At first nobody would hear of this arrangement, and her father and

brothers, who loved her dearly, declared that nothing should make them

let her go; but Beauty was firm. As the time drew near she divided all

her little possessions between her sisters and said good-by to

everything she loved, and when the fatal day came she encouraged and

cheered her father as they mounted together the horse which had brought

him back. It seemed to fly rather than gallop, but so smoothly that

Beauty was not frightened; indeed, she would have enjoyed the journey if

she had not feared what might happen to her at the end of it. Her father

still tried to persuade her to go back, but in vain. While they were

talking the night fell, and then, to their surprise, wonderful colored

lights began to shine in all directions, and splendid fireworks blazed

out before them. All the forest was illuminated by them, and even felt

pleasantly warm, though it had been bitterly cold before. This lasted

until they reached the avenue of orange-trees, where were statues

holding flaming torches, and when they got nearer to the palace they saw

that it was illuminated from the roof to the ground, and music sounded

softly from the court-yard. "The beast must be very hungry," said

Beauty, trying to laugh, "if he makes all this rejoicing over the

arrival of his prey."

But in spite of her anxiety she could not help admiring all the

wonderful things she saw.

The horse stopped at the foot of the flight of steps leading to the

terrace, and when they had dismounted her father led her to the little

room he had been in before, where they found a splendid fire burning and

the table daintily spread with a delicious supper.

The merchant knew that this was meant for them, and Beauty, who was

rather less frightened now that she had passed through so many rooms and

seen nothing of the beast, was quite willing to begin, for her long ride

had made her very hungry. But they had hardly finished their meal when

the noise of the beast's footsteps was heard approaching, and Beauty

clung to her father in terror, which became all the greater when she saw

how frightened he was. But when the beast really appeared, though she

trembled at the sight of him, she made a great effort to hide her horror

and saluted him respectfully.

This evidently pleased the beast. After looking at her he said, in a

tone that might have struck terror into the boldest heart, though he did

not seem to be angry:

"Good-evening, old man. Good-evening, Beauty."

The merchant was too terrified to reply, but Beauty answered sweetly:

"Good-evening, beast."

"Have you come willingly?" asked the beast. "Will you be content to stay

here when your father goes away?"

Beauty answered bravely that she was quite prepared to stay.

"I am pleased with you," said the beast. "As you have come of your own

accord, you may stay. As for you, old man," he added, turning to the

merchant, "at sunrise to-morrow you will take your departure. When the

bell rings get up quickly and eat your breakfast, and you will find the

same horse waiting to take you home; but remember that you must never

expect to see my palace again."

Then turning to Beauty he said:

"Take your father into the next room and help him to choose everything

you think your brothers and sisters would like to have. You will find

two traveling-trunks there; fill them as full as you can. It is only

just that you should send them something very precious as a remembrance

of yourself."

Then he went away after saying, "Good-by, Beauty; good-by, old man"; and

though Beauty was beginning to think with great dismay of her father's

departure, she was afraid to disobey the beast's orders, and they went

into the next room, which had shelves and cupboards all round it. They

were greatly surprised at the riches it contained. There were splendid

dresses fit for a queen, with all the ornaments that were to be worn

with them; and when Beauty opened the cupboards she was quite dazzled by

the gorgeous jewels that lay in heaps upon every shelf. After choosing a

vast quantity, which she divided between her sisters--for she made a

heap of the wonderful dresses for each of them--she opened the last

chest, which was full of gold.

"I think, father," she said, "that as the gold will be more useful to

you we had better take out the other things again and fill the trunks

with it." So they did this; but the more they put in the more room there

seemed to be, and at last they put back all the jewels and dresses they

had taken out, and Beauty even added as many more of the jewels as she

could carry at once; and then the trunks were not too full, but they

were so heavy that an elephant could not have carried them!

"The beast was mocking us," cried the merchant. "He must have pretended

to give us all these things, knowing that I could not carry them away."

"Let us wait and see," answered Beauty. "I cannot believe that he meant

to deceive us. All we can do is to fasten them up and leave them ready."

So they did this and returned to the little room, where, to their

astonishment, they found breakfast ready. The merchant ate his with a

good appetite, as the beast's generosity made him believe that he might

perhaps venture to come back soon and see Beauty. But she felt sure that

her father was leaving her forever, so she was very sad when the bell

rang sharply for the second time and warned them that the time had come

for them to part. They went down into the court-yard, where two horses

were waiting, one loaded with the two trunks, the other for him to ride.

They were pawing the ground in their impatience to start, and, the

merchant was forced to bid Beauty a hasty farewell; and as soon as he

was mounted he went off at such a pace that she lost sight of him in an

instant.

Then Beauty began to cry and wandered back to her own room. But she soon

found that she was very sleepy, and as she had nothing better to do she

lay down and instantly fell asleep. And then she dreamed that she was

walking by a brook bordered with trees and lamenting her sad fate, when

a young prince, handsomer than anyone she had ever seen, and with a

voice that went straight to her heart, came and said to her: "Ah,

Beauty! you are not so unfortunate as you suppose. Here you will be

rewarded for all you have suffered elsewhere. Your every wish shall be

gratified. Only try to find me out, no matter how I may be disguised, as

I love you dearly, and in making me happy you will find your own

happiness. Be as true-hearted as you are beautiful, and we shall have

nothing left to wish for."

"What can I do, prince, to make you happy?" said Beauty.

"Only be grateful," he answered, "and do not trust too much to your

eyes. And above all, do not desert me until you have saved me from my

cruel misery."

After this she thought she found herself in a room with a stately and

beautiful lady, who said to her:

"Dear Beauty, try not to regret all you have left behind you, for you

are destined to a better fate. Only do not let yourself be deceived by

appearances."

Beauty found her dreams so interesting that she was in no hurry to

awake, but presently the clock roused her by calling her name softly

twelve times, and then she got up and found her dressing-table set out

with everything she could possibly want; and when her toilet was

finished she found dinner was waiting in the room next to hers. But

dinner does not take very long when you are all by yourself, and very

soon she sat down cozily in the corner of a sofa and began to think

about the charming prince she had seen in her dream.

"He said I could make him happy," said Beauty to herself. "It seems,

then, that this horrible beast keeps him a prisoner. How can I set him

free? I wonder why they both told me not to trust to appearances. I

don't understand it. But after all it is only a dream, so why should I

trouble myself about it? I had better go and find something to do to

amuse myself."

So she got up and began to explore some of the many rooms of the palace.

The first she entered was lined with mirrors, and Beauty saw herself

reflected on every side, and thought she had never seen such a charming

room. Then a bracelet which was hanging from a chandelier caught her

eye, and on taking it down she was greatly surprised to find that it

held a portrait of her unknown admirer, just as she had seen him in her

dream. With great delight she slipped the bracelet on her arm and went

on into a gallery of pictures, where she soon found a portrait of the

same handsome prince, as large as life and so well painted that as she

studied it he seemed to smile kindly at her.

Tearing herself away from the portrait at last, she passed through into

a room which contained every musical instrument under the sun, and here

she amused herself for a long while in trying some of them and singing

until she was tired. The next room was a library, and she saw everything

she had ever wanted to read, as well as everything she had read, and it

seemed to her that a whole lifetime would not be enough even to read the

names of the books, there were so many. By this time it was growing

dusk, and wax candles in diamond and ruby candlesticks were beginning to

light themselves in every room.

Beauty found her supper served just at the time she preferred to have

it, but she did not see anyone or hear a sound, and though her father

had warned her that she would be alone, she began to find it rather

dull.

But presently she heard the beast coming, and wondered tremblingly if he

meant to eat her up now.

However, as he did not seem at all ferocious, and only said gruffly,

"Good-evening, Beauty," she answered cheerfully and managed to conceal

her terror. Then the beast asked her how she had been amusing herself,

and she told him all the rooms she had seen.

Then he asked if she thought she could be happy in his palace, and

Beauty answered that everything was so beautiful that she would be very

hard to please if she could not be happy. And after about an hour's talk

Beauty began to think that the beast was not nearly so terrible as she

had supposed at first. Then he got up to leave her and said in his gruff

voice:

"Do you love me, Beauty? Will you marry me?"

"Oh! what shall I say?" cried Beauty, for she was afraid to make the

beast angry by refusing.

"Say 'yes' or 'no' without fear," he replied.

"Oh! no, beast," said Beauty hastily.

"Since you will not, good-night, Beauty," he said. And she answered,

"Good-night, beast," very glad to find that her refusal had not provoked

him. And after he was gone she was very soon in bed and asleep and

dreaming of her unknown prince. She thought he came and said to her:

"Ah, Beauty! why are you so unkind to me? I fear I am fated to be

unhappy for many a long day still."

And then her dreams changed, but the charming prince figured in them

all; and when morning came her first thought was to look at the portrait

and see if it was really like him, and she found that it certainly was.

This morning she decided to amuse herself in the garden, for the sun

shone and all the fountains were playing; but she was astonished to find

that every place was familiar to her, and presently she came to the

brook where the myrtle trees were growing where she had first met the

prince in her dream, and that made her think more than ever that he must

be kept a prisoner by the beast. When she was tired she went back to the

palace, and found a new room full of materials for every kind of

work--ribbons to make into bows and silks to work into flowers. Then

there was an aviary full of rare birds, which were so tame that they

flew to Beauty as soon as they saw her and perched upon her shoulders

and her head.

"Pretty little creatures," she said, "how I wish that your cage was

nearer to my room, that I might often hear you sing!"

So saying she opened a door and found to her delight that it led into

her own room, though she had thought it was quite the other side of the

palace.

There were more birds in a room further on, parrots and cockatoos that

could talk, and they greeted Beauty by name. Indeed, she found them so

entertaining that she took one or two back to her room, and they talked

to her while she was at supper; after which the beast paid her his usual

visit and asked the same questions as before, and then with a gruff

"good-night" he took his departure, and Beauty went to bed to dream of

her mysterious prince. The days passed swiftly in different amusements,

and after a while Beauty found out another strange thing in the palace,

which often pleased her when she was tired of being alone. There was one

room which she had not noticed particularly. It was empty, except that

under each of the windows stood a very comfortable chair, and the first

time she had looked out of the window it had seemed to her that a black

curtain prevented her from seeing anything outside. But the second time

she went into the room, happening to be tired, she sat down in one of

the chairs, and instantly the curtain was rolled aside and a most

amusing pantomime was acted before her. There were dances, and colored

lights, and music, and pretty dresses, and it was all so gay that Beauty

was in ecstasies. After that she tried the other seven windows in turn,

and there was some new and surprising entertainment to be seen from each

of them, so that Beauty never could feel lonely any more. Every evening

after supper the beast came to see her, and always before saying

good-night asked her in his terrible voice:

"Beauty, will you marry me?"

And it seemed to Beauty, now she understood him better, that when she

said, "No, beast," he went away quite sad. But her happy dreams of the

handsome young prince soon made her forget the poor beast, and the only

thing that at all disturbed her was to be constantly told to distrust

appearances, to let her heart guide her, and not her eyes, and many

other equally perplexing things, which, consider as she would, she could

not understand.

So everything went on for a long time, until at last, happy as she was,

Beauty began to long for the sight of her father and her brothers and

sisters; and one night, seeing her look very sad, the beast asked her

what was the matter. Beauty had quite ceased to be afraid of him now she

knew that he was really gentle in spite of his ferocious looks and his

dreadful voice. So she answered that she was longing to see her home

once more. Upon hearing this the beast seemed sadly distressed and cried

miserably:

"Ah! Beauty, have you the heart to desert an unhappy beast like this?

What more do you want to make you happy? Is it because you hate me that

you want to escape?"

"No, dear beast," answered Beauty softly, "I do not hate you, and I

should be very sorry never to see you any more, but I long to see my

father again. Only let me go for two months, and I promise to come back

to you and stay for the rest of my life."

The beast, who had been sighing dolefully while she spoke, now replied:

"I cannot refuse you anything you ask, even though it should cost me my

life. Take the four boxes you will find in the room next to your own and

fill them with everything you wish to take with you. But remember your

promise and come back when the two months are over, or you may have

cause to repent it, for if you do not come in good time you will find

your faithful beast dead. You will not need any chariot to bring you

back. Only say good-by to all your brothers and sisters the night before

you come away, and when you have gone to bed turn this ring round upon

your finger and say firmly: 'I wish to go back to my palace and see my

beast again.' Good-night, Beauty. Fear nothing, sleep peacefully, and

before long you shall see your father once more."

As soon as Beauty was alone she hastened to fill the boxes with all the

rare and precious things she saw about her, and only when she was tired

of heaping things into them did they seem to be full.

Then she went to bed, but could hardly sleep for joy. And when at last

she did begin to dream of her beloved prince she was grieved to see him

stretched upon a grassy bank, sad and weary and hardly like himself.

"What is the matter?" she cried.

But he looked at her reproachfully and said:

"How can you ask me, cruel one? Are you not leaving me to my death

perhaps?"

"Ah, don't be so sorrowful!" cried Beauty. "I am only going to assure my

father that I am safe and happy. I have promised the beast faithfully

that I will come back, and he would die of grief if I did not keep my

word!"

"What would that matter to you?" said the prince. "Surely you would not

care?"

"Indeed I should be ungrateful if I did not care for such a kind beast,"

cried Beauty indignantly. "I would die to save him from pain. I assure

you it is not his fault that he is so ugly."

Just then a strange sound woke her--someone was speaking not very far

away; and opening her eyes she found herself in a room she had never

seen before, which was certainly not nearly so splendid as those she was

used to in the beast's palace. Where could she be? She got up and

dressed hastily, and then saw that the boxes she had packed the night

before were all in the room. While she was wondering by what magic the

beast had transported them and herself to this strange place she

suddenly heard her father's voice, and rushed out and greeted him

joyfully. Her brothers and sisters were all astonished at her

appearance, as they had never expected to see her again, and there was

no end to the questions they asked her. She had also much to hear about

what had happened to them while she was away and of her father's journey

home. But when they heard that she had only come to be with them for a

short time, and then must go back to the beast's palace forever, they

lamented loudly. Then Beauty asked her father what he thought could be

the meaning of her strange dreams, and why the prince constantly begged

her not to trust to appearances. After much consideration he answered:

"You tell me yourself that the beast, frightful as he is, loves you

dearly and deserves your love and gratitude for his gentleness and

kindness. I think the prince must mean you to understand that you ought

to reward him by doing as he wishes you to, in spite of his ugliness."

Beauty could not help seeing that this seemed very probable. Still, when

she thought of her dear prince who was so handsome, she did not feel at

all inclined to marry the beast. At any rate, for two months she need

not decide, but could enjoy herself with her sisters. But though they

were rich now and lived in a town again and had plenty of acquaintances,

Beauty found that nothing amused her very much; and she often thought of

the palace where she was so happy, especially as at home she never once

dreamed of her dear prince, and she felt quite sad without him.

Then her sisters seemed to have got used to being without her, and even

found her rather in the way, so she would not have been sorry when the

two months were over but for her father and brothers, who begged her to

stay and seemed so grieved at the thought of her departure that she had

not the courage to say good-by to them. Every day when she got up she

meant to say it at night, and when night came she put it off again,

until at last she had a dismal dream which helped her to make up her

mind. She thought she was wandering in a lonely path in the palace

gardens, when she heard groans which seemed to come from some bushes

hiding the entrance of a cave, and running quickly to see what could be

the matter, she found the beast stretched out upon his side, apparently

dying. He reproached her faintly with being the cause of his distress,

and at the same moment a stately lady appeared and said very gravely:

"Ah, Beauty! you are only just in time to save his life. See what

happens when people do not keep their promises! If you had delayed one

day more you would have found him dead."

Beauty was so terrified by this dream that the next morning she

announced her intention of going back at once, and that very night she

said good-by to her father and all her brothers and sisters, and as soon

as she was in bed she turned her ring round upon her finger and said

firmly, "I wish to go back to my palace and see my beast again," as she

had been told to do.

Then she fell asleep instantly, and only woke up to hear the clock

saying "Beauty, Beauty," twelve times in its musical voice, which told

her at once that she was really in the palace once more. Everything was

just as before, and her birds were so glad to see her; but Beauty

thought she had never known such a long day, for she was so anxious to

see the beast again that she felt as if supper time would never come.

But when it did come and no beast appeared she was really frightened; so

after listening and waiting for a long time she ran down into the garden

to search for him. Up and down the paths and avenues ran poor Beauty,

calling him in vain, for no one answered and not a trace of him could

she find, until at last, quite tired, she stopped for a minute's rest

and saw that she was standing opposite the shady path she had seen in

her dream. She rushed down it, and, sure enough, there was the cave, and

in it lay the beast--asleep, as Beauty thought. Quite glad to have found

him, she ran up and stroked his head, but, to her horror, he did not

move or open his eyes.

"Oh! he is dead, and it is all my fault," said Beauty, crying bitterly.

But then, looking at him again, she fancied he still breathed, and

hastily fetching some water from the nearest fountain, she sprinkled it

over his face, and to her great delight he began to revive.

"Oh, beast! how you frightened me!" she cried. "I never knew how much I

loved you until just now, when I feared I was too late to save your

life."

"Can you really love such an ugly creature as I am?" said the beast

faintly. "Ah, Beauty! you only came just in time. I was dying because I

thought you had forgotten your promise. But go back now and rest. I

shall see you again by and by."

Beauty, who had half expected that he would be angry with her, was

reassured by his gentle voice and went back to the palace, where supper

was awaiting her; and afterward the beast came in as usual and talked

about the time she had spent with her father, asking if she had enjoyed

herself and if they had all been very glad to see her.

Beauty answered politely, and quite enjoyed telling him all that had

happened to her. And when at last the time came for him to go, and he

asked, as he had so often asked before, "Beauty, will you marry me?" she

answered softly: "Yes, dear beast."

As she spoke a blaze of light sprang up before the windows of the

palace; fireworks crackled and guns banged, and across the avenue of

orange trees, in letters all made of fireflies, was written: "Long live

the prince and his bride."

Turning to ask the beast what it could all mean, Beauty found that he

had disappeared, and in his place stood her long-loved prince! At the

same moment the wheels of a chariot were heard upon the terrace and two

ladies entered the room. One of them Beauty recognized as the stately

lady she had seen in her dreams; the other was also so grand and queenly

that Beauty hardly knew which to greet first.

But the one she already knew said to her companion:

"Well, queen, this is Beauty, who has had the courage to rescue your son

from the terrible enchantment. They love one another, and only your

consent to their marriage is wanting to make them perfectly happy."

"I consent with all my heart," cried the queen. "How can I ever thank

you enough, charming girl, for having restored my dear son to his

natural form?"

And then she tenderly embraced Beauty and the prince, who had meanwhile

been greeting the fairy and receiving her congratulations.

"Now," said the fairy to Beauty, "I suppose you would like me to send

for all your brothers and sisters to dance at your wedding?"

And so she did, and the marriage was celebrated the very next day with

the utmost splendor, and Beauty and the prince lived happily ever after.

168

Peter Asbjoernsen (1812-1885) and Jorgen Moe

(1813-1882) were the first scientific

collectors of the folk tales of Norway. Their

joint interest in folk tales began when they

were schoolboys wandering on foot through the

country and listening to peasant stories. This

interest continued after Moe had become a

theologian and Asbjoernsen a noted scientist.

The latter served the government as an expert

connected with the survey and development of

his country's natural resources. This resulted

in taking him to all parts of the land, and he

never lost an opportunity to hear and copy down

any folk tale that he found surviving in the

more isolated districts. In 1842-1844 appeared

_Norwegian Folk Tales_ by Moe and Asbjoernsen;

in 1845, _Norwegian Fairy Tales and Folk

Legends_; and there were subsequent additions.

The five tales following are from these Norse

collections. They were first made accessible in

English in Dasent's _Popular Tales from the

Norse_ (1858). This book with its long

introductory essay on the origin and diffusion

of popular tales constitutes a landmark in the

study of folklore. It and Dasent's later

volume, _Tales from the Fjeld_, are still,

perhaps, the best sources for versions of the

Norse popular tales. "Why the Bear Is

Stumpy-tailed" belongs to the class of stories

which explain how things happened to be as they

are. It is of great antiquity and is found over

most of the world. The greatest of all modern

nature fairy tales, Kipling's _Just So

Stories_, are of a similar type, though told at

greater length and, of course, with infinitely

greater art.

WHY THE BEAR IS STUMPY-TAILED

One day the Bear met the Fox, who came slinking along with a string of

fish he had stolen.

"Whence did you get those?" asked the Bear.

"Oh! my Lord Bruin, I've been out fishing and caught them," said the

Fox.

So the Bear had a mind to learn to fish too, and bade the Fox tell him

how he was to set about it.

"Oh! it's an easy craft for you," answered the Fox, "and soon learnt.

You've only got to go upon the ice, and cut a hole and stick your tail

down into it; and so you must go on holding it there as long as you can.

You're not to mind if your tail smarts a little; that's when the fish

bite. The longer you hold it there the more fish you'll get; and then

all at once out with it, with a cross pull sideways, and with a strong

pull too."

Yes; the Bear did as the Fox had said, and held his tail a long, long

time down in the hole, till it was fast frozen in. Then he pulled it out

with a cross pull, and it snapped short off. That's why Bruin goes about

with a stumpy tail this very day.

169

The following is from Dasent's _Popular Tales

from the Norse_ and has long been a favorite

with the younger children by reason of its

remarkable compactness and its strong

accumulative force. The Troll of northern

stories is the Ogre of those farther south. The

story has a closing formula which may often

have been used for other stories as well. (For

an opening verse formula see the note on "The

Story of the Three Little Pigs," No. 151.)

THE THREE BILLY-GOATS GRUFF

Once on a time there were three Billy-goats who were to go up to the

hillside to make themselves fat, and the name of all the three was

"Gruff."

On the way up was a bridge over a burn they had to cross; and under the

bridge lived a great ugly Troll, with eyes as big as saucers and a nose

as long as a poker.

So first of all came the youngest billy-goat Gruff to cross the bridge.

"Trip, trap; trip, trap!" went the bridge.

"WHO'S THAT tripping over my bridge?" roared the Troll.

"Oh! it is only I, the tiniest billy-goat Gruff; and I'm going up to the

hill-side to make myself fat," said the billy-goat, with such a small

voice.

"Now, I'm coming to gobble you up," said the Troll.

"Oh, no! pray don't take me. I'm too little, that I am," said the

billy-goat. "Wait a bit till the second billy-goat Gruff comes; he's

much bigger."

"Well! be off with you," said the Troll.

A little while after came the second billy-goat Gruff to cross the

bridge.

"TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP!" went the bridge.

"WHO'S THAT tripping over my bridge?" roared the Troll.

"Oh! it's the second billy-goat Gruff, and I'm going up to the hill-side

to make myself fat," said the billy-goat, who hadn't such a small voice.

"Now, I'm coming to gobble you up," said the Troll.

"Oh, no! don't take me. Wait a little till the big billy-goat Gruff

comes; he's much bigger."

"Very well! be off with you," said the Troll.

But just then up came the big billy-goat Gruff.

"TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP!" went the bridge, for the

billy-goat was so heavy that the bridge creaked and groaned under him.

"WHO'S THAT tramping over my bridge?" roared the Troll.

"It's I! THE BIG BILLY-GOAT GRUFF," said the billy-goat, who had an ugly

hoarse voice of his own.

"Now, I'm coming to gobble you up," roared the Troll.

"Well, come along! I've got two spears,

And I'll poke your eyeballs out at your ears;

I've got besides two curling-stones,

And I'll crush you to bits, body and bones."

That was what the big billy-goat said; and so he flew at the Troll and

poked his eyes out with his horns, and crushed him to bits, body and

bones, and tossed him out into the burn, and after that he went up to

the hill-side. There the billy-goats got so fat they were scarce able to

walk home again; and if the fat hasn't fallen off them, why they're

still fat; and so,--

"Snip, snap, snout,

This tale's told out."

170

The following droll seems to indicate that the

folk had a strain of satirical humor which they

could use with fine effect. The translation is

that of Dasent's _Popular Tales from the

Norse_. (An old English verse form of the same

story will be found in No. 146.) The old

proverb about the shoemaker sticking to his

last is sure to come to mind as one reads, but

it seems to lose force when we notice that the

"goody" has no trouble with the mowing, while

the good "man" has much with the housework!

THE HUSBAND WHO WAS TO MIND THE HOUSE

Once on a time there was a man so surly and cross he never thought his

wife did anything right in the house. So one evening in hay-making time

he came home scolding and swearing and showing his teeth and making a

dust.

"Dear love, don't be so angry; there's a good man," said his goody;

"to-morrow let's change our work. I'll go out with the mowers and mow,

and you shall mind the house at home."

Yes! the husband thought that would do very well. He was quite willing,

he said.

So, early next morning, his goody took a scythe over her neck and went

out into the hay-field with the mowers and began to mow; but the man was

to mind the house, and do the work at home.

First of all, he wanted to churn the butter; but when he had churned a

while, he got thirsty, and went down to the cellar to tap a barrel of

ale. So, just when he had knocked in the bung, and was putting the tap

into the cask, he heard overhead the pig come into the kitchen. Then off

he ran up the cellar steps, with the tap in his hand, as fast as he

could, to look after the pig lest it should upset the churn; but when he

got up, and saw the pig had already knocked the churn over, and stood

there, rooting and grunting amongst the cream which was running all over

the floor, he got so wild with rage that he quite forgot the ale-barrel,

and ran at the pig as hard as he could. He caught it, too, just as it

ran out of doors, and gave it such a kick that piggy lay for dead on the

spot. Then all at once he remembered he had the tap in his hand; but

when he got down to the cellar, every drop of ale had run out of the

cask.

Then he went into the dairy and found enough cream left to fill the

churn again, and so he began to churn, for butter they must have at

dinner. When he had churned a bit, he remembered that their milking cow

was still shut up in the byre, and hadn't had a bit to eat or a drop to

drink all the morning, though the sun was high. Then all at once he

thought 'twas too far to take her down to the meadow, so he'd just get

her up on the house-top--for the house, you must know, was thatched with

sods, and a fine crop of grass was growing there. Now their house lay

close up against a steep down, and he thought if he laid a plank across

to the thatch at the back he'd easily get the cow up.

But still he couldn't leave the churn, for there was his little babe

crawling about on the floor, and "if I leave it," he thought, "the

child is safe to upset it." So he took the churn on his back, and went

out with it; but then he thought he'd better first water the cow before

he turned her out on the thatch; so he took up a bucket to draw water

out of the well; but, as he stooped down at the well's brink, all the

cream ran out of the churn over his shoulders, and so down into the

well.

Now it was near dinner-time, and he hadn't even got the butter yet; so

he thought he'd best boil the porridge, and filled the pot with water

and hung it over the fire. When he had done that, he thought the cow

might perhaps fall off the thatch and break her legs or her neck. So he

got up on the house to tie her up. One end of the rope he made fast to

the cow's neck, and the other he slipped down the chimney and tied round

his own thigh; and he had to make haste, for the water now began to boil

in the pot, and he had still to grind the oatmeal.

So he began to grind away; but while he was hard at it, down fell the

cow off the house-top after all, and as she fell, she dragged the man up

the chimney by the rope. There he stuck fast; and as for the cow, she

hung half way down the wall, swinging between heaven and earth, for she

could neither get down nor up.

And now the goody had waited seven lengths and seven breadths for her

husband to come and call them home to dinner; but never a call they had.

At last she thought she'd waited long enough, and went home. But when

she got there and saw the cow hanging in such an ugly place, she ran up

and cut the rope in two with her scythe. But as she did this, down came

her husband out of the chimney; and so when his old dame came inside the

kitchen, there she found him standing on his head in the porridge pot.

171

The artistic qualities of "Boots and His

Brothers," from Dasent's _Popular Tales from

the Norse_, will impress every reader or

listener. It belongs to that very numerous

group of stories dealing with the success of

the youngest child in the face of opposition,

mistreatment, or lack of sympathy from others

of his family. "John was Boots, of course,

because he was the youngest"; which means that

it was the rule to give the most menial tasks

about the house to the youngest. But John had

the saving trait of always "wondering" about

things, which led him to find out what would

always be hidden from his more stupid and less

imaginative brothers.

BOOTS AND HIS BROTHERS

Once on a time there was a man who had three sons, Peter, Paul, and

John. John was Boots, of course, because he was the youngest. I can't

say the man had anything more than these three sons, for he hadn't one

penny to rub against another; and so he told his sons over and over

again they must go out into the world and try to earn their bread, for

there at home there was nothing to be looked for but starving to death.

Now, a bit off the man's cottage was the King's palace, and you must

know, just against the King's windows a great oak had sprung up, which

was so stout and big that it took away all the light from the King's

palace. The King had said he would give many, many dollars to the man

who could fell the oak, but no one was man enough for that, for as soon

as ever one chip of the oak's trunk flew off, two grew in its stead. A

well, too, the King would have dug, which was to hold water for the

whole year; for all his neighbors had wells, but he hadn't any, and that

he thought a shame. So the King said he would give any one who could dig

him such a well as would hold water for a whole year round, both money

and goods; but no one could do it, for the King's palace lay high, high

up on a hill, and they hadn't dug a few inches before they came upon the

living rock.

But as the King had set his heart on having these two things done, he

had it given out far and wide, in all the churches of his kingdom, that

he who could fell the big oak in the king's court-yard, and get him a

well that would hold water the whole year round, should have the

Princess and half the kingdom. Well! you may easily know there was many

a man who came to try his luck; but for all their hacking and hewing,

and all their digging and delving, it was no good. The oak got bigger

and stouter at every stroke, and the rock didn't get softer either. So

one day those three brothers thought they'd set off and try too, and

their father hadn't a word against it; for even if they didn't get the

Princess and half the kingdom, it might happen they might get a place

somewhere with a good master; and that was all he wanted. So when the

brothers said they thought of going to the palace, their father said

"yes" at once. So Peter, Paul, and Jack went off from their home.

Well! they hadn't gone far before they came to a fir wood, and up along

one side of it rose a steep hillside, and as they went, they heard

something hewing and hacking away up on the hill among the trees.

"I wonder now what it is that is hewing away up yonder?" said Jack.

"You're always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and Paul both

at once. "What wonder is it, pray, that a woodcutter should stand and

hack up on a hillside?"

"Still, I'd like to see what it is, after all," said Jack; and up he

went.

"Oh, if you're such a child, 'twill do you good to go and take a

lesson," bawled out his brothers after him.

But Jack didn't care for what they said; he climbed the steep hillside

towards where the noise came, and when he reached the place, what do you

think he saw? Why, an axe that stood there hacking and hewing, all of

itself, at the trunk of a fir.

"Good day!" said Jack. "So you stand here all alone and hew, do you?"

"Yes; here I've stood and hewed and hacked a long, long time, waiting

for you," said the Axe.

"Well, here I am at last," said Jack, as he took the axe, pulled it off

its haft, and stuffed both head and haft into his wallet.

So when he got down again to his brothers, they began to jeer and laugh

at him.

"And now, what funny thing was it you saw up yonder on the hillside?"

they said.

"Oh, it was only an axe we heard," said Jack.

So when they had gone a bit farther, they came under a steep spur of

rock, and up there they heard something digging and shoveling.

"I wonder now," said Jack, "what it is digging and shoveling up yonder

at the top of the rock!"

"Ah, you're always so clever with your wonderings," said Peter and Paul

again, "as if you'd never heard a woodpecker hacking and pecking at a

hollow tree."

"Well, well," said Jack, "I think it would be a piece of fun just to see

what it really is."

And so off he set to climb the rock, while the others laughed and made

game of him. But he didn't care a bit for that; up he climbed, and when

he got near the top, what do you think he saw? Why, a spade that stood

there digging and delving.

"Good day!" said Jack. "So you stand here all alone, and dig and delve!"

"Yes, that's what I do," said the Spade, "and that's what I've done this

many a long day, waiting for you."

"Well, here I am," said Jack again, as he took the spade and knocked it

off its handle, and put it into his wallet, and then down again to his

brothers.

"Well, what was it, so rare and strange," said Peter and Paul, "that you

saw up there at the top of the rock?"

"Oh," said Jack, "nothing more than a spade; that was what we heard."

So they went on again a good bit, till they came to a brook. They were

thirsty, all three, after their long walk, and so they lay down beside

the brook to have a drink.

"I wonder now," said Jack, "where all this water comes from!"

"I wonder if you're right in your head," said Peter and Paul, in one

breath. "If you're not mad already, you'll go mad very soon, with your

wonderings. Where the brook comes from, indeed! Have you never heard how

water rises from a spring in the earth?"

"Yes! but still I've a great fancy to see where this brook comes from,"

said Jack.

So up alongside the brook he went, in spite of all that his brothers

bawled after him. Nothing could stop him. On he went. So, as he went up

and up, the brook got smaller and smaller, and at last, a little way

farther on, what do you think he saw? Why, a great walnut, and out of

that the water trickled.

"Good day!" said Jack again. "So you lie here, and trickle and run down

all alone?"

"Yes, I do," said the Walnut, "and here have I trickled and run this

many a long day, waiting for you."

"Well, here I am," said Jack, as he took up a lump of moss, and plugged

up the hole, that the water mightn't run out. Then he put the walnut

into his wallet, and ran down to his brothers.

"Well, now," said Peter and Paul, "have you found out where the water

comes from? A rare sight it must have been!"

"Oh, after all, it was only a hole it ran out of," said Jack; and so the

others laughed and made game of him again, but Jack didn't mind that a

bit.

"After all, I had the fun of seeing it," said he.

So when they had gone a bit farther, they came to the King's palace; but

as every one in the kingdom had heard how they might win the Princess

and half the realm, if they could only fell the big oak and dig the

King's well, so many had come to try their luck that the oak was now

twice as stout and big as it had been at first, for two chips grew for

every one they hewed out with their axes, as I dare say you all bear in

mind. So the King had now laid it down as a punishment, that if any one

tried and couldn't fell the oak, he should be put on a barren island,

and both his ears were to be clipped off. But the two brothers didn't

let themselves be scared by that; they were quite sure they could fell

the oak, and Peter, as he was eldest, was to try his hand first; but it

went with him as with all the rest who had hewn at the oak; for every

chip he cut out, two grew in its place. So the King's men seized him,

and clipped off both his ears, and put him out on the island.

Now Paul, he was to try his luck, but he fared just the same; when he

had hewn two or three strokes, they began to see the oak grow, and so

the King's men seized him too, and clipped his ears, and put him out on

the island; and his ears they clipped closer, because they said he ought

to have taken a lesson from his brother.

So now Jack was to try.

"If you _will_ look like a marked sheep, we're quite ready to clip your

ears at once, and then you'll save yourself some bother," said the King,

for he was angry with him for his brothers' sake.

"Well, I'd like just to try first," said Jack, and so he got leave. Then

he took his axe out of his wallet and fitted it to its haft.

"Hew away!" said he to his axe; and away it hewed, making the chips fly

again, so that it wasn't long before down came the oak.

When that was done, Jack pulled out his spade, and fitted it to its

handle.

"Dig away!" said he to the spade; and so the spade began to dig and

delve till the earth and rock flew out in splinters, and so he had the

well soon dug out, you may think.

And when he had got it as big and deep as he chose, Jack took out his

walnut and laid it in one corner of the well, and pulled the plug of

moss out.

"Trickle and run," said Jack; and so the nut trickled and ran, till the

water gushed out of the hole in a stream, and in a short time the well

was brimful.

Then Jack had felled the oak which shaded the King's palace, and dug a

well in the palace-yard, and so he got the Princess and half the

kingdom, as the King had said; but it was lucky for Peter and Paul that

they had lost their ears, else they had heard each hour and day how

every one said, "Well, after all, Jack wasn't so much out of his mind

when he took to wondering."

172

For the next story from the Norse group the

translation by H. L. Braekstad is used. It is

better known under the more familiar title of

the Dasent version, "Why the Sea Is Salt."

Braekstad's translation of the Asbjoernsen and

Moe stories, illustrated by Norwegian artists,

appeared in two volumes called _Round the Yule

Log_ and _Fairy Tales from the North_. The

story of the magic hand-mill is the story of

how an evil brother violated the Christmas

spirit and how his curse was turned into good

fortune for his better-disposed relative. The

naive idea of the common folk as to the devil's

home is especially interesting, as is the

acceptance of the fact that a Christmas

celebration includes a fine open fire of wood,

even in a place of unusual warmth. But perhaps

we should remember that in Norse mythology the

evil place would be associated with intense

cold. Of more importance, however, is the fact

that the magic quern brings not good but

disaster to those who try to use it in the

service of greed.

THE QUERN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

Once upon a time in the old, old days there were two brothers, one of

whom was rich and the other poor. When Christmas Eve came the poor

brother had not a morsel in the house, neither of meat nor bread; and so

he went to his rich brother and asked for a trifle for Christmas, in

heaven's name. It was not the first time the brother had helped him, but

he was always very close-fisted, and was not particularly glad to see

him this time.

"If you'll do what I tell you, you shall have a whole ham," he said. The

poor brother promised he would, and was very grateful into the bargain.

"There it is, and now go to the devil!" said the rich brother, and threw

the ham across to him.

"Well, what I have promised I must keep," said the other one. He took

the ham, and set out. He walked and walked the whole day, and as it was

getting dark he came to a place where the lights were shining brightly.

"This is most likely the place," thought the man with the ham.

In the woodshed stood an old man with a long white beard, cutting

fire-wood for Christmas.

"Good evening," said he with the ham.

"Good evening to you," said the man. "Where are you going so late?"

"I am going to the devil--that is to say, if I am on the right way,"

answered the poor man.

"Yes, you are quite right; this is his place," said the old man. "When

you get in, they will all want to buy your ham, for ham is scarce food

here; but you must not sell it unless you get the hand-quern, which

stands just behind the door. When you come out again, I'll teach you how

to use it. You will find it useful in many ways."

The man with the ham thanked him for all the information, and knocked at

the door.

When he got in, it happened just as the old man had said. All the imps,

both big and small, flocked around him like ants in a field, and the one

outbid the other for the ham.

"Well," said the man, "my good woman and I were to have it for Christmas

Eve, but since you want it so badly I will let you have it. But if I am

going to part with it, I want that hand-quern which stands behind the

door."

The devil did not like to part with it, and higgled and haggled with the

man, but he stuck to what he had said, and in the end the devil had to

part with the quern.

When the man came out, he asked the old wood-cutter how he was to use

the quern, and when he had learned this, he thanked the old man and set

out homewards as quickly as he could; but after all he did not get home

till the clock struck twelve on Christmas Eve.

"Where in all the world have you been?" said his wife. "Here have I been

sitting, hour after hour, waiting and watching for you, and have not had

as much as two chips to lay under the porridge pot."

"Well, I couldn't get back before," said the man. "I have had a good

many things to look after, and I've had a long way to walk as well; but

now I'll show you something," said he, and put the quern on the table.

He asked it first to grind candles, then a cloth, and then food and

beer, and everything else that was good for Christmas cheer; and as he

spoke the quern brought them forth. The woman crossed herself time after

time and wanted to know where her husband had got the quern from; but

this he would not tell her.

"It does not matter where I got it from; you see the quern is good and

the mill stream is not likely to freeze," said the man. So he ground

food and drink and all good things during Christmas; and the third day

he invited his friends, as he wanted to give them a feast. When the rich

brother saw all that was in the house, he became both angry and furious,

for he begrudged his brother everything.

"On Christmas Eve he was so needy that he came to me and asked for a

trifle in heaven's name; and now he gives a feast, as if he were both a

count and a king," said the brother. "Where did you get all your riches

from?" he said to his brother.

"From just behind the door," he answered, for he did not care to tell

his brother much about it. But later in the evening, when he had drunk a

little freely, he could no longer resist, but brought out the quern.

"There you see that which has brought me all my riches," he said, and so

he let the quern grind first one thing and then another.

When the brother saw this, he was determined to have the quern at all

cost, and at last it was settled he should have it, but three hundred

dollars was to be the price of it. The brother was, however, to keep it

till the harvest began; "for if I keep it so long, I can grind out food

for many years to come," he thought.

During that time you may be sure the quern did not rust, and when the

harvest began the rich brother got it; but the other had taken great

care not to show him how to use it.

It was evening when the rich brother got the quern home, and in the

morning he asked his wife to go out and help the haymakers; he would get

the breakfast ready himself to-day, he said.

When it was near breakfast time he put the quern on the breakfast table.

"Grind herrings and broth, and do it quickly and well," said the man,

and the quern began to bring forth herrings and broth, and filled first

all the dishes and tubs, and afterwards began flooding the whole

kitchen.

The man fiddled and fumbled and tried to stop the quern, but however

much he twisted and fingered it, the quern went on grinding, and in a

little while the broth reached so high that the man was very near

drowning. He then pulled open the parlor door, but it was not long

before the quern had filled the parlor also, and it was just in the very

nick of time that the man put his hand down into the broth and got hold

of the latch, and when he had got the door open, he was soon out of the

parlor, you may be sure. He rushed out, and the herrings and the broth

came pouring out after him, like a stream, down the fields and meadows.

The wife, who was out haymaking, now thought it took too long a time to

get the breakfast ready.

"If my husband doesn't call us soon, we must go home whether or no: I

don't suppose he knows much about making broth, so I must go and help

him," said the wife to the haymakers.

They began walking homewards, but when they had got a bit up the hill

they met the stream of broth with the herrings tossing about in it and

the man himself running in front of it all.

"I wish all of you had a hundred stomachs each!" shouted the man; "but

take care you don't get drowned." And he rushed past them as if the Evil

One was at his heels, down to where his brother lived. He asked him for

heaven's sake to take back the quern, and that at once. "If it goes on

grinding another hour the whole parish will perish in broth and

herrings," he said. But the brother would not take it back on any

account before his brother had paid him three hundred dollars more, and

this he had to do. The poor brother now had plenty of money, and before

long he bought a farm much grander than the one on which his rich

brother lived, and with the quern he ground so much gold that he covered

the farmstead with gold plates and, as it lay close to the shore, it

glittered and shone far out at sea. All those who sailed past wanted to

call and visit the rich man in the golden house, and everybody wanted to

see the wonderful quern, for its fame had spread both far and wide, and

there was no one who had not heard it spoken of.

After a long while there came a skipper who wanted to see the quern; he

asked if it could grind salt. Yes, that it could, said he who owned it;

and when the skipper heard this he wanted the quern by hook or by crook,

cost what it might, for if he had it he thought he need not sail far

away across dangerous seas for cargoes of salt.

At first the man did not want to part with it, but the skipper both

begged and prayed, and at last he sold it and got many, many thousand

dollars for it.

As soon as the skipper had got the quern on his back he did not stop

long, for he was afraid the man would change his mind, and as for asking

how to use it, he had no time to do that; he made for his ship as

quickly as he could, and when he had got out to sea a bit he had the

quern brought up on deck.

"Grind salt, and that both quickly and well," said the skipper, and the

quern began to grind out salt so that it spurted to all sides.

When the skipper had got the ship filled he wanted to stop the quern,

but however much he tried and whatever he did the quern went on

grinding, and the mound of salt grew higher and higher, and at last the

ship sank.

There at the bottom of the sea stands the quern grinding till this very

day, and that is the reason why the sea is salt.

173

The next seven stories are from the best known

of all collections of folk tales, the _Kinder

und Hausmaerchen_ (1812-1815) of the brothers

Jacob Grimm (1785-1863) and Wilhelm Grimm

(1786-1859). They worked together as scholarly

investigators in the field of philology. The

world is indebted to them for the creation of

the science of folklore. Other writers, such as

Perrault, had published collections of

folklore, but these two brothers were the first

to collect, classify, and publish folk tales in

a scientific way. With the trained judgment of

scholars they excluded from the stories all

details that seemed new or foreign, and put

them as nearly as possible into the form in

which they had been told by the folk. These

_Household Tales_ were first made accessible in

English in the translation of Edgar Taylor,

published in two volumes in 1823 and 1826, and

revised in 1837. There have been later

translations, notably the complete one by

Margaret Hunt in 1884, but the Taylor version

has been the main source of the popular

retellings for nearly a hundred years. It

included only about fifty of the two hundred

tales, and was illustrated by the famous artist

George Cruikshank. An edition including all the

Taylor translations and the original etchings

was issued in 1868 with an introduction by John

Ruskin. It is still reprinted under the title,

_Grimm's Popular Stories_.

"The Traveling Musicians" is from the Taylor

translation. It is sometimes called "The Bremen

Town Musicians," or simply "The Town

Musicians." The story is widespread, showing

its great popularity. Jacobs finds "the fullest

and most dramatic form" in the Irish "Jack and

His Comrades," which he includes in his _Celtic

Fairy Tales_. Jacobs also gives an English

version by way of America, "How Jack Sought His

Fortune," in his _English Fairy Tales_. The

successful outcome for these distressed and

deserving poor adventurers appeals as a fine

stroke of poetic justice.

THE TRAVELING MUSICIANS

An honest farmer had once an ass that had been a faithful servant to him

a great many years, but was now growing old and every day more and more

unfit for work. His master therefore was tired of keeping him and began

to think of putting an end to him; but the ass, who saw that some

mischief was in the wind, took himself slyly off and began his journey

towards the great city, "for there," thought he, "I may turn musician."

After he had traveled a little way, he spied a dog lying by the

road-side and panting as if he were very tired. "What makes you pant so,

my friend?" said the ass.

"Alas!" said the dog, "my master was going to knock me on the head

because I am old and weak and can no longer make myself useful to him in

hunting; so I ran away: but what can I do to earn my livelihood?"

"Hark ye!" said the ass, "I am going to the great city to turn musician:

suppose you go with me and try what you can do in the same way?" The dog

said he was willing, and they jogged on together.

Before they had gone far, they saw a cat sitting in the middle of the

road and making a most rueful face. "Pray, my good lady," said the ass,

"what's the matter with you? You look quite out of spirits!"

"Ah, me!" said the cat, "how can one be in good spirits when one's life

is in danger? Because I am beginning to grow old and had rather lie at

my ease by the fire than run about the house after the mice, my mistress

laid hold of me and was going to drown me; and though I have been lucky

enough to get away from her, I do not know what I am to live upon."

"Oh!" said the ass, "by all means go with us to the great city. You are

a good night-singer and may make your fortune as a musician." The cat

was pleased with the thought and joined the party.

Soon afterwards, as they were passing by a farmyard, they saw a cock

perched upon a gate, screaming out with all his might and main. "Bravo!"

said the ass; "upon my word you make a famous noise; pray what is all

this about?"

"Why," said the cock, "I was just now saying that we should have fine

weather for our washing-day, and yet my mistress and the cook don't

thank me for my pains, but threaten to cut off my head tomorrow and make

broth of me for the guests that are coming on Sunday."

"Heaven forbid!" said the ass; "come with us, Master Chanticleer; it

will be better, at any rate, than staying here to have your head cut

off! Besides, who knows? If we take care to sing in tune, we may get up

some kind of a concert: so come along with us."

"With all my heart," said the cock: so they all four went on jollily

together.

They could not, however, reach the great city the first day: so when

night came on they went into a wood to sleep. The ass and the dog laid

themselves down under a great tree, and the cat climbed up into the

branches; while the cock, thinking that the higher he sat the safer he

should be, flew up to the very top of the tree, and then, according to

his custom, before he went to sleep, looked out on all sides of him to

see that everything was well. In doing this, he saw afar off something

bright and shining; and calling to his companions said, "There must be a

house no great way off, for I see a light."

"If that be the case," said the ass, "we had better change our quarters,

for our lodging is not the best in the world!"

"Besides," added the dog, "I should not be the worse for a bone or two,

or a bit of meat." So they walked off together towards the spot where

Chanticleer had seen the light; and as they drew near, it became larger

and brighter, till they at last came close to a house in which a gang of

robbers lived.

The ass, being the tallest of the company, marched up to the window and

peeped in. "Well, Donkey," said Chanticleer, "what do you see?"

"What do I see?" replied the ass, "why I see a table spread with all

kinds of good things, and robbers sitting round it making merry."

"That would be a noble lodging for us," said the cock.

"Yes," said the ass, "if we could only get in": so they consulted

together how they should contrive to get the robbers out; and at last

they hit upon a plan. The ass placed himself upright on his hind-legs,

with his fore-feet resting against the window; the dog got upon his

back; the cat scrambled up to the dog's shoulders, and the cock flew up

and sat upon the cat's head. When all was ready, a signal was given, and

they began their music. The ass brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed,

and the cock screamed; and then they all broke through the window at

once and came tumbling into the room, amongst the broken glass, with a

most hideous clatter! The robbers, who had been not a little frightened

by the opening concert, had now no doubt that some frightful hobgoblin

had broken in upon them, and scampered away as fast as they could.

The coast once clear, our travelers soon sat down and dispatched what

the robbers had left, with as much eagerness as if they had not expected

to eat again for a month. As soon as they had satisfied themselves, they

put out the lights and each once more sought out a resting-place to his

own liking. The donkey laid himself down upon a heap of straw in the

yard; the dog stretched himself upon a mat behind the door; the cat

rolled herself up on the hearth before the warm ashes; and the cock

perched upon a beam on the top of the house; and, as they were all

rather tired with their journey, they soon fell asleep.

But about midnight, when the robbers saw from afar that the lights were

out and that all seemed quiet, they began to think that they had been in

too great a hurry to run away; and one of them, who was bolder than the

rest, went to see what was going on. Finding everything still, he

marched into the kitchen and groped about till he found a match in order

to light a candle; and then, espying the glittering fiery eyes of the

cat, he mistook them for live coals and held the match to them to light

it. But the cat, not understanding this joke, sprung at his face, and

spit, and scratched at him. This frightened him dreadfully, and away he

ran to the back door; but there the dog jumped up and bit him in the

leg; and as he was crossing over the yard the ass kicked him; and the

cock, who had been awakened by the noise, crowed with all his might. At

this the robber ran back as fast as he could to his comrades and told

the captain "how a horrid witch had got into the house, and had spit at

him and scratched his face with her long bony fingers; how a man with a

knife in his hand had hidden himself behind the door and stabbed him in

the leg; how a black monster stood in the yard and struck him with a

club, and how the devil sat upon the top of the house and cried out,

'Throw the rascal up here!'"

After this the robbers never dared to go back to the house; but the

musicians were so pleased with their quarters that they took up their

abode there; and there they are, I dare say, at this very day.

174

The Taylor translation of Grimm is used for

"The Blue Light." This tale contains several of

the elements most popular in children's

stories. There is merit in distress, an old

witch, the magic blue light, the little black

dwarf, and the exceeding great reward at the

end. From this very story or some variant of it

Hans Christian Andersen must have drawn the

inspiration for "The Tinder Box" (No. 196).

THE BLUE LIGHT

A soldier had served a king his master many years, till at last he was

turned off without pay or reward. How he should get his living he did

not know; so he set out and journeyed homeward all day in a very

downcast mood, until in the evening he came to the edge of a deep wood.

The road leading that way, he pushed forward; but before he had gone

far, he saw a light glimmering through the trees, towards which he bent

his weary steps; and soon he came to a hut where no one lived but an old

witch. The poor fellow begged for a night's lodging and something to eat

and drink; but she would listen to nothing. However, he was not easily

got rid of; and at last she said, "I think I will take pity on you this

once; but if I do, you must dig over all my garden for me in the

morning." The soldier agreed very willingly to anything she asked, and

he became her guest.

The next day he kept his word and dug the garden very neatly. The job

lasted all day; and in the evening, when his mistress would have sent

him away, he said, "I am so tired with my work that I must beg you to

let me stay over the night."

The old lady vowed at first she would not do any such thing; but after a

great deal of talk he carried his point, agreeing to chop up a whole

cart-load of wood for her the next day.

This task too was duly ended; but not till towards night, and then he

found himself so tired that he begged a third night's rest; and this too

was given, but only on his pledging his word that he next day would

fetch the witch the blue light that burnt at the bottom of the well.

When morning came she led him to the well's mouth, tied him to a long

rope, and let him down. At the bottom sure enough he found the blue

light as the witch had said, and at once made the signal for her to draw

him up again. But when she had pulled him up so near to the top that she

could reach him with her hands, she said, "Give me the light: I will

take care of it,"--meaning to play him a trick by taking it for herself

and letting him fall again to the bottom of the well.

But the soldier saw through her wicked thoughts, and said, "No, I shall

not give you the light till I find myself safe and sound out of the

well."

At this she became very angry and dashed him, with the light she had

longed for many a year, down to the bottom. And there lay the poor

soldier for a while in despair, on the damp mud below, and feared that

his end was nigh. But his pipe happened to be in his pocket still half

full, and he thought to himself, "I may as well make an end of smoking

you out; it is the last pleasure I shall have in this world." So he lit

it at the blue light and began to smoke.

Up rose a cloud of smoke, and on a sudden a little black dwarf was seen

making his way through the midst of it. "What do you want with me,

soldier?" said he.

"I have no business with you," answered he.

But the dwarf said, "I am bound to serve you in every thing, as lord and

master of the blue light."

"Then first of all, be so good as to help me out of this well." No

sooner said than done: the dwarf took him by the hand and drew him up,

and the blue light of course with him. "Now do me another piece of

kindness," said the soldier: "pray let that old lady take my place in

the well."

When the dwarf had done this, and lodged the witch safely at the bottom,

they began to ransack her treasures; and the soldier made bold to carry

off as much of her gold and silver as he well could. Then the dwarf

said, "If you should chance at any time to want me, you have nothing to

do but to light your pipe at the blue light, and I will soon be with

you."

The soldier was not a little pleased at his good luck, and went to the

best inn in the first town he came to and ordered some fine clothes to

be made and a handsome room to be got ready for him. When all was ready,

he called his little man to him and said, "The king sent me away

penniless and left me to hunger and want. I have a mind to show him that

it is my turn to be master now; so bring me his daughter here this

evening, that she may wait upon me and do what I bid her."

"That is rather a dangerous task," said the dwarf. But away he went,

took the princess out of her bed, fast asleep as she was, and brought

her to the soldier.

Very early in the morning he carried her back; and as soon as she saw

her father, she said, "I had a strange dream last night. I thought I was

carried away through the air to a soldier's house, and there I waited

upon him as his servant." Then the king wondered greatly at such a

story; but told her to make a hole in her pocket and fill it with peas,

so that if it were really as she said, and the whole was not a dream,

the peas might fall out in the streets as she passed through, and leave

a clue to tell whither she had been taken. She did so; but the dwarf had

heard the king's plot; and when evening came, and the soldier said he

must bring him the princess again, he strewed peas over several of the

streets, so that the few that fell from her pocket were not known from

the others; and the people amused themselves all the next day picking up

peas and wondering where so many came from.

When the princess told her father what had happened to her the second

time, he said, "Take one of your shoes with you and hide it in the room

you are taken to."

The dwarf heard this also; and when the soldier told him to bring the

king's daughter again, he said, "I cannot save you this time; it will be

an unlucky thing for you if you are found out--as I think you will." But

the soldier would have his own way. "Then you must take care and make

the best of your way out of the city gate very early in the morning,"

said the dwarf.

The princess kept one shoe on as her father bid her, and hid it in the

soldier's room; and when she got back to her father, he ordered it to be

sought for all over the town; and at last it was found where she had hid

it. The soldier had run away, it is true; but he had been too slow and

was soon caught and thrown into a strong prison and loaded with chains.

What was worse, in the hurry of his flight, he had left behind him his

great treasure, the blue light, and all his gold, and had nothing left

in his pocket but one poor ducat.

As he was standing very sorrowful at the prison grating, he saw one of

his comrades, and calling out to him said, "If you will bring me a

little bundle I left in the inn, I will give you a ducat."

His comrade thought this very good pay for such a job; so he went away

and soon came back bringing the blue light and the gold. Then the

prisoner soon lit his pipe. Up rose the smoke, and with it came his old

friend, the little dwarf. "Do not fear, master," said he: "keep up your

heart at your trial and leave everything to take its course;--only mind

to take the blue light with you."

The trial soon came on; the matter was sifted to the bottom; the

prisoner found guilty, and his doom passed:--he was ordered to be hanged

forthwith on the gallows-tree.

But as he was led out, he said he had one favor to beg of the king.

"What is it?" said his majesty.

"That you will deign to let me smoke one pipe on the road."

"Two, if you like," said the king.

Then he lit his pipe at the blue light, and the black dwarf was before

him in a moment. "Be so good as to kill, slay, or put to flight all

these people," said the soldier: "and as for the king, you may cut him

into three pieces."

Then the dwarf began to lay about him, and soon got rid of the crowd

around: but the king begged hard for mercy; and, to save his life,

agreed to let the soldier have the princess for his wife and to leave

the kingdom to him when he died.

175

The following tale is from Taylor's translation

of Grimm. The cheerful industry and the kindly

gratitude of the shoemaker and his wife,

together with the gayety of the little elves,

make the story altogether charming. No doubt

its popularity was helped by Cruikshank's

famous accompanying etching, showing the scene

at the close, in which the two elves "are drawn

with a point at once so precise and vivacious,

so full of keen fun and inimitably happy

invention, that I have not found their equal in

comic etching anywhere. . . . The picturesque

details of the room are etched with the same

felicitous intelligence; but the marvel of the

work is in the expression of the strange little

faces, and the energy of the comical wee

limbs." (Hamerton, _Etching and Etchers_.)

THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER

There was once a shoemaker who worked very hard and was very honest; but

still he could not earn enough to live upon, and at last all he had in

the world was gone, except just leather enough to make one pair of

shoes. Then he cut them all ready to make up the next day, meaning to

get up early in the morning to work. His conscience was clear and his

heart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed, left

all his cares to heaven, and fell asleep. In the morning, after he had

said his prayers, he set himself down to his work, but to his great

wonder, there stood the shoes, all ready made, upon the table. The good

man knew not what to say or think of this strange event. He looked at

the workmanship: there was not one false stitch in the whole job, and

all was so neat and true that it was a complete masterpiece.

That same day a customer came in, and the shoes pleased him so well that

he willingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and the poor

shoemaker with the money bought leather enough to make two pairs more.

In the evening he cut out the work and went to bed early that he might

get up and begin betimes next day: but he was saved all the trouble, for

when he got up in the morning the work was finished ready to his hand.

Presently in came buyers, who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that

he bought leather enough for four pairs more. He cut out the work again

over night, and found it finished in the morning as before; and so it

went on for some time: what was got ready in the evening was always done

by daybreak, and the good man soon became thriving and prosperous again.

One evening about Christmas time, as he and his wife were sitting over

the fire chatting together, he said to her, "I should like to sit up and

watch to-night, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work

for me." The wife liked the thought; so they left a light burning and

hid themselves in the corner of the room behind a curtain that was hung

up there, and watched what should happen.

As soon as it was midnight, there came two little naked dwarfs; and they

sat themselves upon the shoemaker's bench, took up all the work that was

cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching and

rapping and tapping away at such a rate that the shoemaker was all

amazement and could not take his eyes off for a moment. And on they went

till the job was quite finished, and the shoes stood ready for use upon

the table. This was long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as

quick as lightning.

The next day the wife said to the shoemaker, "These little wights have

made us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them and do them a good

office in return. I am quite vexed to see them run about as they do;

they have nothing upon their backs to keep off the cold. I'll tell you

what, I will make each of them a shirt, and a coat and waistcoat, and a

pair of pantaloons into the bargain; do you make each of them a little

pair of shoes."

The thought pleased the good shoemaker very much; and one evening, when

all the things were ready, they laid them on the table instead of the

work that they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves to

watch what the little elves would do. About midnight they came in and

were going to sit down to their work as usual; but when they saw the

clothes lying for them, they laughed and were greatly delighted. Then

they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye, and danced and

capered and sprang about as merry as could be, till at last they danced

out at the door and over the green; and the shoemaker saw them no more;

but everything went well with him from that time forward, as long as he

lived.

176

In a note regarding "The Fisherman and His

Wife," Taylor calls attention to the

interesting fact that this tale became a great

favorite after the battle of Waterloo "during

the fervor of popular feeling on the downfall

of the late Emperor of France." The catastrophe

attendant upon Napoleon's ambitious efforts

seemed to the popular mind to be paralleled by

the penalty following the final wish of the

wife "to be like unto God." But observe that

Taylor, unlike more recent translators, felt

under the necessity of softening "the boldness

of the lady's ambition." The versions of the

verse charm used in summoning the fish differ

strikingly in the various translations. That of

Taylor's first edition, used here, seems to fit

the story better than any other, though tellers

of the story may, properly enough, not agree.

Taylor's revised version of 1837 reads:

"O man of the sea!

Hearken to me!

My wife Ilsabill

Will have her own will,

And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

Mrs. Hunt's version runs:

"Flounder, flounder in the sea,

Come, I pray thee, come to me;

For my wife, good Ilsabil,

Wills not as I'd have her will."

The moral of the story is plain for those who

need it: Greed overreaches itself. Who grasps

too much loses all. Don't ride a free horse to

death.

THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE

There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a ditch, close by

the sea-side. The fisherman used to go out all day long a-fishing; and

one day, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at the shining

water and watching his line, all on a sudden his float was dragged away

deep under the sea: and in drawing it up he pulled a great fish out of

the water. The fish said to him, "Pray let me live: I am not a real

fish; I am an enchanted prince. Put me in the water again, and let me

go."

"Oh!" said the man, "you need not make so many words about the matter. I

wish to have nothing to do with a fish that can talk; so swim away as

soon as you please." Then he put him back into the water, and the fish

darted straight down to the bottom and left a long streak of blood

behind him.

When the fisherman went home to his wife in the ditch, he told her how

he had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted

prince, and that on hearing it speak he had let it go again.

"Did you not ask it for anything?" said the wife.

"No," said the man, "what should I ask for?"

"Ah!" said the wife, "we live very wretchedly here in this nasty

stinking ditch. Do go back, and tell the fish we want a little cottage."

The fisherman did not much like the business; however he went to the

sea, and when he came there the water looked all yellow and green. And

he stood at the water's edge, and said,

"O man of the sea!

Come listen to me,

For Alice my wife,

The plague of my life,

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

Then the fish came swimming to him, and said, "Well, what does she

want?"

"Ah!" answered the fisherman, "my wife says that when I had caught you,

I ought to have asked you for something before I let you go again. She

does not like living any longer in the ditch, and wants a little

cottage."

"Go home, then," said the fish. "She is in the cottage already."

So the man went home and saw his wife standing at the door of a cottage.

"Come in, come in," said she; "is not this much better than the ditch?"

And there was a parlor, and a bed-chamber, and a kitchen; and behind the

cottage there was a little garden with all sorts of flowers and fruits,

and a court-yard full of ducks and chickens.

"Ah!" said the fisherman, "how happily we shall live!"

"We will try to do so at least," said his wife.

Everything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Alice said,

"Husband, there is not room enough in this cottage; the court-yard and

garden are a great deal too small. I should like to have a large stone

castle to live in; so go to the fish again, and tell him to give us a

castle."

"Wife," said the fisherman, "I don't like to go to him again, for

perhaps he will be angry. We ought to be content with the cottage."

"Nonsense!" said the wife; "he will do it very willingly. Go along, and

try."

The fisherman went; but his heart was very heavy: and when he came to

the sea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was quite calm, and he

went close to it and said,

"O man of the sea!

Come listen to me,

For Alice my wife,

The plague of my life,

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

"Well, what does she want now?" said the fish.

"Ah!" said the man very sorrowfully, "my wife wants to live in a stone

castle."

"Go home then," said the fish. "She is standing at the door of it

already." So away went the fisherman and found his wife standing before

a great castle.

"See," said she, "is not this grand?" With that they went into the

castle together and found a great many servants there and the rooms all

richly furnished and full of golden chairs and tables; and behind the

castle was a garden, and a wood half a mile long, full of sheep, and

goats, and hares, and deer; and in the court-yard were stables and

cow-houses.

"Well," said the man, "now will we live contented and happy in this

beautiful castle for the rest of our lives."

"Perhaps we may," said the wife; "but let us consider and sleep upon it

before we make up our minds": so they went to bed.

The next morning when Dame Alice awoke, it was broad daylight, and she

jogged the fisherman with her elbow and said, "Get up, husband, and

bestir yourself, for we must be king of all the land."

"Wife, wife," said the man, "why should we wish to be king? I will not

be king."

"Then I will," said Alice.

"But, wife," answered the fisherman, "how can you be king? The fish

cannot make you a king."

"Husband," said she, "say no more about it, but go and try. I will be

king!"

So the man went away, quite sorrowful to think that his wife should want

to be king. The sea looked a dark grey color, and was covered with foam

as he cried out,

"O man of the sea!

Come listen to me,

For Alice my wife,

The plague of my life,

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

"Well, what would she have now?" said the fish.

"Alas!" said the man, "my wife wants to be king."

"Go home," said the fish. "She is king already."

Then the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the palace, he saw

a troop of soldiers and heard the sound of drums and trumpets; and when

he entered in, he saw his wife sitting on a high throne of gold and

diamonds, with a golden crown upon her head; and on each side of her

stood six beautiful maidens, each a head taller than the other. "Well,

wife," said the fisherman, "are you king?"

"Yes," said she, "I am king."

And when he had looked at her for a long time, he said, "Ah, wife! what

a fine thing it is to be king! Now we shall never have anything more to

wish for."

"I don't know how that may be," said she; "never is a long time. I am

king, 'tis true, but I begin to be tired of it, and I think I should

like to be emperor."

"Alas, wife! why should you wish to be emperor?" said the fisherman.

"Husband," said she, "go to the fish; I say I will be emperor."

"Ah, wife!" replied the fisherman, "the fish cannot make an emperor, and

I should not like to ask for such a thing."

"I am king," said Alice, "and you are my slave, so go directly!"

So the fisherman was obliged to go; and he muttered as he went along,

"This will come to no good. It is too much to ask. The fish will be

tired at last, and then we shall repent of what we have done." He soon

arrived at the sea, and the water was quite black and muddy, and a

mighty whirlwind blew over it; but he went to the shore, and said,

"O man of the sea!

Come listen to me,

For Alice my wife,

The plague of my life,

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

"What would she have now!" said the fish.

"Ah!" said the fisherman, "she wants to be emperor."

"Go home," said the fish. "She is emperor already."

So he went home again; and as he came near he saw his wife sitting on a

very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown on her head

full two yards high, and on each side of her stood her guards and

attendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, from the tallest

giant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. And before her

stood princes, and dukes, and earls: and the fisherman went up to her

and said, "Wife, are you emperor?"

"Yes," said she, "I am emperor."

"Ah!" said the man as he gazed upon her, "what a fine thing it is to be

emperor!"

"Husband," said she, "why should we stay at being emperor; I will be

pope next."

"O wife, wife!" said he, "how can you be pope? There is but one pope at

a time in Christendom."

"Husband," said she, "I will be pope this very day."

"But," replied the husband, "the fish cannot make you pope."

"What nonsense!" said she, "if he can make an emperor, he can make a

pope. Go and try him."

So the fisherman went. But when he came to the shore the wind was

raging, and the sea was tossed up and down like boiling water, and the

ships were in the greatest distress and danced upon the waves most

fearfully. In the middle of the sky there was a little blue, but toward

the south it was all red as if a dreadful storm were rising. At this the

fisherman was terribly frightened, and trembled, so that his knees

knocked together: but he went to the shore and said,

"O man of the sea!

Come listen to me,

For Alice my wife,

The plague of my life,

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

"What does she want now?" said the fish.

"Ah!" said the fisherman, "my wife wants to be pope."

"Go home," said the fish. "She is pope already."

Then the fisherman went home and found his wife sitting on a throne that

was two miles high; and she had three great crowns on her head, and

around stood all the pomp and power of the Church; and on each side were

two rows of burning lights of all sizes, the greatest as large as the

highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no larger than a

small rushlight. "Wife," said the fisherman as he looked at all this

grandeur, "are you pope?"

"Yes," said she, "I am pope."

"Well, wife," replied he, "it is a grand thing to be pope; and now you

must be content, for you can be nothing greater."

"I will consider of that," said the wife. Then they went to bed: but

Dame Alice could not sleep all night for thinking what she should be

next. At last morning came, and the sun rose. "Ha!" thought she as she

looked at it through the window, "cannot I prevent the sun rising?" At

this she was very angry, and she wakened her husband and said, "Husband,

go to the fish and tell him I want to be lord of the sun and moon." The

fisherman was half asleep, but the thought frightened him so much that

he started and fell out of bed. "Alas, wife!" said he, "cannot you be

content to be pope?"

"No," said she, "I am very uneasy, and cannot bear to see the sun and

moon rise without my leave. Go to the fish directly."

Then the man went trembling for fear; and as he was going down to the

shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the rocks shook; and

the heavens became black, and the lightning played, and the thunder

rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great black waves like

mountains with a white crown of foam upon them; and the fisherman said,

"O man of the sea!

Come listen to me,

For Alice my wife,

The plague of my life,

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

"What does she want now?" said the fish.

"Ah!" said he, "she wants to be lord of the sun and moon." "Go home,"

said the fish, "to your ditch again!" And there they live to this very

day.

177

The Grimm version of "The Sleeping Beauty" is,

by all odds, the finest one. Its perfect

economy in the use of story materials has

always been admired. Perrault's version drags

in an unnecessary ogre and spoils a good story

by not knowing when to stop. The Grimm title is

"Dornroeschen," and the more literal

translation, "Brier Rose," is the one generally

used as the English title, rather than the one

given by Taylor, whose translation follows.

Tennyson has a very beautiful poetic rendering

of this story in his "Day-Dream."

ROSE-BUD

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who had no children; and

this they lamented very much. But one day as the queen was walking by

the side of the river, a little fish lifted its head out of the water

and said, "Your wish shall be fulfilled, and you shall soon have a

daughter."

What the little fish had foretold soon came to pass; and the queen had a

little girl that was so very beautiful that the king could not cease

looking on it for joy, and determined to hold a great feast. So he

invited not only his relations, friends, and neighbors, but also all the

fairies, that they might be kind and good to his little daughter.

Now there were thirteen fairies in his kingdom, and he had only twelve

golden dishes for them to eat out of, so he was obliged to leave one of

the fairies without an invitation. The rest came, and after the feast

was over they gave all their best gifts to the little princess: one gave

her virtue, another beauty, another riches, and so on till she had all

that was excellent in the world. When eleven had done blessing her, the

thirteenth, who had not been invited and was very angry on that account,

came in and determined to take her revenge. So she cried out, "The

king's daughter shall in her fifteenth year be wounded by a spindle, and

fall down dead."

Then the twelfth, who had not yet given her gift, came forward and said

that the bad wish must be fulfilled, but that she could soften it, and

that the king's daughter should not die, but fall asleep for a hundred

years.

But the king hoped to save his dear child from the threatened evil and

ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom should be bought up and

destroyed. All the fairies' gifts were in the meantime fulfilled, for

the princess was so beautiful, and well-behaved, and amiable, and wise

that every one who knew her loved her. Now it happened that on the very

day she was fifteen years old the king and queen were not at home, and

she was left alone in the palace. So she roved about by herself and

looked at all the rooms and chambers till at last she came to an old

tower, to which there was a narrow staircase ending with a little door.

In the door there was a golden key, and when she turned it the door

sprang open, and there sat an old lady spinning away very busily. "Why,

how now, good mother," said the princess, "what are you doing there?"

"Spinning," said the old lady, and nodded her head.

"How prettily that little thing turns round!" said the princess, and

took the spindle and began to spin. But scarcely had she touched it

before the prophecy was fulfilled, and she fell down lifeless on the

ground.

However, she was not dead, but had only fallen into a deep sleep; and

the king and the queen, who just then came home, and all their court,

fell asleep too; and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in

the court, the pigeons on the house-top and the flies on the walls. Even

the fire on the hearth left off blazing and went to sleep; and the meat

that was roasting stood still; and the cook, who was at that moment

pulling the kitchen-boy by the hair to give him a box on the ear for

something he had done amiss, let him go, and both fell asleep; and so

everything stood still, and slept soundly.

A large hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it

became higher and thicker till at last the whole palace was surrounded

and hid, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen. But

there went a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping

Rose-Bud (for so was the king's daughter called); so that from time to

time several kings' sons came and tried to break through the thicket

into the palace. This they could never do, for the thorns and bushes

laid hold of them as it were with hands, and there they stuck fast and

died miserably.

After many many years there came a king's son into that land, and an old

man told him the story of the thicket of thorns, and how a beautiful

palace stood behind it, in which was a wondrous princess, called

Rose-Bud, asleep with all her court. He told, too, how he had heard from

his grandfather that many many princes had come, and had tried to break

through the thicket, but had stuck fast and died. Then the young prince

said, "All this shall not frighten me. I will go and see Rose-Bud." The

old man tried to dissuade him, but he persisted in going.

Now that very day were the hundred years completed; and as the prince

came to the thicket, he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs,

through which he passed with ease, and they closed after him as firm as

ever. Then he came at last to the palace, and there in the court lay the

dogs asleep, and the horses in the stables, and on the roof sat the

pigeons fast asleep with their heads under their wings; and when he came

into the palace, the flies slept on the walls, and the cook in the

kitchen was still holding up her hand as if she would beat the boy, and

the maid sat with a black fowl in her hand ready to be plucked.

Then he went on still further, and all was so still that he could hear

every breath he drew; till at last he came to the old tower and opened

the door of the little room in which Rose-Bud was, and there she lay

fast asleep, and looked so beautiful that he could not take his eyes

off, and he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But the moment he kissed

her she opened her eyes and awoke and smiled upon him. Then they went

out together, and presently the king and queen also awoke, and all the

court, and they gazed on one another with great wonder. And the horses

got up and shook themselves, and the dogs jumped about and barked; the

pigeons took their heads from under their wings and looked about and

flew into the fields; the flies on the walls buzzed away; the fire in

the kitchen blazed up and cooked the dinner, and the roast meat turned

round again; the cook gave the boy the box on his ear so that he cried

out, and the maid went on plucking the fowl. And then was the wedding of

the prince and Rose-Bud celebrated, and they lived happily together all

their lives long.

178

The story of "Rumpelstiltskin" is taken from

Margaret Hunt's translation of Grimm. It is the

same story as "Tom Tit Tot" (No. 160), and is

given in order that the teacher may compare the

two. Grimm's is the most familiar of the many

versions of this tale and is probably the best

for use with children, although the "little

man" lacks some of the fascinating power of

"that" with its twirling tail.

RUMPELSTILTSKIN

Once there was a miller who was poor, but who had a beautiful daughter.

Now it happened that he had to go and speak to the King, and in order to

make himself appear important he said to him, "I have a daughter who can

spin straw into gold."

The King said to the miller, "That is an art which pleases me well. If

your daughter is as clever as you say, bring her tomorrow to my palace,

and I will try what she can do."

And when the girl was brought to him he took her into a room which was

quite full of straw, gave her a spinning-wheel and a reel, and said,

"Now set to work, and if by tomorrow morning early you have not spun

this straw into gold during the night, you must die." Thereupon he

himself locked up the room, and left her in it alone. So there sat the

poor miller's daughter, and for her life could not tell what to do. She

had no idea how straw could be spun into gold, and she grew more and

more miserable, until at last she began to weep.

But all at once the door opened, and in came a little man, and said,

"Good evening, Mistress Miller; why are you crying so?"

"Alas!" answered the girl, "I have to spin straw into gold, and I do not

know how to do it."

"What will you give me," said the manikin, "if I do it for you?"

"My necklace," said the girl. The little man took the necklace, seated

himself in front of the wheel, and "whir, whir, whir," three turns, and

the reel was full; then he put another on, and "whir, whir, whir," three

times round, and the second was full, too. And so it went on until the

morning, when all the straw was spun, and all the reels were full of

gold. By daybreak the King was already there, and when he saw the gold

he was astonished and delighted, but his heart became only more greedy.

He had the miller's daughter taken into another room full of straw,

which was much larger, and commanded her to spin that also in one night

if she valued her life. The girl knew not how to help herself, and was

crying, when the door again opened, and the little man appeared, and

said, "What will you give me if I spin the straw into gold for you?"

"The ring on my finger," answered the girl.

The little man took the ring, again began to turn the wheel, and by

morning had spun all the straw into glittering gold.

The King rejoiced beyond measure at the sight, but still he had not

gold enough; and he had the miller's daughter taken into a still larger

room full of straw, and said, "You must spin this, too, in the course of

this night; but if you succeed, you shall be my wife." "Even if she be a

miller's daughter," thought he, "I could not find a richer wife in the

whole world."

When the girl was alone the manikin came again for the third time, and

said, "What will you give me if I spin the straw for you this time

also?"

"I have nothing left that I could give," answered the girl.

"Then promise me, if you should become Queen, your first child."

"Who knows whether that will ever happen?" thought the miller's

daughter; and, not knowing how else to help herself in this strait, she

promised the manikin what he wanted, and for that he once more spun the

straw into gold.

And when the King came in the morning, and found all as he had wished,

he took her in marriage, and the pretty miller's daughter became a

Queen.

A year after, she had a beautiful child, and she never gave a thought to

the manikin. But suddenly he came into her room, and said, "Now give me

what you promised."

The Queen was horror-struck, and offered the manikin all the riches of

the kingdom if he would leave her the child. But the manikin said, "No,

something that is living is dearer to me than all the treasures in the

world."

Then the Queen began to weep and cry, so that the manikin pitied her. "I

will give you three days' time," said he; "if by that time you find out

my name, then shall you keep your child."

So the Queen thought the whole night of all the names that she had ever

heard, and she sent a messenger over the country to inquire, far and

wide, for any other names that there might be. When the manikin came the

next day, she began with Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar, and said all the

names she knew, one after another; but to every one the little man said,

"That is not my name." On the second day she had inquiries made in the

neighborhood as to the names of the people there, and she repeated to

the manikin the most uncommon and curious. "Perhaps your name is

Shortribs, or Sheepshanks, or Laceleg?" but he always answered, "That is

not my name."

On the third day the messenger came back again, and said, "I have not

been able to find a single new name, but as I came to a high mountain at

the end of the forest, where the fox and the hare bid each other

good-night, there I saw a little house, and before the house a fire was

burning, and round about the fire quite a ridiculous little man was

jumping; he hopped upon one leg, and shouted:

"To-day I bake, to-morrow brew,

The next I'll have the young Queen's child.

Ha! glad am I that no one knew

That Rumpelstiltskin I am styled.'"

You may think how glad the Queen was when she heard the name! And when

soon afterwards the little man came in, and asked, "Now, Mistress Queen,

what is my name?"

At first she said, "Is your name Conrad?"

"No."

"Is your name Harry?"

"No."

"Perhaps your name is Rumpelstiltskin?"

"The devil has told you that! the devil has told you that!" cried the

little man, and in his anger he plunged his right foot so deep into the

earth that his whole leg went in; and then in rage he pulled at his left

leg so hard with both hands that he tore himself in two.

179

Margaret Hunt's translation of Grimm's

"Snow-White and Rose-Red" follows. It has long

been recognized as one of the most beautiful

and appealing of folk tales. The scenic

effects, the domestic life with its maternal

and filial affection, the kindness to animals

and helpfulness to each other and to those in

distress, the adventures with dwarf and bear,

the magic enchantment of goodness through the

power of evil, and the happy conclusion

following the removal of this enchantment--all

these are blended into a perfect union that

never fails to delight the listener of any age.

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED

There was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of

the cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore

white and the other red roses. She had two children who were like the

two rose-trees, and one was called Snow-white, and the other Rose-red.

They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children

in the world were, only Snow-white was more quiet and gentle than

Rose-red. Rose-red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields

seeking flowers and catching butterflies; but Snow-white sat at home

with her mother, and helped her with her housework, or read to her when

there was nothing to do.

The two children were so fond of each other that they always held each

other by the hand when they went out together, and when Snow-white said,

"We will not leave each other," Rose-red answered, "Never so long as we

live," and their mother would add, "What one has she must share with the

other."

They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries, and no

beasts did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little

hare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by

their side, the stag leaped merrily by them, and the birds sat still

upon the boughs and sang whatever they knew.

No mishap overtook them; if they had stayed too late in the forest, and

night came on, they laid themselves down near each other upon the moss

and slept until morning came, and their mother knew this and had no

distress on their account.

Once when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had roused

them, they saw a beautiful child in a shining white dress sitting near

their bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing

and went away into the forest. And when they looked round they found

that they had been sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would

certainly have fallen into it in the darkness if they had gone only a

few paces farther. And their mother told them that it must have been the

angel who watches over good children.

Snow-white and Rose-red kept their mother's little cottage so neat that

it was a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer Rose-red took care of

the house, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother's

bed before she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter

Snow-white lit the fire and hung the kettle on the crane. The kettle was

of copper and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished. In the

evening, when the snowflakes fell, the mother said, "Go, Snow-white, and

bolt the door," and then they sat round the hearth, and the mother took

her spectacles and read aloud out of a large book, and the two girls

listened as they sat and spun. And close by them lay a lamb upon the

floor, and behind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head

hidden beneath its wings.

One evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, some one

knocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said,

"Quick, Rose-red, open the door, it must be a traveler who is seeking

shelter." Rose-red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a

poor man, but it was not; it was a bear that stretched his broad, black

head within the door.

Rose-red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered,

and Snow-white hid herself behind her mother's bed. But the bear began

to speak and said, "Do not be afraid, I will do you no harm! I am

half-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside you."

"Poor bear," said the mother, "lie down by the fire, only take care that

you do not burn your coat." Then she cried, "Snow-white, Rose-red, come

out; the bear will do you no harm; he means well." So they both came

out, and by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer, and were not afraid of

him.

The bear said, "Here, children, knock the snow out of my coat a little";

so they brought the broom and swept the bear's hide clean; and he

stretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and comfortably.

It was not long before they grew quite at home and played tricks with

their clumsy guest. They tugged his hair with their hands, put their

feet upon his back and rolled him about, or they took a hazel-switch and

beat him, and when he growled they laughed. But the bear took it all in

good part, only when they were too rough he called out, "Leave me alive,

children--

"Snowy-white, Rosy-red,

Will you beat your lover dead?"

When it was bed-time, and the others went to bed, the mother said to the

bear, "You can lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from

the cold and the bad weather." As soon as day dawned the two children

let him out, and he trotted across the snow into the forest.

Henceforth the bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself

down by the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as

much as they liked; and they got so used to him that the doors were

never fastened until their black friend had arrived.

When spring had come and all outside was green, the bear said one

morning to Snow-white, "Now I must go away, and cannot come back for the

whole summer."

"Where are you going, then, dear bear?" asked Snow-white.

"I must go into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked

dwarfs. In the winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged

to stay below and cannot work their way through; but now, when the sun

has thawed and warmed the earth, they break through it, and come out to

pry and steal; and what once gets into their hands, and in their caves,

does not easily see daylight again."

Snow-white was quite sorry for his going away, and as she unbolted the

door for him, and the bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt

and a piece of his hairy coat was torn off, and it seemed to Snow-white

as if she had seen gold shining through it, but she was not sure about

it. The bear ran away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the

trees.

A short time afterwards the mother sent her children into the forest to

get fire-wood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the

ground, and close by the trunk something was jumping backwards and

forwards in the grass, but they could not make out what it was. When

they came nearer they saw a dwarf with an old withered face and a

snow-white beard a yard long. The end of the beard was caught in a

crevice of the tree, and the little fellow was jumping backwards and

forwards like a dog tied to a rope, and did not know what to do.

He glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried, "Why do you

stand there? Can you not come here and help me?"

"What are you about there, little man?" asked Rose-red.

"You stupid, prying goose!" answered the dwarf; "I was going to split

the tree to get a little wood for cooking. The little bit of food that

one of us wants gets burnt up directly with thick logs; we do not

swallow so much as you coarse, greedy folk. I had just driven the wedge

safely in, and everything was going as I wished; but the wretched wood

was too smooth and suddenly sprang asunder, and the tree closed so

quickly that I could not pull out my beautiful white beard; so now it is

tight in and I cannot get away, and you silly, sleek, milk-faced things

laugh! Ugh! how odious you are!"

The children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it

was caught too fast. "I will run and fetch some one," said Rose-red.

"You senseless goose!" snarled the dwarf; "why should you fetch some

one? You are already two too many for me; can you not think of something

better?"

"Don't be impatient," said Snow-white, "I will help you," and she pulled

her scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.

As soon as the dwarf felt himself free he laid hold of a bag which lay

amongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it

up, grumbling to himself, "Uncouth people, to cut off a piece of my fine

beard. Bad luck to you!" and then he swung the bag upon his back, and

went off without even once looking at the children.

Some time after that Snow-white and Rose-red went to catch a dish of

fish. As they came near the brook they saw something like a large

grasshopper jumping towards the water, as if it were going to leap in.

They ran to it and found it was the dwarf. "Where are you going?" said

Rose-red; "you surely don't want to go into the water?"

"I am not such a fool!" cried the dwarf; "don't you see that the

accursed fish wants to pull me in?"

The little man had been sitting there fishing, and unluckily the wind

had twisted his beard with the fishing line; just then a big fish bit,

and the feeble creature had not strength to pull it out; the fish kept

the upper hand and pulled the dwarf towards him. He held on to all the

reeds and rushes, but it was of little good, he was forced to follow the

movements of the fish, and was in urgent danger of being dragged into

the water.

The girls came just in time; they held him fast and tried to free his

beard from the line, but all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast

together. Nothing was left but to bring out the scissors and cut the

beard, whereby a small part of it was lost. When the dwarf saw that he

screamed out, "Is that civil, you toadstool, to disfigure one's face?

Was it not enough to clip off the end of my beard? Now you have cut off

the best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people. I wish

you had been made to run the soles off your shoes!" Then he took out a

sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and without saying a word more

he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.

It happened that soon afterwards the mother sent the two children to the

town to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them

across a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn here and there.

Now they noticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round

and round above them; it sank lower and lower, and at last settled near

a rock not far off. Directly afterwards they heard a loud, piteous cry.

They ran up and saw with horror that the eagle had seized their old

acquaintance the dwarf, and was going to carry him off.

The children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the little man,

and pulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go.

As soon as the dwarf had recovered from his first fright he cried with

his shrill voice, "Could you not have done it more carefully? You

dragged at my brown coat so that it is all torn and full of holes, you

helpless, clumsy creatures!" Then he took up a sack full of precious

stones, and slipped away again under the rock into his hole. The girls,

who by this time were used to his thanklessness, went on their way and

did their business in the town.

As they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the

dwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot,

and had not thought that any one would come there so late. The evening

sun shone upon the brilliant stones; they glittered and sparkled with

all colors so beautifully that the children stood still and looked at

them. "Why do you stand gaping there?" cried the dwarf, and his

ashen-gray face became copper-red with rage. He was going on with his

bad words when a loud growling was heard, and a black bear came trotting

towards them out of the forest. The dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he

could not get to his cave, for the bear was already close. Then in the

dread of his heart he cried, "Dear Mr. Bear, spare me, I will give you

all my treasures; look, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant me my

life; what do you want with such a slender little fellow as I? You would

not feel me between your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they

are tender morsels for you, fat as young quails; for mercy's sake eat

them!" The bear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature

a single blow with his paw, and he did not move again.

The girls had run away, but the bear called to them, "Snow-white and

Rose-red, do not be afraid; wait, I will come with you." Then they knew

his voice and waited, and when he came up to them suddenly his bearskin

fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed all in gold. "I am

a King's son," he said, "and I was bewitched by that wicked dwarf, who

had stolen my treasures. I have had to run about the forest as a savage

bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his well-deserved

punishment."

Snow-white was married to him, and Rose-red to his brother, and they

divided between them the great treasures which the dwarf had gathered

together in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with

her children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and

they stood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful

roses, white and red.

180

Whether it is possible to trace all folk tales

to India, as some scholars have contended, is a

matter yet open to debate. But there can be no

doubt that some of the most instructing and

valuable of folk tales for use with children

are found in the various collections of Indian

stories made since the pioneer work of Mary

Frere in her _Old Deccan Days_ (1868). A

voluminous literature of collections and

comment has grown up and is constantly

increasing. Four stories that have won great

favor with children are given immediately

following as the ones probably best fitted for

an introductory course. "The Lambikin" is one

of the most popular of all. It is an

accumulative droll in character and should be

told early along with, say, "The Story of the

Three Little Pigs." The children will be sure

to notice that Lambikin trundling along in his

drumikin has some similarity to the wise pig

who traveled so fast down hill in his new

churn. The story is taken from _Tales from the

Punjab_, collected by Flora Annie Steel, with

very valuable notes and analyses by Captain R.

C. Temple.

THE LAMBIKIN

Once upon a time there was a wee wee Lambikin, who frolicked about on

his little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly. Now one day he

set off to visit his Granny, and was jumping with joy to think of all

the good things he should get from her, when whom should he meet but a

Jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel and said: "Lambikin!

Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk and said:

"To Granny's house I go,

Where I shall fatter grow,

Then you can eat me so."

The Jackal thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

By and by he met a Vulture, and the Vulture, looking hungrily at the

tender morsel before him, said: "Lambikin! Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:

"To Granny's house I go,

Where I shall fatter grow,

Then you can eat me so."

The Vulture thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

And by and by he met a Tiger, and then a Wolf, and a Dog, and an Eagle,

and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said: "Lambikin!

Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"

But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk:

"To Granny's house I go,

Where I shall fatter grow,

Then you can eat me so."

At last he reached his Granny's house, and said, all in a great hurry,

"Granny, dear, I've promised to get very fat; so, as people ought to

keep their promises, please put me into the corn-bin _at once_."

So his Granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin, and

there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate, and

ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his Granny said he was

fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning little Lambikin

said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to eat him on

the way back, he was so plump and tender.

"I'll tell you what you must do," said Master Lambikin, "you must make a

little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, and then

I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as a drum

myself."

So his Granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother's skin,

with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in

the middle, and trundled away gayly. Soon he met with the Eagle, who

called out:

"Drumikin! Drumikin!

Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied:

"Lost in the forest, and so are you,

On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

"How very annoying!" sighed the Eagle, thinking regretfully of the

tender morsel he had let slip.

Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing:

"Tum-pa, tum-too;

Tum-pa, tum-too!"

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question:

"Drumikin! Drumikin!

Have you seen Lambikin?"

And to each of them the little sly-boots replied:

"Lost in the forest, and so are you,

On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too;

Tum-pa, tum-too; tum-pa, tum-too!"

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let

slip.

At last the Jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as sharp

as a needle, and he too called out:

"Drumikin! Drumikin!

Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gayly:

"Lost in the forest, and so are you,

On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa--"

But he never got any further, for the Jackal recognized his voice at

once, and cried: "Hullo! you've turned yourself inside out, have you?

Just you come out of that!"

Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin.

181

The next story, dealing with the idea of

"measure for measure," is from Mary Frere's

_Old Deccan Days_. Miss Frere spent many years

in India, where her father was a government

official. She took down the tales as told by

her _ayah_, or lady's maid, who in turn had

heard them from her hundred-year-old

grandmother. It may be said of this story that

while retaliation is certainly not the highest

law of conduct, yet the ungracious,

inconsiderate action of the jackal makes it

impossible to feel the least sympathy for him.

TIT FOR TAT

There once lived a Camel and a Jackal who were great friends. One day

the Jackal said to the Camel, "I know that there is a fine field of

sugar cane on the other side of the river. If you will take me across,

I'll show you the place. This plan will suit me as well as you. You will

enjoy eating the sugar cane, and I am sure to find many crabs, bones,

and bits of fish by the river side, on which to make a good dinner."

The Camel consented, and swam across the river, taking the Jackal, who

could not swim, on his back. When they reached the other side, the Camel

went to eat the sugar cane, and the Jackal ran up and down the river

bank, devouring all the crabs, bits of fish, and bones he could find.

But being so much smaller an animal, he had made an excellent meal

before the Camel had eaten more than two or three mouthfuls; and no

sooner had he finished his dinner than he ran round and round the

sugar-cane field, yelping and howling with all his might.

The villagers heard him, and thought, "There is a Jackal among the sugar

canes; he will be scratching holes in the ground and spoiling the roots

of the plants." And they went down to the place to drive him away. But

when they got there they found to their surprise not only a Jackal, but

a Camel who was eating the sugar canes! This made them very angry, and

they caught the poor Camel and drove him from the field and beat him

until he was nearly dead.

When the villagers had gone, the Jackal said to the Camel, "We had

better go home." And the Camel, said, "Very well; then jump upon my

back, as you did before."

So the Jackal jumped upon the Camel's back, and the Camel began to

recross the river. When they had got well into the water, the Camel

said, "This is a pretty way in which you have treated me, friend Jackal.

No sooner had you finished your own dinner than you must go yelping

about the place loud enough to arouse the whole village, and bring all

the villagers down to beat me black and blue, and turn me out of the

field before I had eaten two mouthfuls! What in the world did you make

such a noise for?"

"I don't know," said the Jackal. "It is a custom I have. I always like

to sing a little after dinner."

The Camel waded on through the river. The water reached up to his

knees--then above them--up, up, up, higher and higher, until at last he

was obliged to swim.

Then turning to the Jackal, he said, "I feel very anxious to roll."

"Oh, pray don't; why do you wish to do so?" asked the Jackal.

"I don't know," answered the Camel. "It is a custom I have. I always

like to have a little roll after dinner."

So saying, he rolled over in the water, shaking the Jackal off as he did

so. And the Jackal was drowned, but the Camel swam safely ashore.

182

The fine story following is from Steel's _Tales

of the Punjab_. Scholars have pointed out a

hundred or more variants. Such trickery as

that used by the jackal in trapping the tiger

is the common thing to find in folk tales where

oppressed weakness is matched against ruthless

and tyrannic power. The tiger's ingratitude

precludes any desire to "take his part." The

attitude of the three judges is determined in

each case by the fact that the experience of

each has hardened him and rendered him

completely hopeless and unsympathetic. "The

work of the buffalo in the oil-press," says

Captain Temple, "is the synonym all India

over--and with good reason--for hard and

thankless toil for another's benefit."

THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, AND THE JACKAL

Once upon a time a tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get

out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he

failed.

By chance a poor Brahman came by. "Let me out of this cage, O pious

one!" cried the tiger.

"Nay, my friend," replied the Brahman mildly; "you would probably eat me

if I did."

"Not at all!" swore the tiger with many oaths; "on the contrary, I

should be forever grateful, and serve you as a slave."

Now, when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept and swore, the pious

Brahman's heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of

the cage. Out popped the tiger, and, seizing the poor man, cried, "What

a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now, for after being

cooped up so long I am just terribly hungry?"

In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life; the most he could gain was a

promise to abide by the decision of the first three things he chose to

question as to the justice of the tiger's action.

So the Brahman first asked a _pipal_ tree what it thought of the matter,

but the _pipal_ tree replied coldly, "What have you to complain about?

Don't I give shade and shelter to every one who passes by, and don't

they in return tear down my branches to feed their cattle? Don't

whimper--be a man!"

Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further afield till he saw a

buffalo turning a well-wheel; but he fared no better from it, for it

answered: "You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! While I gave

milk they fed me on cotton-seed and oil-cake, but now I am dry they yoke

me here, and give me refuse as fodder!"

The Brahman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion.

"My dear sir," said the road, "how foolish you are to expect anything

else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and

small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of

their pipes and the husks of their grain!"

On this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully, and on the way he met a

jackal, who called out, "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look

as miserable as a fish out of water!"

The Brahman told him all that had occurred. "How very confusing!" said

the jackal, when the recital was ended; "would you mind telling me over

again, for everything seems so mixed up?"

The Brahman told it all over again, but the jackal shook his head in a

distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.

"It's very odd," said he sadly, "but it all seems to go in at one ear

and out at the other! I will go to the place where it all happened, and

then, perhaps, I shall be able to give a judgment."

So they returned to the cage, by which the tiger was waiting for the

Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.

"You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast, "but now let

us begin our dinner."

"_Our_ dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked

together with fright; "what a remarkably delicate way of putting it!"

"Give me five minutes, my lord!" he pleaded, "in order that I may

explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits."

The tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again,

not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.

"Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!" cried the jackal, wringing its

paws. "Let me see! how did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the

tiger came walking by--"

"Pooh!" interrupted the tiger, "what a fool you are! _I_ was in the

cage."

"Of course!" cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright; "yes!

I was in the cage--no, I wasn't--dear! dear! where are my wits? Let me

see--the tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by--no,

that's not it, either! Well, don't mind me, but begin your dinner, for I

shall never understand!"

"Yes, you shall!" returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal's

stupidity; "I'll _make_ you understand! Look here--I am the tiger--"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the Brahman--"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And that is the cage--"

"Yes, my lord!"

"And I was in the cage--do you understand?"

"Yes--no----Please, my lord--"

"Well?" cried the tiger impatiently.

"Please, my lord! How did you get in?"

"How? Why in the usual way, of course!"

"Oh, dear me! my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be

angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"

At this the tiger lost patience, and jumping into the cage, cried, "This

way! Now do you understand how it was?"

"Perfectly!" grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and

if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they

were!"

183

The story that follows is from Mrs. Kingscote's

_Tales of the Sun_, as reprinted in Joseph

Jacobs' _Indian Fairy Tales_. Mr. Jacobs

explains that he "changed the Indian mercantile

numerals into those of English 'back-slang,'

which make a very good parallel." As in other

cases, the value of Jacobs' collection must be

emphasized. If the teacher is limited to a

single book for story material from the

Hindoos, that book must be the one made by

Joseph Jacobs. With well-chosen tales, with the

slight changes here and there necessary for use

with children, with just enough scholarship

packed out of the way in the introduction and

notes, the book has no rival.

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL

In a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went

about together. Once upon a time they had traveled far afield, and were

returning home with a great deal of money which they had obtained by

selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near their

village, and this they reached early one morning. In it there lived

three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders had never heard,

and while they were still in the middle of it the robbers stood before

them, with swords and cudgels in their hands, and ordered them to lay

down all they had. The traders had no weapons with them, and so, though

they were many more in number, they had to submit themselves to the

robbers, who took away everything from them, even the very clothes they

wore, and gave to each only a small loin-cloth a span in breadth and a

cubit in length.

The idea that they had conquered ten men and plundered all their

property now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated

themselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and

ordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants now

mourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their loin-cloth,

and still the robbers were not satisfied, but ordered them to dance.

There was among the ten merchants one who was very clever. He pondered

over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the dance they

would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which the three

robbers had seated themselves on the grass. At the same time he observed

that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in the assurance

of having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now commencing to

dance; and, as a song is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to

which the rest keep time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:

"We are enty men,

They are erith men:

If each erith man,

Surround eno men

Eno man remains.

_Ta, tai tom, tadingana._"

The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was merely

singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader

commenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice before he

and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had

understood his meaning, because they had been trained in trade.

When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a

purchaser, they use a riddling sort of language.

"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask.

"Enty rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."

Thus there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant

unless he be acquainted with trade language. By the rules of this secret

language erith means "three," enty means "ten," and eno means "one." So

the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders that they

were ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced upon each of

the robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the remaining one

bound the robbers' hands and feet.

The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding

the meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly

seated chewing betel and tobacco. Meanwhile the song was sung a third

time. _Ta tai tom_ had left the lips of the singer; and, before

_tadingana_ was out of them, the traders separated into parties of

three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one--the

leader himself--tore up into long narrow strips a large piece of cloth,

six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the robbers. These were

entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like three bags of rice!

The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves

with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached

their village they often amused their friends and relatives by relating

their adventure.

184

In recent years several Japanese stories have

made their way into the list of those

frequently used in the lower grades. Some of

these are of unusual beauty and suggestiveness.

The oriental point of view is so different from

that of western children that these stories

often cannot be used in their fully original

form, although it would be a distinct loss if

the available elements were therefore

discarded. So, in this instance departing from

the plan of giving only authentic copies of the

tales here reprinted, the excellent retold

versions of two Japanese stories are given as

made by Teresa Peirce Williston in her

_Japanese Fairy Tales_. (Copyrighted. Used by

permission of the publishers, Rand McNally &

Co.) In these simple versions the point to the

story is made clear in natural fashion without

undue moralizing.

THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA

VERSION BY TERESA PEIRCE WILLISTON

In Matsuyama there lived a man, his wife, and their little daughter.

They loved each other very much, and were very happy together. One day

the man came home very sad. He had received a message from the Emperor,

which said that he must take a journey to far-off Tokio.

They had no horses and in those days there were no railroads in Japan.

The man knew that he must walk the whole distance. It was not the long

walk that he minded, however. It was because it would take him many days

from home.