indeed!"
But he begged so hard that at length the good Queen his mother bade him
God-speed, and girt about his waist his father's sword, the brand that
never struck in vain, and as she girt it on she chanted the spell that
gives victory.
So Childe Rowland bade her good-bye and went to the cave of the Great
Magician Merlin.
"Yet once more, Master," said the youth, "and but once more, tell how
man or mother's son may find fair Burd Helen and her brothers twain in
the Dark Tower of Elfland."
"My son," replied the wizard Merlin, "there be things twain; simple they
seem to say, but hard are they to perform. One thing is to do, and one
thing is not to do. Now the first thing you have to do is this: after
you have once entered the Land of Faery, _whoever speaks to you_, you
must out with your father's brand and cut off their head. In this you
must not fail. And the second thing you have not to do is this: after
you have entered the Land of Faery, bite no bit, sup no drop; for if in
Elfland you sup one drop or bite one bit, never again will you see
Middle Earth."
Then Childe Rowland said these two lessons over and over until he knew
them by heart; so, well schooled, he thanked the Great Master and went
on his way to seek the Dark Tower of Elfland.
And he journeyed far, and he journeyed fast, until at last on a wide
moorland he came upon a horse-herd feeding his horses; and the horses
were wild, and their eyes were like coals of fire.
Then he knew they must be the horses of the King of Elfland, and that at
last he must be in the Land of Faery.
So Childe Rowland said to the horse-herd, "Canst tell me where lies the
Dark Tower of the Elfland King?"
And the horse-herd answered, "Nay, that is beyond my ken; but go a
little farther and thou wilt come to a cow-herd who mayhap can tell
thee."
Then at once Childe Rowland drew his father's sword that never struck in
vain, and smote off the horse-herd's head, so that it rolled on the wide
moorland and frightened the King of Elfland's horses. And he journeyed
further till he came to a wide pasture where a cow-herd was herding
cows. And the cows looked at him with fiery eyes, so he knew that they
must be the King of Elfland's cows, and that he was still in the Land of
Faery. Then he said to the cow-herd:
"Canst tell me where lies the Dark Tower of the Elfland King?"
And the cow-herd answered, "Nay, that is beyond my ken; but go a little
farther and thou wilt come to a hen-wife who, mayhap, can tell thee."
So at once Childe Rowland, remembering his lesson, out with his father's
good sword that never struck in vain, and off went the cow-herd's head
spinning amongst the grasses and frightening the King of Elfland's cows.
Then he journeyed further till he came to an orchard where an old woman
in a grey cloak was feeding fowls.
And the fowls' little eyes were like little coals of fire, so he knew
that they were the King of Elfland's fowls, and that he was still in the
Land of Faery.
And he said to the hen-wife, "Canst tell me where lies the Dark Tower of
the King of Elfland?"
Now the hen-wife looked at him and smiled. "Surely I can tell you," said
she. "Go on a little farther. There you will find a low green hill;
green and low against the sky. And the hill will have three
terrace-rings upon it from bottom to top. Go round the first terrace
saying:
'Open from within;
Let me in! Let me in!'
"Then go round the second terrace and say:
'Open wide, open wide;
Let me inside.'
"Then go round the third terrace and say:
'Open fast, open fast;
Let me in at last.'
"Then a door will open and let you in to the Dark Tower of the King of
Elfland. Only remember to go round widershins. If you go round with the
sun the door will not open. So good luck to you!"
Now the hen-wife spoke so fair, and smiled so frank, that Childe Rowland
forgot for a moment what he had to do. Therefore he thanked the old
woman for her courtesy and was just going on, when, all of a sudden, he
remembered his lesson. And he out with his father's sword that never yet
struck in vain, and smote off the hen-wife's head, so that it rolled
among the corn and frightened the fiery-eyed fowls of the King of
Elfland.
After that he went on and on, till, against the blue sky, he saw a round
green hill set with three terraces from top to bottom.
Then he did as the hen-wife had told him, not forgetting to go round
widershins, so that the sun was always on his face.
Now when he had gone round the third terrace saying:
"Open fast, open fast;
Let me in at last,"
what should happen but that he should see a door in the hill-side. And
it opened and let him in. Then it closed behind him with a click, and
Childe Rowland was left in the dark; for he had gotten at last to the
Dark Tower of the King of Elfland.
It was very dark at first, perhaps because the sun had part blinded his
eyes; for after a while it became twilight, though where the light came
from none could tell, unless through the walls and the roof; for there
were neither windows nor candles. But in the gloaming light he could see
a long passage of rough arches made of rock that was transparent and all
encrusted with sheep-silver, rock-spar, and many bright stones. And the
air was warm as it ever is in Elfland. So he went on and on in the
twilight that came from nowhere, till he found himself before two wide
doors all barred with iron. But they flew open at his touch, and he saw
a wonderful, large, and spacious hall that seemed to him to be as long
and as broad as the green hill itself. The roof was supported by pillars
wide and lofty beyond the pillars of a cathedral; and they were of gold
and silver, fretted into foliage, and between and around them were woven
wreaths of flowers. And the flowers were of diamonds, and rubies, and
topaz, and the leaves of emerald. And the arches met in the middle of
the roof where hung, by a golden chain, an immense lamp made of a
hollowed pearl, white and translucent. And in the middle of this lamp
was a mighty carbuncle, blood-red, that kept spinning round and round,
shedding its light to the very ends of the huge hall, which thus seemed
to be filled with the shining of the setting sun.
Now at one end of the hall was a marvelous, wondrous, glorious couch of
velvet, silk and gold, and on it sate fair Burd Helen combing her
beautiful golden hair with a golden comb. But her face was all set and
wan, as if it were made of stone. When she saw Childe Rowland she never
moved, and her voice came like the voice of the dead as she said:
"God pity you, poor luckless fool!
What have you here to do?"
Now at first Childe Rowland felt he must clasp this semblance of his
dear sister in his arms, but he remembered the lesson which the Great
Magician Merlin had taught him, and drawing his father's brand which had
never yet been drawn in vain, and turning his eyes from the horrid
sight, he struck with all his force at the enchanted form of fair Burd
Helen.
And lo, when he turned to look in fear and trembling, there she was her
own self, her joy fighting with her fears. And she clasped him in her
arms and cried:
"Oh, hear you this, my youngest brother,
Why didn't you bide at home?
Had you a hundred thousand lives,
Ye couldn't spare ne'er a one!
"But sit you down, my dearest dear,
Oh! woe that ye were born,
For, come the King of Elfland in,
Your fortune is forlorn."
So with tears and smiles she seated him beside her on the wondrous
couch, and they told each other what they each had suffered and done. He
told her how he had come to Elfland. She told him how she had been
carried off, shadow and all, because she ran round a church widershins,
and how her brothers had been enchanted, and lay intombed as if dead, as
she had been. Because they had not had the courage to obey the Great
Magician's lesson to the letter, and cut off her head.
Now after a time Childe Rowland, who had travelled far and travelled
fast, became very hungry, and forgetting all about the second lesson of
the Magician Merlin, asked his sister for some food; and she, being
still under the spell of Elfland, could not warn him of his danger. She
could only look at him sadly as she rose up and brought him a golden
basin full of bread and milk.
Now in those days it was manners before taking food from anyone to say
thank you with your eyes, and so just as Childe Rowland was about to put
the golden bowl to his lips, he raised his eyes to his sister's.
And in an instant he remembered what the Great Magician had said: "Bite
no bit, sup no drop, for if in Elfland you sup one drop or bite one bit,
never again will you see Middle Earth."
So he dashed the bowl to the ground, and standing square and fair, lithe
and young and strong, he cried like a challenge:
"Not a sup will I swallow, not a bit will I bite, till fair Burd Helen
is set free."
Then immediately there was a loud noise like thunder, and a voice was
heard saying:
"Fee, fi, fo, fum,
I smell the blood of a Christian Man.
Be he alive or dead, my brand
Shall dash his brains from his brain-pan."
Then the folding-doors of the vast hall burst open and the King of
Elfland entered like a storm of wind. What he was really like Childe
Rowland had not time to see, for with a bold cry:
"Strike, Bogle! thy hardest if thou darest!" he rushed to meet the foe,
his good sword, that never yet did fail, in his hand.
And Childe Rowland and the King of Elfland fought, and fought, and
fought, while Burd Helen, with her hands clasped, watched them in fear
and hope.
So they fought, and fought, and fought, until at last Childe Rowland
beat the King of Elfland to his knees. Whereupon he cried, "I yield me.
Thou hast beaten me in fair fight."
Then Childe Rowland said, "I grant thee mercy if thou wilt release my
sister and my brothers from all spells and enchantments, and let us go
back to Middle Earth."
So that was agreed; and the Elfin King went to a golden chest whence he
took a phial that was filled with a blood-red liquor. And with this
liquor he anointed the ears and the eyelids, the nostrils, the lips, and
the finger-tips of the bodies of Burd Helen's two brothers that lay as
dead in two golden coffers.
And immediately they sprang to life and declared that their souls only
had been away, but had now returned.
After this the Elfin King said a charm which took away the very last bit
of enchantment, and adown the huge hall that showed as if it were lit by
the setting sun, and through the long passage of rough arches made of
rock that was transparent and all encrusted with sheep-silver,
rock-spar, and many bright stones, where twilight reigned, the three
brothers and their sister passed. Then the door opened in the green
hill, it clicked behind them, and they left the Dark Tower of the King
of Elfland never to return.
For, no sooner were they in the light of day, than they found themselves
at home.
But fair Burd Helen took care never to go widershins round a church
again.
[Illustration: They both met together upon Nottingham bridge]
THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM
OF BUYING OF SHEEP
There were two men of Gotham, and one of them was going to market to
Nottingham to buy sheep, and the other came from the market, and they
both met together upon Nottingham bridge.
"Where are you going?" said the one who came from Nottingham.
"Marry," said he that was going to Nottingham, "I am going to buy
sheep."
"Buy sheep?" said the other; "and which way will you bring them home?"
"Marry," said the other, "I will bring them over this bridge."
"By Robin Hood," said he that came from Nottingham, "but thou shalt
not."
"By Maid Marion," said he that was going thither, "but I will."
"You will not," said the one.
"I will."
Then they beat their staves against the ground, one against the other,
as if there had been a hundred sheep between them.
"Hold in," said one; "beware lest my sheep leap over the bridge."
"I care not," said the other; "they shall not come this way."
"But they shall," said the other.
Then the other said, "If that thou make much to do, I will put my
fingers in thy mouth."
"Will you?" said the other.
Now, as they were at their contention, another man of Gotham came from
the market with a sack of meal upon a horse, and seeing and hearing his
neighbours at strife about sheep, though there were none between them,
said:
"Ah, fools! will you ever learn wisdom? Help me, and lay my sack upon my
shoulders."
They did so, and he went to the side of the bridge, unloosened the mouth
of the sack, and shook all his meal out into the river.
"Now, neighbours," he said, "how much meal is there in my sack?"
"Marry," said they, "there is none at all."
"Now, by my faith," said he, "even as much wit as is in your two heads
to stir up strife about a thing you have not."
Which was the wisest of these three persons, judge yourself.
[Illustration: "A vengeance on her!" said they. "We did not make our
hedge high enough"]
OF HEDGING A CUCKOO
Once upon a time the men of Gotham would have kept the Cuckoo so that
she might sing all the year, and in the midst of their town they made a
hedge round in compass and they got a Cuckoo, and put her into it, and
said, "Sing there all through the year, or thou shalt have neither meat
nor water." The Cuckoo, as soon as she perceived herself within the
hedge, flew away. "A vengeance on her!" said they. "We did not make our
hedge high enough."
[Illustration: He took out the cheeses and rolled them down the hill]
OF SENDING CHEESES
There was a man of Gotham who went to the market at Nottingham to sell
cheese, and as he was going down the hill to Nottingham bridge, one of
his cheeses fell out of his wallet and rolled down the hill. "Ah,
gaffer," said the fellow, "can you run to market alone? I will send one
after another after you." Then he laid down his wallet and took out the
cheeses and rolled them down the hill. Some went into one bush, and some
went into another.
"I charge you all to meet me near the market-place," cried he; and when
the fellow came to the market to meet his cheeses, he stayed there till
the market was nearly done. Then he went about to inquire of his friends
and neighbours, and other men, if they did see his cheeses come to the
market.
"Who should bring them?" said one of the market men.
"Marry, themselves," said the fellow; "they know the way well enough."
He said, "A vengeance on them all. I did fear, to see them run so fast,
that they would run beyond the market. I am now fully persuaded that
they must be now almost at York." Whereupon he forthwith hired a horse
to ride to York, to seek his cheeses where they were not; but to this
day no man can tell him of his cheeses.
[Illustration: And they left the eel to drown]
OF DROWNING EELS
When Good Friday came, the men of Gotham cast their heads together what
to do with their white herrings, their red herrings, their sprats, and
other salt fish. One consulted with the other, and agreed that such
fish should be cast into their pond (which was in the middle of the
town), that they might breed against the next year, and every man that
had salt fish left cast them into the pool.
"I have many white herrings," said one.
"I have many sprats," said another.
"I have many red herrings," said the other.
"I have much salt fish. Let all go into the pond or pool, and we shall
fare like lords next year."
At the beginning of next year following the men drew near the pond to
have their fish, and there was nothing but a great eel. "Ah," said they
all, "a mischief on this eel, for he has eaten up all our fish."
"What shall we do to him?" said one to the other.
"Kill him," said one.
"Chop him into pieces," said another.
"Not so," said another; "let us drown him."
"Be it so," said all. And they went to another pond, and cast the eel
into the pond. "Lie there and shift for yourself, for no help thou shalt
have from us"; and they left the eel to drown.
[Illustration: The hare ran on along the country way]
OF SENDING RENT
Once on a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their landlord.
One said to the other, "To-morrow is our pay-day, and what shall we find
to send our money to our landlord?"
The one said, "This day I have caught a hare, and he shall carry it, for
he is light of foot."
"Be it so," said all; "he shall have a letter and a purse to put our
money in, and we shall direct him the right way." So when the letters
were written and the money put in a purse, they tied it round the hare's
neck, saying, "First you go to Lancaster, then thou must go to
Loughborough, and Newarke is our landlord, and commend us to him, and
there is his dues."
The hare, as soon as he was out of their hands, ran on along the country
way. Some cried, "Thou must go to Lancaster first."
"Let the hare alone," said another; "he can tell a nearer way than the
best of us all. Let him go."
Another said, "It is a subtle hare; let her alone; she will not keep the
highway for fear of dogs."
[Illustration: A courtier came riding by, and he did ask what they were
seeking]
OF COUNTING
On a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham who went fishing, and
some went into the water and some on dry ground; and, as they were
coming back, one of them said, "We have ventured much this day wading; I
pray God that none of us that did come from home be drowned."
"Marry," said one, "let us see about that. Twelve of us came out." And
every man did count eleven, and the twelfth man did never count himself.
"Alas!" said one to another, "one of us is drowned." They went back to
the brook where they had been fishing, and looked up and down for him
that was drowned, and made great lamentation. A courtier came riding by,
and he did ask what they were seeking, and why they were so sorrowful.
"Oh," said they, "this day we came to fish in this brook, and there were
twelve of us, and one is drowned."
"Why," said the courtier, "count me how many of you there be"; and one
counted eleven and did not count himself. "Well," said the courtier,
"what will you give me if I find the twelfth man?"
"Sir," said they, "all the money we have."
"Give me the money," said the courtier; and he began with the first, and
gave him a whack over the shoulders that he groaned, and said, "There is
one," and he served all of them that they groaned; but when he came to
the last he gave him a good blow, saying, "Here is the twelfth man."
"God bless you on your heart," said all the company; "you have found our
neighbour."
CAPORUSHES
Once upon a time, a long, long while ago, when all the world was young
and all sorts of strange things happened, there lived a very rich
gentleman whose wife had died leaving him three lovely daughters. They
were as the apple of his eye, and he loved them exceedingly.
Now one day he wanted to find out if they loved him in return, so he
said to the eldest, "How much do you love me, my dear?"
And she answered as pat as may be, "As I love my life."
"Very good, my dear," said he, and gave her a kiss. Then he said to the
second girl, "How much do you love me, my dear?"
And she answered as swift as thought, "Better than all the world
beside."
"Good!" he replied, and patted her on the cheek. Then he turned to the
youngest, who was also the prettiest.
"And how much do _you_ love me, my dearest?"
Now the youngest daughter was not only pretty, she was clever. So she
thought a moment, then she said slowly:
"I love you as fresh meat loves salt!"
Now when her father heard this he was very angry, because he really
loved her more than the others.
"What!" he said. "If that is all you give me in return for all I've
given you, out of my house you go." So there and then he turned her out
of the home where she had been born and bred, and shut the door in her
face.
Not knowing where to go, she wandered on, and she wandered on, till she
came to a big fen where the reeds grew ever so tall and the rushes
swayed in the wind like a field of corn. There she sate down and plaited
herself an overall of rushes and a cap to match, so as to hide her fine
clothes, and her beautiful golden hair that was all set with milk-white
pearls. For she was a wise girl, and thought that in such lonely
country, mayhap, some robber might fall in with her and kill her to get
her fine clothes and jewels.
It took a long time to plait the dress and cap, and while she plaited
she sang a little song:
"Hide my hair, O cap o' rushes,
Hide my heart, O robe o' rushes.
Sure! my answer had no fault,
I love him more than he loves salt."
And the fen birds sate and listened and sang back to her:
"Cap o' rushes, shed no tear,
Robe o' rushes, have no fear;
With these words if fault he'd find,
Sure your father must be blind."
When her task was finished she put on her robe of rushes and it hid all
her fine clothes, and she put on the cap and it hid all her beautiful
hair, so that she looked quite a common country girl. But the fen birds
flew away, singing as they flew:
"Cap-o-rushes! we can see,
Robe o' rushes! what you be,
Fair and clean, and fine and tidy,
So you'll be whate'er betide ye."
By this time she was very, very hungry, so she wandered on, and she
wandered on; but ne'er a cottage or a hamlet did she see, till just at
sun-setting she came on a great house on the edge of the fen. It had a
fine front door to it; but mindful of her dress of rushes she went round
to the back. And there she saw a strapping fat scullion washing pots and
pans with a very sulky face. So, being a clever girl, she guessed what
the maid was wanting, and said:
"If I may have a night's lodging, I will scrub the pots and pans for
you."
"Why! Here's luck," replied the scullery-maid, ever so pleased. "I was
just wanting badly to go a-walking with my sweetheart. So if you will do
my work you shall share my bed and have a bite of my supper. Only mind
you scrub the pots clean or cook will be at me."
Now next morning the pots were scraped so clean that they looked like
new, and the saucepans were polished like silver, and the cook said to
the scullion, "Who cleaned these pots? Not you, I'll swear." So the maid
had to up and out with the truth. Then the cook would have turned away
the old maid and put on the new, but the latter would not hear of it.
"The maid was kind to me and gave me a night's lodging," she said. "So
now I will stay without wage and do the dirty work for her."
So Caporushes--for so they called her since she would give no other
name--stayed on and cleaned the pots and scraped the saucepans.
Now it so happened that her master's son came of age, and to celebrate
the occasion a ball was given to the neighbourhood, for the young man
was a grand dancer, and loved nothing so well as a country measure. It
was a very fine party, and after supper was served, the servants were
allowed to go and watch the quality from the gallery of the ball-room.
But Caporushes refused to go, for she also was a grand dancer, and she
was afraid that when she heard the fiddles starting a merry jig, she
might start dancing. So she excused herself by saying she was too tired
with scraping pots and washing saucepans; and when the others went off,
she crept up to her bed.
But alas! and alack-a-day! The door had been left open, and as she lay
in her bed she could hear the fiddlers fiddling away and the tramp of
dancing feet.
Then she upped and off with her cap and robe of rushes, and there she
was ever so fine and tidy. She was in the ball-room in a trice joining
in the jig, and none was more beautiful or better dressed than she.
While as for her dancing...!
Her master's son singled her out at once, and with the finest of bows
engaged her as his partner for the rest of the night. So she danced away
to her heart's content, while the whole room was agog, trying to find
out who the beautiful young stranger could be. But she kept her own
counsel and, making some excuse, slipped away before the ball finished;
so when her fellow-servants came to bed, there she was in hers in her
cap and robe of rushes, pretending to be fast asleep.
Next morning, however, the maids could talk of nothing but the beautiful
stranger.
"You should ha' seen her," they said. "She was the loveliest young lady
as ever you see, not a bit like the likes o' we. Her golden hair was all
silvered wi' pearls, and her dress--law! You wouldn't believe how she
was dressed. Young master never took his eyes off her."
And Caporushes only smiled and said, with a twinkle in her eye, "I
should like to see her, but I don't think I ever shall."
"Oh yes, you will," they replied, "for young master has ordered another
ball to-night in hopes she will come to dance again."