should eat the bread that others have earned, and be idle yourself.”
“I milk, I bake the bread, I make the butter,” said Hélène; “what more
do you wish me to do?”
But the wicked woman could not restrain her hatred, and a few days
after this she said,--
“I cannot stand it any longer; she must go!”
And she ran to the stable and killed an ox.
“Pierre, Pierre!” cried she to her husband, “see what your sister
Hélène has done; she has killed one of your oxen.”
“My sister, why did you do this?” said Pierre to her, greatly mortified.
“I did not do it, brother,” answered Hélène sweetly.
The next day the second ox died.
“Pierre, Pierre!” cried the wicked woman, “see; your other ox is dead,
and it is Hélène who killed this one also.”
“I shall be ruined if I have no beasts to take into the fields,” said
Pierre to his sister, “and this is the second one of my oxen that you
have killed.”
“I did not do it, brother,” answered Hélène quietly.
The next day the horse was found dead in the stable.
“Pierre, Pierre! see what your sister has done. Next thing she will set
the house on fire.”
“Sister,” said Pierre, “how could you kill my horse? Do you wish me to
be obliged to beg my bread?”
“I did not do it, brother,” Hélène answered sadly.
“Pierre, Pierre!” cried the wicked woman, the day after, “come see
what your demon of a sister has done. Look at our child; I found her
smothered in her bed.”
Pierre tore out his hair in despair, and sent for Hélène, who had gone
out to her work early in the morning.
“Sister,” said he angrily, “you killed my oxen and my horse, and I
pardoned you; but now you have killed my child: you must leave this
house, and receive the punishment for your crimes!”
Then Pierre cut off Hélène’s two arms; and they prepared to go away.
“Where are you going to take me?” said Hélène.
“You will see,” said Pierre.
“Give me my mass-book, brother, and let my little dog go with me.”
Pierre took Hélène a long distance, and they came at last to a great
forest; the wind blew through the trees and made the leaves shake.
Suddenly a large oak-tree fell. Pierre took his sister in his arms and
placed her up among the branches; he opened the mass-book and laid it
on her lap, and the little dog played nimbly by his mistress’ side.
“Farewell, my sister!” said Pierre, turning away to wipe his tears.
“Farewell!” answered Hélène.
At that moment she saw that Pierre had hurt himself, and that there was
a thorn in his foot.
“Go on, brother,” said she to him; “some day I will come and take it
out.”
Pierre went on his way, and when he returned to his dwelling, he sat
down beside his hearth-stone; and suddenly the thorn grew immensely,
and a great tree sprang up from his foot and went up the chimney. He
was thus condemned to remain where he was seated and to wait till his
sister should come to set him free as she had promised him.
Hélène continued in the forest, seated in the top of the great tree,
and the wind turned the leaves of the mass-book she had on her knees.
Hélène prayed.
At the hour for meals, twice a day, the oak-tree bent down as if blown
down by the wind, and the little dog jumped to the ground and went to
look for his mistress’ breakfast.
There was in the neighborhood a castle where a young lord and his
mother lived.
Every day, for some time, the lady of the castle had remarked, on
sitting down to her table, that several of her dishes had been partly
consumed.
“See here!” said she to her astonished servants, “who is permitted to
eat of the meats before they are brought to the table? Is it proper
that my son and I should eat what our servants leave?”
“Madam,” said the steward, “I placed those meats there only a moment
ago, and I assure you they had not been touched.”
“Very well,” said the lady angrily; “find out as soon as possible who
this insolent creature is, who feeds upon our meats before we have
tasted them ourselves.”
The next day, at the dinner hour, the steward took his place near the
table, which was all served for dinner. Suddenly a little dog leaped
in at the open window; he held a handkerchief between his teeth.
With one bound he was on the table; and seizing several bits of meat,
some bread, and a few pieces of fruit, he fled away. The steward was
completely confounded.
“Well?” said the lady as she entered.
“I have seen him!” cried the steward; “I have seen him!”
“Who?” she asked.
And he explained all that had passed.
“You must follow it,” said the lady of the castle.
“I will try, madam.”
The next day, at the same hour, the steward took his place near the
table. The dog came in through the window and took his provision as
usual; then, seeing they were watching for him, he fled away rapidly.
The steward tried to follow him in vain; the little animal disappeared
in the forest.
“Leave it to me,” said the young lord; “I will find out where this dog
goes.”
And the next day he took the steward’s place. The window had been left
open purposely. At the usual hour the little dog appeared. The lord of
the castle did not interfere with him; but when he saw him take the
four corners of Hélène’s handkerchief between his teeth, he darted out
and ran in pursuit of the thief.
He followed the dog for several minutes; but soon worn out by the
useless chase, he threw himself at the foot of a tree, breathless, but
not discouraged.
“To-morrow,” said he resolutely, “to-morrow I will find out where this
dog goes.”
So the next day he had his horse saddled, and, taking his place under
the window, he waited. The little dog appeared, jumped on the table,
chose among the dishes that were served, a breakfast for his mistress;
but when he started as usual to return to his retreat, the gallop of a
horse resounded behind him.
The dog stopped suddenly; one of the oak-trees bent down just then,
and the intelligent little animal took his place near his mistress.
The young lord of the castle, looking up, saw a charming young girl
seated among the branches at the top of the tree. He was struck with
her beauty. A book was lying on her lap, and the wind turned the leaves
of it as she read; for oh, strange! the poor child had been deprived of
both her arms.
He questioned Hélène; and she answered his questions.
The lord of the castle heard all the young girl’s history. His heart
was moved with pity. He came to see her often; and one day he swore he
would have no one but her for his wife.
One day a carriage stopped at the foot of the oak-tree, which bent
down; and the young husband received his betrothed in his arms.
When the ceremony was over, the old lady of the castle, looking at the
young wife, said to herself,--
“So this is my son’s wife!” and an expression of hatred came over her
face. “Patience!” she added, in a low voice, “patience! the day will
come when she shall leave my house forever.”
A few months after, the young husband went away to the war.
One morning the crabbed old lady of the castle came into the young
wife’s room. Twin babies had just been born to her; and they were
resting quietly by her side in a gilded cradle.
“Ah!” she muttered with disgust, and went out. Her hand trembled with
anger as she dipped the pen into the ink and wrote the news to her
son:--
“Well,” said she, “your wife has brought two very ugly little children
into the world.”
The springtime came: but still the lord of the castle had sent no
tidings of himself.
“Your husband is dead,” said Hélène’s wicked mother-in-law to her one
day; “I do not wish you to be any longer under my roof. Go; neither you
nor your brats shall disgrace this castle any longer.”
“Alas, madam!” answered Hélène, “I can go away very well; but who will
carry my dear little ones?”
“You yourself,” said the horrible woman. “Do you suppose I would put my
servants at your service? They would refuse to go with a beggar like
you.”
“Alas!” replied Hélène, “I have no arms, as other mothers have, to
carry my poor children.”
“We will manage it,” said the hard-hearted mother-in-law.
And the next day Hélène left the castle, carrying the two innocent
little ones in a cloth which was tied round her waist.
She wandered a long time in the forest, followed by her little dog; and
when evening came on, weariness overcame her, and she was very thirsty.
A fountain flowed a few steps from her. Hélène sighed.
“Alas!” she thought, “if I only had one arm, I could catch some water
in the palm of my hand and quench my thirst.”
And as she uttered the words, a little bird, perched on the edge of the
fountain, began to twitter. He said, in his language,--
“Do not cry, poor Hélène.”
Hélène, astonished, stopped to listen to it; but the little bird
continued to sing. Hélène approached the fountain, and leaned over the
water; she tried to drink.
But before her lips could reach the water, one of her nurslings fell
into the fountain. Poor Hélène! who would give her little baby back to
her?
But the bird went on singing; and in its language it said,--
“Dip what there is left of your right arm into the fountain, and fear
nothing for your child.”
Hélène obeyed the little bird, and dipped what remained of her arm; and
at once a strong and active arm and a supple hand grew out in place of
the right arm and hand that she had lost.
Hélène picked up her child with delight; but at the same moment the
other dropped from the cloth that held it, and fell into the water, as
his brother had done. But the little bird kept on singing; and in its
joyous language it said,--
“Dip what remains to you of your left arm into the fountain, and fear
nothing for your child.”
Hélène dipped what there was left of her other arm, and immediately she
had a new left arm.
Hélène picked up her other child.
A cabin under the shade of an oak-tree sheltered Hélène and her
children. One day the two children were playing on the threshold. A
stranger passed by. He stopped before the two children.
“I, too,” cried he bitterly, “I would one day have been surrounded
by fair young ones; but Hélène has fled from my home.” When suddenly
Hélène appeared at the cabin door.
“It is she!” cried the stranger.
But he drew back as if struck by lightning. This woman had two arms,
and her fingers fondled her children’s hair. His Hélène had both arms
cut off.
Meanwhile, she had also recognized the stranger, and sprang towards him.
A few hours after, a magnificent carriage stopped at Pierre’s farm.
Hélène descended quickly from her carriage, and went into the house.
Poor Pierre was still seated beside the fire. He suffered terribly, and
his wicked wife never consoled him. When she heard the carriage stop,
and saw her sister-in-law get out of it, she suddenly disappeared.
“Where is your wife?” asked Hélène of her brother.
“I do not know,” answered Pierre. “Heaven has punished me for my crime,
for I have not had a day of happiness since I left you in the forest;
and my wife, who caused me to do such a deed, leaves me to my misery.”
At this moment they heard the voice of the wicked woman. “Hélène,” said
she, coming forward, and speaking in a sweet voice, “I hope you have
pardoned me; Heaven has punished us, and we are, as you see, very
unhappy. But come,” she added, leading the way to the upper story.
“I cannot,” said Hélène; “I must cure my brother first.”
“Come up, so that I may show you what Heaven has left me to console me
in my misfortune.”
Hélène, thinking her sister-in-law wished to show her a new baby,
started towards the winding stairway.
“Go first,” said Pierre’s wife, with hypocritical respect.
“No,” said Hélène; “I do not wish to go in front of you. I am always
poor Hélène, Pierre’s sister.”
The sister-in-law then went up first, and suddenly a loud noise was
heard; two steps of the stairway fell in with a great crash, and the
wicked woman fell into a pot of boiling water that she had prepared
for Hélène. She thought she had counted the steps, and was sure of the
success of her treachery; but hatred bewildered her, and made her the
victim of her own perfidy. Hélène turned away her head in horror and
descended the stair.
“My brother,” said she to Pierre, “Heaven has punished the crime; your
wife is dead: she fell into the snare she set for me. But you see I
have come to fulfill my promise. Show me your foot, and I will take
out the thorn which has caused you so much suffering.”
“Alas, my sister! this thorn is a great tree whose branches already
cover the roof of my dwelling,” said Pierre.
But as he spoke, Hélène touched her brother’s foot, and in a moment the
tree disappeared up the chimney, and fell with a crash on the other
side of the house.
MARGUERITE DE BELZ, “La Clef des Champs.”
THE THREE EGGS
A CREOLE STORY
Once upon a time there was a negro and his wife who lived in a village
on the shore of the Oyapok. They had a little girl who was much the
prettiest child that ever was seen. Obedient, intelligent, loving her
parents with all her soul, she was the joy and pride of her father and
mother. The whole family lived on the produce of the little field of
tapioca and potatoes which surrounded their hut.
When winter came, the torrents of rain caused the river to overflow,
and when the waters retired, all the plain, for a great distance, was
only a mass of gravel and stones. Poverty desolated the country. In the
negro’s hut there was soon scarcely a morsel of cassava; the provision
of potatoes diminished day by day. After having talked many times in a
low voice over their sad condition, after having wept over it, the poor
people resolved to go and leave their precious child to be lost in the
forest.
One morning they started out. As they went along, the mother and her
good man walked slowly, with great tears in their eyes; the little
girl went in front gathering berries that she found in the bushes.
Suddenly, not hearing her parents talking any longer, the child
called,--
“Mamma! mamma!”
No reply. Alas, poor little one! you are lost in this thick forest! The
more she tried to find her way, the more she went astray.
Night came; the foliage was so thick that she could not even see the
moon or the stars to guide her. The ferocious beasts howled terribly.
The child continued to walk on and on; her little feet were bleeding,
her teeth chattered with fright, she was faint from hunger and fatigue.
Soon, however, the trees became more scattered; a light shone in the
distance. The child went in the direction of the light. At last she saw
a cabin. She knocked at the door. “In the name of the good Virgin, open
to me,” she cried.
The door opened, creaking. An old witch, all wrinkled, appeared on the
threshold. “What do you want, my child?” said she, in a coarse voice.
“I am a poor little girl who has lost her parents in the great forest
below there; I am afraid of being eaten up by the ferocious beasts; let
me rest to-night in your house.”
The coarse voice answered,--
“Here, little one, raise your eyes. Do you see over the door those
three large pumpkins? In order to be able to enter my house, you must
catch them one by one on your head.”
“Ah, good mamma! if they fall on my head, surely they will crush me! I
am so little, they are so big!”
“Then, my child, I will catch them for you.” Then the old witch began
to sing in a melancholy tone,--
“Fall, fall, big pumpkins!
So she can come into my house.”
Then she leaned her poor old head forward and caught the three big
pumpkins on it, one after the other. Each time, her body bent and her
knees gave way.
As soon as the child came in, she asked for something to eat.
“Open this cupboard, little one; you will find two plates. In one there
is some good meat and some good fish; in the other there are only bones
and fish-bones. Put them in the fire, and when they are cooked, you can
give me whichever one you choose.”
The little one lighted the fire, warmed the two plates, and gave the
old witch the plate of meat and fish; she kept for herself the plate of
bones and fish-bones.
When the dinner was over, the old witch put the child to bed.
“To-morrow,” said she, “when you are well rested, we will go and bathe
in the river.”
Before going to sleep, the child kneeled down to pray, and thanked the
little Jesus for having rescued her from the dark night and the wicked
beasts.
As soon as it was day, the old witch and the child went to the river.
When they had taken their bath, the old witch said to the child,--
“Little one, rub me all over my body to make me clean.”
The child then looked at the witch’s back; it was covered with razors,
knives, pointed nails, pieces of broken glass. However, she did not
hesitate to rub the witch’s back and her old limbs as well as she
could. Soon her hands were all bloody. When the witch saw that, she
cried,--
“You are a good little girl; you have taken pity on a poor old woman;
give me your hands.”
The child held them to her; then she spat in her hands and said to
her,--
“Now rub yourself.”
Immediately the wounds disappeared.
“Now, my child, you must set out to go back to your parents. Here are
three eggs. When you encounter any obstacle along the way, you have
only to break an egg, and the obstacle will disappear. I only charge
you one thing: do not stop a moment, and if by chance, young people
meet you, and pay you compliments, do not listen to them, and continue
your journey without paying any attention to their fine speeches.”
Then the little one embraced the old witch, thanked her for her
goodness, and departed. After having traveled a long time, she came to
a large river. It was impossible to find a ford where she could cross
it. Then she broke her first egg. A boat appeared upon the river. She
began to sing,--
“Put me across, O boatman!
Put me across, O boatman!”
The boatman drew near, made her get into the boat, and put her across
to the other side of the river.
“Thanks, good boatman, for your kindness.”
“Good luck to you, miss.”
She went on her way. She traveled and traveled, and found herself at
last stopped by a great bare mountain.
“Mountain, open!” cried she, breaking her second egg.
The mountain opened; a beautiful road ran through it. Flowering shrubs
bordered the road; in the green trees, loaded with fruit, birds of a
thousand colors were singing. Suddenly joyous voices were heard; a
party of young people drew near, dancing and laughing.
“Oh! what a beautiful little girl that is going along the road! see
her beautiful hair,” said one. “Oh! what pretty little feet!” said
another. “Come play with us, young lady; we will take you to our
house; you shall be the absolute mistress of it, you shall do nothing
all day long; we will work for you. You will only have to look at
yourself in your mirror, comb your hair, and make yourself beautiful.”
But the little girl, remembering the counsels of the old witch, did not
even turn her head.
“Leave me alone,” said she; “I have promised not to stop till I have
found my parents again.”
Then she continued her journey and came to a plain. The mountain closed
up behind her, and became, as before, barren and desolate. After having
traveled a long time, the little girl came at last to a village. The
people were in a great commotion; the queen had just died. As soon as
the inhabitants saw the stranger, they surrounded her, and charmed with
her beauty and grace, they proposed to her to choose her to replace the
queen whom they had just lost. To all their entreaties she replied,--
“I can agree to reign over you only on one condition; that is, that you
shall take my father and mother for your sovereigns as soon as I have
found them. It is not right for the child to be above its parents.”
The people having accepted the condition, the child broke her third egg.
The egg was scarcely broken before the old negro and his wife were
seen to arrive at the end of the village, all covered with tatters,
thin, emaciated, and bent with grief and poverty. Seeing their
daughter, whom they believed lost forever, they shed abundant tears,
and were about to throw themselves at her feet to ask her pardon for
having abandoned her. But she did not give them time for this, and
throwing her arms around their necks, she embraced them tenderly. They
were proclaimed sovereigns of the country and lived happily with their
daughter ever after. They were good and charitable to the poor people,
for they had been poor themselves.
The news of this adventure was quickly spread around. It reached the
little village where the good little girl formerly lived. All their
neighbors were delighted; only one negro and his wife became extremely
jealous of them. These people had a wicked, cross-grained daughter, the
very image of her mother.
“My daughter, I want you to be queen also; I will go and lose you in
the forest. You are worth much more than that affected little thing;
and when you are queen, you can send for me and your father also, so
that we can pass the rest of our days in sleeping and doing nothing.”
Then they went into the forest and left their daughter there. Night
came, and the ferocious beasts began to howl! Ah! truly, the child was
much frightened, but, taking courage in the face of danger, she tried
to get out of the forest. Then she saw the light in the old witch’s
cabin. She went in that direction and came to the door.
“Open to me,” said she, thumping on it with all her might with her feet
and her fists; “I do not want to spend the night out of doors.”
The coarse voice answered,--
“Do you see those three enormous pumpkins? In order to enter my house,
you must catch them on your head.”
“Very well, catch them yourself, so I can come in.”
The witch, without saying anything, sang her song, and caught the
pumpkins on her poor old head.
As soon as she had come in, the little girl called out,--
“I am hungry; give me something to eat.”
Then the old witch put two dishes on the fire; one of good meat and
good fish, the other containing only bones and fish-bones. The child,
without thanking her, took all that was good, and paid no attention as
to what was left for the old woman.
When the morning came, they went to the river, and when she saw the
witch’s back, she said,--
“What, do you think I am going to rub your old back? It is all full of
broken glass and pieces of broken bottles.”
The witch dressed herself again, and when the time came to go away, she
gave the child three eggs.
“My child, take my advice; do not stop on the way until you have found
your parents; else some harm will happen. When you see any obstacle, or
when you want anything, break one of the eggs, and you will be quite
satisfied.”
Without even thanking the old witch, who had been so good, the child
went on her way.
Having reached the river, the breaking of the first egg brought the
boatman to her, and he put her across to the other shore. Then after
that the mountain stopped her way; so she broke her second egg, and the
mountain opened. A beautiful road bordered with flowers showed itself
to her. She followed it. Then the young people approached.
“Beautiful child, will you come and play with us? You will find in our
house mirrors in which you can see your whole figure. We will be your
slaves; one who is as pretty as you are should not work, but live to do
nothing and think of nothing but being amused.”
Blushing with pleasure and vanity, the child sprang towards the young
people; but she had scarcely crossed the road bordered with flowers
when the mountain closed up with a great noise and swallowed her up.
She was pitied by only one person,--the good little girl. Young ladies,
let this story be a lesson to you.
LOYS BRUEYRE.
THE THREE BROTHERS
OR
THE CAT, THE COCK, AND THE LADDER
A BRETON STORY
Once upon a time there were three brothers: the oldest was named Yvon;
the second Goulven; and the youngest, Guyon. Their mother was dead, and
they asked their father to give each of them the portion that would
fall to him, so that they might go out into the world to seek their
fortunes.
“I am very willing,” said the old man, “but you know that we are not
rich; a cat, a cock, and a ladder--these are all I have to give you.”
“Very well; let us draw straws,” replied the three brothers, “and see
what will fall to the lot of each of us.”
They drew straws, and the cat fell to Yvon, the cock to Goulven, and
the ladder to Guyon. Each took his property and began to get ready
to set out. Their father accompanied them to a place near by, where
four roads crossed and led in different directions, and then they bade
farewell to each other, and took each a different road, after having
appointed a meeting at the same place at the end of a year and a day.
The old man returned alone to his house, by the fourth road.