so that the wine flew over the

table- cloth.

Then the witch got up and laid about her among the plates and dishes, so

that the pieces flew about their ears, just as she had done when she was

cheated the first time.

They were then taken to the bridal chamber, and the door was shut. Then

the princess said, ‘Now the witch has kept her promise, but she will do

no more if she can help it, so we must fly immediately. I shall lay two

pieces of wood in the bed to answer for us when the witch speaks to us.

You can take the flower-pot and the glass of water that stands in the

window, and we must slip out by that and get away.’

No sooner said than done. They hurried off out into the dark night, the

princess leading, because she knew the way, having spied it out while

she flew about as a dove.

At midnight the witch came to the door of the room and called in to

them, and the two pieces of wood answered her, so that she believed they

were there, and went away again. Before daybreak she was at the door

again and called to them, and again the pieces of wood answered for

them. She thus thought that she had them, and when the sun rose the

bridal night was past: she had then kept her promise, and could vent her

anger and revenge on both of them. With the first sunbeam she broke into

the room, but there she found no prince and no princess--nothing but the

two pieces of firewood, which lay in the bed, and stared, and spoke not

a word. These she threw on the floor, so that they were splintered into

a thousand pieces, and off she hastened after the fugitives.

With the first sunbeam the princess said to the prince, ‘Look round; do

you see anything behind us?’

‘Yes, I see a dark cloud, far away,’ said he.

‘Then throw the flower-pot over your head,’ said she. When this was done

there was a large thick forest behind them.

When the witch came to the forest she could not get through it until she

went home and brought her axe to cut a path.

A little after this the princess said again to the prince, ‘Look round;

do you see anything behind us?’

‘Yes,’ said the prince, ‘the big black cloud is there again.’

‘Then throw the glass of water over your head,’ said she.

When he had done this there was a great lake behind them, and this

the witch could not cross until she ran home again and brought her

dough-trough.

Meanwhile the fugitives had reached the castle which was the prince’s

home. They climbed over the garden wall, ran across the garden, and

crept in at an open window. By this time the witch was just at their

heels, but the princess stood in the window and blew upon the witch;

hundreds of white doves flew out of her mouth, fluttered and flapped

around the witch’s head until she grew so angry that she turned into

flint, and there she stands to this day, in the shape of a large flint

stone, outside the window.

Within the castle there was great rejoicing over the prince and his

bride. His two elder brothers came and knelt before him and confessed

what they had done, and said that he alone should inherit the kingdom,

and they would always be his faithful subjects.

The Troll’s Daughter

From the Danish.

There was once a lad who went to look for a place. As he went along he

met a man, who asked him where he was going. He told him his errand, and

the stranger said, ‘Then you can serve me; I am just in want of a lad

like you, and I will give you good wages--a bushel of money the first

year, two the second year, and three the third year, for you must serve

me three years, and obey me in everything, however strange it seems to

you. You need not be afraid of taking service with me, for there is no

danger in it if you only know how to obey.’

The bargain was made, and the lad went home with the man to whom he had

engaged himself. It was a strange place indeed, for he lived in a bank

in the middle of the wild forest, and the lad saw there no other person

than his master. The latter was a great troll, and had marvellous power

over both men and beasts.

Next day the lad had to begin his service. The first thing that the

troll set him to was to feed all the wild animals from the forest. These

the troll had tied up, and there were both wolves and bears, deer and

hares, which the troll had gathered in the stalls and folds in his

stable down beneath the ground, and that stable was a mile long. The

boy, however, accomplished all this work on that day, and the troll

praised him and said that it was very well done.

Next morning the troll said to him, ‘To-day the animals are not to be

fed; they don’t get the like of that every day. You shall have leave to

play about for a little, until they are to be fed again.’

Then the troll said some words to him which he did not understand, and

with that the lad turned into a hare, and ran out into the wood. He got

plenty to run for, too, for all the hunters aimed at him, and tried to

shoot him, and the dogs barked and ran after him wherever they got wind

of him. He was the only animal that was left in the wood now, for the

troll had tied up all the others, and every hunter in the whole country

was eager to knock him over. But in this they met with no success; there

was no dog that could overtake him, and no marksman that could hit him.

They shot and shot at him, and he ran and ran. It was an unquiet life,

but in the long run he got used to it, when he saw that there was no

danger in it, and it even amused him to befool all the hunters and dogs

that were so eager after him.

Thus a whole year passed, and when it was over the troll called him

home, for he was now in his power like all the other animals. The troll

then said some words to him which he did not understand, and the hare

immediately became a human being again. ‘Well, how do you like to serve

me?’ said the troll, ‘and how do you like being a hare?’

The lad replied that he liked it very well; he had never been able to go

over the ground so quickly before. The troll then showed him the bushel

of money that he had already earned, and the lad was well pleased to

serve him for another year.

The first day of the second year the boy had the same work to do as on

the previous one--namely, to feed all the wild animals in the troll’s

stable. When he had done this the troll again said some words to him,

and with that he became a raven, and flew high up into the air. This was

delightful, the lad thought; he could go even faster now than when he

was a hare, and the dogs could not come after him here. This was a great

delight to him, but he soon found out that he was not to be left quite

at peace, for all the marksmen and hunters who saw him aimed at him and

fired away, for they had no other birds to shoot at than himself, as the

troll had tied up all the others.

This, however, he also got used to, when he saw that they could never

hit him, and in this way he flew about all that year, until the troll

called him home again, said some strange words to him, and gave him

his human shape again. ‘Well, how did you like being a raven?’ said the

troll.

‘I liked it very well,’ said the lad, ‘for never in all my days have I

been able to rise so high.’ The troll then showed him the two bushels

of money which he had earned that year, and the lad was well content to

remain in his service for another year.

Next day he got his old task of feeding all the wild beasts. When this

was done the troll again said some words to him, and at these he turned

into a fish, and sprang into the river. He swam up and he swam down, and

thought it was pleasant to let himself drive with the stream. In this

way he came right out into the sea, and swam further and further out. At

last he came to a glass palace, which stood at the bottom of the sea. He

could see into all the rooms and halls, where everything was very grand;

all the furniture was of white ivory, inlaid with gold and pearl. There

were soft rugs and cushions of all the colours of the rainbow, and

beautiful carpets that looked like the finest moss, and flowers and

trees with curiously crooked branches, both green and yellow, white and

red, and there were also little fountains which sprang up from the most

beautiful snail-shells, and fell into bright mussel-shells, and at the

same time made a most delightful music, which filled the whole palace.

The most beautiful thing of all, however, was a young girl who went

about there, all alone. She went about from one room to another, but did

not seem to be happy with all the grandeur she had about her. She walked

in solitude and melancholy, and never even thought of looking at her

own image in the polished glass walls that were on every side of her,

although she was the prettiest creature anyone could wish to see. The

lad thought so too while he swam round the palace and peeped in from

every side.

‘Here, indeed, it would be better to be a man than such a poor dumb fish

as I am now,’ said he to himself; ‘if I could only remember the words

that the troll says when he changes my shape, then perhaps I could help

myself to become a man again.’ He swam and he pondered and he thought

over this until he remembered the sound of what the troll said, and then

he tried to say it himself. In a moment he stood in human form at the

bottom of the sea.

He made haste then to enter the glass palace, and went up to the young

girl and spoke to her.

At first he nearly frightened the life out of her, but he talked to

her so kindly and explained how he had come down there that she soon

recovered from her alarm, and was very pleased to have some company to

relieve the terrible solitude that she lived in. Time passed so quickly

for both of them that the youth (for now he was quite a young man, and

no more a lad) forgot altogether how long he had been there.

One day the girl said to him that now it was close on the time when he

must become a fish again--the troll would soon call him home, and he

would have to go, but before that he must put on the shape of the fish,

otherwise he could not pass through the sea alive. Before this, while he

was staying down there, she had told him that she was a daughter of the

same troll whom the youth served, and he had shut her up there to keep

her away from everyone. She had now devised a plan by which they could

perhaps succeed in getting to see each other again, and spending the

rest of their lives together. But there was much to attend to, and he

must give careful heed to all that she told him.

She told him then that all the kings in the country round about were

in debt to her father the troll, and the king of a certain kingdom,

the name of which she told him, was the first who had to pay, and if he

could not do so at the time appointed he would lose his head. ‘And he

cannot pay,’ said she; ‘I know that for certain. Now you must, first of

all, give up your service with my father; the three years are past,

and you are at liberty to go. You will go off with your six bushels

of money, to the kingdom that I have told you of, and there enter the

service of the king. When the time comes near for his debt becoming due

you will be able to notice by his manner that he is ill at ease. You

shall then say to him that you know well enough what it is that is

weighing upon him--that it is the debt which he owes to the troll and

cannot pay, but that you can lend him the money. The amount is six

bushels--just what you have. You shall, however, only lend them to

him on condition that you may accompany him when he goes to make the

payment, and that you then have permission to run before him as a fool.

When you arrive at the troll’s abode, you must perform all kinds of

foolish tricks, and see that you break a whole lot of his windows, and

do all other damage that you can. My father will then get very angry,

and as the king must answer for what his fool does he will sentence him,

even although he has paid his debt, either to answer three questions or

to lose his life. The first question my father will ask will be, “Where

is my daughter?” Then you shall step forward and answer “She is at the

bottom of the sea.” He will then ask you whether you can recognise her,

and to this you will answer “Yes.” Then he will bring forward a whole

troop of women, and cause them to pass before you, in order that you may

pick out the one that you take for his daughter. You will not be able

to recognise me at all, and therefore I will catch hold of you as I go

past, so that you can notice it, and you must then make haste to catch

me and hold me fast. You have then answered his first question. His next

question will be, “Where is my heart?” You shall then step forward again

and answer, “It is in a fish.” “Do you know that fish?” he will say,

and you will again answer “Yes.” He will then cause all kinds of fish

to come before you, and you shall choose between them. I shall take good

care to keep by your side, and when the right fish comes I will give you

a little push, and with that you will seize the fish and cut it up. Then

all will be over with the troll; he will ask no more questions, and we

shall be free to wed.’

When the youth had got all these directions as to what he had to do when

he got ashore again the next thing was to remember the words which the

troll said when he changed him from a human being to an animal; but

these he had forgotten, and the girl did not know them either. He went

about all day in despair, and thought and thought, but he could not

remember what they sounded like. During the night he could not sleep,

until towards morning he fell into a slumber, and all at once it flashed

upon him what the troll used to say. He made haste to repeat the words,

and at the same moment he became a fish again and slipped out into the

sea. Immediately after this he was called upon, and swam through the sea

up the river to where the troll stood on the bank and restored him to

human shape with the same words as before.

‘Well, how do you like to be a fish?’ asked the troll.

It was what he had liked best of all, said the youth, and that was no

lie, as everybody can guess.

The troll then showed him the three bushels of money which he had earned

during the past year; they stood beside the other three, and all the six

now belonged to him.

‘Perhaps you will serve me for another year yet,’ said the troll, ‘and

you will get six bushels of money for it; that makes twelve in all, and

that is a pretty penny.’

‘No,’ said the youth; he thought he had done enough, and was anxious to

go to some other place to serve, and learn other people’s ways; but he

would, perhaps, come back to the troll some other time.

The troll said that he would always be welcome; he had served him

faithfully for the three years they had agreed upon, and he could make

no objections to his leaving now.

The youth then got his six bushels of money, and with these he betook

himself straight to the kingdom which his sweetheart had told him of.

He got his money buried in a lonely spot close to the king’s palace, and

then went in there and asked to be taken into service. He obtained his

request, and was taken on as stableman, to tend the king’s horses.

Some time passed, and he noticed how the king always went about

sorrowing and grieving, and was never glad or happy. One day the king

came into the stable, where there was no one present except the youth,

who said straight out to him that, with his majesty’s permission, he

wished to ask him why he was so sorrowful.

‘It’s of no use speaking about that,’ said the king; ‘you cannot help

me, at any rate.’

‘You don’t know about that,’ said the youth; ‘ I know well enough what

it is that lies so heavy on your mind, and I know also of a plan to get

the money paid.’

This was quite another case, and the king had more talk with the

stableman, who said that he could easily lend the king the six bushels

of money, but would only do it on condition that he should be allowed to

accompany the king when he went to pay the debt, and that he should

then be dressed like the king’s court fool, and run before him. He would

cause some trouble, for which the king would be severely spoken to, but

he would answer for it that no harm would befall him.

The king gladly agreed to all that the youth proposed, and it was now

high time for them to set out.

When they came to the troll’s dwelling it was no longer in the bank, but

on the top of this there stood a large castle which the youth had never

seen before. The troll could, in fact, make it visible or invisible,

just as he pleased, and, knowing as much as he did of the troll’s magic

arts, the youth was not at all surprised at this.

When they came near to this castle, which looked as if it was of pure

glass, the youth ran on in front as the king’s fool. Heran sometimes

facing forwards, sometimes backwards, stood sometimes on his head, and

sometimes on his feet, and he dashed in pieces so many of the troll’s

big glass windows and doors that it was something awful to see, and

overturned everything he could, and made a fearful disturbance.

The troll came rushing out, and was so angry and furious, and abused the

king with all his might for bringing such a wretched fool with him, as

he was sure that he could not pay the least bit of all the damage that

had been done when he could not even pay off his old debt.

The fool, however, spoke up, and said that he could do so quite easily,

and the king then came forward with the six bushels of money which the

youth had lent him. They were measured and found to be correct. This the

troll had not reckoned on, but he could make no objection against it.

The old debt was honestly paid, and the king got his bond back again.

But there still remained all the damage that had been done that day, and

the king had nothing with which to pay for this. The troll, therefore,

sentenced the king, either to answer three questions that he would put

to him, or have his head taken off, as was agreed on in the old bond.

There was nothing else to be done than to try to answer the troll’s

riddles. The fool then stationed himself just by the king’s side while

the troll came forward with his questions. He first asked, ‘Where is my

daughter?’

The fool spoke up and said, ‘She is at the bottom of the sea.’

‘How do you know that?’ said the troll.

‘The little fish saw it,’ said the fool.

‘Would you know her?’ said the troll.

‘Yes, bring her forward,’ said the fool.

The troll made a whole crowd of women go past them, one after the other,

but all these were nothing but shadows and deceptions. Amongst the very

last was the troll’s real daughter, who pinched the fool as she went

past him to make him aware of her presence. He thereupon caught her

round the waist and held her fast, and the troll had to admit that his

first riddle was solved.

Then the troll asked again: ‘Where is my heart?’

‘It is in a fish,’ said the fool.

‘Would you know that fish?’ said the troll.

‘Yes, bring it forward,’ said the fool.

Then all the fishes came swimming past them, and meanwhile the troll’s

daughter stood just by the youth’s side. When at last the right fish

came swimming along she gave him a nudge, and he seized it at once,

drove his knife into it, and split it up, took the heart out of it, and

cut it through the middle.

At the same moment the troll fell dead and turned into pieces of flint.

With that a,ll the bonds that the troll had bound were broken; all the

wild beasts and birds which he had caught and hid under the ground were

free now, and dispersed themselves in the woods and in the air.

The youth and his sweetheart entered the castle, which was now theirs,

and held their wedding; and all the kings roundabout, who had been

in the troll’s debt, and were now out of it, came to the wedding, and

saluted the youth as their emperor, and he ruled over them all, and kept

peace between them, and lived in his castle with his beautiful empress

in great joy and magnificence. And if they have not died since they are

living there to this day.

Esben and the Witch

From the Danish.

There was once a man who had twelve sons: the eleven eldest were both

big and strong, but the twelfth, whose name was Esben, was only a

little fellow. The eleven eldest went out with their father to field and

forest, but Esben preferred to stay at home with his mother, and so he

was never reckoned at all by the rest, but was a sort of outcast among

them.

When the eleven had grown up to be men they decided to go out into the

world to try their fortune, and they plagued their father to give them

what they required for the journey. The father was not much in favour

of this, for he was now old and weak, and could not well spare them from

helping him with his work, but in the long run he had to give in. Each

one of the eleven got a fine white horse and money for the journey, and

so they said farewell to their father and their home, and rode away.

As for Esben, no one had ever thought about him; his brothers had not

even said farewell to him.

After the eleven were gone Esben went to his father and said, ‘Father,

give me also a horse and money; I should also like to see round about me

in the world.’

‘You are a little fool,’ said his father. ‘If I could have let you go,

and kept your eleven brothers at home, it would have been better for me

in my old age.’

‘Well, you will soon be rid of me at any rate,’ said Esben.

As he could get no other horse, he went into the forest, broke off a

branch, stripped the bark off it, so that it became still whiter than

his brothers’ horses, and, mounted on this. rode off after his eleven

brothers.

The brothers rode on the whole day, and towards evening they came to

a great forest, which they entered. Far within the wood they came to a

little house, and knocked at the door. There came an old, ugly, bearded

hag, and opened it, and they asked her whether all of them could get

quarters for the night.

‘Yes,’ said the old, bearded hag, ‘you shall all have quarters for the

night, and, in addition, each of you shall have one of my daughters.’

The eleven brothers thought that they had come to very hospitable

people. They were well attended to, and when they went to bed, each of

them got one of the hag’s daughters.

Esben had been coming along behind them, and had followed the same way,

and had also found the same house in the forest. He slipped into this,

without either the witch or her daughters noticing him, and hid himself

under one of the beds. A little before midnight he crept quietly out

and wakened his brothers. He told these to change night-caps with the

witch’s daughters. The brothers saw no reason for this, but, to get rid

of Esben’s persistence, they made the exchange, and slept soundly again.

When midnight came Esben heard the old witch come creeping along. She

had a broad-bladed axe in her hand, and went over all the eleven beds.

It was so dark that she could not see a hand’s breadth before her, but

she felt her way, and hacked the heads off all the sleepers who had the

men’s night-caps on--and these were her own daughters. As soon as she

had gone her way Esben wakened his brothers, and they hastily took their

horses and rode off from the witch’s house, glad that they had escaped

so well. They quite forgot to thank Esben for what he had done for them.

When they had ridden onwards for some time they reached a king’s palace,

and inquired there whether they could be taken into service. Quite

easily, they were told, if they would be stablemen, otherwise the king

had no use for them. They were quite ready for this, and got the task of

looking after all the king’s horses.

Long after them came Esben riding on his stick, and he also wanted to

get a place in the palace, but no one had any use for him, and he was

told that he could just go back the way he had come. However, he stayed

there and occupied himself as best he could. He got his food, but

nothing more, and by night he lay just where he could.

At this time there was in the palace a knight who was called Sir Red. He

was very well liked by the king, but hated by everyone else, for he was

wicked both in will and deed. This Sir Red became angry with the eleven

brothers, because they would not always stand at attention for him, so

he determined to avenge himself on them.

One day, therefore, he went to the king, and said that the eleven

brothers who had come to the palace a little while ago, and served as

stablemen, could do a great deal more than they pretended. One day he

had heard them say that if they liked they could get for the king a

wonderful dove which had a feather of gold and a feather of silver time

about. But they would not procure it unless they were threatened with

death.

The king then had the eleven brothers called before him, and said to

them, ‘You have said that you can get me a dove which has feathers of

gold and silver time about.’

All the eleven assured him that they had never said anything of the

kind, and they did not believe that such a dove existed in the whole

world.

‘Take your own mind of it,’ said the king; ‘but if you don’t get that

dove within three days you shall lose your heads, the whole lot of you.’

With that the king let them go, and there was great grief among them;

some wept and others lamented.

At that moment Esben came along, and, seeing their sorrowful looks, said

to them, ‘Hello, what’s the matter with you?’

‘What good would it do to tell you, you little fool? You can’t help us.’

‘Oh, you don’t know that,’ answered Esben. ‘I have helped you before.’

In the end they told him how unreasonable the king was, and how he had

ordered them to get for him a dove with feathers of gold and silver time

about.

‘Give me a bag of peas’ said Esben, ‘and I shall see what I can do for

you.’

Esben got his bag of peas; then he took his white stick, and said,

 Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Straightway the stick carried him across the river and straight into the

old witch’s courtyard. Esben had noticed that she had such a dove; so

when he arrived in the courtyard he shook the peas out of the bag, and

the dove came fluttering down to pick them up. Esben caught it at once,

put it into the bag, and hurried off before the witch caught sight of

him; but the next moment she came running, and shouted after him, ‘ I

Hey is that you, Esben.?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Is it you that has taken my dove?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Was it you that made me kill my eleven daughters?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Are you coming back again?’

‘That may be,’ said Esben.

‘Then you’ll catch it,’ shouted the witch.

The stick carried Esben with the dove back to the king’s palace, and his

brothers were greatly delighted. The king thanked them many times for

the dove, and gave them in return both silver and gold. At this Sir Red

became still more embittered, and again thought of how to avenge himself

on the brothers.

One day he went to the king and told him that the dove was by no means

the best thing that the brothers could get for him; for one day he had

heard them talking quietly among themselves, and they had said that they

could procure a boar whose bristles were of gold and silver time about.

The king again summoned the brothers before him, and asked whether it

was true that they had said that they could get for him a boar whose

bristles were of gold and silver time about.

‘No,’ said the brothers; they had never said nor thought such a thing,

and they did not believe that there was such a boar in the whole world.

‘You must get me that boar within three days,’ said the king, ‘or it

will cost you your heads.’

With that they had to go. This was still worse than before, they

thought. Where could they get such a marvellous boar? They all went

about hanging their heads; but when only one day remained of the three

Esben came along. When he saw his brothers’ sorrowful looks he cried,

‘Hallo, what’s the matter now?’

‘Oh, what’s the use of telling you?’ said his brothers. ‘You can’t help

us, at any rate.’

‘Ah, you don’t know that,’ said Esben; ‘I’ve helped you before.’

In the end they told him how Sir Red had stirred up the king against

them, so that he had ordered them to get for him a boar with bristles of

gold and silver time about.

‘That’s all right,’ said Esben; ‘give me a sack of malt, and it is not

quite impossible that I may be able to help you.’

Esben got his sack of malt; then he took his little white stick, set

himself upon it, and said,

 Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Off went the stick with him, and very soon he was again in the witch’s

courtyard. There he emptied out the malt, and next moment came the boar,

which had every second bristle of gold and of silver. Esben at once put

it into his sack and hurried off before the witch should catch sight of

him; but the next moment she came running, and shouted after him, ‘Hey!

is that you, Esben?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Is it you that has taken my pretty boar?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘It was also you that took my dove?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Are you coming back again?’

‘That may be,’ said Esben.

‘Then you’ll catch it,’ said the witch.

Esben was soon back at the palace with the boar, and his brothers

scarcely knew which leg to stand on, so rejoiced were they that they

were safe again. Not one of them, however, ever thought of thanking

Esben for what he had done for them.

The king was still more rejoiced over the boar than he had been over the

dove, and did not know what to give the brothers for it. At this Sir

Red was again possessed with anger and envy, and again he went about and

planned how to get the brothers into trouble.

One day he went again to the king and said, ‘These eleven brothers have

now procured the dove and the boar, but they can do much more than that;

I know they have said that if they liked they could get for the king a

lamp that can shine over seven kingdoms.’

‘If they have said that,’ said the king, ‘they shall also be made to

bring it to me. That would be a glorious lamp for me.’

Again the king sent a message to the brothers to come up to the palace.

They went accordingly, although very unwillingly, for they suspected

that Sir Red had fallen on some new plan to bring them into trouble.

As soon as they came before the king he said to them,

‘You brothers have said that you could, if you liked, get for me a lamp

that can shine over seven kingdoms. That lamp must be mine within three

days, or it will cost you your lives.’

The brothers assured him that they had never said so, and they were sure

that no such lamp existed, but their words were of no avail.

‘The lamp!’ said the king, ‘or it will cost you your heads.’

The brothers were now in greater despair than ever. They did not know

what to do, for such a lamp no one had ever heard of. But just as things

looked their worst along came Esben.

‘Something wrong again?’ said he. ‘What’s the matter with you now?’

‘Oh, it’s no use telling you,’ said they. ‘You can’t help us, at any

rate.’

‘Oh, you might at least tell me,’ said Esben; ‘I have helped you

before.’

In the end they told him that the king had ordered them to bring him a

lamp which could shine over seven kingdoms, but such a lamp no one had

ever heard tell of.

‘Give me a bushel of salt,’ said Esben, ‘and we shall see how matters

go.’

He got his bushel of salt, and then mounted his little white stick, and

said,

 Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

With that both he and his bushel of salt were over beside the witch’s

courtyard. But now matters were less easy, for he could not get inside

the yard, as it was evening and the gate was locked. Finally he hit upon

a plan; he got up on the roof and crept down the chimney.

He searched all round for the lamp, but could find it nowhere, for the

witch always had it safely guarded, as it was one of her most precious

treasures. When he became tired of searching for it he crept into the

baking- oven, intending to lie down there and sleep till morning; but

just at that moment he heard the witch calling from her bed to one of

her daughters, and telling her to make some porridge for her. She had

grown hungry, and had taken such a fancy to some porridge. The daughter

got out of bed, kindled the fire, and put on a pot with water in it.

‘You mustn’t put any salt in the porridge, though,’ cried the witch.

‘No, neither will I,’ said the daughter; but while she was away getting

the meal Esben slipped out of the oven and emptied the whole bushel of

salt into the pot. The daughter came back then and put in the meal, and

after it had boiled a little she took it in to her mother. The witch

took a spoonful and tasted it.

‘Uh!’ said she; ‘didn’t I tell you not to put any salt in it, and it’s

just as salt as the sea.’

So the daughter had to go and make new porridge, and her mother warned

her strictly not to put any salt in it. But now there was no water in

the house, so she asked her mother to give her the lamp, so that she

could go to the well for more.

‘There you have it, then,’ said the witch; ‘but take good care of it.’

The daughter took the lamp which shone over seven kingdoms, and went out

to the well for water, while Esben slipped out after her. When she was

going to draw the water from the well she set the lamp down on a stone

beside her. Esben watched his chance, seized the lamp, and gave her a

push from behind, so that she plumped head first into the well. Then he

made off with the lamp. But the witch got out of her bed and ran after

him, crying:

‘Hey! is that you again, Esben?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Was it you that took my dove?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Was it also you that took my boar?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And now you have taken my lamp, and drowned my twelfth daughter in the

well?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘Are you coming back again?’

‘That may be,’ said Esben.

‘Then you’ll catch it,’ said the witch.

It was only a minute before the stick had again landed Esben at the

king’s palace, and the brothers were then freed from their distress. The

king gave them many fine presents, but Esben did not get even so much as

thanks from them.

Never had Sir Red been so eaten up with envy as he was now, and he

racked his brain day and night to find something quite impossible to

demand from the brothers.

One day he went to the king and told him that the lamp the brothers had

procured was good enough, but they could still get for him something

that was far better. The king asked what that was.

‘It is,’ said Sir Red, ‘the most beautiful coverlet that any mortal ever

heard tell of. It also has the property that, when anyone touches it, it

sounds so that it can be heard over eight kingdoms.’

‘That must be a splendid coverlet,’ said the king, and he at once sent

for the brothers.

‘You have said that you know of a coverlet, the most beautiful in the

whole world, and which sounds over eight kingdoms when anyone touches

it. You shall procure it for me, or else lose your lives,’ said he.

The brothers answered him that they had never said a word about such a

coverlet, did not believe it existed, and that it was quite impossible

for them to procure it. But the king would not hear a word; he drove

them away, telling them that if they did not get it very soon it would

cost them their heads.

Things looked very black again for the brothers, for they were sure

there was no escape for them. The youngest of them, indeed, asked where

Esben was, but the others said that that little fool could scarcely keep

himself in clothes, and it was not to be expected that he could help

them. Not one of them thought it worth while to look for Esben, but he

soon came along of himself.

‘Well, what’s the matter now?’ said he.

‘Oh, what’s the use of telling you?’ said the brothers. ‘You can’t help

us, at any rate.’

‘Ah! who knows that?’ said Esben. ‘I have helped you before.’

In the end the brothers told him about the coverlet which, when one

touched it, sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms. Esben

thought that this was the worst errand that he had had yet, but he could

not do worse than fail, and so he would make the attempt.

He again took his little white stick, set himself on it, and said,

 Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Next moment he was across the river and beside the witch’s house. It was

evening, and the door was locked, but he knew the way down the chimney.

When he had got into the house, however, the worst yet remained to do,

for the coverlet was on the bed in which the witch lay and slept. He

slipped into the room without either she or her daughter wakening; but

as soon as he touched the coverlet to take it it sounded so that it

could be heard over eight kingdoms. The witch awoke, sprang out of bed,

and caught hold of Esben. He struggled with her, but could not free

himself, and the witch called to her daughter, ‘Come and help me; we

shall put him into the little dark room to be fattened. Ho, ho! now I

have him!’

Esben was now put into a little dark hole, where he neither saw sun nor

moon, and there he was fed on sweet milk and nut-kernels. The daughter

had enough to do cracking nuts for him, and at the end of fourteen days

she had only one tooth left in her mouth; she had broken all the rest

with the nuts. In this time however, she had taken a liking to Esben,

and would willingly have set him free, but could not.

When some time had passed the witch told her daughter to go and cut a

finger off Esben, so that she could see whether he was nearly fat enough

yet. The daughter went and told Esben, and asked him what she should do.

Esben told her to take an iron nail and wrap a piece of skin round it:

she could then give her mother this to bite at.

The daughter did so, but when the witch bit it she cried, ‘Uh! no, no!

This is nothing but skin and bone; he must be fattened much longer yet.’

So Esben was fed for a while longer on sweet milk and nut-kernels, until

one day the witch thought that now he must surely be fat enough, and

told her daughter again to go and cut a finger off him. By this time

Esben was tired of staying in the dark hole, so he told her to go and

cut a teat off a cow, and give it to the witch to bite at. This the

daughter did, and the witch cried, ‘Ah! now he is fat--so fat that one

can scarcely feel the bone in him. Now he shall be killed.’

Now this was just the very time that the witch had to go to Troms

Church, where all the witches gather once every year, so she had no time

to deal with Esben herself. She therefore told her daughter to heat up

the big oven while she was away, take Esben out of his prison, and roast

him in there before she came back. The daughter promised all this, and

the witch went off on her journey.

The daughter then made the oven as hot as could be, and took Esben out

of his prison in order to roast him. She brought the oven spade, and

told Esben to seat himself on it, so that she could shoot him into the

oven. Esben accordingly took his seat on it, but when she had got him to

the mouth of the oven he spread his legs out wide, so that she could not

get him pushed in.

‘You mustn’t sit like that,’ said she.

‘How then?’ said Esben.

‘You must cross your legs,’ said the daughter; but Esben could not

understand what she meant by this.

‘Get out of the way,’ said she, ‘and I will show you how to place

yourself.’

She seated herself on the oven spade, but no sooner had she done so than

Esben laid hold of it, shot her into the oven, and fastened the door

of it. Then he ran and seized the coverlet, but as soon as he did so it

sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms, and the witch,

who was at Troms Church, came flying home, and shouted, ‘Hey! is that

you again, Esben?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘It was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And took my dove?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And my beautiful boar?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And drowned my twelfth daughter in the well, and took my lamp?’

‘Ye--e--s!’

‘And now you have roasted my thirteenth and last daughter in the oven,

and taken my coverlet?’

‘YeÄeÄs!’

‘Are you coming back again?’

‘No, never again,’ said Esben.

At this the witch became so furious that she sprang into numberless

pieces of flint, and from this come all the flint stones that one finds

about the country.

Esben had found again his little stick, which the witch had taken from

him, so he said,

 Fly quick, my little stick, Carry me across the stream.

Next moment he was back at the king’s palace. Here things were in a bad

way, for the king had thrown all the eleven brothers into prison, and

they were to be executed very shortly because they had not brought him

the coverlet. Esben now went up to the king and gave him the coverlet,

with which the king was greatly delighted. When he touched it it could

be heard over eight kingdoms, and all the other kings sat and were angry

because they had not one like it.

Esben also told how everything had happened, and how Sir Red had done

the brothers all the ill he could devise because he was envious of

them. The brothers were at once set at liberty, while Sir Red, for his

wickedness, was hanged on the highest tree that could be found, and so

he got the reward he deserved.

Much was made of Esben and his brothers, and these now thanked him for

all that he had done for them. The twelve of them received as much gold

and silver as they could carry, and betook themselves home to their old

father. When he saw again his twelve sons, whom he had never expected to

see more, he was so glad that he wept for joy. The brothers told him

how much Esben had done, and how he had saved their lives, and from that

time forward he was no longer the butt of the rest at home.

Princess Minon-minette

Bibliotheque des Fees et aes Genies

Once upon a time there lived a young king whose name was Souci, and he

had been brought up, ever since he was a baby, by the fairy Inconstancy.

Now the fairy Girouette had a kind heart, but she was a very trying

person to live with, for she never knew her own mind for two minutes

together, and as she was the sole ruler at Court till the prince grew

up everything was always at sixes and sevens. At first she determined to

follow the old custom of keeping the young king ignorant of the duties

he would have to perform some day; then, quite suddenly, she resigned

the reins of government into his hands; but, unluckily, it was too late

to train him properly for the post. However, the fairy did not think of

that, but, carried away by her new ideas, she hastily formed a Council,

and named as Prime Minister the excellent ‘Ditto,’ so called because he

had never been known to contradict anybody.

Young Prince Souci had a handsome face, and at the bottom a good deal of

common sense; but he had never been taught good manners, and was shy and

awkward; and had, besides, never learned how to use his brains.

Under these circumstances it is not surprising that the Council did not

get through much work. Indeed, the affairs of the country fell into such

disorder that at last the people broke out into open rebellion, and it

was only the courage of the king, who continued to play the flute while

swords and spears were flashing before the palace gate, that prevented

civil war from being declared.

No sooner was the revolt put down than the Council turned their

attention to the question of the young king’s marriage. Various

princesses were proposed to him, and the fairy, who was anxious to

get the affair over before she left the Court for ever, gave it as her

opinion that the Princess Diaphana would make the most suitable wife.

Accordingly envoys were sent to bring back an exact report of the

princess’s looks and ways, and they returned saying that she was tall

and well made, but so very light that the equerries who accompanied her

in her walks had to be always watching her, lest she should suddenly be

blown away. This had happened so often that her subjects lived in terror

of losing her altogether, and tried everything they could think of

to keep her to the ground. They even suggested that she should carry

weights in her pockets, or have them tied to her ankles; but this idea

was given up, as the princess found it so uncomfortable. At length it

was decided that she was never to go out in a wind, and in order to make

matters surer still the equerries each held the end of a string which

was fastened to her waist.

The Council talked over this report for some days, and then the king

made up his mind that he would judge for himself, and pretend to be

his own ambassador. This plan was by no means new, but it had often

succeeded, and, anyhow, they could think of nothing better.

Such a splendid embassy had never before been seen in any country.

The kingdom was left in the charge of the Prime Minister, who answered

‘Ditto’ to everything; but the choice was better than it seemed, for the

worthy man was much beloved by the people, as he agreed with all they

said, and they left him feeling very pleased with themselves and their

own wisdom.

When the king arrived at Diaphana’s Court he found a magnificent

reception awaiting him, for, though they pretended not to know who he

was, secrets like this are never hidden. Now the young king had a great

dislike to long ceremonies, so he proposed that his second interview

with the princess should take place in the garden. The princess made

some difficulties, but, as the weather was lovely and very still, she

at last consented to the king’s wishes. But no sooner had they finished

their first bows and curtseys than a slight breeze sprung up, and began

to sway the princess, whose equerries had retired out of respect. The

king went forward to steady her, but the wind that he caused only drove

her further away from him. He rushed after her exclaiming, ‘O princess!

are you really running away from me?’

‘Good gracious, no!’ she replied. ‘Run a little quicker and you will be

able to stop me, and I shall be for ever grateful. That is what comes

of talking in a garden,’ she added in disgust; ‘as if one wasn’t much

better in a room that was tightly closed all round.’

The king ran as fast as he could, but the wind ran faster still, and in

a moment the princess was whirled to the bottom of the garden, which was

bounded by a ditch. She cleared it like a bird, and the king, who was

obliged to stop short at the edge, saw the lovely Diaphana flying over

the plain, sometimes driven to the right, sometimes to the left, till at

last she vanished out of sight.

By this time the whole court were running over the plain, some on foot

and some on horseback, all hurrying to the help of their princess, who

really was in some danger, for the wind was rising to the force of

a gale. The king looked on for a little, and then returned with his

attendants to the palace, reflecting all the while on the extreme

lightness of his proposed bride and the absurdity of having a wife that

rose in the air better than any kite. He thought on the whole that it

would be wiser not to wait longer, but to depart at once, and he started

on horseback at the very moment when the princess had been found by

her followers, wet to the skin, and blown against a rick. Souci met the

carriage which was bringing her home, and stopped to congratulate her on

her escape, and to advise her to put on dry clothes. Then he continued

his journey.

It took a good while for the king to get home again, and he was rather

cross at having had so much trouble for nothing. Besides which, his

courtiers made fun at his adventure, and he did not like being laughed

at, though of course they did not dare to do it before his face. And

the end of it was that very soon he started on his travels again,

only allowing one equerry to accompany him, and even this attendant he

managed to lose the moment he had left his own kingdom behind him.

Now it was the custom in those days for princes and princesses to be

brought up by fairies, who loved them as their own children, and did not

mind what inconvenience they put other people to for their sakes, for

all the world as if they had been real mothers. The fairy Aveline, who

lived in a country that touched at one point the kingdom of King Souci,

had under her care the lovely Princess Minon-Minette, and had made up

her mind to marry her to the young king, who, in spite of his awkward

manners, which could be improved, was really very much nicer than most

of the young men she was likely to meet.

So Aveline made her preparations accordingly, and began by arranging

that the equerry should lose himself in the forest, after which she took

away the king’s sword and his horse while he lay asleep under a tree.

Her reason for this was that she felt persuaded that, finding himself

suddenly alone and robbed of everything, the king would hide his real

birth, and would have to fall back on his powers of pleasing, like other

men, which would be much better for him.

When the king awoke and found that the tree to which he had tied his

horse had its lowest branch broken, and that nothing living was in

sight, he was much dismayed, and sought high and low for his lost

treasure, but all in vain. After a time he began to get hungry, so he

decided that he had better try to find his way out of the forest, and

perhaps he might have a chance of getting something to eat. He had only

gone a few steps when he met Aveline, who had taken the shape of an old

woman with a heavy bundle of faggots on her back. She staggered along

the path and almost fell at his feet, and Souci, afraid that she might

have hurt herself, picked her up and set her on her feet again before

passing on his way. But he was not to be let off so easy.

‘What about my bundle?’ cried the old woman. ‘Where is your politeness?

Really, you seem to have been very nicely brought up! What have they

taught you?’

‘Taught me? Nothing,’ replied he.

‘I can well believe it!’ she said. ‘You don’t know even how to pick up

a bundle. Oh, you can come near; I am cleverer than you, and know how to

pick up a bundle very well.’

The king blushed at her words, which he felt had a great deal of truth

in them, and took up the bundle meekly.

Aveline, delighted at the success of her first experiment, hobbled along

after him, chattering all the while, as old women do.

‘I wish,’ she said, ‘that all kings had done as much once in their

lives. Then they would know what a lot of trouble it takes to get wood

for their fires.’

Souci felt this to be true, and was sorry for the old woman.

‘Where are we going to?’ asked he.

‘To the castle of the White Demon; and if you are in want of work I will

find you something to do.’

‘But I can’t do anything,’ he said, ‘except carry a bundle, and I shan’t

earn much by that.’

‘Oh, you are learning,’ replied the old woman, ‘and it isn’t bad for a

first lesson.’ But the king was paying very little attention to her, for

he was rather cross and very tired. Indeed, he felt that he really could

not carry the bundle any further, and was about to lay it down when

up came a young maiden more beautiful than the day, and covered with

precious stones. She ran to them, exclaiming to the old woman,

‘Oh, you poor thing! I was just coming after you to see if I could help

you.’

‘Here is a young man,’ replied the old woman, ‘who will be quite ready

to give you up the bundle. You see he does not look as if he enjoyed

carrying it.’

‘Will you let me take it, sir?’ she asked.

But the king felt ashamed of himself, and held on to it tightly, while

the presence of the princess put him in a better temper.

So they all travelled together till they arrived at a very

ordinary-looking house, which Aveline pointed out as the castle of the

White Demon, and told the king that he might put down his bundle in

the courtyard. The young man was terribly afraid of being recognised by

someone in this strange position, and would have turned on his heel and

gone away had it not been for the thought of Minon-Minette. Still, he

felt very awkward and lonely, for both the princess and the old woman

had entered the castle without taking the slightest notice of the young

man, who remained where he was for some time, not quite knowing what

he had better do. At length a servant arrived and led him up into a

beautiful room filled with people, who were either playing on musical

instruments or talking in a lively manner, which astonished the king,

who stood silently listening, and not at all pleased at the want of

attention paid him.

Matters went on this way for some time. Every day the king fell more and

more in love with Minon-Minette, and every day the princess seemed more

and more taken up with other people. At last, in despair, the prince

sought out the old woman, to try to get some advice from her as to

his conduct, or, anyway, to have the pleasure of talking about

Minon-Minette.

He found her spinning in an underground chamber, but quite ready to tell

him all he wanted to know. In answer to his questions he learned that

in order to win the hand of the princess it was not enough to be born a

prince, for she would marry nobody who had not proved himself faithful,

and had, besides, all those talents and accomplishments which help to

make people happy.

For a moment Souci was very much cast down on hearing this, but then

he plucked up. ‘Tell me what I must do in order to win the heart of the

princess, and no matter how hard it is I will do it. And show me how I

can repay you for your kindness, and you shall have anything I can give

you. Shall I bring in your bundle of faggots every day?’

‘It is enough that you should have made the offer,’ replied the old

woman; and she added, holding out a skein of thread, ‘Take this; one

day you will be thankful for it, and when it becomes useless your

difficulties will be past.’

‘Is it the skein of my life?’ he asked.

‘It is the skein of your love’s ill-luck,’ she said.

And he took it and went away.

Now the fairy Girouette, who had brought up Souci, had an old friend

called Grimace, the protectress of Prince Fluet. Grimace often talked

over the young prince’s affairs with Girouette, and, when she decided

that he was old enough to govern his own kingdom, consulted Girouette

as to a suitable wife. Girouette, who never stopped to think or to make

inquiries, drew such a delightful picture of Minon-Minette that

Grimace determined to spare no pains to bring about the marriage, and

accordingly Fluet was presented at court. But though the young man was

pleasant and handsome, the princess thought him rather womanish in some

ways, and displayed her opinion so openly as to draw upon herself and

Aveline the anger of the fairy, who declared that Minon-Minette should

never know happiness till she had found a bridge without an arch and a

bird without feathers. So saying, she also went away.

Before the king set out afresh on his travels Aveline had restored to

him his horse and his sword, and though these were but small consolation

for the absence of the princess, they were better than nothing, for he

felt that somehow they might be the means of leading him back to her.

After crossing several deserts the king arrived at length in a country

that seemed inhabited, but the instant he stepped over the border he

was seized and flung into chains, and dragged at once to the capital.

He asked his guards why he was treated like this, but the only answer he

got was that he was in the territory of the Iron King, for in those days

countries had no names of their own, but were called after their rulers.

The young man was led into the presence of the Iron King, who was seated

on a black throne in a hall also hung with black, as a token of mourning

for all the relations whom he had put to death.

‘What are you doing in my country?’ he cried fiercely.

‘I came here by accident,’ replied Souci, ‘and if I ever escape

from your clutches I will take warning by you and treat my subjects

differently.’

‘Do you dare to insult me in my own court?’ cried the king. ‘Away with

him to Little Ease!’

Now Little Ease was an iron cage hung by four thick chains in the middle

of a great vaulted hall, and the prisoner inside could neither sit,

nor stand, nor lie; and, besides that, he was made to suffer by turns

unbearable heat and cold, while a hundred heavy bolts kept everything

safe. Girouette, whose business it was to see after Souci, had forgotten

his existence in the excitement of some new idea, and he would not have

been alive long to trouble anybody if Aveline had not come to the rescue

and whispered in his ear, ‘And the skein of thread?’ He took it up

obediently, though he did not see how it would help him but he tied it

round one of the iron bars of his cage, which seemed the only thing he

could do, and gave a pull. To his surprise the bar gave way at once, and

he found he could break it into a thousand pieces. After this it did

not take him long to get out of his cage, or to treat the closely barred

windows of the hall in the same manner. But even after he had done all

this freedom appeared as far from him as ever, for between him and the

open country was a high wall, and so smooth that not even a monkey could

climb it. Then Souci’s heart died within him. He saw nothing for it but

to submit to some horrible death, but he determined that the Iron King

should not profit more than he could help, and flung his precious thread

into the air, saying, as he did so, ‘O fairy, my misfortunes are greater

than your power. I am grateful for your goodwill, but take back your

gift!’ The fairy had pity on his youth and want of faith, and took care

that one end of the thread remained in his hand. He suddenly felt a

jerk, and saw that the thread must have caught on something, and this

thought filled him with the daring that is born of despair. ‘Better,’ he

said to himself, ‘trust to a thread than to the mercies of a king;’ and,

gliding down, he found himself safe on the other side of the wall. Then

he rolled up the thread and put it carefully into his pocket, breathing

silent thanks to the fairy.

Now Minon-Minette had been kept informed by Aveline of the prince’s

adventures, and when she heard of the way in which he had been treated

by the Iron King she became furious, and began to prepare for war. She

made her plans with all the secrecy she could, but when great armies are

collected people are apt to suspect a storm is brewing, and of course it

is very difficult to keep anything hidden from fairy godmothers. Anyway,

Grimace soon heard of it, and as she had never forgiven Minon-Minette

for refusing Prince Fluet, she felt that here was her chance of revenge.

Up to this time Aveline had been able to put a stop to many of Grimace’s

spiteful tricks, and to keep guard over Minon-Minette, but she had no

power over anything that happened at a distance; and when the princess

declared her intention of putting herself at the head of her army,

and began to train herself to bear fatigue by hunting daily, the fairy

entreated her to be careful never to cross the borders of her dominions

without Aveline to protect her. The princess at once gave her promise,

and all went well for some days. Unluckily one morning, as Minon-Minette

was cantering slowly on her beautiful white horse, thinking a great deal

about Souci and not at all of the boundaries of her kingdom (of which,

indeed, she was very ignorant), she suddenly found herself in front of

a house made entirely of dead leaves, which somehow brought all sorts of

unpleasant things into her head. She remembered Aveline’s warning, and

tried to turn her horse, but it stood as still as if it had been marble.

Then the princess felt that she was slowly, and against her will, being

dragged to the ground. She shrieked, and clung tightly to the saddle,

but it was all in vain; she longed to fly, but something outside herself

proved too strong for her, and she was forced to take the path that led

to the House of Dead Leaves.

Scarcely had her feet touched the threshold than Grimace appeared. ‘So

here you are at last, Minon-Minette! I have been watching for you a long

time, and my trap was ready for you from the beginning. Come here, my

darling! I will teach you to make war on my friends! Things won’t turn

out exactly as you fancied. What you have got to do now is to go on

your knees to the king and crave his pardon, and before he consents to

a peace you will have to implore him to grant you the favour of becoming

his wife. Meanwhile you will have to be my servant.’

From that day the poor princess was put to the hardest and dirtiest

work, and each morning something more disagreeable seemed to await her.

Besides which, she had no food but a little black bread, and no bed but

a little straw. Out of pure spite she was sent in the heat of the day to

look after the geese, and would most likely have got a sunstroke if she

had not happened to pick up in the fields a large fan, with which she

sheltered her face. To be sure, a fan seems rather an odd possession for

a goose girl, but the princess did not think of that, and she forgot

all her troubles when, on opening the fan to use it as a parasol, out

tumbled a letter from her lover. Then she felt sure that the fairy had

not forgotten her, and took heart.

When Grimace saw that Minon-Minette still managed to look as white as

snow, instead of being burnt as brown as a berry, she wondered what

could have happened, and began to watch her closely. The following day,

when the sun was at its highest and hottest, she noticed her draw a fan

from the folds of her dress and hold it before her eyes. The fairy, in a

rage, tried to snatch it from her, but the princess would not let it go.

‘Give me that fan at once!’ cried Grimace.

‘Never while I live!’ answered the princess, and, not knowing where

it would be safest, placed it under her feet. In an instant she felt

herself rising from the ground, with the fan always beneath her, and

while Grimace was too much blinded by her fury to notice what was going

on the princess was quickly soaring out of her reach.

All this time Souci had been wandering through the world with his

precious thread carefully fastened round him, seeking every possible

and impossible place where his beloved princess might chance to be. But

though he sometimes found traces of her, or even messages scratched on a

rock, or cut in the bark of a tree, she herself was nowhere to be found.

‘If she is not on the earth,’ said Souci to himself, ‘perhaps she is

hiding somewhere in the air. It is there that I shall find her.’ So, by

the help of his thread, he tried to mount upwards, but he could go such

a little way, and hurt himself dreadfully when he tumbled back to earth

again. Still he did not give up, and after many days of efforts and

tumbles he found to his great joy that he could go a little higher and

stay up a little longer than he had done at first, and by-and-bye he

was able to live in the air altogether. But alas! the world of the air

seemed as empty of her as the world below, and Souci was beginning to

despair, and to think that he must go and search the world that lay in

the sea. He was floating sadly along, not paying any heed to where he

was going, when he saw in the distance a beautiful, bright sort of bird

coming towards him. His heart beat fast--he did not know why--and as

they both drew near the voice of the princess exclaimed, ‘Behold the

bird without feathers and the bridge without an arch!’

So their first meeting took place in the air, but it was none the less

happy for that; and the fan grew big enough to hold the king as well as

Aveline, who had hastened to give them some good advice. She guided the

fan above the spot where the two armies lay encamped before each other

ready to give battle. The fight was long and bloody, but in the end the

Iron King was obliged to give way and surrender to the princess, who

set him to keep King Souci’s sheep, first making him swear a solemn oath

that he would treat them kindly.

Then the marriage took place, in the presence of Girouette, whom

they had the greatest trouble to find, and who was much astonished to

discover how much business had been got through in her absence.

Maiden Bright-eye

From the Danish

Once, upon a time there was a man and his wife who had two children, a

boy and a girl. The wife died, and the man married again. His new

wife had an only daughter, who was both ugly and untidy, whereas her

stepdaughter was a beautiful girl, and was known as Maiden Bright-eye.

Her stepmother was very cruel to her on this account; she had always to

do the hardest work, and got very little to eat, and no attention paid

to her; but to her own daughter she was all that was good. She was

spared from all the hardest of the housework, and had always the

prettiest clothes to wear.

Maiden Bright-eye had also to watch the sheep, but of course it would

never do to let her go idle and enjoy herself too much at this work, so

she had to pull heather while she was out on the moors with them. Her

stepmother gave her pancakes to take with her for her dinner, but she

had mixed the flour with ashes, and made them just as bad as she could.

The little girl came out on the moor and began to pull heather on the

side of a little mound, but next minute a little fellow with a red cap

on his head popped up out of the mound and said:

‘Who’s that pulling the roof off my house?’

‘Oh, it’s me, a poor little girl,’ said she; ‘my mother sent me out

here, and told me to pull heather. If you will be good to me I will give

you a bit of my dinner.’

The little fellow was quite willing, and she gave him the biggest share

of her pancakes. They were not particularly good, but when one is hungry

anything tastes well. After he had got them all eaten he said to her:

‘Now, I shall give you three wishes, for you are a very nice little

girl; but I will choose the wishes for you. You are beautiful, and much

more beautiful shall you be; yes, so lovely that there will not be your

like in the world. The next wish shall be that every time you open your

mouth a gold coin shall fall out of it, and your voice shall be like the

most beautiful music. The third wish shall be that you may be married to

the young king, and become the queen of the country. At the same time

I shall give you a cap, which you must carefully keep, for it can save

you, if you ever are in danger of your life, if you just put it on your

head.

Maiden Bright-eye thanked the little bergman ever so often, and drove

home her sheep in the evening. By that time she had grown so beautiful

that her people could scarcely recognise her. Her stepmother asked her

how it had come about that she had grown so beautiful. She told the

whole story--for she always told the truth--that a little man had come

to her out on the moor and had given her all this beauty. She did not

tell, however, that she had given him a share of her dinner.

The stepmother thought to herself, ‘If one can become so beautiful by

going out there, my own daughter shall also be sent, for she can well

stand being made a little prettier.’

Next morning she baked for her the finest cakes, and dressed her

prettily to go out with the sheep. But she was afraid to go away there

without having a stick to defend herself with if anything should come

near her.

She was not very much inclined for pulling the heather, as she never was

in the habit of doing any work, but she was only a minute or so at it

when up came the same little fellow with the red cap, and said:

‘Who’s that pulling the roof off my house?’

‘What’s that to you?’ said she.

‘Well, if you will give me a bit of your dinner I won’t do you any

mischief,’ said he.

‘I will give you something else in place of my dinner,’ said she. ‘I

can easily eat it myself; but if you will have something you can have

a whack of my stick,’ and with that she raised it in the air and struck

the bergman over the head with it.

‘What a wicked little girl you are!’ said he; ‘but you shall be none the

better of this. I shall give you three wishes, and choose them for you.

First, I shall say, “Ugly are you, but you shall become so ugly that

there will not be an uglier one on earth.” Next I shall wish that every

time you open your mouth a big toad may fall out of it, and your voice

shall be like the roaring of a bull. In the third place I shall wish for

you a violent death.’

The girl went home in the evening, and when her mother saw her she was

as vexed as she could be, and with good reason, too; but it was still

worse when she saw the toads fall out of her mouth and heard her voice.

Now we must hear something about the stepson. He had gone out into the

world to look about him, and took service in the king’s palace. About

this time he got permission to go home and see his sister, and when he

saw how lovely and beautiful she was, he was so pleased and delighted

that when he came back to the king’s palace everyone there wanted to

know what he was always so happy about. He told them that it was because

he had such a lovely sister at home.

At last it came to the ears of the king what the brother said about his

sister, and, besides that, the report of her beauty spread far and

wide, so that the youth was summoned before the king, who asked him if

everything was true that was told about the girl. He said it was quite

true, for he had seen her beauty with his own eyes, and had heard with

his own ears how sweetly she could sing and what a lovely voice she had.

The king then took a great desire for her, and ordered her brother to

go home and bring her back with him, for he trusted no one better to

accomplish that errand. He got a ship, and everything else that he

required, and sailed home for his sister. As soon as the stepmother

heard what his errand was she at once said to herself, ‘This will never

come about if I can do anything to hinder it. She must not be allowed to

come to such honour.’

She then got a dress made for her own daughter, like the finest robe for

a queen, and she had a mask prepared and put upon her face, so that she

looked quite pretty, and gave her strict orders not to take it off until

the king had promised to wed her.

The brother now set sail with his two sisters, for the stepmother

pretended that the ugly one wanted to see the other a bit on her way.

But when they got out to sea, and Maiden Bright-eye came up on deck,

the sister did as her mother had instructed her--she gave her a push and

made her fall into the water. When the brother learned what had happened

he was greatly distressed, and did not know what to do. He could not

bring himself to tell the truth about what had happened, nor did he

expect that the king would believe it. In the long run he decided to

hold on his way, and let things go as they liked. What he had expected

happened--the king received his sister and wedded her at once, but

repented it after the first night, as he could scarcely put down his

foot in the morning for all the toads that were about the room, and when

he saw her real face he was so enraged against the brother that he had

him thrown into a pit full of serpents. He was so angry, not merely

because he had been deceived, but because he could not get rid of the

ugly wretch that was now tied to him for life.

Now we shall hear a little about Maiden Bright-eye When she fell into

the water she was fortunate enough to get the bergman’s cap put on

her head, for now she was in danger of her life, and she was at once

transformed into a duck. The duck swam away after the ship, and came to

the king’s palace on the next evening. There it waddled up the drain,

and so into the kitchen, where her little dog lay on the hearth-stone;

it could not bear to stay in the fine chambers along with the ugly

sister, and had taken refuge down here. The duck hopped up till it could

talk to the dog.

‘Good evening,’ it said.

‘Thanks, Maiden Bright-eye,’ said the dog.

‘Where is my brother?’

‘He is in the serpent-pit.’

‘Where is my wicked sister?’

‘She is with the noble king.’

‘Alas! alas! I am here this evening, and shall be for two evenings yet,

and then I shall never come again.’

When it had said this the duck waddled off again. Several of the servant

girls heard the conversation, and were greatly surprised at it, and

thought that it would be worth while to catch the bird next evening and

see into the matter a little more closely. They had heard it say that it

would come again.

Next evening it appeared as it had said, and a great many were present

to see it. It came waddling in by the drain, and went up to the dog,

which was lying on the hearth-stone.

‘Good evening,’ it said.

‘Thanks, Maiden Bright-eye,’ said the dog.

‘Where is my brother?’

‘He is in the serpent-pit.’

‘Where is my wicked sister?’

‘She is with the noble king.’

‘Alas! alas! I am here this evening, and shall be for one evening yet,

and then I shall never come again.’

After this it slipped out, and no one could get hold of it. But the

king’s cook thought to himself, ‘I shall see if I can’t get hold of you

to-morrow evening.’

On the third evening the duck again came waddling in by the drain, and

up to the dog on the hearth-stone.

‘Good evening,’ it said.

‘Thanks, Maiden Bright-eye,’ said the dog.

‘Where is my brother?’

‘He is in the serpent-pit.’

‘Where is my wicked sister?’

‘She is with the noble king.’

‘Alas! alas! now I shall never come again.’

With this it slipped out again, but in the meantime the cook had posted

himself at the outer end of the drain with a net, which he threw over it

as it came out. In this way he caught it, and came in to the others with

the most beautiful duck they had ever seen--with so many golden feathers

on it that everyone marvelled. No one, however, knew what was to be

done with it; but after what they had heard they knew that there was

something uncommon about it, so they took good care of it.

At this time the brother in the serpent-pit dreamed that his right

sister had come swimming to the king’s palace in the shape of a duck,

and that she could not regain her own form until her beak was cut off.

He got this dream told to some one, so that the king at last came to

hear of it, and had him taken up out of the pit and brought before

him. The king then asked him if he could produce to him his sister as

beautiful as he had formerly described her. The brother said he could if

they would bring him the duck and a knife.

Both of them were brought to him, and he said, ‘I wonder how you would

look if I were to cut the point off your beak.’

With this he cut a piece off the beak, and there came a voice which

said, ‘Oh, oh, you cut my little finger!’

Next moment Maiden Bright-eye stood there, as lovely and beautiful as he

had seen her when he was home. This was his sister now, he said; and the

whole story now came out of how the other had behaved to her. The wicked

sister was put into a barrel with spikes round it which was dragged

off by six wild horses, and so she came to her end.:But the king was

delighted with Maiden Bright-eye, and immediately made her his queen,

while her brother became his prime minister.

The Merry Wives

From the Danish

There lay three houses in a row, in one of which there lived a tailor,

in another a carpenter, and in the third a smith. All three were

married, and their wives were very good friends. They often talked about

how stupid their husbands were, but they could never agree as to which

of them had the most stupid one; each one stuck up for her own husband,

and maintained that it was he.

The three wives went to church together every Sunday, and had a regular

good gossip on the way, and when they were coming home from church they

always turned into the tavern which lay by the wayside and drank half

a pint together. This was at the time when half a pint of brandy cost

threepence, so that was just a penny from each of them.

But the brandy went up in price, and the taverner said that he must have

fourpence for the half-pint.

They were greatly annoyed at this, for there were only the three of them

to share it, and none of them was willing to pay the extra penny.

As they went home from the church that day they decided to wager with

each other as to whose husband was the most stupid, and the one who, on

the following Sunday, should be judged to have played her husband the

greatest trick should thereafter go free from paying, and each of the

two others would give twopence for their Sunday’s half-pint.

Next day the tailor’s wife said to her husband, ‘I have some girls

coming to-day to help to card my wool there is a great deal to do, and

we must be very busy. I am so annoyed that our watchdog is dead, for in

the evening the young fellows will come about to get fun with the girls,

and they will get nothing done. If we had only had a fierce watchdog he

would have kept them away.’

‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘that would have been a good thing.’

‘Listen, good man,’ said the wife, ‘you must just be the watchdog

yourself, and scare the fellows away from the house.’

The husband was not very sure about this, although otherwise he was

always ready to give in to her.

‘Oh yes, you will see it will work all right,’ said the wife.

And so towards evening she got the tailor dressed up in a shaggy fur

coat, tied a black woollen cloth round his head, and chained him up

beside the dog’s kennel.’

There he stood and barked and growled at everyone that moved in his

neighbourhood. The neighbour wives knew all about this, and were greatly

amused at it.

On the day after this the carpenter had been out at work, and came home

quite merry; but as soon as he entered the house his wife clapped her

hands together and cried, ‘My dear, what makes you look like that? You

are ill.’

The carpenter knew nothing about being ill; he only thought that he

wanted something to eat, so he sat down at the table and began his

dinner.

His wife sat straight in front of him, with her hands folded, and shook

her head, and looked at him with an anxious air.

‘You are getting worse, my dear,’ she said; ‘you are quite pale now; you

have a serious illness about you; I can see it by your looks.’

The husband now began to grow anxious, and thought that perhaps he was

not quite well.

‘No, indeed,’ said she; ‘it’s high time that you were in bed.’

She then got him to lie down, and piled above him all the bedclothes

she could find, and gave him various medicines, while he grew worse and

worse.

‘You will never get over it,’ said she; ‘I am afraid you are going to

die.’

‘Do you think so?’ said the carpenter; ‘I can well believe it, for I am

indeed very poorly.’

In a little while she said again, ‘Ah, now I must part with you. Here

comes Death. Now I must close your eyes.’ And she did so.

The carpenter believed everything that his wife said, and so he believed

now that he was dead, and lay still and let her do as she pleased.

She got her neighbours summoned, and they helped to lay him in the

coffin--it was one of those he himself had made; but his wife had bored

holes in it to let him get some air. She made a soft bed under him, and

put a coverlet over him, and she folded his hands over his breast;

but instead of a flower or a psalm-book, she gave him a pint-bottle of

brandy in his hands. After he had lain for a little he took a little

pull at this, and then another and another, and he thought this did

him good, and soon he was sleeping sweetly, and dreaming that he was in

heaven.

Meanwhile word had gone round the village that the carpenter was dead,

and was to be buried next day.

It was now the turn of the smith’s wife. Her husband was lying sleeping

off the effects of a drinking bout, so she pulled off all his clothes

and made him black as coal from head to foot, and then let him sleep

till far on in the day.

The funeral party had already met at the carpenter’s, and marched oft

towards the church with the coffin, when the smith’s wife came rushing

in to her husband.

‘Gracious, man,’ said she, ‘you are lying there yet? You are sleeping

too long. You know you are going to the funeral.’

The smith was quite confused; he knew nothing about any funeral.

‘It’s our neighbour the carpenter,’ said his wife, ‘who is to be buried

to-day. They are already half-way to church with him.’

‘All right,’ said the smith, ‘make haste to help me on with my black

clothes.’

‘What nonsense!’ said his wife, ‘you have them on already. Be off with

you now.’

The smith looked down at his person and saw that he was a good deal

blacker than he usually was, so he caught up his hat and ran out after

the funeral. This was already close to the church, and the smith wanted

to take part in carrying the coffin, like a good neighbour. So he ran

with all his might, and shouted after them, ‘Hey! wait a little; let me

get a hold of him!’

The people turned round and saw the black figure coming, and thought it

was the devil himself, who wanted to get hold of the carpenter, so they

threw down the coffin and took to their heels.

The lid sprang off the coffin with the shock, and the carpenter woke up

and looked out. He remembered the whole affair; he knew that he was dead

and was going to be buried, and recognising the smith, he said to him,

in a low voice, ‘My good neighbour, if I hadn’t been dead already, I

should have laughed myself to death now to see you coming like this to

my funeral.’

From that time forth the carpenter’s wife drank free of expense every

Sunday, for the others had to admit that she had fooled her husband the

best.

King Lindorm

From the Swedish.

There once lived a king and a queen who ruled over a very great kingdom.

They had large revenues, and lived happily with each other; but, as the

years went past, the king’s heart became heavy, because the queen had no

children. She also sorrowed greatly over it, because, although the king

said nothing to her about this trouble, yet she could see that it vexed

him that they had no heir to the kingdom; and she wished every day that

she might have one.

One day a poor old woman came to the castle and asked to speak with the

queen. The royal servants answered that they could not let such a poor

beggar-woman go in to their royal mistress. They offered her a penny,

and told her to go away. Then the woman desired them to tell the queen

that there stood at the palace gate one who would help her secret

sorrow. This message was taken to the queen, who gave orders to bring

the old woman to her. This was done, and the old woman said to her:

‘I know your secret sorrow, O queen, and am come to help you in it. You

wish to have a son; you shall have two if you follow my instructions.’

The queen was greatly surprised that the old woman knew her secret wish

so well, and promised to follow her advice.

‘You must have a bath set in your room, O queen,’ said she, ‘and filled

with running water. When you have bathed in this you will find. under

the bath two red onions. These you must carefully peel and eat, and in

time your wish will be fulfilled.’

The queen did as the poor woman told her; and after she had bathed she

found the two onions under the bath. They were both alike in size

and appearance. When she saw these she knew that the woman had been

something more than she seemed to be, and in her delight she ate up one

of the onions, skin and all. When she had done so she remembered that

the woman had told her to peel them carefully before she ate them. It

was now too late for the one of them, but she peeled the other and then

ate it too.

In due time it happened as the woman had said; but the first that the

queen gave birth to was a hideous lindorm, or serpent. No one saw this

but her waiting-woman, who threw it out of the window into the forest

beside the castle. The next that came into the world was the most

beautiful little prince, and he was shown to the king and queen, who

knew nothing about his brother the lindorm.

There was now joy in all the palace and over the whole country on

account of the beautiful prince; but no one knew that the queen’s

first-born was a lindorm, and lay in the wild forest. Time passed

with the king, the queen, and the young prince in all happiness and

prosperity, until he was twenty years of his age. Then his parents said

to him that he should journey to another kingdom and seek for himself a

bride, for they were beginning to grow old, and would fain see their son

married. before they were laid in their grave. The prince obeyed, had

his horses harnessed to his gilded chariot, and set out to woo his

bride. But when he came to the first cross-ways there lay a huge and

terrible lindorm right across the road, so that his horses had to come

to a standstill.

‘Where are you driving to? ‘ asked the lindorm with a hideous voice.

‘That does not concern you,’ said the prince. ‘I am the prince, and can

drive where I please.’

‘Turn back,’ said the lindorm. ‘I know your errand, but you shall get no

bride until I have got a mate and slept by her side.’

The prince turned home again, and told the king and the queen what he

had met at the cross-roads; but they thought that he should try again on

the following day, and see whether he could not get past it, so that he

might seek a bride in another kingdom.

The prince did so, but got no further than the first cross-roads; there

lay the lindorm again, who stopped him in the same way as before.

The same thing happened on the third day when the prince tried to get

past: the lindorm said, with a threatening voice, that before the prince

could get a bride he himself must find a mate.

When the king and queen heard this for the third time they could think

of no better plan than to invite the lindorm to the palace, and they

should find him a mate. They thought that a lindorm would be quite well

satisfied with anyone that they might give him, and so they would get

some slave-woman to marry the monster. The lindorm came to the palace

and received a bride of this kind, but in the morning she lay torn in

pieces. So it happened every time that the king and queen compelled any

woman to be his bride.

The report of this soon spread over all the country. Now it happened

that there was a man who had married a second time, and his wife heard

of the lindorm with great delight. Her husband had a daughter by his

first wife who was more beautiful than all other maidens, and so gentle

and good that she won the heart of all who knew her. His second wife,

however, had also a grown-up daughter, who by herself would have

been ugly and disagreeable enough, but beside her good and beautiful

stepsister seemed still more ugly and wicked, so that all turned from

her with loathing.

The stepmother had long been annoyed that her husband’s daughter was

so much more beautiful than her own, and in her heart she conceived a

bitter hatred for her stepdaughter. When she now heard that there was in

the king’s palace a lindorm which tore in pieces all the women that were

married to him, and demanded a beautiful maiden for his bride, she went

to the king, and said that her stepdaughter wished to wed the lindorm,

so that the country’s only prince might travel and seek a bride. At

this the king was greatly delighted, and gave orders that the young girl

should be brought to the palace.

When the messengers came to fetch her she was terribly frightened, for

she knew that it was her wicked stepmother who in this way was aiming at

her life. She begged that she might be allowed to spend another night in

her father’s house. This was granted her, and she went to her mother’s

grave. There she lamented her hard fate in being given over to the

lindorm, and earnestly prayed her mother for counsel. How long she lay

there by the grave and wept one cannot tell, but sure it is that she

fell asleep and slept until the sun rose. Then she rose up from the

grave, quite happy at heart, and began to search about in the fields.

There she found three nuts, which she carefully put away in her pocket.

‘When I come into very great danger I must break one of these,’ she said

to herself. Then she went home, and set out quite willingly with the

king’s messengers.

When these arrived at the palace with the beautiful young maiden

everyone pitied her fate; but she herself was of good courage, and asked

the queen for another bridal chamber than the one the lindorm had had

before. She got this, and then she requested them to put a pot full of

strong lye on the fire and lay down three new scrubbing brushes. The

queen gave orders that everything should be done as she desired; and

then the maiden dressed herself in seven clean snow-white shirts, and

held her wedding with the lindorm.

When they were left alone in the bridal chamber the lindorm, in a

threatening voice, ordered her to undress herself.

‘Undress yourself first!’ said she.

‘None of the others bade me do that,’ said he in surprise.

‘But I bid you,’ said she.

Then the lindorm began to writhe, and groan, and breathe heavily; and

after a little he had cast his outer skin, which lay on the floor,

hideous to behold. Then his bride took off one of her snow-white shirts,

and cast it on the lindorm’s skin. Again he ordered her to undress,

and again she commanded him to do so first. He had to obey, and with

groaning and pain cast off one skin after another, and for each skin the

maiden threw off one of her shirts, until there lay on the floor seven

lindorm skins and six snow-white shirts; the seventh she still had on.

The lindorm now lay before her as a formless, slimy mass, which she with

all her might began to scrub with the lye and new scrubbing brushes.

When she had nearly worn out the last of these there stood before her

the loveliest youth in the world. He thanked her for having saved him

from his enchantment, and told her that he was the king and queen’s

eldest son, and heir to the kingdom. Then he asked her whether she would

keep the promise she had made to the lindorm, to share everything with

him. To this she was well content to answer ‘Yes.’

Each time that the lindorm had held his wedding one of the king’s

retainers was sent next morning to open the door of the bridal chamber

and see whether the bride was alive. This next morning also he peeped

in at the door, but what he saw there surprised him so much that he

shut the door in a hurry, and hastened to the king and queen, who were

waiting for his report. He told them of the wonderful sight he had seen.

On the floor lay seven lindorm skins and six snow-white shirts, and

beside these three worn-out scrubbing brushes, while in the bed a

beautiful youth was lying asleep beside the fair young maiden.

The king and queen marvelled greatly what this could mean; but just then

the old woman who was spoken of in the beginning of the story was again

brought in to the queen. She reminded her how she had not followed her

instructions, but had eaten the first onion with all its skins, on which

account her first-born had been a lindorm. The waiting-woman was then

summoned, and admitted that she had thrown it out through the window

into the forest. The king and queen now sent for their eldest son and

his young bride. They took them both in their arms, and asked him to

tell about his sorrowful lot during the twenty years he had lived in the

forest as a hideous lindorm. This he did, and then his parents had it

proclaimed over the whole country that he was their eldest son, and

along with his spouse should inherit the country and kingdom after them.

Prince Lindorm and his beautiful wife now lived in joy and prosperity

for a time in the palace; and when his father was laid in the grave,

not long after this, he obtained the whole kingdom. Soon afterwards his

mother also departed from this world.

Now it happened that an enemy declared war against the young king; and,

as he foresaw that it would be three years at the least before he could

return to his country and his queen, he ordered all his servants who

remained at home to guard her most carefully. That they might be able to

write to each other in confidence, he had two seal rings made, one for

himself and one for his young queen, and issued an order that no one,

under pain of death, was to open any letter that was sealed with one of

these. Then he took farewell of his queen, and marched out to war.

The queen’s wicked stepmother had heard with great grief that her

beautiful stepdaughter had prospered so well that she had not only

preserved her life, but had even become queen of the country. She now

plotted continually how she might destroy her good fortune. While King

Lindorm was away at the war the wicked woman came to the queen,

and spoke fair to her, saying that she had always foreseen that her

stepdaughter was destined to be something great in the world, and

that she had on this account secured that she should be the enchanted

prince’s bride. The queen, who did not imagine that any person could be

so deceitful, bade her stepmother welcome, and kept her beside her.

Soon after this the queen had two children, the prettiest boys that

anyone could see. When she had written a letter to the king to tell him

of this her stepmother asked leave to comb her hair for her, as her own

mother used to do. The queen gave her permission, and the stepmother

combed her hair until she fell asleep. Then she took the seal ring off

her neck, and exchanged the letter for another, in which she had written

that the queen had given birth to two whelps.

When the king received. this letter he was greatly distressed, but he

remembered how he himself had lived for twenty years as a lindorm, and

had been freed from the spell by his young queen. He therefore wrote

back to his most trusted retainer that the queen and her two whelps

should be taken care of while he was away.

The stepmother, however, took this letter as well, and wrote a new one,

in which the king ordered that the queen and the two little princes

should be burnt at the stake. This she also sealed with the queen’s

seal, which was in all respects like the king’s.

The retainer was greatly shocked and grieved at the king’s orders,

for which he could discover no reason; but, as he had not the heart to

destroy three innocent beings, he had a great fire kindled, and in this

he burned a sheep and two lambs, so as to make people believe that he

had carried out the king’s commands. The stepmother had made these known

to the people, adding that the queen was a wicked sorceress.

The faithful servant, however, told the queen that it was the king’s

command that during the years he was absent in the war she should keep

herself concealed in the castle, so that no one but himself should see

her and the little princes.

The queen obeyed, and no one knew but that both she and her children had

been burned. But when the time came near for King Lindorm to return home

from the war the old retainer grew frightened because he had not obeyed

his orders. He therefore went to the queen, and told her everything, at

the same time showing her the king’s letter containing the command to

burn her and the princes. He then begged her to leave the palace before

the king returned.

The queen now took her two little sons, and wandered out into the wild

forest. They walked all day without ending a human habitation, and

became very tired. The queen then caught sight of a man who carried some

venison. He seemed very poor and wretched, but the queen was glad to see

a human being, and asked him whether he knew where she and her little

children could get a house over their heads for the night.

The man answered that he had a little hut in the forest, and that she

could rest there; but he also said that he was one who lived entirely

apart from men, and owned no more than the hut, a horse, and a dog, and

supported himself by hunting.

The queen followed him to the hut and rested there overnight with her

children, and when she awoke in the morning the man had already gone out

hunting. The queen then began to put the room in order and prepare food,

so that when the man came home he found everything neat and tidy, and

this seemed to give him some pleasure. He spoke but little, however, and

all that he said about himself was that his name was Peter.

Later in the day he rode out into the forest, and the queen thought that

he looked very unhappy. While he was away she looked about her in the

hut a little more closely, and found a tub full of shirts stained with

blood, lying among water. She was surprised at this, but thought that

the man would get the blood on his shirt when he was carrying home

venison. She washed the shirts, and hung them up to dry, and said

nothing to Peter about the matter.

After some time had passed she noticed that every day he came riding

home from the forest he took off a blood-stained shirt and put on a

clean one. She then saw that it was something else than the blood of the

deer that stained his shirts, so one day she took courage and asked him

about it.

At first he refused to tell her, but she then related to him her own

story, and how she had succeeded in delivering the lindorm. He then told

her that he had formerly lived a wild life, and had finally entered

into a written contract * with the Evil Spirit. Before this contract

had expired he had repented and turned from his evil ways, and withdrawn

himself to this solitude. The Evil One had then lost all power to take

him, but so long as he had the contract he could compel him to meet him

in the forest each day at a certain time, where the evil spirits then

scourged him till he bled.

Next day, when the time came for the man to ride into the forest, the

queen asked him to stay at home and look after the princes, and she

would go to meet the evil spirits in his place. The man was amazed, and

said that this would not only cost her her life, but would also bring

upon him a greater misfortune than the one he was already under. She

bade him be of good courage, looked to see that she had the three nuts

which she had found beside her mother’s grave, mounted her horse, and

rode out into the forest. When she had ridden for some time the evil

spirits came forth and said, ‘Here comes Peter’s horse and Peter’s

hound; but Peter himself is not with them.’

Then at a distance she heard a terrible voice demanding to know what she

wanted.

‘I have come to get Peter’s contract,’ said she.

At this there arose a terrible uproar among the evil spirits, and the

worst voice among them all said, ‘Ride home and tell Peter that when he

comes to-morrow he shall get twice as many strokes as usual.’

The queen then took one of her nuts and cracked it, and turned her horse

about. At this sparks of fire flew out of all the trees, and the evil

spirits howled as if they were being scourged back to their abode.

Next day at the same time the queen again rode out into the forest;

but on this occasion the spirits did not dare to come so near her. They

would not, however, give up the contract, but threatened both her and

the man. Then she cracked her second nut, and all the forest behind her

seemed to be in fire and flames, and the evil spirits howled even worse

than on the previous day; but the contract they would not give up.

The queen had only one nut left now, but even that she was ready to give

up in order to deliver the man. This time she cracked the nut as soon

as she came near the place where the spirits appeared, and what then

happened to them she could not see, but amid wild screams and howls the

contract was handed to her at the end of a long branch. The queen rode

happy home to the hut, and happier still was the man, who had been

sitting there in great anxiety, for now he was freed from all the power

of the evil spirits.

Meanwhile King Lindorm had come home from the war, and the first

question he asked when he entered the palace was about the queen and the

whelps. The attendants were surprised: they knew of no whelps. The queen

had had two beautiful princes; but the king had sent orders that all

these were to be burned.

The king grew pale with sorrow and anger, and ordered them to summon his

trusted retainer, to whom he had sent the instructions that the queen

and the whelps were to be carefully looked after. The retainer, however,

showed him the letter in which there was written that the queen and her

children were to be burned, and everyone then understood that some great

treachery had been enacted.

When the king’s trusted retainer saw his master’s deep sorrow he

confessed to him that he had spared the lives of the queen and the

princes, and had only burned a sheep and two lambs, and had kept the

queen and her children hidden in the palace for three years, but had

sent her out into the wild forest just when the king was expected home.

When the king heard this his sorrow was lessened, and he said that he

would wander out into the forest and search for his wife and children.

If he found them he would return to his palace; but if he did not find

them he would never see it again, and in that case the faithful retainer

who had saved the lives of the queen and the princes should be king in

his stead.

The king then went forth alone into the wild forest, and wandered there

the whole day without seeing a single human being. So it went with him

the second day also, but on the third day he came by roundabout ways to

the little hut. He went in there, and asked for leave to rest himself

for a little on the bench. The queen and the princes were there, but she

was poorly clad and so sorrowful that the king did not recognise her,

neither did he think for a moment that the two children, who were

dressed only in rough skins, were his own sons.

He lay down on the bench, and, tired as he was, he soon fell asleep. The

bench was a narrow one, and as he slept his arm fell down and hung by

the side of it.

‘My son, go and lift your father’s arm up on the bench,’ said the queen

to one of the princes, for she easily knew the king again, although

she was afraid to make herself known to him. The boy went and took the

king’s arm, but, being only a child, he did not lift it up very gently

on to the bench.

The king woke at this, thinking at first that he had fallen into a den

of robbers, but he decided to keep quiet and pretend that he was asleep

until he should find out what kind of folk were in the house. He lay

still for a little, and, as no one moved in the room, he again let his

arm glide down off the bench. Then he heard a woman’s voice say, ‘My

son, go you and lift your father’s arm up on the bench, but don’t do

it so rough!y as your brother did.’ Then he felt a pair of little hands

softly clasping his arm; he opened his eyes, and saw his queen and her

children.

He sprang up and caught all three in his arms, and afterwards took them,

along with the man and his horse and his hound, back to the palace with

great joy. The most unbounded rejoicing reigned there then, as well as

over the whole kingdom, but the wicked stepmother was burned.

King Lindorm lived long and happily with his queen, and there are some

who say that if they are not dead now they are still living to this day.

The Jackal, the Dove, and the Panther

Contes populaires des Bassoutos. Recueillis et traduits par E. Jacottet.

Paris: Leroux, Editeur.

There was once a dove who built a nice soft nest as a home for her three

little ones. She was very proud of their beauty, and perhaps talked

about them to her neighbours more than she need have done, till at last

everybody for miles round knew where the three prettiest baby doves in

the whole country-side were to be found.

One day a jackal who was prowling about in search of a dinner came by

chance to the foot of the rock where the dove’s nest was hidden away,

and he suddenly bethought himself that if he could get nothing better he

might manage to make a mouthful of one of the young doves. So he shouted

as loud as he could, ‘Ohe, ohe, mother dove.’

And the dove replied, trembling with fear, ‘What do you want, sir?’

‘One of your children,’ said he; ‘and if you don’t throw it to me I will

eat up you and the others as well.’

Now, the dove was nearly driven distracted at the jackal’s words; but,

in order to save the lives of the other two, she did at last throw

the little one out of the nest. The jackal ate it up, and went home to

sleep.

Meanwhile the mother dove sat on the edge of her nest, crying bitterly,

when a heron, who was flying slowly past the rock, was filled with pity

for her, and stopped to ask, ‘What is the matter, you poor dove?’

And the dove answered, ‘A jackal came by, and asked me to give him one

of my little ones, and said that if I refused he would jump on my nest

and eat us all up.’

But the heron replied, ‘You should not have believed him. He could never

have jumped so high. He only deceived you because he wanted something

for supper.’ And with these words the heron flew off.

He had hardly got out of sight when again the jackal came creeping

slowly round the foot of the rock. And when he saw the dove he cried out

a second time, ‘Ohe, ohe, mother dove! give me one of your little ones,

or I will jump on your nest and eat you all up.’

This time the dove knew better, and she answered boldly, ‘Indeed, I

shall do nothing of the sort,’ though her heart beat wildly with fear

when she saw the jackal preparing for a spring.

However, he only cut himself against the rock, and thought he had better

stick to threats, so he started again with his old cry, ‘Mother dove,

mother dove! be quick and give me one of your little ones, or I will eat

you all up.’

But the mother dove only answered as before, ‘Indeed, I shall do nothing

of the sort, for I know we are safely out of your reach.’

The jackal felt it was quite hopeless to get what he wanted, and asked,

‘Tell me, mother dove, how have you suddenly become so wise?’

‘It was the heron who told me,’ replied she.

‘And which way did he go?’ said the jackal.

‘Down there among the reeds. You can see him if you look,’ said the

dove.

Then the jackal nodded good-bye, and went quickly after the heron. He

soon came up to the great bird, who was standing on a stone on the edge

of the river watching for a nice fat fish. ‘Tell me, heron,’ said he,

‘when the wind blows from that quarter, to which side do you turn?’

‘And which side do you turn to?’ asked the heron.

The jackal answered, ‘I always turn to this side.’

‘Then that is the side I turn to,’ remarked the heron.

‘And when the rain comes from that quarter, which side do you turn to?’

And the heron replied, ‘And which side do you turn to?’

‘Oh, I always turn to this side,’ said the jackal.

‘Then that is the side I turn to,’ said the heron.

‘And when the rain comes straight down, what do you do?’

‘What do you do yourself?’ asked the heron.

‘I do this,’ answered the jackal. ‘I cover my head with my paws.’

‘Then that is what I do,’ said the heron. ‘I cover my head with my

wings,’ and as he spoke he lifted his large wings and spread them

completely over his head.

With one bound the jackal had seized him by the neck, and began to shake

him.

‘Oh, have pity, have pity!’ cried the heron. ‘I never did you any harm.’

‘You told the dove how to get the better of me, and I am going to eat

you for it.’

‘But if you will let me go,’ entreated the heron, ‘I will show you the

place where the panther has her lair.’

‘Then you had better be quick about it,’ said the jackal, holding tight

on to the heron until he had pointed out the panther’s den. ‘Now you may

go, my friend, for there is plenty of food here for me.’

So the jackal came up to the panther, and asked politely, ‘Panther,

would you like me to look after your children while you are out

hunting?’

‘I should be very much obliged,’ said the panther; ‘but be sure you take

care of them. They always cry all the time that I am away.’

So saying she trotted off, and the jackal marched into the cave, where

he found ten little panthers, and instantly ate one up. By-and-bye the

panther returned from hunting, and said to him, ‘Jackal, bring out my

little ones for their supper.’

The jackal fetched them out one by one till he had brought out nine, and

he took the last one and brought it out again, so the whole ten seemed

to be there, and the panther was quite satisfied.

Next day she went again to the chase, and the jackal ate up another

little panther, so now there were only eight. In the evening, when she

came back, the panther said, ‘Jackal, bring out my little ones!’

And the jackal brought out first one and then another, and the last one

he brought out three times, so that the whole ten seemed to be there.

The following day the same thing happened, and the next and the next and

the next, till at length there was not even one left, and the rest of

the day the jackal busied himself with digging a large hole at the back

of the den.

That night, when the panther returned from hunting, she said to him as

usual, ‘Jackal, bring out my little ones.’

But the jackal replied: ‘Bring out your little ones, indeed! Why, you

know as well as I do that you have eaten them all up.’

Of course the panther had not the least idea what the jackal meant by

this, and only repeated, ‘Jackal, bring out my children.’ As she got

no answer she entered the cave, but found no jackal, for he had crawled

through the hole he had made and escaped. And, what was worse, she did

not find the little ones either.

Now the panther was not going to let the jackal get off like that, and

set off at a trot to catch him. The jackal, however, had got a good

start, and he reached a place where a swarm of bees deposited their

honey in the cleft of a rock. Then he stood still and waited till the

panther came up to him: ‘Jackal, where are my little ones?’ she asked.

And the jackal answered: ‘They are up there. It is where I keep school.’

The panther looked about, and then inquired, ‘But where? I see nothing

of them.’

‘Come a little this way,’ said the jackal, ‘and you will hear how

beautifully they sing.’

So the panther drew near the cleft of the rock.

‘Don’t you hear them?’ said the jackal; ‘they are in there,’ and slipped

away while the panther was listening to the song of the children.

She was still standing in the same place when a baboon went by. ‘What

are you doing there, panther?’

‘I am listening to my children singing. It is here that the jackal keeps

his school.’

Then the baboon seized a stick, and poked it in the cleft of the rock,

exclaiming, ‘Well, then, I should like to see your children!’

The bees flew out in a huge swarm, and made furiously for the panther,

whom they attacked on all sides, while the baboon soon climbed up out of

the way, crying, as he perched himself on the branch of a tree, ‘I wish

you joy of your children!’ while from afar the jackal’s voice was heard

exclaiming: ‘Sting, her well! don’t let her go!’

The panther galloped away as if she was mad, and flung herself into the

nearest lake, but every time she raised her head, the bees stung her

afresh so at last the poor beast was drowned altogether.

The Little Hare

Contes populaires des Bassoutos. Recueillis et traduits par E. Jacottet.

Paris: Leroux, Editeur.

A long, long way off, in a land where water is very scarce, there lived

a man and his wife and several children. One day the wife said to her

husband, ‘I am pining to have the liver of a nyamatsane for my dinner.

If you love me as much as you say you do, you will go out and hunt for

a nyamatsane, and will kill it and get its liver. If not, I shall know

that your love is not worth having.’

‘Bake some bread,’ was all her husband answered, ‘then take the crust

and put it in this little bag.’

The wife did as she was told, and when she had finished she said to her

husband, ‘The bag is all ready and quite full.’

‘Very well,’ said he, ‘and now good-bye; I am going after the

nyamatsane.’

But the nyamatsane was not so easy to find as the woman had hoped. The

husband walked on and on and on without ever seeing one, and every now

and then he felt so hungry that he was obliged to eat one of the

crusts of bread out of his bag. At last, when he was ready to drop from

fatigue, he found himself on the edge of a great marsh, which bordered

on one side the country of the nyamatsanes. But there were no more

nyamatsanes here than anywhere else. They had all gone on a hunting

expedition, as their larder was empty, and the only person left at

home was their grandmother, who was so feeble she never went out of

the house. Our friend looked on this as a great piece of luck, and made

haste to kill her before the others returned, and to take out her liver,

after which he dressed himself in her skin as well as he could. He had

scarcely done this when he heard the noise of the nyamatsanes coming

back to their grandmother, for they were very fond of her, and never

stayed away from her longer than they could help. They rushed clattering

into the hut, exclaiming, ‘We smell human flesh! Some man is here,’ and

began to look about for him; but they only saw their old grandmother,

who answered, in a trembling voice, ‘No, my children, no! What should

any man be doing here?’ The nyamatsanes paid no attention to her, and

began to open all the cupboards, and peep under all the beds, crying

out all the while, ‘A man is here! a man is here!’ but they could find

nobody, and at length, tired out with their long day’s hunting, they

curled themselves up and fell asleep.

Next morning they woke up quite refreshed, and made ready to start

on another expedition; but as they did not feel happy about their

grandmother they said to her, ‘Grandmother, won’t you come to-day and

feed with us?’ And they led their grandmother outside, and all of them

began hungrily to eat pebbles. Our friend pretended to do the same,

but in reality he slipped the stones into his pouch, and swallowed the

crusts of bread instead. However, as the nyamatsanes did not see this

they had no idea that he was not really their grandmother. When they had

eaten a great many pebbles they thought they had done enough for that

day, and all went home together and curled themselves up to sleep. Next

morning when they woke they said, ‘Let us go and amuse ourselves by

jumping over the ditch,’ and every time they cleared it with a bound.

Then they begged their grandmother to jump over it too, end with a

tremendous effort she managed to spring right over to the other side.

After this they had no doubt at all of its being their true grandmother,

and went off to their hunting, leaving our friend at home in the hut.

As soon as they had gone out of sight our hero made haste to take the

liver from the place where he had hid it, threw off the skin of the old

nyamatsane, and ran away as hard as he could, only stopping to pick up a

very brilliant and polished little stone, which he put in his bag by the

side of the liver.

Towards evening the nyamatsanes came back to the hut full of anxiety to

know how their grandmother had got on during their absence. The first

thing they saw on entering the door was her skin lying on the floor, and

then they knew that they had been deceived, and they said to each other,

‘So we were right, after all, and it was human flesh we smelt.’ Then

they stooped down to find traces of the man’s footsteps, and when they

had got them instantly set out in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile our friend had journeyed many miles, and was beginning to feel

quite safe and comfortable, when, happening to look round, he saw in

the distance a thick cloud of dust moving rapidly. His heart stood still

within him, and he said to himself, ‘I am lost. It is the nyamatsanes,

and they will tear me in pieces,’ and indeed the cloud of dust was

drawing near with amazing quickness, and the nyamatsanes almost felt as

if they were already devouring him. Then as a last hope the man took the

little stone that he had picked up out of his bag and flung it on the

ground. The moment it touched the soil it became a huge rock, whose

steep sides were smooth as glass, and on the top of it our hero hastily

seated himself. It was in vain that the nyamatsanes tried to climb up

and reach him; they slid down again much faster than they had gone up;

and by sunset they were quite worn out, and fell asleep at the foot of

the rock.

No sooner had the nyamatsanes tumbled off to sleep than the man stole

softly down and fled away as fast as his legs would carry him, and by

the time his enemies were awake he was a very long way off. They sprang

quickly to their feet and began to sniff the soil round the rock, in

order to discover traces of his footsteps, and they galloped after him

with terrific speed. The chase continued for several days and nights;

several times the nyamatsanes almost reached him, and each time he was

saved by his little pebble.

Between his fright and his hurry he was almost dead of exhaustion when

he reached his own village, where the nyamatsanes could not follow him,

because of their enemies the dogs, which swarmed over all the roads. So

they returned home.

Then our friend staggered into his own hut and called to his wife:

‘Ichou! how tired I am! Quick, give me something to drink. Then go and

get fuel and light a fire.’

So she did what she was bid, and then her husband took the nyamatsane’s

liver from his pouch and said to her, ‘There, I have brought you what

you wanted, and now you know that I love you truly.’

And the wife answered, ‘It is well. Now go and take out the children, so

that I may remain alone in the hut,’ and as she spoke she lifted down an

old stone pot and put on the liver to cook. Her husband watched her for

a moment, and then said, ‘Be sure you eat it all yourself. Do not give

a scrap to any of the children, but eat every morsel up.’ So the woman

took the liver and ate it all herself.

Directly the last mouthful had disappeared she was seized with such

violent thirst that she caught up a great pot full of water and drank it

at a single draught. Then, having no more in the house, she ran in next

door and said, ‘Neighbour, give me, I pray you, something to drink.’ The

neighbour gave her a large vessel quite full, and the woman drank it off

at a single draught, and held it out for more.

But the neighbour pushed her away, saying, ‘No, I shall have none left

for my children.’

So the woman went into another house, and drank all the water she could

find; but the more she drank the more thirsty she became. She wandered

in this manner through the whole village till she had drunk every

water-pot dry. Then she rushed off to the nearest spring, and swallowed

that, and when she had finished all the springs and wells about she

drank up first the river and then a lake. But by this time she had drunk

so much that she could not rise from the ground.

In the evening, when it was time for the animals to have their drink

before going to bed, they found the lake quite dry, and they had to make

up their minds to be thirsty till the water flowed again and the streams

were full. Even then, for some time, the lake was very dirty, and the

lion, as king of the beasts, commanded that no one should drink till it

was quite clear again.

But the little hare, who was fond of having his own way, and was very

thirsty besides, stole quietly off when all the rest were asleep in

their dens, and crept down to the margin of the lake and drank his fill.

Then he smeared the dirty water all over the rabbit’s face and paws, so

that it might look as if it were he who had been disobeying Big Lion’s

orders.

The next day, as soon as it was light, Big Lion marched straight for

the lake, and all the other beasts followed him. He saw at once that the

water had been troubled again, and was very angry.

‘Who has been drinking my water?’ said he; and the little hare gave a

jump, and, pointing to the rabbit, he answered, ‘Look there! it must be

he! Why, there is mud all over his face and paws!’

The rabbit, frightened out of his wits, tried to deny the fact,

exclaiming, ‘Oh, no, indeed I never did;’ but Big Lion would not listen,

and commanded them to cane him with a birch rod.

Now the little hare was very much pleased with his cleverness in causing

the rabbit to be beaten instead of himself, and went about boasting

of it. At last one of the other animals overheard him, and called out,

‘Little hare, little hare! what is that you are saying?’

But the little hare hastily replied, ‘I only asked you to pass me my

stick.’

An hour or two later, thinking that no one was near him, he said to

himself again, ‘It was really I who drank up the water, but I made them

think it was the rabbit.’

But one of the beasts whose ears were longer than the rest caught the

words, and went to tell Big Lion about it. Do you hear what the little

hare is saying?’

So Big Lion sent for the little hare, and asked him what he meant by

talking like that.

The little hare saw that there was no use trying to hide it, so he

answered pertly, ‘It was I who drank the water, but I made them think

it was the rabbit.’ Then he turned and ran as fast as he could, with all

the other beasts pursuing him.

They were almost up to him when he dashed into a very narrow cleft in

the rock, much too small for them to follow; but in his hurry he had

left one of his long ears sticking out, which they just managed to

seize. But pull as hard as they might they could not drag him out of the

hole, and at last they gave it up and left him, with his ear very much

torn and scratched.

When the last tail was out of sight the little hare crept cautiously

out, and the first person he met was the rabbit. He had plenty of

impudence, so he put a bold face on the matter, and said, ‘Well, my good

rabbit, you see I have had a beating as well as you.’

But the rabbit was still sore and sulky, and he did not care to talk, so

he answered, coldly, ‘You have treated me very badly. It was really you

who drank that water, and you accused me of having done it.’

‘Oh, my good rabbit, never mind that! I’ve got such a wonderful secret

to tell you! Do you know what to do so as to escape death?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, we must begin by digging a hole.’

So they dug a hole, and then the little hare said, ‘The next thing is to

make a fire in the hole,’ and they set to work to collect wood, and lit

quite a large fire.

When it was burning brightly the little hare said to the rabbit,

‘Rabbit, my friend, throw me into the fire, and when you hear my fur

crackling, and I call “Itchi, Itchi,” then be quick and pull me out.’

The rabbit did as he was told, and threw the little hare into the fire;

but no sooner did the little hare begin to feel the heat of the flames

than he took some green bay leaves he had plucked for the purpose and

held them in the middle of the fire, where they crackled and made a

great noise. Then he called loudly ‘Itchi, Itchi! Rabbit, my friend, be

quick, be quick! Don’t you hear how my skin is crackling?’

And the rabbit came in a great hurry and pulled him out.

Then the little hare said, ‘Now it is your turn!’ and he threw the

rabbit in the fire. The moment the rabbit felt the flames he cried out

‘Itchi, Itchi, I am burning; pull me out quick, my friend!’

But the little hare only laughed, and said, ‘No, you may stay there! It

is your own fault. Why were you such a fool as to let yourself be thrown

in? Didn’t you know that fire burns?’ And in a very few minutes nothing

was left of the rabbit but a few bones.

When the fire was quite out the little hare went and picked up one of

these bones, and made a flute out of it, and sang this song:

Pii, pii, O flute that I love, Pii, pii, rabbits are but little boys.

Pii, pii, he would have burned me if he could; Pii, pii, but I burned

him, and he crackled finely.

When he got tired of going through the world singing this the little

hare went back to his friends and entered the service of Big Lion. One

day he said to his master, ‘Grandfather, shall I show you a splendid way

to kill game?’

‘What is it?’ asked Big Lion.

‘We must dig a ditch, and then you must lie in it and pretend to be

dead.’

Big Lion did as he was told, and when he had lain down the little hare

got up on a wall blew a trumpet and shouted--

Pii, pii, all you animals come and see, Big Lion is dead, and now peace

will be.

Directly they heard this they all came running. The little hare received

them and said, ‘Pass on, this way to the lion.’ So they all entered into

the Animal Kingdom. Last of all came the monkey with her baby on her

back. She approached the ditch, and took a blade of grass and tickled

Big Lion’s nose, and his nostrils moved in spite of his efforts to keep

them still. Then the monkey cried, ‘Come, my baby, climb on my back and

let us go. What sort of a dead body is it that can still feel when it

is tickled?’ And she and her baby went away in a fright. Then the

little hare said to the other beasts, ‘Now, shut the gate of the Animal

Kingdom.’ And it was shut, and great stones were rolled against it. When

everything was tight closed the little hare turned to Big Lion and said

‘Now!’ and Big Lion bounded out of the ditch and tore the other animals

in pieces.

But Big Lion kept all the choice bits for himself, and only gave away

the little scraps that he did not care about eating; and the little hare

grew very angry, and determined to have his revenge. He had long ago

found out that Big Lion was very easily taken in; so he laid his plans

accordingly. He said to him, as if the idea had just come into his head,

‘Grandfather, let us build a hut,’ and Big Lion consented. And when they

had driven the stakes into the ground, and had made the walls of the

hut, the little hare told Big Lion to climb upon the top while he stayed

inside. When he was ready he called out, ‘Now, grandfather, begin,’

and Big Lion passed his rod through the reeds with which the roofs are

always covered in that country. The little hare took it and cried, ‘Now

it is my turn to pierce them,’ and as he spoke he passed the rod back

through the reeds and gave Big Lion’s tail a sharp poke.

‘What is pricking me so?’ asked Big Lion.

‘Oh, just a little branch sticking out. I am going to break it,’

answered the little hare; but of course he had done it on purpose, as he

wanted to fix Big Lion’s tail so firmly to the hut that he would not

be able to move. In a little while he gave another prick, and Big Lion

called again, ‘What is pricking me so?’

This time the little hare said to himself, ‘He will find out what I am

at. I must try some other plan. ‘So he called out, ‘Grandfather, you had

better put your tongue here, so that the branches shall not touch you.’

Big Lion did as he was bid, and the little hare tied it tightly to the

stakes of the wall. Then he went outside and shouted, ‘Grandfather, you

can come down now,’ and Big Lion tried, but he could not move an inch.

Then the little hare began quietly to eat Big Lion’s dinner right before

his eyes, and paying no attention at all to his growls of rage. When

he had quite done he climbed up on the hut, and, blowing his flute, he

chanted ‘Pii, pii, fall rain and hail,’ and directly the sky was full of

clouds, the thunder roared, and huge hailstones whitened the roof of

the hut. The little hare, who had taken refuge within, called out again,

‘Big Lion, be quick and come down and dine with me.’ But there was no

answer, not even a growl, for the hailstones had killed Big Lion.

The little hare enjoyed himself vastly for some time, living comfortably

in the hut, with plenty of food to eat and no trouble at all in getting

it. But one day a great wind arose, and flung down the Big Lion’s

half-dried skin from the roof of the hut. The little hare bounded with

terror at the noise, for he thought Big Lion must have come to life

again; but on discovering what had happened he set about cleaning

the skin, and propped the mouth open with sticks so that he could get

through. So, dressed in Big Lion’s skin, the little hare started on his

travels.

The first visit he paid was to the hyaenas, who trembled at the sight

of him, and whispered to each other, ‘How shall we escape from this

terrible beast?’ Meanwhile the little hare did not trouble himself

about them, but just asked where the king of the hyaenas lived, and

made himself quite at home there. Every morning each hyaena thought to

himself, ‘To-day he is certain to eat me;’ but several days went by,

and they were all still alive. At length, one evening, the little hare,

looking round for something to amuse him, noticed a great pot full of

boiling water, so he strolled up to one of the hyaenas and said, ‘Go and

get in.’ The hyaena dared not disobey, and in a few minutes was scalded

to death. Then the little hare went the round of the village, saying to

every hyaena he met, ‘Go and get into the boiling water,’ so that in a

little while there was hardly a male left in the village.

One day all the hyaenas that remained alive went out very early into

the fields, leaving only one little daughter at home. The little hare,

thinking he was all alone, came into the enclosure, and, wishing to

feel what it was like to be a hare again, threw off Big Lion’s skin, and

began to jump and dance, singing--

I am just the little hare, the little hare, the little hare; I am just

the little hare who killed the great hyaenas.

The little hyaena gazed at him in surprise, saying to herself, ‘What!

was it really this tiny beast who put to death all our best people?’

when suddenly a gust of wind rustled the reeds that surrounded the

enclosure, and the little hare, in a fright, hastily sprang back into

Big Lion’s skin.

When the hyaenas returned to their homes the little hyaena said to her

father: ‘Father, our tribe has very nearly been swept away, and all this

has been the work of a tiny creature dressed in the lion’s skin.’

But her father answered, ‘Oh, my dear child, you don’t know what you are

talking about.’

She replied, ‘Yes, father, it is quite true. I saw it with my own eyes.’

The father did not know what to think, and told one of his friends, who

said, ‘To-morrow we had better keep watch ourselves.’

And the next day they hid themselves and waited till the little hare

came out of the royal hut. He walked gaily towards the enclosure, threw

off, Big Lion’s skin, and sang and danced as before--

I am just the little hare, the little hare, the little hare, I am just

the little hare, who killed the great hyaenas.

That night the two hyaenas told all the rest, saying, ‘Do you know that

we have allowed ourselves to be trampled on by a wretched creature with

nothing of the lion about him but his skin?’

When supper was being cooked that evening, before they all went to bed,

the little hare, looking fierce and terrible in Big Lion’s skin, said as

usual to one of the hyaenas ‘Go and get into the boiling water.’ But the

hyaena never stirred. There was silence for a moment; then a hyaena took

a stone, and flung it with all his force against the lion’s skin. The

little hare jumped out through the mouth with a single spring, and fled

away like lightning, all the hyaenas in full pursuit uttering great

cries. As he turned a corner the little hare cut off both his ears,

so that they should not know him, and pretended to be working at a

grindstone which lay there.

The hyaenas soon came up to him and said, ‘Tell me, friend, have you

seen the little hare go by?’

‘No, I have seen no one.’

‘Where can he be?’ said the hyaenas one to another. ‘Of course, this

creature is quite different, and not at all like the little hare.’ Then

they went on their way, but, finding no traces of the little hare,

they returned sadly to their village, saying, ‘To think we should have

allowed ourselves to be swept away by a wretched creature like that!’

The Sparrow with the Slit Tongue

From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen.

A long long time ago, an old couple dwelt in the very heart of a high

mountain. They lived together in peace and harmony, although they were

very different in character, the man being good-natured and honest, and

the wife being greedy and quarrelsome when anyone came her way that she

could possibly quarrel with.

One day the old man was sitting in front of his cottage, as he was very

fond of doing, when he saw flying towards him a little sparrow, followed

by a big black raven. The poor little thing was very much frightened and

cried out as it flew, and the great bird came behind it terribly fast,

flapping its wings and craning its beak, for it was hungry and wanted

some dinner. But as they drew near the old man, he jumped up, and beat

back the raven, which mounted, with hoarse screams of disappointment,

into the sky, and the little bird, freed from its enemy, nestled into

the old man’s hand, and he carried it into the house. He stroked its

feathers, and told it not to be afraid, for it was quite safe; but as

he still felt its heart beating, he put it into a cage, where it soon

plucked up courage to twitter and hop about. The old man was fond of

all creatures, and every morning he used to open the cage door, and the

sparrow flew happily about until it caught sight of a cat or a rat or

some other fierce beast, when it would instantly return to the cage,

knowing that there no harm could come to it.

The woman, who was always on the look-out for something to grumble at,

grew very jealous of her husband’s affection for the bird, and would

gladly have done it some harm had she dared. At last, one morning her

opportunity came. Her husband had gone to the town some miles away down

the mountain, and would not be back for several hours, but before he

left he did not forget to open the door of the cage. The sparrow hopped

about as usual, twittering happily, and thinking no evil, and all the

while the woman’s brow became blacker and blacker, and at length her

fury broke out. She threw her broom at the bird, who was perched on a

bracket high up on the wall. The broom missed the bird, but knocked down

and broke the vase on the bracket, which did not soothe the angry woman.

Then she chased it from place to place, and at last had it safe between

her fingers, almost as frightened as on the day that it had made its

first entrance into the hut.

By this time the woman was more furious than ever. If she had dared,

she would have killed the sparrow then and there, but as it was she only

ventured to slit its tongue. The bird struggled and piped, but there was

no one to hear it, and then, crying out loud with the pain, it flew from

the house and was lost in the depths of the forest.

By-and-bye the old man came back, and at once began to ask for his pet.

His wife, who was still in a very bad temper, told him the whole story,

and scolded him roundly for being so silly as to make such a fuss over

a bird. But the old man, who was much troubled, declared she was a bad,

hard-hearted woman, to have behaved so to a poor harmless bird; then he

left the house, and went into the forest to seek for his pet. He walked

many hours, whistling and calling for it, but it never came, and he went

sadly home, resolved to be out with the dawn and never to rest till he

had brought the wanderer back. Day after day he searched and called; and

evening after evening he returned in despair. At length he gave up hope,

and made up his mind that he should see his little friend no more.

One hot summer morning, the old man was walking slowly under the cool

shadows of the big trees, and without thinking where he was going,

he entered a bamboo thicket. As the bamboos became thinner, he found

himself opposite to a beautiful garden, in the centre of which stood

a tiny spick-and-span little house, and out of the house came a lovely

maiden, who unlatched the gate and invited him in the most hospitable

way to enter and rest. ‘Oh, my dear old friend,’ she exclaimed, ‘how

glad I am you have found me at last! I am your little sparrow, whose

life you saved, and whom you took such care of.’

The old man seized her hands eagerly, but no time was given him to ask

any questions, for the maiden drew him into the house, and set food

before him, and waited on him herself.

While he was eating, the damsel and her maids took their lutes, and sang

and danced to him, and altogether the hours passed so swiftly that the

old man never saw that darkness had come, or remembered the scolding he

would get from his wife for returning home so late.

Thus, in dancing and singing, and talking over the days when the maiden

was a sparrow hopping in and out of her cage, the night passed away, and

when the first rays of sun broke through the hedge of bamboo, the

old man started up, thanked his hostess for her friendly welcome, and

prepared to say farewell. ‘I am not going to let you depart like that,’

said she; ‘I have a present for you, which you must take as a sign of my

gratitude.’ And as she spoke, her servants brought in two chests, one

of them very small, the other large and heavy. ‘Now choose which of them

you will carry with you.’ So the old man chose the small chest, and hid

it under his cloak, and set out on his homeward way.

But as he drew near the house his heart sank a little, for he knew

what a fury his wife would be in, and how she would abuse him for

his absence. And it was even worse than he expected. However, long

experience had taught him to let her storm and say nothing, so he lit

his pipe and waited till she was tired out. The woman was still raging,

and did not seem likely to stop, when her husband, who by this time had

forgotten all about her, drew out the chest from under his cloak, and

opened it. Oh, what a blaze met his eyes! gold and precious stones were

heaped up to the very lid, and lay dancing in he sunlight. At the

sight of these wonders even the scolding tongue ceased, and the woman

approached, and took the stones in her hand, setting greedily aside

those that were the largest and most costly. Then her voice softened,

and she begged him quite politely to tell her where he had spent his

evening, and how he had come by these wonderful riches. So he told her

the whole story, and she listened with amazement, till he came to the

choice which had been given him between the two chests. At this her

tongue broke loose again, as she abused him for his folly in taking

the little one, and she never rested till her husband had described the

exact way which led to the sparrow-princess’s house. When she had got it

into her head, she put on her best clothes and set out at once. But in

her blind haste she often missed the path, and she wandered for several

hours before she at length reached the little house. She walked boldly

up to the door and entered the room as if the whole place belonged to

her, and quite frightened the poor girl, who was startled at the sight

of her old enemy. However, she concealed her feelings as well as she

could, and bade the intruder welcome, placing before her food and wine,

hoping that when she had eaten and drunk she might take her leave. But

nothing of the sort.

‘You will not let me go without a little present?’ said the greedy wife,

as she saw no signs of one being offered her. ‘Of course not,’ replied

the girl, and at her orders two chests were brought in, as they had been

before. The old woman instantly seized the bigger, and staggering under

the weight of it, disappeared into the forest, hardly waiting even to

say good-bye.

It was a long way to her own house, and the chest seemed to grow heavier

at every step. Sometimes she felt as if it would be impossible for

her to get on at all, but her greed gave her strength, and at last she

arrived at her own door. She sank down on the threshold, overcome with

weariness, but in a moment was on her feet again, fumbling with the lock

of the chest. But by this time night had come, and there was no light in

the house, and the woman was in too much hurry to get to her treasures,

to go and look for one. At length, however, the lock gave way, and

the lid flew open, when, O horror! instead of gold and jewels, she saw

before her serpents with glittering eyes and forky tongues. And they

twined themselves about her and darted poison into her veins, and she

died, and no man regretted her.

The Story of Ciccu

From Sicilianische Mahrchen.

Once upon a time there lived a man who had three sons. The eldest was

called Peppe, the second Alfin, and the youngest Ciccu. They were all

very poor, and at last things got so bad that they really had not enough

to eat. So the father called his sons, and said to them, ‘ My dear boys,

I am too old to work any more, and there is nothing left for me but to

beg in the streets.’

‘No, no!’ exclaimed his sons; ‘that you shall never do. Rather, if it

must be, would we do it ourselves. But we have thought of a better plan

than that.’

‘What is it?’ asked the father.

‘Well, we will take you in the forest, where you shall cut wood, and

then we will bind it up in bundles and sell it in the town.’ So their

father let them do as they said, and they all made their way into the

forest; and as the old man was weak from lack of food his sons took it

in turns to carry him on their backs. Then they built a little hut where

they might take shelter, and set to work. Every morning early the father

cut his sticks, and the sons bound them in bundles, and carried them to

the town, bringing back the food the old man so much needed.

Some months passed in this way, and then the father suddenly fell ill,

and knew that the time had come when he must die. He bade his sons fetch

a lawyer, so that he might make his will, and when the man arrived he

explained his wishes.

‘I have,’ said he, ‘a little house in the village, and over it grows a

fig-tree. The house I leave to my sons, who are to live in it together;

the fig-tree I divide as follows. To my son Peppe I leave the branches.

To my son Alfin I leave the trunk. To my son Ciccu I leave the fruit.

Besides the house and tree, I have an old coverlet, which I leave to

my eldest son. And an old purse, which I leave to my second son. And a

horn, which I leave to my youngest son. And now farewell.’

Thus speaking, he laid himself down, and died quietly. The brothers wept

bitterly for their father, whom they loved, and when they had buried him

they began to talk over their future lives. ‘What shall we do now?’ said

they. ‘Shall we live in the wood, or go back to the village?’ And they

made up their minds to stay where they were and continue to earn their

living by selling firewood.

One very hot evening, after they had been working hard all day, they

fell asleep under a tree in front of the hut. And as they slept there

came by three fairies, who stopped to look at them.

‘What fine fellows!’ said one. ‘Let us give them a present.’

‘Yes, what shall it be?’ asked another.

‘This youth has a coverlet over him,’ said the first fairy. ‘When

he wraps it round him, and wishes himself in any place, he will find

himself there in an instant.’

Then said the second fairy: ‘This youth has a purse in his hand. I will

promise that it shall always give him as much gold as he asks for.’

Last came the turn of the third fairy. ‘This one has a horn slung round

him. When he blows at the small end the seas shall be covered with

ships. And if he blows at the wide end they shall all be sunk in the

waves.’ So they vanished, without knowing that Ciccu had been awake and

heard all they said.

The next day, when they were all cutting wood, he said to his brothers,

‘That old coverlet and the purse are no use to you; I wish you would

give them to me. I have a fancy for them, for the sake of old times.’

Now Peppe and Alfin were very fond of Ciccu, and never refused him

anything, so they let him have the coverlet and the purse without a

word. When he had got them safely Ciccu went on, ‘Dear brothers, I

am tired of the forest. I want to live in the town, and work at some

trade.’

‘O Ciccu! stay with us,’ they cried. ‘We are very happy here; and who

knows how we shall get on elsewhere?’

‘We can always try,’ answered Ciccu; ‘and if times are bad we can come

back here and take up wood-cutting.’ So saying he picked up his bundle

of sticks, and his brothers did the same.

But when they reached the town they found that the market was

overstocked with firewood, and they did not sell enough to buy

themselves a dinner, far less to get any food to carry home. They were

wondering sadly what they should do when Ciccu said, ‘Come with me to

the inn and let us have something to eat.’ They were so hungry by this

time that they did not care much whether they paid for it or not, so

they followed Ciccu, who gave his orders to the host. ‘Bring us three

dishes, the nicest that you have, and a good bottle of wine.’

‘Ciccu! Ciccu!’ whispered his brothers, horrified at this extravagance,

‘are you mad? How do you ever mean to pay for it?’

‘Let me alone,’ replied Ciccu; ‘I know what I am about.’ And when they

had finished their dinner Ciccu told the others to go on, and he would

wait to pay the bill.

The brothers hurried on, without needing to be told twice, ‘for,’

thought they, ‘he has no money, and of course there will be a row.’

When they were out of sight Ciccu asked the landlord how much he owed,

and then said to his purse, ‘Dear purse, give me, I pray you, six

florins,’ and instantly six florins were in the purse. Then he paid the

bill and joined his brothers.

‘How did you manage?’ they asked.

‘Never you mind,’ answered he. ‘I have paid every penny,’ and no more

would he say. But the other two were very uneasy, for they felt sure

something must be wrong, and the sooner they parted company with Ciccu

the better. Ciccu understood what they were thinking, and, drawing forty

gold pieces from his pocket, he held out twenty to each, saying, ‘Take

these and turn them to good account. I am going away to seek my own

fortune.’ Then he embraced them, and struck down another road.

He wandered on for many days, till at length he came to the town where

the king had his court. The first thing Ciccu did was to order himself

some fine clothes, and then buy a grand house, just opposite the palace.

Next he locked his door, and ordered a shower of gold to cover the

staircase, and when this was done, the door was flung wide open, and

everyone came and peeped at the shining golden stairs. Lastly the rumour

of these wonders reached the ears of the king, who left his palace to

behold these splendours with his own eyes. And Ciccu received him with

all respect, and showed him over the house.

When the king went home he told such stories of what he had seen that

his wife and daughter declared that they must go and see them too. So

the king sent to ask Ciccu’s leave, and Ciccu answered that if the queen

and the princess would be pleased to do him such great honour he would

show them anything they wished. Now the princess was as beautiful as the

sun, and when Ciccu looked upon her his heart went out to her, and he

longed to have her to wife. The princess saw what was passing in his

mind, and how she could make use of it to satisfy her curiosity as to

the golden stairs; so she praised him and flattered him, and put cunning

questions, till at length Ciccu’s head was quite turned, and he told her

the whole story of the fairies and their gifts. Then she begged him to

lend her the purse for a few days, so that she could have one made like

it, and so great was the love he had for her that he gave it to her at

once.

The princess returned to the palace, taking with her the purse, which

she had not the smallest intention of ever restoring to Ciccu. Very

soon Ciccu had spent all the money he had by him, and could get no more

without the help of his purse. Of course, he went at once to the king’s

daughter, and asked her if she had done with it, but she put him off

with some excuse, and told him to come back next day. The next day it

was the same thing, and the next, till a great rage filled Ciccu’s heart

instead of the love that had been there. And when night came he took

in his hand a thick stick, wrapped himself in the coverlet, and wished

himself in the chamber of the princess. The princess was asleep, but

Ciccu seized her arm and pulled her out of bed, and beat her till she

gave back the purse. Then he took up the coverlet, and wished he was

safe in his own house.

No sooner had he gone than the princess hastened to her father and

complained of her sufferings. Then the king rose up in a fury, and

commanded Ciccu to be brought before him. ‘You richly deserve death,’

said he, ‘but I will allow you to live if you will instantly hand over

to me the coverlet, the purse, and the horn.’

What could Ciccu do? Life was sweet, and he was in the power of the

king; so he gave up silently his ill-gotten goods, and was as poor as

when he was a boy.

While he was wondering how he was to live it suddenly came into his mind

that this was the season for the figs to ripen, and he said to himself,

‘I will go and see if the tree has borne well.’ So he set off

home, where his brothers still lived, and found them living very

uncomfortably, for they had spent all their money, and did not know

how to make any more. However, he was pleased to see that the fig-tree

looked in splendid condition, and was full of fruit. He ran and fetched

a basket, and was just feeling the figs, to make sure which of them were

ripe, when his brother Peppe called to him, ‘Stop! The figs of course

are yours, but the branches they grow on are mine, and I forbid you to

touch them.’

Ciccu did not answer, but set a ladder against the tree, so that he

could reach the topmost branches, and had his foot already on the first

rung when he heard the voice of his brother Alfin: ‘Stop! the trunk

belongs to me, and I forbid you to touch it!’

Then they began to quarrel violently, and there seemed no chance that

they would ever cease, till one of them said, ‘Let us go before a

judge.’ The others agreed, and when they had found a man whom they could

trust Ciccu told him the whole story.

‘This is my verdict,’ said the judge. ‘The figs in truth belong to

you, but you cannot pluck them without touching both the trunk and the

branches. Therefore you must give your first basketful to your brother

Peppe, as the price of his leave to put your ladder against the tree;

and the second basketful to your brother Alfin, for leave to shake his

boughs. The rest you can keep for yourself.’

And the brothers were contented, and returned home, saying one to the

other, ‘We will each of us send a basket of figs to the king. Perhaps

he will give us something in return, and if he does we will divide it

faithfully between us.’ So the best figs were carefully packed in a

basket, and Peppe set out with it to the castle.

On the road he met a little old man who stopped and said to him, ‘What

have you got there, my fine fellow?’

‘What is that to you?’ was the answer; ‘mind your own business.’ But

the old man only repeated his question, and Peppe, to get rid of him,

exclaimed in anger, ‘Dirt.’

‘Good,’ replied the old man; ‘dirt you have said, and dirt let it be.’

Peppe only tossed his head and went on his way till he got to the

castle, where he knocked at the door. ‘I have a basket of lovely figs

for the king,’ he said to the servant who opened it, ‘if his majesty

will be graciously pleased to accept them with my humble duty.’

The king loved figs, and ordered Peppe to be admitted to his presence,

and a silver dish to be brought on which to put the figs. When Peppe

uncovered his basket sure enough a layer of beautiful purple figs met

the king’s eyes, but underneath there was nothing but dirt. ‘How dare

you play me such a trick?’ shrieked the king in a rage. ‘Take him away,

and give him fifty lashes.’ This was done, and Peppe returned home, sore

and angry, but determined to say nothing about his adventure. And when

his brothers asked him what had happened he only answered, ‘When we have

all three been I will tell you.’

A few days after this more figs were ready for plucking, and Alfin

in his turn set out for the palace. He had not gone far down the road

before he met the old man, who asked him what he had in his basket.

‘Horns,’ answered Alfin, shortly.

‘Good,’ replied the old man; ‘horns you have said, and horns let it be.’

When Alfin reached the castle he knocked at the door and said to the

servant: ‘Here is a basket of lovely figs, if his majesty will be good

enough to accept them with my humble duty.’

The king commanded that Alfin should be admitted to his presence, and a

silver dish to be brought on which to lay the figs. When the basket

was uncovered some beautiful purple figs lay on the top, but underneath

there was nothing but horns. Then the king was beside himself with

passion, and screamed out, ‘Is this a plot to mock me? Take him away,

and give him a hundred and fifty lashes!’ So Alfin went sadly home, but

would not tell anything about his adventures, only saying grimly, ‘Now

it is Ciccu’s turn.’

Ciccu had to wait a little before he gathered the last figs on the tree,

and these were not nearly so good as the first set. However, he plucked

them, as they had agreed, and set out for the king’s palace. The old man

was still on the road, and he came up and said to Ciccu, ‘What have you

got in that basket?’

‘Figs for the king,’ answered he.

‘Let me have a peep,’ and Ciccu lifted the lid. ‘Oh, do give me one, I

am so fond of figs,’ begged the little man.

‘I am afraid if I do that the hole will show,’ replied Ciccu, but as he

was very good-natured he gave him one. The old man ate it greedily and

kept the stalk in his hand, and then asked for another and another and

another till he had eaten half the basketful. ‘But there are not enough

left to take to the king,’ murmured Ciccu.

‘Don’t be anxious,’ said the old man, throwing the stalks back into

the basket; ‘just go on and carry the basket to the castle, and it will

bring you luck.’

Ciccu did not much like it; however he went on his way, and with a

trembling heart rang the castle bell. ‘Here are some lovely figs for

the king,’ said he, ‘if his majesty will graciously accept them with my

humble duty.’

When the king was told that there was another man with a basket of figs

he cried out, ‘Oh, have him in, have him in! I suppose it is a wager!’

But Ciccu uncovered the basket, and there lay a pile of beautiful ripe

figs. And the king was delighted, and emptied them himself on the silver

dish, and gave five florins to Ciccu, and offered besides to take him

into his service. Ciccu accepted gratefully, but said he must first

return home and give the five florins to his brothers.

When he got home Peppe spoke: ‘Now we will see what we each have got

from the king. I myself received from him fifty lashes.’

‘And I a hundred and fifty,’ added Alfin.

‘And I five florins and some sweets, which you can divide between you,

for the king has taken me into his service.’ Then Ciccu went back to the

Court and served the king, and the king loved him.

The other two brothers heard that Ciccu had become quite an important

person, and they grew envious, and thought how they could put him to

shame. At last they came to the king and said to him, ‘O king! your

palace is beautiful indeed, but to be worthy of you it lacks one

thing--the sword of the Man-eater.’

‘How can I get it?’ asked the king.

‘Oh, Ciccu can get it for you; ask him.’

So the king sent for Ciccu and said to him, ‘Ciccu, you must at any

price manage to get the sword of the Man-eater.’

Ciccu was very much surprised at this sudden command, and he walked

thoughtfully away to the stables and began to stroke his favourite

horse, saying to himself, ‘Ah, my pet, we must bid each other good-bye,

for the king has sent me away to get the sword of the Maneater.’ Now

this horse was not like other horses, for it was a talking horse, and

knew a great deal about many things, so it answered, ‘Fear nothing, and

do as I tell you. Beg the king to give you fifty gold pieces and leave

to ride me, and the rest will be easy.’ Ciccu believed what the horse

said, and prayed the king to grant him what he asked. Then the two

friends set out, but the horse chose what roads he pleased, and directed

Ciccu in everything.

It took them many days’ hard riding before they reached the country

where the Man-eater lived, and then the horse told Ciccu to stop a group

of old women who were coming chattering through the wood, and offer them

each a shilling if they would collect a number of mosquitos and tie

them up in a bag. When the bag was full Ciccu put it on his shoulder

and stole into the house of the Man-eater (who had gone to look for his

dinner) and let them all out in his bedroom. He himself hid carefully

under the bed and waited. The Man-eater came in late, very tired with

his long walk, and flung himself on the bed, placing his sword with its

shining blade by his side. Scarcely had he lain down than the mosquitos

began to buzz about and bite him, and he rolled from side to side trying

to catch them, which he never could do, though they always seemed to

be close to his nose. He was so busy over the mosquitos that he did

not hear Ciccu steal softly out, or see him catch up the sword. But the

horse heard and stood ready at the door, and as Ciccu came flying down

the stairs and jumped on his back he sped away like the wind, and never

stopped till they arrived at the king’s palace.

The king had suffered much pain in his absence, thinking that if the

Man-eater ate Ciccu, it would be all his fault. And he was so overjoyed

to have him safe that he almost forgot the sword which he had sent him

to bring. But the two brothers did not love Ciccu any better because

he had succeeded when they hoped he would have failed, and one day they

spoke to the king. ‘It is all very well for Ciccu to have got possession

of the sword, but it would have been far more to your majesty’s honour

if he had captured the Man-eater himself.’ The king thought upon these

words, and at last he said to Ciccu, ‘Ciccu, I shall never rest until

you bring me back the Man-eater himself. You may have any help you like,

but somehow or other you must manage to do it.’ Ciccu felt very much

cast, down at these words, and went to the stable to ask advice of his

friend the horse. ‘Fear nothing,’ said the horse; ‘just say you want me

and fifty pieces of gold.’ Ciccu did as he was bid, and the two set out

together.

When they reached the country of the Man-eater, Ciccu made all the

church bells toll and a proclamation to be made. ‘Ciccu, the servant of

the king, is dead.’ The Man-eater soon heard what everyone was saying,

and was glad in his heart, for he thought, ‘Well, it is good news that

the thief who stole my sword is dead.’ But Ciccu bought an axe and a

saw, and cut down a pine tree in the nearest wood, and began to hew it

into planks.

‘What are you doing in my wood?’ asked the Maneater, coming up.

‘Noble lord,’ answered Ciccu, ‘I am making a coffin for the body of

Ciccu, who is dead.’

‘Don’t be in a hurry,’ answered the Man-eater, who of course did not

know whom he was talking to, ‘and perhaps I can help you;’ and they set

to work sawing and fitting, and very soon the coffin was finished.

Then Ciccu scratched his ear thoughtfully, and cried, ‘Idiot that I am!

I never took any measures. How am I to know if it is big enough? But now

I come to think of it, Ciccu was about your size. I wonder if you would

be so good as just to put yourself in the coffin, and see if there is

enough room.’

‘Oh, delighted!’ said the Man-eater, and laid himself at full length in

the coffin. Ciccu clapped on the lid, put a strong cord round it, tied

it fast on his horse, and rode back to the king. And when the king saw

that he really had brought back the Man-eater, he commanded a huge iron

chest to be brought, and locked the coffin up inside.

Just about this time the queen died, and soon after the king thought he

should like to marry again. He sought everywhere, but he could not hear

of any princess that took his fancy. Then the two envious brothers came

to him and said, ‘O king! there is but one woman that is worthy of being

your wife, and that is she who is the fairest in the whole world.’

‘But where can I find her?’ asked the king

‘Oh, Ciccu will know, and he will bring her to you.’

Now the king had got so used to depending on Ciccu, that he really

believed he could do everything. So he sent for him and said, ‘Ciccu,

unless within eight days you bring me the fairest in the whole world, I

will have you hewn into a thousand pieces.’ This mission seemed to Ciccu

a hundred times worse than either of the others, and with tears in his

eyes he took his way to the stables.

‘Cheer up,’ laughed the horse; ‘tell the king you must have some bread

and honey, and a purse of gold, and leave the rest to me.’

Ciccu did as he was bid, and they started at a gallop.

After they had ridden some way, they saw a swarm of bees lying on the

ground, so hungry and weak that they were unable to fly. ‘Get down, and

give the poor things some honey,’ said the horse, and Ciccu dismounted.

By-and-bye they came to a stream, on the bank of which was a fish,

flapping feebly about in its efforts to reach the water. ‘Jump down, and

throw the fish into the water; he will be useful to us,’ and Ciccu did

so. Farther along the hillside they saw an eagle whose leg was caught

in a snare. ‘Go and free that eagle from the snare; he will be useful to

us; ‘ and in a moment the eagle was soaring up into the sky.

At length they came to the castle where the fairest in the world lived

with her parents. Then said the horse, ‘You must get down and sit upon

that stone, for I must enter the castle alone. Directly you see me come

tearing by with the princess on my back, jump up behind, and hold her

tight, so that she does not escape you. If you fail to do this, we are

both lost.’ Ciccu seated himself on the stone, and the horse went on to

the courtyard of the castle, where he began to trot round in a graceful

and elegant manner. Soon a crowd collected first to watch him and then

to pat him, and the king and queen and princess came with the rest.

The eyes of the fairest in the world brightened as she looked, and she

sprang on the horse’s saddle, crying, ‘Oh, I really must ride him a

little!’ But the horse made one bound forward, and the princess was

forced to hold tight by his mane, lest she should fall off. And as they

dashed past the stone where Ciccu was waiting for them, he swung himself

up and held her round the waist. As he put his arms round her waist, the

fairest in the world unwound the veil from her head and cast it to the

ground, and then she drew a ring from her finger and flung it into the

stream. But she said nothing, and they rode on fast, fast.

The king of Ciccu’s country was watching for them from the top of a

tower, and when he saw in the distance a cloud of dust, he ran down

to the steps so as to be ready to receive them. Bowing low before the

fairest in the world, he spoke: ‘Noble lady, will you do me the honour

to become my wife?’

But she answered, ‘That can only be when Ciccu brings me the veil that I

let fall on my way here.’

And the king turned to Ciccu and said, ‘Ciccu, if you do not find the

veil at once, you shall lose your head.’

Ciccu, who by this time had hoped for a little peace, felt his heart

sink at this fresh errand, and he went into the stable to complain to

the faithful horse.

‘It will be all right,’ answered the horse when he had heard his tale;

‘just take enough food for the day for both of us, and then get on my

back.’

They rode back all the way they had come till they reached the place

where they had found the eagle caught in the snare; then the horse bade

Ciccu to call three times on the king of the birds, and when he replied,

to beg him to fetch the veil which the fairest in the world had let

fall.

‘Wait a moment,’ answered a voice that seemed to come from somewhere

very high up indeed. ‘An eagle is playing with it just now, but he will

be here with it in an instant;’ and a few minutes after there was a

sound of wings, and an eagle came fluttering towards them with the veil

in his beak. And Ciccu saw it was the very same eagle that he had freed

from the snare. So he took the veil and rode back to the king.

Now the king was enchanted to see him so soon, and took the veil from

Ciccu and flung it over the princess, crying, ‘Here is the veil you

asked for, so I claim you for my wife.’

‘Not so fast,’ answered she. ‘I can never be your wife till Ciccu puts

on my finger the ring I threw into the stream. Ciccu, who was standing

by expecting something of the sort, bowed his head when he heard her

words, and went straight to the horse.

‘Mount at once,’ said the horse; ‘this time it is very simple,’ and he

carried Ciccu to the banks of the little stream. ‘Now, call three times

on the emperor of the fishes, and beg him to restore you the ring that

the princess dropped.

Ciccu did as the horse told him, and a voice was heard in answer that

seemed to come from a very long way off.

‘What is your will?’ it asked; and Ciccu replied that he had been

commanded to bring back the ring that the princess had flung away, as

she rode past.

‘A fish is playing with it just now,’ replied the voice; ‘however, you

shall have it without delay.’

And sure enough, very soon a little fish was seen rising to the surface

with the lost ring in his mouth. And Ciccu knew him to be the fish that

he had saved from death, and he took the ring and rode back with it to

the king.

‘That is not enough,’ exclaimed the princess when she saw the ring;

‘before we can be man and wife, the oven must be heated for three days

and three nights, and Ciccu must jump in.’ And the king forgot how Ciccu

had served him, and desired him to do as the princess had said.

This time Ciccu felt that no escape was possible, and he went to the

horse and laid his hand on his neck. ‘Now it is indeed good-bye, and

there is no help to be got even from you,’ and he told him what fate

awaited him.

But the horse said, ‘Oh, never lose heart, but jump on my back, and make

me go till the foam flies in flecks all about me. Then get down, and

scrape off the foam with a knife. This you must rub all over you, and

when you are quite covered, you may suffer yourself to be cast into the

oven, for the fire will not hurt you, nor anything else.’ And Ciccu did

exactly as the horse bade him, and went back to the king, and before the

eyes of the fairest in the world he sprang into the oven.

And when the fairest in the world saw what he had done, love entered

into her heart, and she said to the king, ‘One thing more: before I can

be your wife, you must jump into the oven as Ciccu has done.’

‘Willingly,’ replied the king, stooping over the oven. But on the brink

he paused a moment and called to Ciccu, ‘Tell me, Ciccu, how did you

manage to prevent the fire burning you?’

Now Ciccu could not forgive his master, whom he had served so

faithfully, for sending him to his death without a thought, so he

answered, ‘I rubbed myself over with fat, and I am not even singed.’

When he heard these words, the king, whose head was full of the

princess, never stopped to inquire if they could be true, and smeared

himself over with fat, and sprang into the oven. And in a moment the

fire caught him, and he was burned up.

Then the fairest in the world held out her hand to Ciccu and smiled,

saying, ‘Now we will be man and wife.’ So Ciccu married the fairest in

the world, and became king of the country.

Don Giovanni De La Fortuna

Sicilianische Mahrchen

There was once a man whose name was Don Giovanni de la Fortuna, and he

lived in a beautiful house that his father had built, and spent a great

deal of money. Indeed, he spent so much that very soon there was none

left, and Don Giovanni, instead of being a rich man with everything

he could wish for, was forced to put on the dress of a pilgrim, and to

wander from place to place begging his bread.

One day he was walking down a broad road when he was stopped by a

handsome man he had never seen before, who, little as Don Giovanni knew

it, was the devil himself.

‘Would you like to be rich,’ asked the devil, ‘and to lead a pleasant

life?’

‘Yes, of course I should,’ replied the Don.

‘Well, here is a purse; take it and say to it, “Dear purse, give me some

money,” and you will get as much as you can want But the charm will only

work if you promise to remain three years, three months, and three days

without washing and without combing and without shaving your beard or

changing your clothes. If you do all this faithfully, when the time is

up you shall keep the purse for yourself, and I will let you off any

other conditions.’

Now Don Giovanni was a man who never troubled his head about the future.

He did not once think how very uncomfortable he should be all those

three years, but only that he should be able, by means of the purse,

to have all sorts of things he had been obliged to do without; so he

joyfully put the purse in his pocket and went on his way. He soon began

to ask for money for the mere pleasure of it, and there was always as

much as he needed. For a little while he even forgot to notice how dirty

he was getting, but this did not last long, for his hair became matted

with dirt and hung over his eyes, and his pilgrim’s dress was a mass of

horrible rags and tatters.

He was in this state when, one morning, he happened to be passing a fine

palace; and, as the sun was shining bright and warm, he sat down on the

steps and tried to shake off some of the dust which he had picked up on

the road. But in a few minutes a maid saw him, and said to her master,

‘I pray you, sir, to drive away that beggar who is sitting on the steps,

or he will fill the whole house with his dirt.’

So the master went out and called from some distance off, for he was

really afraid to go near the man, ‘You filthy beggar, leave my house at

once!’

‘You need not be so rude,’ said Don Giovanni; ‘I am not a beggar, and if

I chose I could force you and your wife to leave your house.’

‘What is that you can do?’ laughed the gentleman.

‘Will you sell me your house?’ asked Don Giovanni. ‘I will buy it from

you on the spot.’

‘Oh, the dirty creature is quite mad!’ thought the gentleman. ‘I shall

just accept his offer for a joke.’ And aloud he said: ‘ All right;

follow me, and we will go to a lawyer and get him to make a contract.’

And Don Giovanni followed him, and an agreement was drawn up by which

the house was to be sold at once, and a large sum of money paid down in

eight days. Then the Don went to an inn, where he hired two rooms, and,

standing in one of them, said to his purse, ‘ Dear purse, fill this room

with gold;’ and when the eight days were up it was so full you could not

have put in another sovereign.

When the owner of the house came to take away his money Don Giovanni

led him into the room and said: ‘There, just pocket what you want.’ The

gentleman stared with open mouth at the astonishing sight; but he had

given his word to sell the house, so he took his money, as he was told,

and went away with his wife to look for some place to live in. And Don

Giovanni left the inn and dwelt in the beautiful rooms, where his rags

and dirt looked sadly out of place. And every day these got worse and

worse.

By-and-bye the fame of his riches reached the ears of the king, and, as

he himself was always in need of money, he sent for Don Giovanni, as he

wished to borrow a large sum. Don Giovanni readily agreed to lend him

what he wanted, and sent next day a huge waggon laden with sacks of

gold.

‘Who can he be?’ thought the king to himself. ‘Why, he is much richer

than I!’

The king took as much as he had need of; then ordered the rest to be

returned to Don Giovanni, who refused to receive it, saying, ‘Tell his

majesty I am much hurt at his proposal. I shall certainly not take

back that handful of gold, and, if he declines to accept it, keep it

yourself.’

The servant departed and delivered the message, and the king wondered

more than ever how anyone could be so rich. At last he spoke to the

queen: ‘Dear wife, this man has done me a great service, and has,

besides, behaved like a gentleman in not allowing me to send back the

money. I wish to give him the hand of our eldest daughter.’

The queen was quite pleased at this idea, and again messenger was sent

to Don Giovanni, offering him the hand of the eldest princess.

‘His majesty is too good,’ he replied. ‘I can only humbly accept the

honour.’

The messenger took back this answer, but a second time returned with the

request that Don Giovanni would present them with his picture, so that

they might know what sort of a person to expect. But when it came, and

the princess saw the horrible figure, she screamed out, ‘What! marry

this dirty beggar? Never, never!’

‘Ah, child,’ answered the king, ‘how could I ever guess that the rich

Don Giovanni would ever look like that? But I have passed my royal word,

and I cannot break it, so there is no help for you.’

‘No, father; you may cut off my head, if you choose, but marry that

horrible beggar--I never will!’

And the queen took her part, and reproached her husband bitterly for

wishing his daughter to marry a creature like that.

Then the youngest daughter spoke: ‘Dear father, do not look so sad. As

you have given your word, I will marry Don Giovanni.’ The king fell on

her neck, and thanked her and kissed her, but the queen and the elder

girl had nothing for her but laughs and jeers.

So it was settled, and then the king bade one of his lords go to

Don Giovanni and ask him when the wedding day was to be, so that the

princess might make ready.

‘Let it be in two months,’ answered Don Giovanni, for the time was

nearly up that the devil had fixed, and he wanted a whole month to

himself to wash off the dirt of the past three years.

The very minute that the compact with the devil had come to an end his

beard was shaved, his hair was cut, and his rags were burned, and day

and night he lay in a bath of clear warm water. At length he felt he was

clean again, and he put on splendid clothes, and hired a beautiful ship,

and arrived in state at the king’s palace.

The whole of the royal family came down to the ship to receive him, and

the whole way the queen and the elder princess teased the sister about

the dirty husband she was going to have. But when they saw how handsome

he really was their hearts were filled with envy and anger, so that

their eyes were blinded, and they fell over into the sea and were

drowned. And the youngest daughter rejoiced in the good luck that had

come to her, and they had a splendid wedding when the days of mourning

for her mother and sister were ended.

Soon after the old king died, and Don Giovanni became king. And he was

rich and happy to the end of his days, for he loved his wife, and his

purse always gave him money.