LADY GREENSLEEVES
On the evening of the next day King Winwealth again fell into low
spirits, and gave orders that Snowflower and her wonderful chair should
be brought to the highest hall. When Snowflower came, she at once laid
down her head on the chair, saying: "Chair of my grandmother, tell me a
story."
"Listen," said the clear voice from under the cushion, "to the story of
Lady Greensleeves."
Once upon a time there lived two noble lords in the east country. Their
lands lay between a broad river and an old oak forest. In the midst of
his land each lord had a stately castle; one was built of white
freestone, the other of grey granite. So the one was called Lord of the
White Castle, and the other Lord of the Grey.
No lords in all the east country were so noble and kind as they. Their
people lived in peace and plenty; all strangers were well treated at
their castles. Every autumn they sent men with axes into the forest to
hew down the great trees, and chop them into firewood for the poor.
Neither hedge nor ditch divided their lands, but these lords never had a
quarrel. They had been friends from their youth. Their ladies had died
long ago, but the Lord of the Grey Castle had a little son, and the Lord
of the White a little daughter; and when they feasted in each other's
halls it was their custom to say, "When our children grow up they will
marry, and have our castles and our lands, and keep our friendship in
memory."
So the lords and their little children, and their people, lived happily
till one Michaelmas night, as they were all feasting in the hall of the
White Castle, there came a traveller to the gate, who was welcomed and
feasted as usual. He had seen many strange sights and countries, and he
liked to tell of his travels. The lords were delighted with his tales
as they sat round the fire after supper, and at length the Lord of the
White Castle, who was always very eager to know all he could about new
countries, said:
"Good stranger, what was the greatest wonder you ever saw in all your
travels?"
"The most wonderful sight that ever I saw," replied the traveller, "was
at the end of yonder forest, where in an old wooden house there sits an
old woman weaving her own hair into grey cloth on an old worn-out loom.
When she wants more yarn she cuts off her own grey hair, and it grows so
quickly that though I saw it cut in the morning, it was out of the door
before noon. She told me she wished to sell the cloth, but none of all
who came that way had yet bought any, she asked so great a price. And,
if the way were not so long and dangerous through that wide forest,
which is full of bears and wolves, some rich lord like you might buy it
for a cloak."
All who heard this story were greatly surprised; but when the traveller
had gone on his way, the Lord of the White Castle could neither eat nor
sleep for wishing to see the old woman that wove her own hair. At length
he made up his mind to go through the forest in search of her old house,
and told the Lord of the Grey Castle what he had made up his mind to do.
Being a wise man, this lord replied that travellers' tales were not
always to be trusted, and tried hard to advise him against undertaking
such a long and dangerous journey, for few that went far into that
forest ever returned.
However, when the curious lord would go in spite of all he said, he
vowed to go with him for friendship's sake, and they agreed to set out
without letting anyone know, lest the other lords of the land might
laugh at them. The Lord of the White Castle had a steward who had served
him many years, and his name was Reckoning Robin. To him he said:
"I am going on a journey with my friend. Be careful of my goods, deal
justly with my people, and above all things be kind to my little
daughter Loveleaves till my return."
The steward answered: "Be sure, my lord, I will."
The Lord of the Grey Castle also had a steward who had served him many
years, and his name was Wary Will. To him he said:
"I am going on a journey with my friend. Be careful of my goods, deal
justly with my people, and above all be kind to my little son Woodwender
till my return."
His steward answered him: "Be sure, my lord, I will."
So these lords kissed their children while they slept, and set out each
with his staff and cloak before sunrise through the old oak forest.
The children missed their fathers, and the people missed their lords.
None but the stewards could tell what had become of them; but seven
months wore away, and they did not come back. The lords had thought
their stewards faithful, because they served so well under their eyes;
but instead of that, both were proud and cunning, and thinking that some
evil had happened to their masters, they set themselves to be lords in
their places.
Reckoning Robin had a son called Hardhold, and Wary Will a daughter
named Drypenny. There was not a sulkier girl or boy in the country, but
their fathers made up their minds to make a young lord and a young lady
of them; so they took the silk clothes which Woodwender and Loveleaves
used to wear, to dress them, putting on the lords' children their coarse
clothes. Their toys were given to Hardhold and Drypenny; and at last the
stewards' children sat at the chief tables, and slept in the best rooms,
while Woodwender and Loveleaves were sent to herd the swine, and sleep
on straw in the granary.
The poor children had no one to take their part. Every morning at
sunrise they were sent out--each with a barley loaf and a bottle of sour
milk, which was to serve them for breakfast, dinner, and supper--to
watch a great herd of swine on a wide field near the forest. The grass
was scanty, and the swine were always straying into the wood in search
of acorns. The children knew that if they were lost the wicked stewards
would punish them; and between gathering and keeping their herds in
order, they were readier to sleep on the granary straw at night than
ever they had been within their own silken curtains.
Still, Woodwender and Loveleaves were a great help and comfort to each
other, saying their fathers would come back or God would send them some
friends. So, in spite of swine-herding and hard living, they looked as
cheerful and handsome as ever; while Hardhold and Drypenny grew crosser
and uglier every day, notwithstanding their fine clothes.
The false stewards did not like this. They thought their children ought
to look genteel, and Woodwender and Loveleaves like young swineherds. So
they sent them to a wilder field, still nearer the forest, and gave them
two great black hogs, more unruly than all the rest, to keep. One of
these hogs belonged to Hardhold, and the other to Drypenny. Every
evening when they came home the stewards' children used to come down
and feed them, and it was their delight to reckon up what price they
would bring when properly fattened.
One very hot day, about midsummer, Woodwender and Loveleaves sat down in
the shadow of a mossy rock. The swine grazed about them more quietly
than usual; and the children plaited rushes and talked to each other,
till, as the sun was sloping down the sky, Woodwender saw that the two
great hogs were missing.
Thinking they must have gone to the forest, the children ran to search
for them. They heard the thrush singing and the wood-doves calling; they
saw the squirrels leaping from branch to branch, and the deer bounding
by. But though they searched for hours, no trace of the hogs could be
seen.
Loveleaves and Woodwender dared not go home without them. Deeper and
deeper they ran into the forest, searching and calling, but all in vain.
And when the woods began to darken with the fall of evening, the
children feared they had lost their way.
It was known that they never feared the forest, nor all the boars and
wolves that were in it. But being weary, they wished for some place of
shelter, and took a green path through the trees, thinking it might lead
to the dwelling of some hermit or forester.
A fairer way Woodwender and Loveleaves had never walked. The grass was
soft and mossy, a hedge of wild roses and honeysuckle grew on either
side, and the red light of the sunset streamed through the tall trees
above. On they went, and it led them straight to a great open dell,
covered with the most lovely flowers, bordered with banks of wild
strawberries, and all overshadowed by a huge oak, the like of which had
never been seen in grove or forest. Its branches were as large as
full-grown trees. Its trunk was wider than a country church, and its
height like that of a castle.
There were mossy seats at its great root, and when the tired children
had gathered as many strawberries as they cared for, they sat down on
one, close by a small spring that bubbled up as clear as crystal. The
mighty oak was covered with thick ivy, in which thousands of birds had
their nests. Woodwender and Loveleaves watched them flying home from all
parts of the forest, and at last they saw a lady coming by the same path
which led them to the dell. She wore a gown of a red colour; her yellow
hair was braided and bound with a red band. In her right hand she
carried a holly branch; but the strangest part of her dress was a pair
of long sleeves, as green as the very grass.
"Who are you," she said, "that sit so late beside my well?"
And the children told her their story, how they had first lost the hogs,
and then their way, and were afraid to go home to the wicked stewards.
"Well," said the lady, "you are the fairest swineherds that ever came
this way. Choose whether you will go home and keep hogs for Hardhold and
Drypenny, or live in the free forest with me."
"We will stay with you," said the children, "for we do not like keeping
swine. Besides, our fathers went through this forest, and we may meet
them some day coming home."
While they spoke, the lady slipped her holly branch through the ivy, as
if it had been a key,--soon a door opened in the oak, and there was a
fair house. The windows were of rock crystal, but they could not be seen
from without. The walls and floors were covered with thick green moss,
as soft as velvet. There were low seats and a round table, vessels of
carved wood, a hearth inlaid with strange stones, an oven, and a
storeroom for food against the winter.
When they stepped in, the lady said: "A hundred years have I lived here,
and my name is Lady Greensleeves. No friend or servant have I except my
dwarf Corner, who comes to me at the end of harvest with his handmill,
his basket, and his axe. With these he grinds the nuts, and gathers the
berries, and splits the firewood; and cheerily we live all the winter.
But Corner loves the frost and fears the sun; and when the topmost
branches begin to bud, he returns to his country far in the north, so I
am lonely in the summertime."
By these words the children saw how welcome they were. Lady Greensleeves
gave them deer's milk and cakes of nut-flour, and soft green moss to
sleep on. And they forgot all their troubles, the wicked stewards, and
the straying swine.
Early in the morning a troop of does came to be milked, fairies brought
flowers, and birds brought berries, to show Lady Greensleeves what had
bloomed and ripened. She taught the children to make cheese of the does'
milk, and wine of the woodberries. She showed them the stores of honey
which wild bees had made, and left in the hollow trees, the rarest
plants of the forest, and the herbs that made all the creatures tame.
All that summer Woodwender and Loveleaves lived with her in the great
oak tree, free from toil and care. The children would have been happy,
but they could hear no news of their fathers. At last the leaves began
to fade, and the flowers to fall. Lady Greensleeves said that Corner was
coming. One moonlight night she heaped sticks on the fire, and set her
door open, when Woodwender and Loveleaves were going to sleep, saying
she expected some friends to tell her the news of the forest.
Loveleaves was not quite so curious as her father, the Lord of the White
Castle, but she kept awake to see what would happen, and very much
afraid the little girl was when in walked a great brown bear.
"Good evening, lady!" said the bear.
"Good evening, bear!" said Lady Greensleeves. "What is the news in your
part of the forest?"
"Not much," said the bear; "only the fawns are growing very cunning--one
can't catch above three in a day."
"That's bad news," said Lady Greensleeves; and at once in walked a great
wild cat.
"Good evening, lady!" said the cat.
"Good evening, cat!" said Lady Greensleeves. "What is the news in your
part of the forest?"
"Not much," said the cat; "only the birds are growing very plentiful--it
is not worth one's while to catch them."
"That's good news," said Lady Greensleeves; and in flew a great black
raven.
"Good evening, lady!" said the raven.
"Good evening, raven!" said Lady Greensleeves. "What is the news in your
part of the forest?"
"Not much," said the raven; "only in a hundred years or so we shall be
very genteel and private, the trees will be so thick."
"How is that?" said Lady Greensleeves.
"Oh!" said the raven, "have you not heard how the king of the forest
fairies laid a spell on two lords, who were travelling through his
kingdom to see the old woman that weaves her own hair? They had thinned
his oaks every year, cutting firewood for the poor. So the king met them
in the likeness of a hunter, and asked them to drink out of his oaken
goblet, because the day was warm. When the two lords drank, they
forgot their lands and their people, their castles and their children,
and minded nothing in all the world but the planting of acorns, which
they do day and night, by the power of the spell, in the heart of the
forest. They will never stop till someone makes them pause in their work
before the sun sets, and then the spell will be broken."
[Illustration: A DOOR OPENED IN THE ROCK
_See page 61_]
"Ah!" said Lady Greensleeves, "he is a great prince, that king of the
forest fairies; and there is worse work in the world than planting
acorns."
Soon after, the bear, the cat, and the raven bade Lady Greensleeves good
night. She closed the door, put out the light, and went to sleep on the
soft moss as usual.
In the morning Loveleaves told Woodwender what she had heard, and they
went to Lady Greensleeves where she milked the does, and said:
"We heard what the raven told you last night, and we know the two lords
are our fathers. Tell us how the spell may be broken."
"I fear the king of the forest fairies," said Lady Greensleeves,
"because I live here alone, and have no friend but my dwarf Corner. But
I will tell you what you may do. At the end of the path which leads from
this dell turn your faces to the north, and you will find a narrow way
sprinkled over with black feathers. Keep that path, no matter how it
winds, and it will lead you straight to that part of the forest in which
the ravens dwell. There you will find your fathers planting acorns under
the forest trees. Watch till the sun is near setting, and tell them the
most wonderful things you know to make them forget their work. But be
sure to tell nothing but truth, and drink nothing but running water, or
you will fall into the power of the fairy king."
The children thanked her for this good advice. She packed up cakes and
cheese for them in a bag of woven grass, and they soon found the narrow
way sprinkled over with black feathers. It was very long, and wound
through the thick trees in so many circles that the children were often
weary, and sat down to rest. When the night came, they found a mossy
hollow in the trunk of an old tree, where they laid themselves down, and
slept all the summer night--for Woodwender and Loveleaves never feared
the forest.
So they went, eating their cakes and cheese when they were hungry,
drinking from the running stream, and sleeping in the hollow trees, till
on the evening of the seventh day they came into that part of the forest
where the ravens lived. The tall trees were laden with nests and black
with ravens. There was nothing to be heard but cawing.
In a great opening where the oaks grew thinnest, the children saw their
own fathers busy planting acorns. Each lord had on the velvet cloak in
which he left his castle, but it was worn to rags with rough work in the
forest. Their hair and beards had grown long; their hands were soiled
with earth; each had an old wooden spade, and on all sides lay heaps of
acorns.
The children called their names, and ran to kiss them, each saying:
"Dear father, come back to your castle and your people."
But the lords replied: "We know of no castles and no people. There is
nothing in all this world but oak leaves and acorns."
Woodwender and Loveleaves told them of all their former state in vain.
Nothing would make them pause for a minute. So the poor children first
sat down and cried, and then slept on the cold grass, for the sun set,
and the lords worked on.
When they awoke it was broad day. Woodwender cheered up Loveleaves,
saying: "We are hungry, and there are two cakes in the bag, let us share
one of them--who knows but something may happen."
So they divided the cake, and ran to the lords, saying: "Dear fathers,
eat with us."
But the lords said: "There is no use for meat or drink. Let us plant our
acorns."
Loveleaves and Woodwender sat down, and ate that cake in great sorrow.
When they had finished, both went to a stream that ran close by, and
began to drink the clear water with a large acorn shell. And as they
drank there came through the oaks a gay young hunter, his mantle was
green as the grass; about his neck there hung a crystal bugle, and in
his hand he carried a huge oaken goblet, carved with flowers and leaves,
and rimmed with crystal.
Up to the brim the cup was filled with milk, on which the rich cream
floated. And as the hunter came near, he said: "Fair children, leave
that muddy water, and come and drink with me."
But Woodwender and Loveleaves answered: "Thanks, good hunter, but we
have promised to drink nothing but running water."
Still the hunter came nearer with his goblet, saying: "The water is
dirty; it may do for swineherds and woodcutters, but not for such fair
children as you. Tell me, are you not the children of mighty kings? Were
you not brought up in palaces?"
But the boy and girl answered him: "No: we were brought up in castles,
and are the children of yonder lords. Tell us how the spell that is upon
them may be broken."
At once the hunter turned from them with an angry look, poured out the
milk upon the ground, and went away with his empty goblet.
Loveleaves and Woodwender were sorry to see the rich cream spilled, but
they remembered the warning of Lady Greensleeves; and seeing they could
do no better, each got a withered branch and began to help the lords,
scratching up the ground with the sharp end, and planting acorns. But
their fathers took no notice of them, nor of all that they could say.
When the sun grew warm at noon, they went again to drink at the running
stream.
Then through the oaks came another hunter, older than the first, and
clothed in yellow. About his neck there hung a silver bugle, and in his
hand he carried an oaken goblet, carved with leaves and fruit, rimmed
with silver, and filled with mead to the brim. This hunter also asked
them to drink, told them the stream was full of frogs, and asked them if
they were not a young prince and princess dwelling in the woods for
their pleasure.
But when Woodwender and Loveleaves answered as before: "We have
promised to drink only running water, and are the children of yonder
lords; tell us how the spell may be broken," he turned from them with an
angry look, poured out the mead, and went his way.
All that afternoon the children worked beside their fathers, planting
acorns with the withered branches. But the lords would mind neither them
nor their words. And when the evening drew near they were very hungry.
So the children divided their last cake; and since they could not make
the lords eat with them, they went to the banks of the stream, and began
to eat and drink, though their hearts were very heavy.
The sun was getting low, and the ravens were coming home to their nests
in the high trees. But one, that seemed old and weary, alighted near
them to drink at the stream. As they ate, the raven lingered, and picked
up the small crumbs that fell.
"Brother," said Loveleaves, "this raven is surely hungry. Let us give it
a little bit, though it is our last cake."
Woodwender agreed, and each gave a bit to the raven. But its great bill
finished the morsels in a moment, and hopping nearer, it looked them in
the face by turns.
"The poor raven is still hungry," said Woodwender, and he gave it
another bit. When that was gobbled, it came to Loveleaves, who gave it a
bit too, and so on till the raven had eaten the whole of their last
cake.
"Well," said Woodwender, "at least we can have a drink."
But as they stooped to the water, there came through the oaks another
hunter, older than the last, and clothed in scarlet. About his neck
there hung a golden bugle, and in his hand he carried a huge oaken
goblet, carved with ears of corn and clusters of grapes, rimmed with
gold, and filled to the brim with wine.
He also said: "Leave this muddy water, and drink with me. It is full of
toads, and not fit for such fair children. Surely you are from
fairyland, and were brought up in its queen's palace!"
But the children said: "We will drink nothing but this water, and yonder
lords are our fathers. Tell us how the spell may be broken."
And the hunter turned from them with an angry look, poured out the wine
on the grass, and went his way.
When he was gone, the old raven looked up into their faces, and said: "I
have eaten your last cake, and I will tell you how the spell may be
broken. Yonder is the sun, going down behind the western trees. Before
it sets, go to the lords, and tell them how their stewards used you, and
made you herd hogs for Hardhold and Drypenny. When you see them
listening, catch up their wooden spades, and keep them if you can till
the sun goes down."
Woodwender and Loveleaves thanked the raven, and where it flew they
never stopped to see, but running to the lords began to tell as they
were bidden. At first the lords would not listen; but as the children
told how they had been made to sleep on straw, how they had been sent to
herd hogs in the wild pasture, and what trouble they had with the
unruly swine, the acorn planting grew slower, and at last the lords
dropped their spades.
Then Woodwender, catching up his father's spade, ran to the stream and
threw it in. Loveleaves did the same for the Lord of the White Castle.
That moment the sun went down behind the western oaks, and the lords
stood up, looking, like men just awakened, on the forest, on the sky,
and on their children.
So this strange story has ended, for Woodwender and Loveleaves went home
rejoicing with their fathers. Each lord returned to his castle, and all
their people were merry. The fine toys and the silk clothes, the flower
gardens and the best rooms, were taken from Hardhold and Drypenny, and
the lords' children got them again. And the wicked stewards, with their
cross boy and girl, were sent to herd swine, and live in huts in the
wild pasture, which everybody said became them better.
The Lord of the White Castle never again wished to see the old woman
that wove her own hair, and the Lord of the Grey Castle continued to be
his friend. As for Woodwender and Loveleaves, they met with no more
misfortunes, but grew up, and were married, and got the two castles and
broad lands of their fathers. Nor did they forget the lonely Lady
Greensleeves, for it was known in the east country that she and her
dwarf Corner always came to feast with them in the Christmas time, and
at midsummer they always went to live with her in the great oak in the
forest.