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[Illustration: Flying out of the sky they came bringing cheeses]
DUTCH FAIRY TALES FOR
YOUNG FOLKS
By
WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS
_Author of "The Firefly's Lovers," "The Unmannerly Tiger," "Brave
Little Holland," "Bonnie Scotland," etc._
CONTENTS
THE ENTANGLED MERMAID
THE BOY WHO WANTED MORE CHEESE
THE PRINCESS WITH TWENTY PETTICOATS
THE CAT AND THE CRADLE
PRINCE SPIN HEAD AND MISS SNOW WHITE
THE BOAR WITH THE GOLDEN BRISTLES
THE ICE KING AND HIS WONDERFUL GRANDCHILD
THE ELVES AND THEIR ANTICS
THE KABOUTERS AND THE BELLS
THE WOMAN WITH THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX CHILDREN
THE ONI ON HIS TRAVELS
THE LEGEND OF THE WOODEN SHOE
THE CURLY-TAILED LION
BRABO AND THE GIANT
THE FARM THAT RAN AWAY AND CAME BACK
SANTA KLAAS AND BLACK PETE
THE GOBLINS TURNED TO STONE
THE MOULDY PENNY
THE GOLDEN HELMET
WHEN WHEAT WORKED WOE
WHY THE STORK LOVES HOLLAND
THE ENTANGLED MERMAID
Long ago, in Dutch Fairy Land, there lived a young mermaid who was very
proud of her good looks. She was one of a family of mere or lake folks
dwelling not far from the sea. Her home was a great pool of water that
was half salt and half fresh, for it lay around an island near the mouth
of a river. Part of the day, when the sea tides were out, she splashed
and played, dived and swam in the soft water of the inland current. When
the ocean heaved and the salt water rushed in, the mermaid floated and
frolicked and paddled to her heart's content. Her father was a
gray-bearded merryman and very proud of his handsome daughter. He owned
an island near the river mouth, where the young mermaids held their
picnics and parties and received the visits of young merrymen.
Her mother and two aunts were merwomen. All of these were sober folks
and attended to the business which occupies all well brought up mermaids
and merrymen. This was to keep their pool clean and nice. No frogs,
toads or eels were allowed near, but in the work of daily housecleaning,
the storks and the mermaids were great friends.
All water-creatures that were not thought to be polite and well behaved
were expected to keep away. Even some silly birds, such as loons and
plovers and all screaming and fighting creatures with wings, were warned
off the premises, because they were not wanted. This family of merry
folks liked to have a nice, quiet time by themselves, without any rude
folks on legs, or with wings or fins from the outside. Indeed they
wished to make their pool a model, for all respectable mermaids and
merrymen, for ten leagues around. It was very funny to see the old daddy
merman, with a switch made of reeds, shooing off the saucy birds, such
as the sandpipers and screeching gulls. For the bullfrogs, too big for
the storks to swallow, and for impudent fishes, he had a whip made of
seaweed.
Of course, all the mermaids in good society were welcome, but young
mermen were allowed to call only once a month, during the week when the
moon was full. Then the evenings were usually clear, so that when the
party broke up, the mermen could see their way in the moonlight to swim
home safely with their mermaid friends. For, there were sea monsters
that loved to plague the merefolk, and even threatened to eat them up!
The mermaids, dear creatures, had to be escorted home, but they felt
safe, for their mermen brothers and daddies were so fierce that, except
sharks, even the larger fish, such as porpoises and dolphins were afraid
to come near them.
One day daddy and the mother left to visit some relatives near the
island of Urk. They were to be gone several days. Meanwhile, their
daughter was to have a party, her aunts being the chaperones.
The mermaids usually held their picnics on an island in the midst of the
pool. Here they would sit and sun themselves. They talked about the
fashions and the prettiest way to dress their hair. Each one had a
pocket mirror, but where they kept these, while swimming, no mortal ever
found out. They made wreaths of bright colored seaweed, orange and
black, blue, gray and red and wore them on their brows like coronets.
Or, they twined them, along with sea berries and bubble blossoms, among
their tresses. Sometimes they made girdles of the strongest and knotted
them around their waists.
Every once in a while they chose a queen of beauty for their ruler. Then
each of the others pretended to be a princess. Their games and sports
often lasted all day and they were very happy.
Swimming out in the salt water, the mermaids would go in quest of
pearls, coral, ambergris and other pretty things. These they would bring
to their queen, or with them richly adorn themselves. Thus the Mermaid
Queen and her maidens made a court of beauty that was famed wherever
mermaids and merrymen lived. They often talked about human maids.
"How funny it must be to wear clothes," said one.
"Are they cold that they have to keep warm?" It was a little chit of a
mermaid, whose flippers had hardly begun to grow into hands, that asked
this question.
"How can they swim with petticoats on?" asked another.
"My brother heard that real men wear wooden shoes! These must bother
them, when on the water, to have their feet floating," said a third,
whose name was Silver Scales. "What a pity they don't have flukes like
us," and then she looked at her own glistening scaly coat in admiration.
"I can hardly believe it," said a mermaid, that was very proud of her
fine figure and slender waist. "Their girls can't be half as pretty as
we are."
"Well, I should like to be a real woman for a while, just to try it, and
see how it feels to walk on legs," said another, rather demurely, as if
afraid the other mermaids might not like her remark.
They didn't. Out sounded a lusty chorus, "No! No! Horrible! What an
idea! Who wouldn't be a mermaid?"
"Why, I've heard," cried one, "that real women have to work, wash their
husband's clothes, milk cows, dig potatoes, scrub floors and take care
of calves. Who would be a woman? Not I"--and her snub nose--since it
could not turn up--grew wide at the roots. She was sneering at the idea
that a creature in petticoats could ever look lovelier than one in
shining scales.
"Besides," said she, "think of their big noses, and I'm told, too, that
girls have even to wear hairpins."
At this--the very thought that any one should have to bind up their
tresses--there was a shock of disgust with some, while others clapped
their hands, partly in envy and partly in glee.
But the funniest things the mermaids heard of were gloves, and they
laughed heartily over such things as covers for the fingers. Just for
fun, one of the little mermaids used to draw some bag-like seaweed over
her hands, to see how such things looked.
One day, while sunning themselves in the grass on the island, one of
their number found a bush on which foxgloves grew. Plucking these, she
covered each one of her fingers with a red flower. Then, flopping over
to the other girls, she held up her gloved hands. Half in fright and
half in envy, they heard her story.
After listening, the party was about to break up, when suddenly a young
merman splashed into view. The tide was running out and the stream low,
so he had had hard work to get through the fresh water of the river and
to the island. His eyes dropped salt water, as if he were crying. He
looked tired, while puffing and blowing, and he could hardly get his
breath. The queen of the mermaids asked him what he meant by coming
among her maids at such an hour and in such condition.
At this the bashful merman began to blubber. Some of the mergirls put
their hands over their mouths to hide their laughing, while they winked
at each other and their eyes showed how they enjoyed the fun. To have a
merman among them, at that hour, in broad daylight, and crying, was too
much for dignity.
"Boo-hoo, boo-hoo," and the merman still wept salt water tears, as he
tried to catch his breath. At last, he talked sensibly. He warned the
Queen that a party of horrid men, in wooden shoes, with pickaxes, spades
and pumps, were coming to drain the swamp and pump out the pool. He had
heard that they would make the river a canal and build a dyke that
should keep out the ocean.
"Alas! alas!" cried one mermaid, wringing her hands. "Where shall we go
when our pool is destroyed? We can't live in the ocean all the time."
Then she wept copiously. The salt water tears fell from her great round
eyes in big drops.
"Hush!" cried the Queen. "I don't believe the merman's story. He only
tells it to frighten us. It's just like him."
In fact, the Queen suspected that the merman's story was all a sham and
that he had come among her maids with a set purpose to run off with
Silver Scales. She was one of the prettiest mermaids in the company, but
very young, vain and frivolous. It was no secret that she and the merman
were in love and wanted to get married.
So the Queen, without even thanking him, dismissed the swimming
messenger. After dinner, the company broke up and the Queen retired to
her cave to take a long nap! She was quite tired after entertaining so
much company. Besides, since daddy and mother were away, and there were
no beaus to entertain, since it was a dark night and no moon shining on
the water, why need she get up early in the morning?
So the Mermaid Queen slept much longer than ever before. Indeed, it was
not till near sunset the next day that she awoke. Then, taking her comb
and mirror in hand, she started to swim and splash in the pool, in order
to smooth out her tresses and get ready for supper.
But oh, what a change from the day before! What was the matter? All
around her things looked different. The water had fallen low and the
pool was nearly empty. The river, instead of flowing, was as quiet as a
pond. Horrors! when she swam forward, what should she see but a dyke and
fences! An army of horrid men had come, when she was asleep, and built a
dam. They had fenced round the swamp and were actually beginning to dig
sluices to drain the land. Some were at work, building a windmill to
help in pumping out the water.
The first thing she knew she had bumped her pretty nose against the dam.
She thought at once of escaping over the logs and into the sea. When she
tried to clamber over the top and get through the fence, her hair got so
entangled between the bars that she had to throw away her comb and
mirror and try to untangle her tresses. The more she tried, the worse
became the tangle. Soon her long hair was all twisted up in the timber.
In vain were her struggles to escape. She was ready to die with fright,
when she saw four horrid men rush up to seize her. She attempted to
waddle away, but her long hair held her to the post and rails. Her
modesty was so dreadfully shocked that she fainted away.
When she came to herself, she found she was in a big long tub. A crowd
of curious little girls and boys were looking at her, for she was on
show as a great curiosity. They were bound to see her and get their
money's worth in looking, for they had paid a stiver (two cents)
admission to the show. Again, before all these eyes, her modesty was so
shocked that she gave one groan, flopped over and died in the tub.
Woe to the poor father and mother at Urk! They came back to find their
old home gone. Unable to get into it, they swam out to sea, never
stopping till they reached Spitzbergen.
What became of the body of the Mermaid Queen?
Learned men came from Leyden to examine what was now only a specimen,
and to see how mermaids were made up. Then her skin was stuffed, and
glass eyes put in, where her shining orbs had been. After this, her body
was stuffed and mounted in the museum, that is, set up above a glass
case and resting upon iron rods. Artists came to Leyden to make pictures
of her and no fewer than nine noblemen copied her pretty form and
features into their coats of arms. Instead of the Mermaid's Pool is now
a cheese farm of fifty cows, a fine house and barn, and a family of
pink-cheeked, yellow-haired children who walk and play in wooden shoes.
So this particular mermaid, all because of her entanglement in the
fence, was more famous when stuffed than when living, while all her
young friends and older relatives were forgotten.
THE BOY WHO WANTED MORE CHEESE
Klaas Van Bommel was a Dutch boy, twelve years old, who lived where cows
were plentiful. He was over five feet high, weighed a hundred pounds,
and had rosy cheeks. His appetite was always good and his mother
declared his stomach had no bottom. His hair was of a color half-way
between a carrot and a sweet potato. It was as thick as reeds in a swamp
and was cut level, from under one ear to another.
Klaas stood in a pair of timber shoes, that made an awful rattle when he
ran fast to catch a rabbit, or scuffed slowly along to school over the
brick road of his village. In summer Klaas was dressed in a rough, blue
linen blouse. In winter he wore woollen breeches as wide as coffee bags.
They were called bell trousers, and in shape were like a couple of
cow-bells turned upwards. These were buttoned on to a thick warm jacket.
Until he was five years old, Klaas was dressed like his sisters. Then,
on his birthday, he had boy's clothes, with two pockets in them, of
which he was proud enough.
Klaas was a farmer's boy. He had rye bread and fresh milk for breakfast.
At dinner time, beside cheese and bread, he was given a plate heaped
with boiled potatoes. Into these he first plunged a fork and then dipped
each round, white ball into a bowl of hot melted butter. Very quickly
then did potato and butter disappear "down the red lane." At supper, he
had bread and skim milk, left after the cream had been taken off, with a
saucer, to make butter. Twice a week the children enjoyed a bowl of
bonnyclabber or curds, with a little brown sugar sprinkled on the top.
But at every meal there was cheese, usually in thin slices, which the
boy thought not thick enough. When Klaas went to bed he usually fell
asleep as soon as his shock of yellow hair touched the pillow. In summer
time he slept till the birds began to sing, at dawn. In winter, when the
bed felt warm and Jack Frost was lively, he often heard the cows
talking, in their way, before he jumped out of his bag of straw, which
served for a mattress. The Van Bommels were not rich, but everything was
shining clean.
There was always plenty to eat at the Van Bommels' house. Stacks of rye
bread, a yard long and thicker than a man's arm, stood on end in the
corner of the cool, stone-lined basement. The loaves of dough were put
in the oven once a week. Baking time was a great event at the Van
Bommels' and no men-folks were allowed in the kitchen on that day,
unless they were called in to help. As for the milk-pails and pans,
filled or emptied, scrubbed or set in the sun every day to dry, and the
cheeses, piled up in the pantry, they seemed sometimes enough to feed a
small army.
But Klaas always wanted more cheese. In other ways, he was a good boy,
obedient at home, always ready to work on the cow-farm, and diligent in
school. But at the table he never had enough. Sometimes his father
laughed and asked him if he had a well, or a cave, under his jacket.
Klaas had three younger sisters, Trintjé, Anneké and Saartjé; which is
Dutch for Kate, Annie and Sallie. These, their fond mother, who loved
them dearly, called her "orange blossoms"; but when at dinner, Klaas
would keep on, dipping his potatoes into the hot butter, while others
were all through, his mother would laugh and call him her Buttercup. But
always Klaas wanted more cheese. When unusually greedy, she twitted him
as a boy "worse than Butter-and-Eggs"; that is, as troublesome as the
yellow and white plant, called toad-flax, is to the farmer--very
pretty, but nothing but a weed.
One summer's evening, after a good scolding, which he deserved well,
Klaas moped and, almost crying, went to bed in bad humor. He had teased
each one of his sisters to give him her bit of cheese, and this, added
to his own slice, made his stomach feel as heavy as lead.
Klaas's bed was up in the garret. When the house was first built, one of
the red tiles of the roof had been taken out and another one, made of
glass, was put in its place. In the morning, this gave the boy light to
put on his clothes. At night, in fair weather, it supplied air to his
room.
A gentle breeze was blowing from the pine woods on the sandy slope, not
far away. So Klaas climbed up on the stool to sniff the sweet piny
odors. He thought he saw lights dancing under the tree. One beam seemed
to approach his roof hole, and coming nearer played round the chimney.
Then it passed to and fro in front of him. It seemed to whisper in his
ear, as it moved by. It looked very much as if a hundred fire-flies had
united their cold light into one lamp. Then Klaas thought that the
strange beams bore the shape of a lovely girl, but he only laughed at
himself at the idea. Pretty soon, however, he thought the whisper became
a voice. Again, he laughed so heartily, that he forgot his moping and
the scolding his mother had given him. In fact, his eyes twinkled with
delight, when the voice gave this invitation:
"There's plenty of cheese. Come with us."
To make sure of it, the sleepy boy now rubbed his eyes and cocked his
ears. Again, the light-bearer spoke to him: "Come."
Could it be? He had heard old people tell of the ladies of the wood,
that whispered and warned travellers. In fact, he himself had often seen
the "fairies' ring" in the pine woods. To this, the flame-lady was
inviting him.
Again and again the moving, cold light circled round the red tile roof,
which the moon, then rising and peeping over the chimneys, seemed to
turn into silver plates. As the disc rose higher in the sky, he could
hardly see the moving light, that had looked like a lady; but the voice,
no longer a whisper, as at first, was now even plainer:
"There's plenty of cheese. Come with us."
"I'll see what it is, anyhow," said Klaas, as he drew on his thick
woolen stockings and prepared to go down-stairs and out, without waking
a soul. At the door he stepped into his wooden shoes. Just then the cat
purred and rubbed up against his shins. He jumped, for he was scared;
but looking down, for a moment, he saw the two balls of yellow fire in
her head and knew what they were. Then he sped to the pine woods and
towards the fairy ring.
What an odd sight! At first Klaas thought it was a circle of big
fire-flies. Then he saw clearly that there were dozens of pretty
creatures, hardly as large as dolls, but as lively as crickets. They
were as full of light, as if lamps had wings. Hand in hand, they flitted
and danced around the ring of grass, as if this was fun.
Hardly had Klaas got over his first surprise, than of a sudden he felt
himself surrounded by the fairies. Some of the strongest among them had
left the main party in the circle and come to him. He felt himself
pulled by their dainty fingers. One of them, the loveliest of all,
whispered in his ear:
"Come, you must dance with us."
Then a dozen of the pretty creatures murmured in chorus:
"Plenty of cheese here. Plenty of cheese here. Come, come!"
Upon this, the heels of Klaas seemed as light as a feather. In a moment,
with both hands clasped in those of the fairies, he was dancing in high
glee. It was as much fun as if he were at the kermiss, with a row of
boys and girls, hand in hand, swinging along the streets, as Dutch maids
and youth do, during kermiss week.
Klaas had not time to look hard at the fairies, for he was too full of
the fun. He danced and danced, all night and until the sky in the east
began to turn, first gray and then rosy. Then he tumbled down, tired
out, and fell asleep. His head lay on the inner curve of the fairy ring,
with his feet in the centre.
Klaas felt very happy, for he had no sense of being tired, and he did
not know he was asleep. He thought his fairy partners, who had danced
with him, were now waiting on him to bring him cheeses. With a golden
knife, they sliced them off and fed him out of their own hands. How good
it tasted! He thought now he could, and would, eat all the cheese he had
longed for all his life. There was no mother to scold him, or daddy to
shake his finger at him. How delightful!
But by and by, he wanted to stop eating and rest a while. His jaws were
tired. His stomach seemed to be loaded with cannon-balls. He gasped for
breath.
But the fairies would not let him stop, for Dutch fairies never get
tired. Flying out of the sky--from the north, south, east and west--they
came, bringing cheeses. These they dropped down around him, until the
piles of the round masses threatened first to enclose him as with a
wall, and then to overtop him. There were the red balls from Edam, the
pink and yellow spheres from Gouda, and the gray loaf-shaped ones from
Leyden. Down through the vista of sand, in the pine woods, he looked,
and oh, horrors! There were the tallest and strongest of the fairies
rolling along the huge, round, flat cheeses from Friesland! Any one of
these was as big as a cart wheel, and would feed a regiment. The fairies
trundled the heavy discs along, as if they were playing with hoops. They
shouted hilariously, as, with a pine stick, they beat them forward like
boys at play. Farm cheese, factory cheese, Alkmaar cheese, and, to crown
all, cheese from Limburg--which Klaas never could bear, because of its
strong odor. Soon the cakes and balls were heaped so high around him
that the boy, as he looked up, felt like a frog in a well. He groaned
when he thought the high cheese walls were tottering to fall on him.
Then he screamed, but the fairies thought he was making music. They, not
being human, do not know how a boy feels.
At last, with a thick slice in one hand and a big hunk in the other, he
could eat no more cheese; though the fairies, led by their queen,
standing on one side, or hovering over his head, still urged him to take
more.
At this moment, while afraid that he would burst, Klaas saw the pile of
cheeses, as big as a house, topple over. The heavy mass fell inwards
upon him. With a scream of terror, he thought himself crushed as flat as
a Friesland cheese.
But he wasn't! Waking up and rubbing his eyes, he saw the red sun rising
on the sand-dunes. Birds were singing and the cocks were crowing all
around him, in chorus, as if saluting him. Just then also the village
clock chimed out the hour. He felt his clothes. They were wet with dew.
He sat up to look around. There were no fairies, but in his mouth was a
bunch of grass which he had been chewing lustily.
Klaas never would tell the story of his night with the fairies, nor has
he yet settled the question whether they left him because the
cheese-house of his dream had fallen, or because daylight had come.
THE PRINCESS WITH TWENTY PETTICOATS
Long, long ago, before ever a blue flax-flower bloomed in Holland, and
when Dutch mothers wore wolf-skin clothes, there was a little princess,
very much beloved by her father, who was a great king, or war chief. She
was very pretty and fond of seeing herself. There were no metal mirrors
in those days, nor any looking glass. So she went into the woods and
before the pools and the deep, quiet watercourses, made reflection of
her own lovely face. Of this pleasure she never seemed weary.
Yet sometimes this little princess was very naughty. Then her temper was
not nearly so sweet as her face. She would play in the sand and roll
around in the woods among the leaves and bushes until her curls were all
tangled up. When her nurse combed out her hair with a stone comb--for no
other kinds were then known--she would fret and scold and often stamp
her foot. When very angry, she called her nurse or governess an
"aurochs,"--a big beast like a buffalo. At this, the maid put up her
hands to her face. "Me--an aurochs! Horrible!" Then she would feel her
forehead to see if horns were growing there.
The nurse--they called her "governess," as the years went on--grew tired
of the behavior of the bad young princess. Sometimes she went and told
her mother how naughty her daughter was, even to calling her an aurochs.
Then the little girl only showed her bad temper worse. She rolled among
the leaves all the more and mussed up her ringlets, so that the
governess could hardly comb them out smooth again.
It seemed useless to punish the perverse little maid by boxing her ears,
pinching her arm, or giving her a good spanking. They even tried to
improve her temper by taking away her dinner, but it did no good.
Then the governess and mother went together to her father. When they
complained of his daughter to the king, he was much worried. He could
fight strong men with his club and spear, and even giants with his sword
and battle-axe; but how to correct his little daughter, whom he loved as
his own eyes, was too much for him. He had no son and the princess was
his only child, and the hopes of the family all rested on her. The king
wondered how she would govern his people, after he should die, and she
became the queen. Yet he was glad for one thing: that, with all her
naughtiness, she was, like her father, always kind to animals. Her pet
was a little aurochs calf. Some hunters had killed the mother of the
poor little thing in winter time. So the princess kept the creature warm
and it fed out of her hand daily.
It was in gloom and with a sad face that the king walked in the woods,
thinking how to make a sweet-tempered lady out of his petulant daughter,
who was fast growing up to be a tall, fine-looking woman.
Now when the king had been himself a little boy, he was very kind to all
living creatures, wild and tame, dumb and with voice--yes, even to the
trees in the forest. When a prince, the boy would never let the axe men
cut down an oak until they first begged pardon of the fairy that lived
in the tree.
There was one big oak, especially, which was near the mansion of his
father, the king. It was said that the doctors found little babies in
its leafy branches, and brought them to their mothers. The prince-boy
took great care of this tree. He was taught by a wise man to cut off the
dead limbs, keep off the worms, and warn away all people seeking to
break off branches--even for Yule-tide, which came at our Christmas
time.
Once when some hunters had chased a young she-aurochs, with her two
calves, into the king's park, the prince, though he was then only a boy,
ran out and drove the rough fellows away. Then he sheltered and fed the
aurochs family of three, until they were fresh and fat. After this he
sent a skilled hunter to imitate the sound of an aurochs mother, to call
the aurochs father to the edge of the woods. He then let them all go
free, and was happy to see the dumb brutes frisking together.
Now that the boy-prince was grown to be a man and had long been king,
and had forgotten all about the incident of his earlier years, he was
one day walking in the forest.
Suddenly a gentle breeze arose and the leaves of the old oak tree began
first to rustle and then to whisper. Soon the words were clear, and the
spirit in the oak said:
"I have seen a thousand years pass by, since I was an acorn planted
here. In a few moments I shall die and fall down. Cut my body into
staves. Of these make a wooden petticoat, like a barrel, for your
daughter. When her temper is bad, let her put it on and wear it until
she promises to be good."
The king was sad at the thought of losing the grand old tree, under
which he had played as a boy and his fathers before him. His countenance
fell.
"Cheer up, my friend," said the oak, "for something better shall follow.
When I pass away, you will find on this spot a blue flower growing.
Where the forest was shall be fields, on which the sun shines. Then, if
your daughter be good, young women shall spin something prettier than
wooden petticoats. Watch for the blue flower. Moreover," added the voice
of the tree, "that I may not be forgotten, do you take, henceforth, as
your family name Ten Eyck" (which, in Dutch, means "at the oak ").
At this moment, a huge aurochs rushed into the wood. Its long hair and
shaggy mane were gray with age. The king, thinking the beast would lower
his horns and charge at him, drew his sword to fight the mighty brute
that seemed to weigh well-nigh a ton.
But the aurochs stopped within ten feet of the king and bellowed; but,
in a minute or two, the bellowing changed to a voice and the king heard
these good words:
"I die with the oak, for we are brothers, kept under an enchantment for
a thousand years, which is to end in a few moments. Neither a tree nor
an aurochs can forget your kindness to us, when you were a prince. As
soon as our spirits are released, and we both go back to our home in the
moon, saw off my right horn and make of it a comb for use on your
daughter's curls. It will be smoother than stone."
In a moment a tempest arose, which drove the king for shelter behind
some rocks hard by. After a few minutes, the wind ceased and the sky was
clear. The king looked and there lay the oak, fallen at full length, and
the aurochs lay lifeless beside it.
Just then, the king's woodmen, who were out--thinking their master
might be hurt--drew near. He ordered them to take out the right horn of
the aurochs and to split up part of the oak for slaves. The next day,
they made a wooden petticoat and a horn comb. They were such novelties
that nearly every woman in the kingdom came to see them.
After this, the king called himself the Lord of the Land of Ten Eyck,
and ever after this was his family name, which all his descendants bore.
Whenever the princess showed bad temper, she was forced to wear the
wooden petticoat. To have the boys and girls point at her and make fun
of her was severe punishment.
But a curious thing took place. It was found that every time the maid
combed the hair of the princess she became gentler and more sweet
tempered. She often thanked her governess and said she liked to have her
curls smoothed with the new comb. She even begged her father to let her
own one and have the comb all to herself. It was not long before she
surprised her governess and her parents by combing and curling her own
hair. In truth, such a wonderful change came over the princess that she
did not often have to wear the wooden petticoat, and after a year or
two, not at all. So the gossips nearly forgot all about it.
One summer's day, as the princess was walking in the open, sunny space,
where the old oak had stood, she saw a blue flower. It seemed as
beautiful as it was strange. She plucked it and put it in her hair. When
she reached home, her old aunt, who had been in southern lands, declared
it to be the flower of the flax.
During that spring, millions of tiny green blades sprang up where the
forest had been, and when summer came, the plants were half a yard high.
The women learned how to put the stalks in water and rot the coarse,
outer fibre of the flax. Then they took the silk-like strands from the
inside and spun them on their spinning-wheels. Then they wove them into
pretty cloth.
This, when laid out on the grass, under the sunshine, was bleached
white. The flax thread was made first into linen, and then into lace.
"Let us name the place Groen-e'-veld" (Green Field), the happy people
cried, when they saw how green the earth was where had been the dark
forest. So the place was ever after called the Green Field.
Now when the princess saw what pretty clothes the snow white linen made,
she invented a new style of dress. The upper garment, or "rok," that is,
the one above the waist, she called the "boven rok" and the lower one,
beneath the waist, her "beneden rok." In Dutch "boven" means above and
"beneden" means beneath. By and by, when, at the looms, more of the
beautiful white linen was woven, she had a new petticoat made and put it
on. She was so delighted with this one that she wanted more. One after
the other, she belted them around her waist, until she had on twenty
petticoats at a time. Proud she was of her skirts, even though they made
her look like a barrel. When her mother, and maids, and all the women of
Groen-é-veld, young and old, saw the princess set the fashion, they all
followed. It was not always easy for poor girls, who were to be married,
to buy as many as twenty petticoats. But, as it was the fashion, every
bride had to obey the rule. It grew to be the custom to have at least
twenty; for only this number was thought proper.
So, a new rule, even among the men, grew up. A betrothed young man, or
his female relatives assisting him, was accustomed to make a present of
one or more petticoats to his sweetheart to increase her wardrobe.
Thus the fashion prevailed and still holds among the women of the coast.
Fat or thin, tall or short, they pile on the petticoats and swing their
skirts proudly as they walk or go to market, sell their fish, cry "fresh
herring" in the streets, or do their knitting at home, or in front of
their houses. In some parts of the country, nothing makes a girl so
happy as to present her with a new petticoat. It is the fashion to have
a figure like a barrel and wear one's clothes so as to look like a small
hogshead.
By and by, the men built a dam to get plenty of water in winter for the
rotting of the flax stalks. The linen industry made the people rich. In
time, a city sprang up, which they called Rotterdam, or the dam where
they rotted the flax.
And, because where had been a forest of oaks, with the pool and rivulet,
there was now a silvery stream flowing gently between verdant meadows,
they made the arms and seal of the city green and white, two of the
former and one of the latter; that is, verdure and silver. To this day,
on the arms and flags of the great city, and on the high smoke-stacks of
the mighty steamers that cross the ocean, from land to land, one sees
the wide, white band between the two broad stripes of green.
[Illustration: ON AND ON THE RAGING FLOOD BORE THEM UNTIL DARK NIGHT CAME
DOWN]
THE CAT AND THE CRADLE
In the early ages, when our far-off ancestors lived in the woods, ate
acorns, slept in caves, and dressed in the skins of wild animals, they
had no horses, cows or cats. Their only pets and helpers were dogs. The
men and the dogs were more like each other than they are now.
However, they knew about bees. So the women gathered honey and from it
they made mead. Not having any sugar, the children enjoyed tasting honey
more than anything else, and it was the only sweet thing they had.
By and by, cows were brought into the country and the Dutch soil being
good for grass, the cows had plenty to eat. When these animals
multiplied, the people drank milk and learned to make cheese and butter.
So the Dutch boys and girls grew fat and healthy.
The oxen were so strong that they could pull logs of wood or draw a
plough. So, little by little, the forests were cut down and grassy
meadows, full of bright colored flowers, took their place. Houses were
built and the people were rich and happy.
Yet there were still many cruel men and bad people in the land.
Sometimes, too, floods came and drowned the cattle and covered the
fields with sand, or salt water. In such times, food was very scarce.
Thus it happened that not all the babies born could live, or every
little child be fed. The baby girls especially were often left to die,
because war was common and only boys, that grew into strong warriors,
were wanted.
It grew to be a custom that families would hold a council and decide
whether the baby should be raised or not. But if any one should give the
infant even a tiny drop of milk, or food of any kind, it was allowed to
live and grow up. If no one gave it milk or honey, it died. No matter
how much a mother might love her baby, she was not allowed to put milk
to its lips, if the grandmother or elders forbade it. The young bride,
coming into her husband's home, always had to obey his mother, for she
was now as a daughter and one of the family. All lived together in one
house, and the grandmother ruled all the women and girls that were under
one roof.
This was the way of the world, when our ancestors were pagans, and not
always as kind to little babies as our own mothers and fathers are now.
Many times was the old grandmother angry, when her son had taken a wife
and a girl was born. If the old woman expected a grandson, who should
grow up and be a fighter, with sword and spear, and it turned out to be
a girl, she was mad as fire. Often the pretty bride, brought into the
house, had a hard time of it, with her husband's mother, if she did not
in time have a baby boy. In those days a "Herman," a "War Man" and
"German" were one and the same word.
Now when the good missionaries came into Friesland, one of the first of
the families to receive the gospel was one named Altfrid. With his
bride, who also became a Christian, Altfrid helped the missionary to
build a church. By and by, a sweet little baby was born in the family
and the parents were very happy. They loved the little thing sent from
God, as fathers and mothers love their children now.
But when some one went and told the pagan grandmother that the new baby
was a girl instead of a boy, the old woman flew into a rage and would
have gone at once to get hold of the baby and put it to death. Her
lameness, however, made her move slowly, and she could not find her
crutch; for the midwife, who knew the bad temper of the grandmother, had
purposely hid it. The old woman was angry, because she did not want any
more females in the big house, where she thought there were already too
many mouths to fill. Food was hard to get, and there were not enough war
men to defend the tribe. She meant to get the new baby and throw it to
the wolves. The old grandmother was a pagan and still worshipped the
cruel gods that loved fighting. She hated the new religion, because it
taught gentleness and peace.
But the midwife, who was a neighbor, feared that the old woman was
malicious and she had hid her crutch. This she did, so that if the baby
was a girl, she could save its life. The midwife was a good woman, who
had been taught that the Great Creator loves little girls as well as
boys.
So when the midwife heard the grandmother storm and rave, while hunting
for her crutch, she ran first to the honey jar, dipped her forefinger in
it and put some drops of honey on the baby's tongue. Then she passed it
out the window to some women friends, who were waiting outside. She knew
the law, that if a child tasted food, it must be allowed to live.
The kind women took the baby to their home and fed it carefully. A hole
was drilled in the small end of a cow's horn and the warm milk, fresh
from the cow, was allowed to fall, drop by drop, into the baby's mouth.
In a few days the little one was able to suck its breakfast slowly out
of the horn, while one of the girls held it. So the baby grew bigger
every day. All the time it was carefully hidden.
The foolish old grandmother was foiled, for she could never find out
where the baby girl was, which all the time was growing strong and
plump. Her father secretly made her a cradle and he and the babe's
mother came often to see their child. Every one called her Honig-je', or
Little Honey.
Now about this time, cats were brought into the country and the children
made such pets of them that some of the cows seemed to be jealous of the
attentions paid to Pussy and the kittens. These were the days when cows
and people all lived under one long roof. The children learned to tell
the time of day, whether it was morning, noon or night by looking into
the cats' eyes. These seemed to open and shut, very much as if they had
doors.
The fat pussy, which was brought into the house where Honig-je' was,
seemed to be very fond of the little girl, and the two, the cat and the
child, played much together. It was often said that the cat loved the
baby even more than her own kittens. Every one called the affectionate
animal by the nickname of Dub-belt-je', which means Little Double;
because this puss was twice as loving as most cat mothers are. When her
own furry little babies were very young, she carried them from one place
to another in her mouth. But this way, of holding kittens, she never
tried on the baby. She seemed to know better. Indeed, Dub-belt-je' often
wondered why human babies were born so naked and helpless; for at an age
when her kittens could feed themselves and run about and play with their
tails and with each other, Honig-je' was not yet able to crawl.
But other dangers were in store for the little girl. One day, when the
men were out hunting, and the women went to the woods to gather nuts and
acorns, a great flood came. The waters washed away the houses, so that
everything floated into the great river, and then down towards the sea.
What had, what would, become of our baby? So thought the parents of
Honig-je', when they came back to find the houses swept away and no sign
of their little daughter. Dub-belt-je' and her kittens, and all the
cows, were gone too.
Now it had happened that when the flood came and the house crashed down,
baby was sound asleep. The cat, leaving its kittens, that were now
pretty well grown up, leaped up and on to the top of the cradle and the
two floated off together. Pretty soon they found themselves left alone,
with nothing in sight that was familiar, except one funny thing. That
was a wooden shoe, in which was a fuzzy little yellow chicken hardly
four days old. It had been playing in the shoe, when the floods came
and swept it off from under the very beak of the old hen, that, with all
her other chicks, was speedily drowned.
On and on, the raging flood bore baby and puss, until dark night came
down. For hours more they drifted until, happily, the cradle was swept
into an eddy in front of a village. There it spun round and round, and
might soon have been borne into the greater flood, which seemed to roar
louder as the waters rose.
Now a cat can see sometimes in the night, better even than in the day,
for the darker it becomes, the wider open the eyes of puss. In bright
sunshine, at noon, the inside doors of the cat's eyes close to a narrow
slit, while at night these doors open wide. That is the reason why, in
the days before clocks and watches were made, the children could tell
about the time of day by looking at the cat's eyes. Sometimes they named
their pussy Klok'-oog, which means Clock Eye, or Bell Eye, for bell
clocks are older than clocks with a dial, and because in Holland the
bells ring out the hours and quarter hours.
Puss looked up and saw the church tower looming up in the dark. At once
she began to meouw and caterwaul with all her might. She hoped that some
one in one of the houses near the river bank might catch the sound. But
none seemed to hear or heed. At last, when Puss was nearly dead with
howling, a light appeared at one of the windows. This showed that some
one was up and moving. It was a boy, who was named Dirck, after the
saint Theodoric, who had first, long ago, built a church in the village.
Then Puss opened her mouth and lungs again and set up a regular
cat-scream. This wakened all her other relatives in the village and
every Tom and Kitty made answer, until there was a cat concert of meouws
and caterwauls.
The boy heard, rushed down-stairs, and, opening the door, listened. The
wind blew out his candle, but the brave lad was guided by the sound
which Pussy made. Reaching the bank, he threw off his wooden klomps,
plunged into the boiling waters, and, seizing the cradle, towed it
ashore. Then he woke up his mother and showed her his prize. The way
that baby laughed and crowed, and patted the horn of milk, and kicked up
its toes in delight over the warm milk, which was brought, was a joy to
see. Near the hearth, in the middle of the floor, Dub-belt-je', the
puss, was given some straw for a bed and, after purring joyfully, was
soon, like the baby, sound asleep.
Thus the cat warned the boy, and the boy saved the baby, that was very
welcome in a family where there were no girls, but only a boy. When
Honig-je' grew up to be a young woman, she looked as lovely as a
princess and in the church was married to Dirck! It was the month of
April and all the world was waking to flowers, when the wedding
procession came out of the church and the air was sweet with the opening
of the buds.
Before the next New Year's day arrived, there lay in the same cradle,
and put to sleep over the same rockers, a baby boy. When they brought
him to the font, the good grandmother named him Luid-i-ger. He grew up
to be the great missionary, whose name in Friesland is, even today,
after a thousand years, a household word. He it was who drove out bad
fairies, vile enchanters, wicked spirits and terrible diseases. Best of
all, he banished "eye-bite," which was the name the people gave to
witchcraft. Luid-i-ger, also, made it hard for the naughty elves and
sprites that delude men.
After this, it was easy for all the good spirits, that live in kind
hearts and noble lives, to multiply and prosper. The wolves were driven
away or killed off and became very few, while the cattle and sheep
multiplied, until everybody could have a woollen coat, and there was a
cow to every person in the land.
But the people still suffered from the floods, that from time to time
drowned the cattle and human beings, and the ebb tides, that carried
everything out to sea. Then the good missionary taught the men how to
build dykes, that kept out the ocean and made the water of the rivers
stay between the banks. The floods became fewer and fewer and at last
rarely happened. Then Santa Klaas arrived, to keep alive in the hearts
of the people the spirit of love and kindness and good cheer forever.
At last, when nearly a hundred years had passed away, Honig-je', once
the girl baby, and then the dear old lady, who was kind to everybody and
prepared the way for Santa Klaas, died. Then, also, Dub-belt-je' the
cat, that had nine lives in one, died with her. They buried the old lady
under the church floor and stuffed the pussy that everybody, kittens,
boys, girls and people loved. By and by, when the cat's tail and fur
fell to pieces, and ears tumbled off, and its glass eyes dropped out, a
skilful artist chiselled a statue of Dub-belt-je', which still stands
over the tomb in the church. Every year, on Santa Klaas day, December
sixth, the children put a new collar around its neck and talk about the
cat that saved a baby's life.
PRINCE SPIN HEAD AND MISS SNOW WHITE
Long, long ago, before the Romans came into the land and when the
fairies ruled in the forest, there was a maiden who lived under an oak
tree. When she was a baby they called her Bundlekin. She had four
brothers, who loved their younger sister very dearly and did everything
they could to make her happy. Her fat father was a famous hunter. When
he roamed the woods, no bear, wolf, aurochs, roebuck, deer, or big
animal of any kind, could escape from his arrows, his spear, or his
pit-trap. He taught his sons to be skilful in the chase, but also to be
kind to the dumb creatures when captured. Especially when the mother
beast was killed, the boys were always told to care for the cubs, whelps
and kittens. As for the smaller animals, foxes, hares, weasels, rabbits
and ermine, these were so numerous, that the father left the business of
hunting them to the lads, who had great sport.
The house under the oak tree was always well provided with meat and
furs. The four brothers brought the little animals, which they took in
the woods, to make presents to their sister. So there was always a
plenty of pets, bear and wolf cubs, wildcats' kittens and baby aurochs
for the girl to play with. Every day, while the animals were so young as
to be fed on milk, she enjoyed frolicking with the four-footed babies.
When they grew bigger, she romped and sported with them, as if she and
they were equal members of the same family. The older brother watched
carefully, so that the little brutes, as they increased in size, should
not bite or claw his sister, for he knew the fierce nature that was in
wild creatures. Yet the maiden had wonderful power over these beasts of
the forest, whether little or big. She was not very much afraid of them
and often made them run, by looking at them hard in the eye.
While the girl made a pet of the animals, her parents made a pet of her.
The mother prepared the skins of the wolves and bears, until these were
very soft, keeping the fur on, to make rugs for the floor, and winter
coats for her children. The hides of the aurochs sufficed for rougher
use, but from what had once been the clothes of the fawn, the weasel,
the rabbit, and the ermine, garments were made that were smooth enough
to suit a baby's tender flesh. The forest folk wrapped their infants in
swaddling hands made of these dressed pelts. After feeding the darling,
a mother hung her baby up, warmly covered, to a tree branch. The cradle,
which was a furry bag, was made of the same material and swung in the
wind.