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THE SCOTTISH FAIRY BOOK BOOKS IN THE "FAIRY SERIES"
_The English Fairy Book_
_The Welsh Fairy Book_
_The Irish Fairy Book_
_The Scottish Fairy Book_
_The Italian Fairy Book_
_The Hungarian Fairy Book_
_The Indian Fairy Book_
_The Spanish Fairy Book_
_The Danish Fairy Book_
_The Norwegian Fairy Book_
_The Jewish Fairy Book_
_The Swedish Fairy Book_
_The Chinese Fairy Book_
THE SCOTTISH FAIRY
BOOK . BY ELIZABETH W.
GRIERSON . WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BY MORRIS
MEREDITH WILLIAMS
[Illustration]
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA NEW YORK
Printed in U.S.A.
"Of _Brownys and of Bogillis Full this Buke_."
--GAVIN DOUGLAS
PREFACE
There are, roughly speaking, two distinct types of Scottish Fairy Tales.
There are what may be called "Celtic Stories," which were handed down
for centuries by word of mouth by professional story-tellers, who went
about from clachan to clachan in the "Highlands and Islands," earning a
night's shelter by giving a night's entertainment, and which have now
been collected and classified for us by Campbell of Isla and others.
These stories, which are also common to the North of Ireland, are wild
and fantastic, and very often somewhat monotonous, and their themes are
strangely alike. They almost always tell of some hero or heroine who
sets out on some dangerous quest, and who is met by giants, generally
three in number, who appear one after the other; with whom they hold
quaint dialogues, and whom eventually they slay. Most of them are fairly
long, and although they have a peculiar fascination of their own, they
are quite distinct from the ordinary Fairy Tale.
These latter, in Scotland, have also a character of their own, for there
is no country where the existence of Spirits and Goblins has been so
implicitly believed in up to a comparatively recent date.
As a proof of this we can go to Hogg's tale of "The Wool-gatherer," and
see how the countryman, Barnaby, voices the belief of his day. "Ye had
need to tak care how ye dispute the existence of fairies, brownies, and
apparitions! Ye may as weel dispute the Gospel of Saint Matthew."
Perhaps it was the bleak and stern character of their climate, and the
austerity of their religious beliefs which made our Scottish forefathers
think of the spirits in whom they so firmly believed, as being, for the
most part, mischievous and malevolent.
Their Bogies, their Witches, their Kelpies, even their Fairy Queen
herself, were supposed to be in league with the Evil One, and to be
compelled, as Thomas of Ercildoune was near finding out to his cost, to
pay a "Tiend to Hell" every seven years; so it was not to be wondered
at, that these uncanny beings were dreaded and feared.
But along with this dark and gloomy view, we find touches of delicate
playfulness and brightness. The Fairy Queen might be in league with
Satan, but her subjects were not all bound by the same law, and many
charming tales are told of the "sith" or silent folk, who were always
spoken of with respect, in case they might be within earshot, who made
their dwellings under some rocky knowe, and who came out and danced on
the dewy sward at midnight.
Akin to them are the tales which are told about a mysterious region
under the sea, "far below the abode of fishes," where a strange race of
beings lived, who, in their own land closely resembled human beings, and
were of such surpassing beauty that they charmed the hearts of all who
looked on them. They were spoken of as Mermaids and Mermen, and as
their lungs were not adapted for breathing under water, they had the
extraordinary power of entering into the skin of some fish or sea
animal, and in this way passing from their own abode to our upper world,
where they held converse with mortal men, and, as often as not, tried to
lure them to destruction.
The popular idea always represents Mer-folk as wearing the tails of
fishes; in Scottish Folklore they are quite as often found in the form
of seals.
Then we frequently come across the Brownie, that strange, kindly,
lovable creature, with its shaggy, unkempt appearance, half man, half
beast, who was said to be the ordained helper of man in the drudgery
entailed by sin, and was therefore forbidden to receive wages; who
always worked when no one was looking, and who disappeared if any notice
were taken of him.
There are also, as in all other countries, animal tales, where the
animals are endowed with the power of speech; and weird tales of
enchantment; and last, but not least, there are the legendary stories,
many of them half real, half mythical, which are to be found in the
pages of Hogg, and Leyden, and above all, in Sir Walter Scott's "Border
Minstrelsy."
In preparing this book I have tried to make a representative collection
from these different classes of Scottish Folklore, taking, when
possible, the stories which are least well known, in the hope that some
of them, at least, may be new to the children of this generation.
It may interest some of these children to know that when James IV was a
little boy, nearly four hundred years ago, he used to sit on his tutor,
Sir David Lindsay's, knee, and listen to some of the same stories that
are written here:--to the story of Thomas the Rhymer, of the Red-Etin,
and of The Black Bull of Norroway.
Although in every case I have told the tale in my own words, I am
indebted for the originals to Campbell's "Popular Tales of the Western
Highlands," Leyden's Poems, Hogg's Poems, Scott's "Border Minstrelsy,"
Chambers' "Popular Rhymes of Scotland," "The Folklore Journal," etc.
ELIZABETH W. GRIERSON.
_Whitchesters, Hawick, N.B.,
12th April, 1910._
CONTENTS
PAGE
Thomas the Rhymer 1
Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree 17
Whippety-Stourie 33
The Red-Etin 42
The Seal Catcher and the Merman 58
The Page-boy and the Silver Goblet 67
The Black Bull of Norroway 74
The Wee Bannock 93
The Elfin Knight 101
What to say to the New Mune 114
Habetrot the Spinstress 115
Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit 130
The Fairies of Merlin's Crag 136
The Wedding of Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren 144
The Dwarfie Stone 150
Canonbie Dick and Thomas of Ercildoune 169
The Laird o' Co' 179
Poussie Baudrons 186
The Milk-white Doo 188
The Draiglin' Hogney 196
The Brownie o' Ferne-Den 204
The Witch of Fife 211
Assipattle and the Mester Stoorworm 221
The Fox and the Wolf 245
Katherine Crackernuts 253
Times to Sneeze 268
The Well o' the World's End 272
Farquhar MacNeill 277
Peerifool 284
Birthdays 298
THOMAS THE RHYMER
Of all the young gallants in Scotland in the thirteenth century, there
was none more gracious and debonair than Thomas Learmont, Laird of the
Castle of Ercildoune, in Berwickshire.
He loved books, poetry, and music, which were uncommon tastes in those
days; and, above all, he loved to study nature, and to watch the habits
of the beasts and birds that made their abode in the fields and woods
round about his home.
Now it chanced that, one sunny May morning, Thomas left his Tower of
Ercildoune, and went wandering into the woods that lay about the Huntly
Burn, a little stream that came rushing down from the slopes of the
Eildon Hills. It was a lovely morning--fresh, and bright, and warm, and
everything was so beautiful that it looked as Paradise might look.
The tender leaves were bursting out of their sheaths, and covering all
the trees with a fresh soft mantle of green; and amongst the carpet of
moss under the young man's feet, yellow primroses and starry anemones
were turning up their faces to the morning sky.
The little birds were singing like to burst their throats, and hundreds
of insects were flying backwards and forwards in the sunshine; while
down by the burnside the bright-eyed water-rats were poking their noses
out of their holes, as if they knew that summer had come, and wanted to
have a share in all that was going on.
Thomas felt so happy with the gladness of it all, that he threw himself
down at the root of a tree, to watch the living things around him.
As he was lying there, he heard the trampling of a horse's hooves, as it
forced its way through the bushes; and, looking up, he saw the most
beautiful lady that he had ever seen coming riding towards him on a grey
palfrey.
She wore a hunting dress of glistening silk, the colour of the fresh
spring grass; and from her shoulders hung a velvet mantle, which matched
the riding-skirt exactly. Her yellow hair, like rippling gold, hung
loosely round her shoulders, and on her head sparkled a diadem of
precious stones, which flashed like fire in the sunlight.
Her saddle was of pure ivory, and her saddle-cloth of blood-red satin,
while her saddle girths were of corded silk and her stirrups of cut
crystal. Her horse's reins were of beaten gold, all hung with little
silver bells, so that, as she rode along, she made a sound like fairy
music.
Apparently she was bent on the chase, for she carried a hunting-horn and
a sheaf of arrows; and she led seven greyhounds along in a leash, while
as many scenting hounds ran loose at her horse's side.
As she rode down the glen, she lilted a bit of an old Scotch song; and
she carried herself with such a queenly air, and her dress was so
magnificent, that Thomas was like to kneel by the side of the path and
worship her, for he thought that it must be the Blessed Virgin herself.
But when the rider came to where he was, and understood his thoughts,
she shook her head sadly.
"I am not that Blessed Lady, as thou thinkest," she said. "Men call me
Queen, but it is of a far other country; for I am the Queen of
Fairy-land, and not the Queen of Heaven."
And certainly it seemed as if what she said were true; for, from that
moment, it was as if a spell were cast over Thomas, making him forget
prudence, and caution, and common-sense itself.
For he knew that it was dangerous for mortals to meddle with Fairies,
yet he was so entranced with the Lady's beauty that he begged her to
give him a kiss. This was just what she wanted, for she knew that if she
once kissed him she had him in her power.
And, to the young man's horror, as soon as their lips had met, an awful
change came over her. For her beautiful mantle and riding-skirt of silk
seemed to fade away, leaving her clad in a long grey garment, which was
just the colour of ashes. Her beauty seemed to fade away also, and she
grew old and wan; and, worst of all, half of her abundant yellow hair
went grey before his very eyes. She saw the poor man's astonishment and
terror, and she burst into a mocking laugh.
"I am not so fair to look on now as I was at first," she said, "but that
matters little, for thou hast sold thyself, Thomas, to be my servant for
seven long years. For whoso kisseth the Fairy Queen must e'en go with
her to Fairy-land, and serve her there till that time is past."
When he heard these words poor Thomas fell on his knees and begged for
mercy. But mercy he could not obtain. The Elfin Queen only laughed in
his face, and brought her dapple-grey palfrey close up to where he was
standing.
"No, no," she said, in answer to his entreaties. "Thou didst ask the
kiss, and now thou must pay the price. So dally no longer, but mount
behind me, for it is full time that I was gone."
So Thomas, with many a sigh and groan of terror, mounted behind her; and
as soon as he had done so, she shook her bridle rein, and the grey steed
galloped off.
On and on they went, going swifter than the wind; till they left the
land of the living behind, and came to the edge of a great desert, which
stretched before them, dry, and bare, and desolate, to the edge of the
far horizon.
At least, so it seemed to the weary eyes of Thomas of Ercildoune, and
he wondered if he and his strange companion had to cross this desert;
and, if so, if there were any chance of reaching the other side of it
alive.
But the Fairy Queen suddenly tightened her rein, and the grey palfrey
stopped short in its wild career.
"Now must thou descend to earth, Thomas," said the Lady, glancing over
her shoulder at her unhappy captive, "and lout down, and lay thy head on
my knee, and I will show thee hidden things, which cannot be seen by
mortal eyes."
So Thomas dismounted, and louted down, and rested his head on the Fairy
Queen's knee; and lo, as he looked once more over the desert, everything
seemed changed. For he saw three roads leading across it now, which he
had not noticed before, and each of these three roads was different.
One of them was broad, and level, and even, and it ran straight on
across the sand, so that no one who was travelling by it could possibly
lose his way.
And the second road was as different from the first as it well could be.
It was narrow, and winding, and long; and there was a thorn hedge on one
side of it, and a briar hedge on the other; and those hedges grew so
high, and their branches were so wild and tangled, that those who were
travelling along that road would have some difficulty in persevering on
their journey at all.
And the third road was unlike any of the others. It was a bonnie,
bonnie road, winding up a hillside among brackens, and heather, and
golden-yellow whins, and it looked as if it would be pleasant
travelling, to pass that way.
"Now," said the Fairy Queen, "an' thou wilt, I shall tell thee where
these three roads lead to. The first road, as thou seest, is broad, and
even, and easy, and there be many that choose it to travel on. But
though it be a good road, it leadeth to a bad end, and the folk that
choose it repent their choice for ever.
"And as for the narrow road, all hampered and hindered by the thorns and
the briars, there be few that be troubled to ask where that leadeth to.
But did they ask, perchance more of them might be stirred up to set out
along it. For that is the Road of Righteousness; and, although it be
hard and irksome, yet it endeth in a glorious City, which is called the
City of the Great King.
"And the third road--the bonnie road--that runs up the brae among the
ferns, and leadeth no mortal kens whither, but I ken where it leadeth,
Thomas--for it leadeth unto fair Elf-land; and that road take we.
"And, mark 'ee, Thomas, if ever thou hopest to see thine own Tower of
Ercildoune again, take care of thy tongue when we reach our journey's
end, and speak no single word to anyone save me--for the mortal who
openeth his lips rashly in Fairy-land must bide there for ever."
Then she bade him mount her palfrey again, and they rode on. The ferny
road was not so bonnie all the way as it had been at first, however. For
they had not ridden along it very far before it led them into a narrow
ravine, which seemed to go right down under the earth, where there was
no ray of light to guide them, and where the air was dank and heavy.
There was a sound of rushing water everywhere, and at last the grey
palfrey plunged right into it; and it crept up, cold and chill, first
over Thomas's feet, and then over his knees.
His courage had been slowly ebbing ever since he had been parted from
the daylight, but now he gave himself up for lost; for it seemed to him
certain that his strange companion and he would never come safe to their
journey's end.
He fell forward in a kind of swoon; and, if it had not been that he had
tight hold of the Fairy's ash-grey gown, I warrant he had fallen from
his seat, and had been drowned.
But all things, be they good or bad, pass in time, and at last the
darkness began to lighten, and the light grew stronger, until they were
back in broad sunshine.
Then Thomas took courage, and looked up; and lo, they were riding
through a beautiful orchard, where apples and pears, dates and figs and
wine-berries grew in great abundance. And his tongue was so parched and
dry, and he felt so faint, that he longed for some of the fruit to
restore him.
He stretched out his hand to pluck some of it; but his companion turned
in her saddle and forbade him.
"There is nothing safe for thee to eat here," she said, "save an apple,
which I will give thee presently. If thou touch aught else thou art
bound to remain in Fairy-land for ever."
So poor Thomas had to restrain himself as best he could; and they rode
slowly on, until they came to a tiny tree all covered with red apples.
The Fairy Queen bent down and plucked one, and handed it to her
companion.
"This I can give thee," she said, "and I do it gladly, for these apples
are the Apples of Truth; and whoso eateth them gaineth this reward, that
his lips will never more be able to frame a lie."
Thomas took the apple, and ate it; and for evermore the Grace of Truth
rested on his lips; and that is why, in after years, men called him
"True Thomas."
They had only a little way to go after this, before they came in sight
of a magnificent Castle standing on a hillside.
"Yonder is my abode," said the Queen, pointing to it proudly. "There
dwelleth my Lord and all the Nobles of his court; and, as my Lord hath
an uncertain temper and shows no liking for any strange gallant whom he
sees in my company, I pray thee, both for thy sake and mine, to utter no
word to anyone who speaketh to thee; and, if anyone should ask me who
and what thou art, I will tell them that thou art dumb. So wilt thou
pass unnoticed in the crowd."
With these words the Lady raised her hunting-horn, and blew a loud and
piercing blast; and, as she did so, a marvellous change came over her
again; for her ugly ash-covered gown dropped off her, and the grey in
her hair vanished, and she appeared once more in her green riding-skirt
and mantle, and her face grew young and fair.
And a wonderful change passed over Thomas also; for, as he chanced to
glance downwards, he found that his rough country clothes had been
transformed into a suit of fine brown cloth, and that on his feet he
wore satin shoon.
Immediately the sound of the horn rang out, the doors of the Castle flew
open, and the King hurried out to meet the Queen, accompanied by such a
number of Knights and Ladies, Minstrels and Page-boys, that Thomas, who
had slid from his palfrey, had no difficulty in obeying her wishes and
passing into the Castle unobserved.
Everyone seemed very glad to see the Queen back again, and they crowded
into the Great Hall in her train, and she spoke to them all graciously,
and allowed them to kiss her hand. Then she passed, with her husband, to
a dais at the far end of the huge apartment, where two thrones stood, on
which the Royal pair seated themselves to watch the revels which now
began.
Poor Thomas, meanwhile, stood far away at the other end of the Hall,
feeling very lonely, yet fascinated by the extraordinary scene on which
he was gazing.
For, although all the fine Ladies, and Courtiers, and Knights were
dancing in one part of the Hall, there were huntsmen coming and going in
another part, carrying in great antlered deer, which apparently they had
killed in the chase, and throwing them down in heaps on the floor. And
there were rows of cooks standing beside the dead animals, cutting them
up into joints, and bearing away the joints to be cooked.
Altogether it was such a strange, fantastic scene that Thomas took no
heed of how the time flew, but stood and gazed, and gazed, never
speaking a word to anybody. This went on for three long days, then the
Queen rose from her throne, and, stepping from the dais, crossed the
Hall to where he was standing.
"'Tis time to mount and ride, Thomas," she said, "if thou wouldst ever
see the fair Castle of Ercildoune again."
Thomas looked at her in amazement. "Thou spokest of seven long years,
Lady," he exclaimed, "and I have been here but three days."
The Queen smiled. "Time passeth quickly in Fairy-land, my friend," she
replied. "Thou thinkest that thou hast been here but three days. 'Tis
seven years since we two met. And now it is time for thee to go. I would
fain have had thy presence with me longer, but I dare not, for thine
own sake. For every seventh year an Evil Spirit cometh from the Regions
of Darkness, and carrieth back with him one of our followers, whomsoever
he chanceth to choose. And, as thou art a goodly fellow, I fear that he
might choose thee.
"So, as I would be loth to let harm befall thee, I will take thee back
to thine own country this very night."
Once more the grey palfrey was brought, and Thomas and the Queen mounted
it; and, as they had come, so they returned to the Eildon Tree near the
Huntly Burn.
Then the Queen bade Thomas farewell; and, as a parting gift, he asked
her to give him something that would let people know that he had really
been to Fairy-land.
"I have already given thee the Gift of Truth," she replied. "I will now
give thee the Gifts of Prophecy and Poesie; so that thou wilt be able to
foretell the future, and also to write wondrous verses. And, besides
these unseen gifts, here is something that mortals can see with their
own eyes--a Harp that was fashioned in Fairy-land. Fare thee well, my
friend. Some day, perchance, I will return for thee again."
With these words the Lady vanished, and Thomas was left alone, feeling a
little sorry, if the truth must be told, at parting with such a radiant
Being and coming back to the ordinary haunts of men.
After this he lived for many a long year in his Castle of Ercildoune,
and the fame of his poetry and of his prophecies spread all over the
country, so that people named him True Thomas, and Thomas the Rhymer.
I cannot write down for you all the prophecies which Thomas uttered, and
which most surely came to pass, but I will tell you one or two.
He foretold the Battle of Bannockburn in these words:
"The Burn of Breid
Shall rin fou reid,"
which came to pass on that terrible day when the waters of the little
Bannockburn were reddened by the blood of the defeated English.
He also foretold the Union of the Crowns of England and Scotland, under
a Prince who was the son of a French Queen, and who yet bore the blood
of Bruce in his veins.
"A French Quen shall bearre the Sonne;
Shall rule all Britainne to the sea,
As neere as is the ninth degree,"
which thing came true in 1603, when King James, son of Mary, Queen of
Scots, became Monarch of both countries.
* * * * *
Fourteen long years went by, and people were beginning to forget that
Thomas the Rhymer had ever been in Fairy-land; but at last a day came
when Scotland was at war with England, and the Scottish army was
resting by the banks of the Tweed, not far from the Tower of
Ercildoune.
[Illustration]
And the Master of the Tower determined to make a feast, and invite all
the Nobles and Barons who were leading the army to sup with him.
That feast was long remembered.
For the Laird of Ercildoune took care that everything was as magnificent
as it could possibly be; and when the meal was ended he rose in his
place, and, taking his Elfin Harp, he sang to his assembled guests song
after song of the days of long ago.
The guests listened breathlessly, for they felt that they would never
hear such wonderful music again. And so it fell out.
For that very night, after all the Nobles had gone back to their tents,
a soldier on guard saw, in the moonlight, a snow-white Hart and Hind
moving slowly down the road that ran past the camp.
There was something so unusual about the animals that he called to his
officer to come and look at them. And the officer called to his brother
officers, and soon there was quite a crowd softly following the dumb
creatures, who paced solemnly on, as if they were keeping time to music
unheard by mortal ears.
"There is something uncanny about this," said one soldier at last. "Let
us send for Thomas of Ercildoune, perchance he may be able to tell us if
it be an omen or no."
"Ay, send for Thomas of Ercildoune," cried every one at once. So a
little page was sent in haste to the old Tower to rouse the Rhymer from
his slumbers.
When he heard the boy's message, the Seer's face grew grave and wrapt.
"'Tis a summons," he said softly, "a summons from the Queen of
Fairy-land. I have waited long for it, and it hath come at last."
And when he went out, instead of joining the little company of waiting
men, he walked straight up to the snow-white Hart and Hind. As soon as
he reached them they paused for a moment as if to greet him. Then all
three moved slowly down a steep bank that sloped to the little river
Leader, and disappeared in its foaming waters, for the stream was in
full flood.
And, although a careful search was made, no trace of Thomas of
Ercildoune was found; and to this day the country folk believe that the
Hart and the Hind were messengers from the Elfin Queen, and that he went
back to Fairy-land with them.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: And she set sail for her own Country.]
GOLD-TREE AND SILVER-TREE
In bygone days there lived a little Princess named Gold-Tree, and she
was one of the prettiest children in the whole world.
Although her mother was dead, she had a very happy life, for her father
loved her dearly, and thought that nothing was too much trouble so long
as it gave his little daughter pleasure. But by and by he married again,
and then the little Princess's sorrows began.
For his new wife, whose name, curious to say, was Silver-Tree, was very
beautiful, but she was also very jealous, and she made herself quite
miserable for fear that, some day, she should meet someone who was
better looking than she was herself.
When she found that her step-daughter was so very pretty, she took a
dislike to her at once, and was always looking at her and wondering if
people would think her prettier than she was. And because, in her heart
of hearts, she was afraid that they would do so, she was very unkind
indeed to the poor girl.
At last, one day, when Princess Gold-Tree was quite grown up, the two
ladies went for a walk to a little well which lay, all surrounded by
trees, in the middle of a deep glen.
Now the water in this well was so clear that everyone who looked into it
saw his face reflected on the surface; and the proud Queen loved to come
and peep into its depths, so that she could see her own picture mirrored
in the water.
But to-day, as she was looking in, what should she see but a little
trout, which was swimming quietly backwards and forwards not very far
from the surface.
"Troutie, troutie, answer me this one question," said the Queen. "Am not
I the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"No, indeed, you are not," replied the trout promptly, jumping out of
the water, as he spoke, in order to swallow a fly.
"Who is the most beautiful woman, then?" asked the disappointed Queen,
for she had expected a far different answer.
"Thy step-daughter, the Princess Gold-Tree, without a doubt," said the
little fish; then, frightened by the black look that came upon the
jealous Queen's face, he dived to the bottom of the well.
It was no wonder that he did so, for the Queen's expression was not
pleasant to look at, as she darted an angry glance at her fair young
step-daughter, who was busy picking flowers some little distance away.
Indeed, she was so annoyed at the thought that anyone should say that
the girl was prettier than she was, that she quite lost her
self-control; and when she reached home she went up, in a violent
passion, to her room, and threw herself on the bed, declaring that she
felt very ill indeed.
It was in vain that Princess Gold-Tree asked her what the matter was,
and if she could do anything for her. She would not let the poor girl
touch her, but pushed her away as if she had been some evil thing. So at
last the Princess had to leave her alone, and go out of the apartment,
feeling very sad indeed.
By and by the King came home from his hunting, and he at once asked for
the Queen. He was told that she had been seized with sudden illness, and
that she was lying on her bed in her own room, and that no one, not even
the Court Physician, who had been hastily summoned, could make out what
was wrong with her.
In great anxiety--for he really loved her--the King went up to her
bedside, and asked the Queen how she felt, and if there was anything
that he could do to relieve her.
"Yes, there is one thing that thou couldst do," she answered harshly,
"but I know full well that, even although it is the only thing that will
cure me, thou wilt not do it."
"Nay," said the King, "I deserve better words at thy mouth than these;
for thou knowest that I would give thee aught thou carest to ask, even
if it be the half of my Kingdom."
"Then give me thy daughter's heart to eat," cried the Queen, "for unless
I can obtain that, I will die, and that speedily."
She spoke so wildly, and looked at him in such a strange fashion, that
the poor King really thought that her brain was turned, and he was at
his wits' end what to do. He left the room, and paced up and down the
corridor in great distress, until at last he remembered that that very
morning the son of a great King had arrived from a country far over the
sea, asking for his daughter's hand in marriage.
"Here is a way out of the difficulty," he said to himself. "This
marriage pleaseth me well, and I will have it celebrated at once. Then,
when my daughter is safe out of the country, I will send a lad up the
hillside, and he shall kill a he-goat, and I will have its heart
prepared and dressed, and send it up to my wife. Perhaps the sight of it
will cure her of this madness."
So he had the strange Prince summoned before him, and told him how the
Queen had taken a sudden illness that had wrought on her brain, and had
caused her to take a dislike to the Princess, and how it seemed as if it
would be a good thing if, with the maiden's consent, the marriage could
take place at once, so that the Queen might be left alone to recover
from her strange malady.
Now the Prince was delighted to gain his bride so easily, and the
Princess was glad to escape from her step-mother's hatred, so the
marriage took place at once, and the newly wedded pair set off across
the sea for the Prince's country.
Then the King sent a lad up the hillside to kill a he-goat; and when it
was killed he gave orders that its heart should be dressed and cooked,
and sent to the Queen's apartment on a silver dish. And the wicked woman
tasted it, believing it to be the heart of her step-daughter; and when
she had done so, she rose from her bed and went about the Castle looking
as well and hearty as ever.
I am glad to be able to tell you that the marriage of Princess
Gold-Tree, which had come about in such a hurry, turned out to be a
great success; for the Prince whom she had wedded was rich, and great,
and powerful, and he loved her dearly, and she was as happy as the day
was long.
So things went peacefully on for a year. Queen Silver-Tree was satisfied
and contented, because she thought that her step-daughter was dead;
while all the time the Princess was happy and prosperous in her new
home.
But at the end of the year it chanced that the Queen went once more to
the well in the little glen, in order to see her face reflected in the
water.
And it chanced also that the same little trout was swimming backwards
and forwards, just as he had done the year before. And the foolish Queen
determined to have a better answer to her question this time than she
had last.
"Troutie, troutie," she whispered, leaning over the edge of the well,
"am not I the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"By my troth, thou art not," answered the trout, in his very
straightforward way.
"Who is the most beautiful woman, then?" asked the Queen, her face
growing pale at the thought that she had yet another rival.
"Why, your Majesty's step-daughter, the Princess Gold-Tree, to be sure,"
answered the trout.
The Queen threw back her head with a sigh of relief. "Well, at any rate,
people cannot admire her now," she said, "for it is a year since she
died. I ate her heart for my supper."
"Art thou sure of that, your Majesty?" asked the trout, with a twinkle
in his eye. "Methinks it is but a year since she married the gallant
young Prince who came from abroad to seek her hand, and returned with
him to his own country."
When the Queen heard these words she turned quite cold with rage, for
she knew that her husband had deceived her; and she rose from her knees
and went straight home to the Palace, and, hiding her anger as best she
could, she asked him if he would give orders to have the Long Ship made
ready, as she wished to go and visit her dear step-daughter, for it was
such a very long time since she had seen her.
The King was somewhat surprised at her request, but he was only too glad
to think that she had got over her hatred towards his daughter, and he
gave orders that the Long Ship should be made ready at once.
Soon it was speeding over the water, its prow turned in the direction of
the land where the Princess lived, steered by the Queen herself; for she
knew the course that the boat ought to take, and she was in such haste
to be at her journey's end that she would allow no one else to take the
helm.
Now it chanced that Princess Gold-Tree was alone that day, for her
husband had gone a-hunting. And as she looked out of one of the Castle
windows she saw a boat coming sailing over the sea towards the landing
place. She recognised it as her father's Long Ship, and she guessed only
too well whom it carried on board.
She was almost beside herself with terror at the thought, for she knew
that it was for no good purpose that Queen Silver-Tree had taken the
trouble to set out to visit her, and she felt that she would have given
almost anything she possessed if her husband had but been at home. In
her distress she hurried into the servants' hall.
"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?" she cried, "for I see my
father's Long Ship coming over the sea, and I know that my step-mother
is on board. And if she hath a chance she will kill me, for she hateth
me more than anything else upon earth."
Now the servants worshipped the ground that their young Mistress trod
on, for she was always kind and considerate to them, and when they saw
how frightened she was, and heard her piteous words, they crowded round
her, as if to shield her from any harm that threatened her.
"Do not be afraid, your Highness," they cried; "we will defend thee with
our very lives if need be. But in case thy Lady Step-Mother should have
the power to throw any evil spell over thee, we will lock thee in the
great Mullioned Chamber, then she cannot get nigh thee at all."
Now the Mullioned Chamber was a strong-room, which was in a part of the
castle all by itself, and its door was so thick that no one could
possibly break through it; and the Princess knew that if she were once
inside the room, with its stout oaken door between her and her
step-mother, she would be perfectly safe from any mischief that that
wicked woman could devise.
So she consented to her faithful servants' suggestion, and allowed them
to lock her in the Mullioned Chamber.
So it came to pass that when Queen Silver-Tree arrived at the great door
of the Castle, and commanded the lackey who opened it to take her to his
Royal Mistress, he told her, with a low bow, that that was impossible,
because the Princess was locked in the strong-room of the Castle, and
could not get out, because no one knew where the key was.
(Which was quite true, for the old butler had tied it round the neck of
the Prince's favourite sheep-dog, and had sent him away to the hills to
seek his master.)
"Take me to the door of the apartment," commanded the Queen. "At least I
can speak to my dear daughter through it." And the lackey, who did not
see what harm could possibly come from this, did as he was bid.
"If the key is really lost, and thou canst not come out to welcome me,
dear Gold-Tree," said the deceitful Queen, "at least put thy little
finger through the keyhole that I may kiss it."
The Princess did so, never dreaming that evil could come to her through
such a simple action. But it did. For instead of kissing the tiny
finger, her step-mother stabbed it with a poisoned needle, and, so
deadly was the poison, that, before she could utter a single cry, the
poor Princess fell, as one dead, on the floor.
When she heard the fall, a smile of satisfaction crept over Queen
Silver-Tree's face. "Now I can say that I am the handsomest woman in the
world," she whispered; and she went back to the lackey who stood waiting
at the end of the passage, and told him that she had said all that she
had to say to her daughter, and that now she must return home.
So the man attended her to the boat with all due ceremony, and she set
sail for her own country; and no one in the Castle knew that any harm
had befallen their dear Mistress until the Prince came home from his
hunting with the key of the Mullioned Chamber, which he had taken from
his sheep-dog's neck, in his hand.
[Illustration]
He laughed when he heard the story of Queen Silver-Tree's visit, and
told the servants that they had done well; then he ran upstairs to open
the door and release his wife.
But what was his horror and dismay, when he did so, to find her lying
dead at his feet on the floor.
He was nearly beside himself with rage and grief; and, because he knew
that a deadly poison such as Queen Silver-Tree had used would preserve
the Princess's body so that it had no need of burial, he had it laid on
a silken couch and left in the Mullioned Chamber, so that he could go
and look at it whenever he pleased.
He was so terribly lonely, however, that in a little time he married
again, and his second wife was just as sweet and as good as the first
one had been. This new wife was very happy, there was only one little
thing that caused her any trouble at all, and she was too sensible to
let it make her miserable.
That one thing was that there was one room in the Castle--a room which
stood at the end of a passage by itself--which she could never enter, as
her husband always carried the key. And as, when she asked him the
reason of this, he always made an excuse of some kind, she made up her
mind that she would not seem as if she did not trust him, so she asked
no more questions about the matter.
But one day the Prince chanced to leave the door unlocked, and as he had
never told her not to do so, she went in, and there she saw Princess
Gold-Tree lying on the silken couch, looking as if she were asleep.
"Is she dead, or is she only sleeping?" she said to herself, and she
went up to the couch and looked closely at the Princess. And there,
sticking in her little finger, she discovered a curiously shaped needle.
"There hath been evil work here," she thought to herself. "If that
needle be not poisoned, then I know naught of medicine." And, being
skilled in leechcraft, she drew it carefully out.
In a moment Princess Gold-Tree opened her eyes and sat up, and presently
she had recovered sufficiently to tell the Other Princess the whole
story.
Now, if her step-mother had been jealous, the Other Princess was not
jealous at all; for, when she heard all that had happened, she clapped
her little hands, crying, "Oh, how glad the Prince will be; for although
he hath married again, I know that he loves thee best."
That night the Prince came home from hunting looking very tired and sad,
for what his second wife had said was quite true. Although he loved her
very much, he was always mourning in his heart for his first dear love,
Princess Gold-Tree.
"How sad thou art!" exclaimed his wife, going out to meet him. "Is there
nothing that I can do to bring a smile to thy face?"
"Nothing," answered the Prince wearily, laying down his bow, for he was
too heart-sore even to pretend to be gay.
"Except to give thee back Gold-Tree," said his wife mischievously. "And
that can I do. Thou wilt find her alive and well in the Mullioned
Chamber."
Without a word the Prince ran upstairs, and, sure enough, there was his
dear Gold-Tree, sitting on the couch ready to welcome him.
He was so overjoyed to see her that he threw his arms round her neck and
kissed her over and over again, quite forgetting his poor second wife,
who had followed him upstairs, and who now stood watching the meeting
that she had brought about.
She did not seem to be sorry for herself, however. "I always knew that
thy heart yearned after Princess Gold-Tree," she said. "And it is but
right that it should be so. For she was thy first love, and, since she
hath come to life again, I will go back to mine own people."
"No, indeed thou wilt not," answered the Prince, "for it is thou who
hast brought me this joy. Thou wilt stay with us, and we shall all three
live happily together. And Gold-Tree and thee will become great
friends."
And so it came to pass. For Princess Gold-Tree and the Other Princess
soon became like sisters, and loved each other as if they had been
brought up together all their lives.
In this manner another year passed away, and one evening, in the old
country, Queen Silver-Tree went, as she had done before, to look at her
face in the water of the little well in the glen.
And, as had happened twice before, the trout was there. "Troutie,
troutie," she whispered, "am not I the most beautiful woman in the
world?"
"By my troth, thou art not," answered the trout, as he had answered on
the two previous occasions.
"And who dost thou say is the most beautiful woman now?" asked the
Queen, her voice trembling with rage and vexation.
"I have given her name to thee these two years back," answered the
trout. "The Princess Gold-Tree, of course."
"But she is dead," laughed the Queen. "I am sure of it this time, for it
is just a year since I stabbed her little finger with a poisoned needle,
and I heard her fall down dead on the floor."
"I would not be so sure of that," answered the trout, and without saying
another word he dived straight down to the bottom of the well.
After hearing his mysterious words the Queen could not rest, and at last
she asked her husband to have the Long Ship prepared once more, so that
she could go and see her step-daughter.
The King gave the order gladly; and it all happened as it had happened
before.
She steered the Ship over the sea with her own hands, and when it was
approaching the land it was seen and recognised by Princess Gold-Tree.
The Prince was out hunting, and the Princess ran, in great terror, to
her friend, the Other Princess, who was upstairs in her chamber.
"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?" she cried, "for I see my
father's Long Ship coming, and I know that my cruel step-mother is on
board, and she will try to kill me, as she tried to kill me before. Oh!
come, let us escape to the hills."
"Not at all," replied the Other Princess, throwing her arms round the
trembling Gold-Tree. "I am not afraid of thy Lady Step-Mother. Come with
me, and we will go down to the sea shore to greet her."
So they both went down to the edge of the water, and when Queen
Silver-Tree saw her step-daughter coming she pretended to be very glad,
and sprang out of the boat and ran to meet her, and held out a silver
goblet full of wine for her to drink.
"'Tis rare wine from the East," she said, "and therefore very precious.
I brought a flagon with me, so that we might pledge each other in a
loving cup."
Princess Gold-Tree, who was ever gentle and courteous, would have
stretched out her hand for the cup, had not the Other Princess stepped
between her and her step-mother.
"Nay, Madam," she said gravely, looking the Queen straight in the face;
"it is the custom in this land for the one who offers a loving cup to
drink from it first herself."
"I will follow the custom gladly," answered the Queen, and she raised
the goblet to her mouth. But the Other Princess, who was watching for
closely, noticed that she did not allow the wine that it contained to
touch her lips. So she stepped forward and, as if by accident, struck
the bottom of the goblet with her shoulder. Part of its contents flew
into the Queen's face, and part, before she could shut her mouth, went
down her throat.
So, because of her wickedness, she was, as the Good Book says, caught in
her own net. For she had made the wine so poisonous that, almost before
she had swallowed it, she fell dead at the two Princesses' feet.
No one was sorry for her, for she really deserved her fate; and they
buried her hastily in a lonely piece of ground, and very soon everybody
had forgotten all about her.
As for Princess Gold-Tree, she lived happily and peacefully with her
husband and her friend for the remainder of her life.
[Illustration]
WHIPPETY-STOURIE
I am going to tell you a story about a poor young widow woman, who lived
in a house called Kittlerumpit, though whereabouts in Scotland the house
of Kittlerumpit stood nobody knows.
Some folk think that it stood in the neighbourhood of the Debateable
Land, which, as all the world knows, was on the Borders, where the old
Border Reivers were constantly coming and going; the Scotch stealing
from the English, and the English from the Scotch. Be that as it may,
the widowed Mistress of Kittlerumpit was sorely to be pitied.
For she had lost her husband, and no one quite knew what had become of
him. He had gone to a fair one day, and had never come back again, and
although everybody believed that he was dead, no one knew how he died.
Some people said that he had been persuaded to enlist, and had been
killed in the wars; others, that he had been taken away to serve as a
sailor by the press-gang, and had been drowned at sea.
At any rate, his poor young wife was sorely to be pitied, for she was
left with a little baby-boy to bring up, and, as times were bad, she had
not much to live on.
But she loved her baby dearly, and worked all day amongst her cows, and
pigs, and hens, in order to earn enough money to buy food and clothes
for both herself and him.
Now, on the morning of which I am speaking, she rose very early and went
out to feed her pigs, for rent-day was coming on, and she intended to
take one of them, a great, big, fat creature, to the market that very
day, as she thought that the price that it would fetch would go a long
way towards paying her rent.
And because she thought so, her heart was light, and she hummed a little
song to herself as she crossed the yard with her bucket on one arm and
her baby-boy on the other.
But the song was quickly changed into a cry of despair when she reached
the pig-stye, for there lay her cherished pig on its back, with its legs
in the air and its eyes shut, just as if it were going to breathe its
last breath.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" cried the poor woman, sitting down
on a big stone and clasping her boy to her breast, heedless of the fact
that she had dropped her bucket, and that the pig's-meat was running
out, and that the hens were eating it.
"First I lost my husband, and now I am going to lose my finest pig. The
pig that I hoped would fetch a deal of money."
Now I must explain to you that the house of Kittlerumpit stood on a
hillside, with a great fir wood behind it, and the ground sloping down
steeply in front.
And as the poor young thing, after having a good cry to herself, was
drying her eyes, she chanced to look down the hill, and who should she
see coming up it but an Old Woman, who looked like a lady born.
She was dressed all in green, with a white apron, and she wore a black
velvet hood on her head, and a steeple-crowned beaver hat over that,
something like those, as I have heard tell, that the women wear in
Wales. She walked very slowly, leaning on a long staff, and she gave a
bit hirple now and then, as if she were lame.
As she drew near, the young widow felt it was becoming to rise and
curtsey to the Gentlewoman, for such she saw her to be.
"Madam," she said, with a sob in her voice, "I bid you welcome to the
house of Kittlerumpit, although you find its Mistress one of the most
unfortunate women in the world."
"Hout-tout," answered the old Lady, in such a harsh voice that the young
woman started, and grasped her baby tighter in her arms. "Ye have little
need to say that. Ye have lost your husband, I grant ye, but there were
waur losses at Shirra-Muir. And now your pig is like to die--I could,
maybe, remedy that. But I must first hear how much ye wad gie me if I
cured him."
"Anything that your Ladyship's Madam likes to ask," replied the widow,
too much delighted at having the animal's life saved to think that she
was making rather a rash promise.
"Very good," said the old Dame, and without wasting any more words she
walked straight into the pig-sty.
She stood and looked at the dying creature for some minutes, rocking to
and fro and muttering to herself in words which the widow could not
understand; at least, she could only understand four of them, and they
sounded something like this:
"Pitter-patter,
Haly water."
Then she put her hand into her pocket and drew out a tiny bottle with a
liquid that looked like oil in it. She took the cork out, and dropped
one of her long lady-like fingers into it; then she touched the pig on
the snout and on his ears, and on the tip of his curly tail.
No sooner had she done so than up the beast jumped, and, with a grunt of
contentment, ran off to its trough to look for its breakfast.