There was once a King and Queen that lived very happily together, and
they had twelve sons and not a single daughter. We are always wishing
for what we haven't, and don't care for what we have, and so it was
with the Queen. One day in winter, when the bawn was covered with
snow, she was looking out of the parlour window, and saw there a calf
that was just killed by the butcher, and a raven standing near it.
"Oh," says she, "if I had only a daughter with her skin as white as
that snow, her cheeks as red as that blood, and her hair as black as
that raven, I'd give away every one of my twelve sons for her." The
moment she said the word, she got a great fright, and a shiver went
through her, and in an instant after, a severe-looking old woman stood
before her. "That was a wicked wish you made," said she, "and to
punish you it will be granted. You will have such a daughter as you
desire, but the very day of her birth you will lose your other
children." She vanished the moment she said the words.
And that very way it turned out. When she expected her delivery, she had
her children all in a large room of the palace, with guards all round
it, but the very hour her daughter came into the world, the guards
inside and outside heard a great whirling and whistling, and the twelve
princes were seen flying one after another out through the open window,
and away like so many arrows over the woods. Well, the king was in great
grief for the loss of his sons, and he would be very enraged with his
wife if he only knew that she was so much to blame for it.
Everyone called the little princess Snow-white-and-Rose-red on account
of her beautiful complexion. She was the most loving and lovable child
that could be seen anywhere. When she was twelve years old she began
to be very sad and lonely, and to torment her mother, asking her about
her brothers that she thought were dead, for none up to that time ever
told her the exact thing that happened them. The secret was weighing
very heavy on the Queen's conscience, and as the little girl
persevered in her questions, at last she told her. "Well, mother,"
said she, "it was on my account my poor brothers were changed into
wild geese, and are now suffering all sorts of hardship; before the
world is a day older, I'll be off to seek them, and try to restore
them to their own shapes."
The King and Queen had her well watched, but all was no use. Next night
she was getting through the woods that surrounded the palace, and she
went on and on that night, and till the evening of next day. She had a
few cakes with her, and she got nuts, and _mugoreens_ (fruit of the
sweet briar), and some sweet crabs, as she went along. At last she came
to a nice wooden house just at sunset. There was a fine garden round it,
full of the handsomest flowers, and a gate in the hedge. She went in,
and saw a table laid out with twelve plates, and twelve knives and
forks, and twelve spoons, and there were cakes, and cold wild fowl, and
fruit along with the plates, and there was a good fire, and in another
long room there were twelve beds. Well, while she was looking about her
she heard the gate opening, and footsteps along the walk, and in came
twelve young men, and there was great grief and surprise on all their
faces when they laid eyes on her. "Oh, what misfortune sent you here?"
said the eldest. "For the sake of a girl we were obliged to leave our
father's court, and be in the shape of wild geese all day. That's twelve
years ago, and we took a solemn oath that we would kill the first young
girl that came into our hands. It's a pity to put such an innocent and
handsome girl as you are out of the world, but we must keep our oath."
"But," said she, "I'm your only sister, that never knew anything about
this till yesterday; and I stole away from our father's and mother's
palace last night to find you out and relieve you if I can." Every one
of them clasped his hands, and looked down on the floor, and you could
hear a pin fall till the eldest cried out, "A curse light on our oath!
what shall we do?" "I'll tell you that," said an old woman that appeared
at the instant among them. "Break your wicked oath, which no one should
keep. If you attempted to lay an uncivil finger on her I'd change you
into twelve _booliaun buis_ (stalks of ragweed), but I wish well to you
as well as to her. She is appointed to be your deliverer in this way.
She must spin and knit twelve shirts for you out of bog-down, to be
gathered by her own hands on the moor just outside of the wood. It will
take her five years to do it, and if she once speaks, or laughs, or
cries the whole time, you will have to remain wild geese by day till
you're called out of the world. So take care of your sister; it is worth
your while." The fairy then vanished, and it was only a strife with the
brothers to see who would be first to kiss and hug their sister.
So for three long years the poor young princess was occupied pulling
bog-down, spinning it, and knitting it into shirts, and at the end of
the three years she had eight made. During all that time, she never
spoke a word, nor laughed, nor cried: the last was the hardest to
refrain from. One fine day she was sitting in the garden spinning,
when in sprung a fine greyhound and bounded up to her, and laid his
paws on her shoulder, and licked her forehead and her hair. The next
minute a beautiful young prince rode up to the little garden gate,
took off his hat, and asked for leave to come in. She gave him a
little nod, and in he walked. He made ever so many apologies for
intruding, and asked her ever so many questions, but not a word could
he get out of her. He loved her so much from the first moment, that he
could not leave her till he told her he was king of a country just
bordering on the forest, and he begged her to come home with him, and
be his wife. She couldn't help loving him as much as he did her, and
though she shook her head very often, and was very sorry to leave her
brothers, at last she nodded her head, and put her hand in his. She
knew well enough that the good fairy and her brothers would be able to
find her out. Before she went she brought out a basket holding all her
bog-down, and another holding the eight shirts. The attendants took
charge of these, and the prince placed her before him on his horse.
The only thing that disturbed him while riding along was the
displeasure his stepmother would feel at what he had done. However, he
was full master at home, and as soon as he arrived he sent for the
bishop, got his bride nicely dressed, and the marriage was celebrated,
the bride answering by signs. He knew by her manners she was of high
birth, and no two could be fonder of each other.
The wicked stepmother did all she could to make mischief, saying she
was sure she was only a woodman's daughter; but nothing could disturb
the young king's opinion of his wife. In good time the young queen was
delivered of a beautiful boy, and the king was so glad he hardly knew
what to do for joy. All the grandeur of the christening and the
happiness of the parents tormented the bad woman more than I can tell
you, and she determined to put a stop to all their comfort. She got a
sleeping posset given to the young mother, and while she was thinking
and thinking how she could best make away with the child, she saw a
wicked-looking wolf in the garden, looking up at her, and licking his
chops. She lost no time, but snatched the child from the arms of the
sleeping woman, and pitched it out The beast caught it in his mouth,
and was over the garden fence in a minute. The wicked woman then
pricked her own fingers, and dabbled the blood round the mouth of the
sleeping mother.
Well, the young king was just then coming into the big bawn from
hunting, and as soon as he entered the house, she beckoned to him,
shed a few crocodile tears, began to cry and wring her hands, and
hurried him along the passage to the bedchamber.
Oh, wasn't the poor king frightened when he saw the queen's mouth
bloody, and missed his child? It would take two hours to tell you the
devilment of the old queen, the confusion and fright, and grief of the
young king and queen, the bad opinion he began to feel of his wife,
and the struggle she had to keep down her bitter sorrow, and not give
way to it by speaking or lamenting. The young king would not allow any
one to be called, and ordered his stepmother to give out that the
child fell from the mother's arms at the window, and that a wild beast
ran off with it. The wicked woman pretended to do so, but she told
underhand to everybody she spoke to what the king and herself saw in
the bedchamber.
The young queen was the most unhappy woman in the three kingdoms for a
long time, between sorrow for her child, and her husband's bad
opinion; still she neither spoke nor cried, and she gathered bog-down
and went on with the shirts. Often the twelve wild geese would be seen
lighting on the trees in the park or on the smooth sod, and looking in
at her windows. So she worked on to get the shirts finished, but
another year was at an end, and she had the twelfth shirt finished
except one arm, when she was obliged to take to her bed, and a
beautiful girl was born.
Now the king was on his guard, and he would not let the mother and
child be left alone for a minute; but the wicked woman bribed some of
the attendants, set others asleep, gave the sleepy posset to the
queen, and had a person watching to snatch the child away, and kill
it. But what should she see but the same wolf in the garden looking up
and licking his chops again? Out went the child, and away with it flew
the wolf, and she smeared the sleeping mother's mouth and face with
blood, and then roared, and bawled, and cried out to the king and to
everybody she met, and the room was filled, and everyone was sure the
young queen had just devoured her own babe.
The poor mother thought now her life would leave her. She was in such
a state she could neither think nor pray, but she sat like a stone,
and worked away at the arm of the twelfth shirt.
The king was for taking her to the house in the wood where he found
her, but the stepmother, and the lords of the court, and the judges
would not hear of it, and she was condemned to be burned in the big
bawn at three o'clock the same day. When the hour drew near, the king
went to the farthest part of his palace, and there was no more unhappy
man in his kingdom at that hour.
When the executioners came and led her off, she took the pile of
shirts in her arms. There was still a few stitches wanted, and while
they were tying her to the stakes she still worked on. At the last
stitch she seemed overcome and dropped a tear on her work, but the
moment after she sprang up, and shouted out, "I am innocent; call my
husband!" The executioners stayed their hands, except one
wicked-disposed creature, who set fire to the faggot next him, and
while all were struck in amaze, there was a rushing of wings, and in a
moment the twelve wild geese were standing around the pile. Before you
could count twelve, she flung a shirt over each bird, and there in the
twinkling of an eye were twelve of the finest young men that could be
collected out of a thousand. While some were untying their sister, the
eldest, taking a strong stake in his hand, struck the busy executioner
such a blow that he never needed another.
While they were comforting the young queen, and the king was hurrying
to the spot, a fine-looking woman appeared among them holding the babe
on one arm and the little prince by the hand. There was nothing but
crying for joy, and laughing for joy, and hugging and kissing, and
when any one had time to thank the good fairy, who in the shape of a
wolf, carried the child away, she was not to be found. Never was such
happiness enjoyed in any palace that ever was built, and if the wicked
queen and her helpers were not torn by wild horses, they richly
deserved it.
[Footnote 65: _The Fireside Stories of Ireland_ (Gill & Son, Dublin).]