A MAGICIAN was once upon a time much put out with a young countryman,
and being in a great rage he went to the man’s hut and stuck a new sharp
knife under the threshold. While he did so he cursed the man, saying—
“May this fellow ride for seven years on the fleet storm-wind, until he
has gone all round the world.”
Now when the peasant went into the meadows in order to carry the hay,
there came suddenly a gust of wind. It quickly scattered the hay, and
then seized the peasant. He endeavoured in vain to resist; in vain he
sought to cling to the hedges and trees with his hands. Do what he
would, the invisible power hurried him forwards.
He flew on the wings of the wind like a wild pigeon, and his feet no
more touched the ground. At length the sun set, and the poor fellow
looked with hungry eyes upon the smoke which curled up from the chimneys
in his village. He could almost touch them with his feet, but he called
and screamed in vain, and all his wailing and complaints were useless.
No one heard his lamentation, no one saw his tears.
So he went on for three months, and what with thirst and hunger he was
dried up and almost a skeleton. He had gone over a good deal of ground
by that time, but the wind most often carried him over his native
village.
He wept when he saw the hut in which dwelt his sweetheart. He could see
her busied about the house. Sometimes she would bring out some dinner in
a basket. Then he would stretch out his dried-up hands to her, and
vainly call her name. His voice would die away, and the girl not hearing
him would not look up.
He fled on. The magician came to the door of his hut, and seeing the
man, cried to him, mockingly—
“You have to ride for seven years yet, flying over this village. You
shall go on suffering, and shall not die.”
“O my father,” said the man, “if I ever offended you, forgive me! Look!
my lips are quite hard; my face, my hands, look at them! I am nothing
but bone. Have pity upon me.”
The magician muttered a few words, and the man stopped in his course. He
stayed in one place, but did not yet stand on the ground.
“Well, you ask me to pity you,” said the magician. “And what do you mean
to give me if I put a stop to your torment?”
“All you wish,” said the peasant, and he clasped his hands, and knelt
down in the air.
“Will you give me your sweetheart,” asked the magician, “so that I may
have her for my wife? If you will give her up, you shall come to earth
again.”