There was one time an old man who had three sons, and the two eldest
were bold, bright lads of whom he was proud; but the youngest was so
dull a lout that they called him “Dumbling,” and he must always sit at
the lowest place at table and wait on all the others. He wore ragged
clothes and fared hardly until it came time for his father to die.
Then the father said to the eldest son, “I give thee the roan horse,
the house and all therein. Keep it!”
To the second he said, “I give thee the gray mare and the little field
with all therein. Till it!”
And to poor Dumbling he said: “Thou art good for nothing save to be a
scullion; so take the old broom behind the door!”
For many days after the funeral, the elder brothers spent all their
money in carousing, and the house stood cluttered and unattended;
and the little field lay untilled and unwatered. Only the hearth fire
burned brightly, for Dumbling brought in wood and swept the hearth
clean from day to day.
When the money was all gone and the cellar empty of meat and drink, the
elder brothers rode away, telling Dumbling he could stay and starve.
When he had eaten his last crust, poor Dumbling bethought him that he
must now fare forth into the wide, wide world and seek his fortune. But
as he turned from the cold hearth to go, the house lay all dusty and
cluttered before him; so he took the old broom from behind the door
and set the house to rights, sweeping it clean. Then lo! from where I
cannot tell you, he swept up a rusty brown leather knapsack.
“Come,” said he, “I’ll not go forth empty-handed.” So he swung it over
his shoulder, took his broom in hand, and set out.
But as he passed the little field, he thought: “Father said ‘till
it’; so dig I must.” And he set to work with such a good will that by
evening he had spaded it. Then he stopped to rest by a scarecrow that
had been set up to frighten the birds. About this straw man hung an
old cloak of faded green.
“Come,” said Dumbling, “thou art better clad than I.” And he put the
cloak across his own shoulders and set out to seek his fortune just
as the sun went down. He walked and walked for a long time, until the
stars spangled the dark sky and the owls began to hoot in a large wood
to which he now came.
Seeing no other path but that which entered the forest, Dumbling
pressed on, and suddenly heard a loud quarreling and shouting of rough
voices from behind a clump of bushes. Peeping through them, he saw by
a smoldering fire three robbers, with long mustaches, and with fierce
pistols in their belts and broadswords at their sides, engaged in a
wrangle over a bag of gold.
Running suddenly among them, Dumbling seized the money and was gone
like a flash; and when he had run a mile or so, he marveled to find
that he was not pursued. But you must know that the green cloak from
the scarecrow’s back was one that rendered its wearer invisible, and
though the robbers saw their booty disappear, they each accused the
other, not being able to see Dumbling at all.
When Dumbling had walked a great distance, it began to grow so dark
that he had to feel his way until he saw a faint light, which he found
came from a little hut with a candle in its window.
Knocking at the door, it was opened by a ragged old woman who peered
out, much frightened to hear a voice so near and see nothing. For a
while Dumbling enjoyed her dismay; then he entered, closed the door
behind him with a bang, and removed the green cloak, when the dame saw
a poorly clad lad with tousled hair, and an old broom in his hand.
Then she cried out that he must depart at once, as she was the servant
of three bloody robbers, who would murder them both if they should come
home.
“Well, I only ask a bite and a sup and a sleep by the fire,” said
Dumbling. But she wept and wrung her hands, saying her throat would
surely be cut, and that there was not even a moldy crust in the
cupboard.
“Alas,” said Dumbling, “I have worked and traveled fasting for a day.
How I wish this old knapsack held a capon and a pottle of good wine
therein!” And he pulled at the rusty buckles until it flew open. And
there, indeed, was a lusty, smoking capon and an earthen pottle of
fine wine, with a long, crusty loaf, for this knapsack was enchanted,
and its owner would never want food.
You may be sure they dined well, and then, when the dame had fallen
asleep by the fire, Dumbling took up his broom to clean the hearth,
when he swept up--from where, I cannot tell you--an old pair of leather
top-boots.
Just then a great hullabaloo arose outside. It was the robbers
returning, and their horses’ feet were tramping nearer and nearer, when
the old woman awoke with a cry of “Fly!” and, seeing the boots, she
told Dumbling that none could hear or catch their wearer, as they were
the seven-league boots of silence. So, pulling them on and taking up
his luggage, Dumbling stepped swiftly and invisibly out the door as the
robbers entered, and was far away from there in a jiffy, I can tell you!
And by midnight he had come to a large city which was all illuminated,
and where bells were all ringing, though the citizens who crowded the
streets were mourning and seemed sorrowful.
Doffing the invisible cloak, Dumbling stopped before the door of a
handsome mansion, in whose portico sat an old man in a ragged black
cloak, looking sadly out at the lights. And in reply to a salutation,
he answered civilly enough, and noting the lad’s strange burden,--the
knapsack, the boots, the bag of gold, great cloak, and old birch
broom,--he asked him whither he went and what he did for a living.
“Why, as for the first, honored master,” answered Dumbling, “anywhere!
And for a vocation, I may say I am a broom master, for this birch broom
and these things you see upon me are all I am master of in this world.”
After some talk, the two struck a bargain. Dumbling should serve in the
old man’s house for a penny a day. And before they went to rest, his
master told him the reason for the illumination of the city, and why
he, the owner of so fine a mansion, must be served by a strange lad at
a penny a day.
The king of that city had a daughter fairer than moonlight, but more
black-hearted than midnight, for she was a wicked witch and would marry
no one of her many suitors who could not make her shiver. And this none
could do, for she had a heart of ice, and many a prince, noble and
gentle, had failed in this endeavor and had had his head cut off and
hung on the garden wall to scare the birds away.
Dumbling’s master had seven sons, all of whom tried to make the
princess shiver, and all of whom now lay headless in the churchyard,
while the poor father had vainly spent his vast fortune in the king’s
courts trying to save them. But no unsuccessful suitor lived, for the
law was, “He who fails dies.”
And now the son of a great king had sent heralds to declare his intent
to win the lovely princess, and so the town was all ablaze with rockets
and strings of lanterns in honor of his coming.
For some days after his arrival in the city, Dumbling pondered on all
this as he moved about the mansion, serving his master faithfully for a
penny a day, though he often eked out the scanty board with food from
his enchanted knapsack. The poor master, however, never noticed this,
so sad was he at his great losses.
Soon the king’s son came with a great retinue, and fell into ecstasy
over the beauty of the princess. But he fared no better than all the
rest, and his head would certainly have graced the wall had not his
faithful followers rallied around him, fought a fierce fight with the
king’s soldiers, and, having slaughtered many and burned part of the
town, marched away vowing vengeance.
Now was the poor old king more anxious than ever to wed his daughter,
for, with a great war threatening, he knew he must secure a rich
and powerful ally in the shape of a son-in-law. So he redoubled his
efforts, even sending the princess riding through all the countryside
on a milk-white, silver-trappinged palfrey, with forty noble maidens in
her train, that all might see her beauty.
So it was that Dumbling, the broom master, saw her from his high
balcony as he shook out a dusty tapestry. He marveled at her long,
golden hair falling across her horse’s flanks, and her rose-leaf face,
like some rare flower, smiling at the shouting people; for, though she
had bereaved half the city by her wickedness, they could but worship
her beauty. She, looking up on the balcony, saw only a rosy-cheeked
serving man waving a tapestry, and smiled up at him, as she did on all
men. That smile won the broom master’s heart, and he thereafter could
think of nothing but the princess, and he finally went to his master,
asking a holiday, that he might go and win the princess for his wife.
“Alas, my poor servant,” cried his master, “have you lost your wits?”
And he told again the long list of gentles and nobles whose heads hung
on the garden wall. But go Dumbling would and must.
“Well, then,” said the master, “if it must be, go sweep the courtyard
yet once more, and tell me what you find there.”
So the broom master swept the flagging clean, and lo! he turned up--I
cannot tell you from where--a great stone; whereupon up gushed a
fountain, colder than the mountain snows and sparkling with hundreds of
tiny gold and silver fishes, a lovely sight in the morning sunlight.
“Take thou this cask,” said Dumbling’s master, “and fill it. My sons,
scorning my advice, would have none of it; but it may save your head.”
Wondering, but obedient, the broom master set his cask, the cloak,
boots, and broom into a donkey cart and drove away.
As he passed down the street, neighbors said, “Whither away, broom
master?” And when he answered, “To wed the king’s daughter,” they
laughed, yet were sorry, too. For all liked Dumbling, and one cried:
“They’ll never let you in with those rags! Come, I’ll lend you my coat.”
“If clothes be needed, neighbor,” answered the broom master, “I can
soon provide for that.” And thanking him, Dumbling drove the little
gray donkey to the king’s own tailor, and, taking out the bag of
robbers’ gold, soon had a suit of handsome velvet all overlaid with
silver, a hat with a long, long plume, and stockings of silk above his
gold-buckled shoes. Then to the king’s own barber clattered the cart,
and when, towards evening, his toilet was completed, the broom master
came forth as curled and perfumed an exquisite as ever took the palace
stairs.
When he arrived in the palace yard, he threw his reins to an astonished
groom, and bade the porter carefully to carry up the cask to the king.
But as it was wrapped in the green cloak, the fellow marveled at this
strange, handsome fellow who gave him a burden that he could not see.
His Majesty gave a willing audience to this new suitor, not dismayed
by his queer equipage or the old boots and broom tucked away under his
arm; for wooers of the princess had come in strange guise. He also
consented to the broom master’s demand that the princess must not know
of his coming, and that he must see her asleep.
These arrangements made, the two sat down to supper, and afterwards
drank their wine and talked of this and that until the palace bells
rang midnight, and the king gave the order that the broom master be
shown into the garden where the princess slept in summer.
The broom master, with the cask, broom, boots, and cloak in one great
bundle on his back, followed a page through the silent palace out into
the silent rose perfumed garden.
Here the loveliest princess in all the world slept on a bed of white
satin upon a marble portico overlooking the lake, and her ladies,
wearied by the heat of the midsummer night, slept also upon cushions on
the steps below her, instead of watching, as was their duty.
The broom master’s heart gave a leap as he saw her, so fair, asleep in
the starlight. He wrapped his cloak about him, donned the seven-league
boots of silence, and, walking softly to her couch, turned out the
cask of icy water, which, being under enchantment, had but grown the
colder as it stood.
Ugh! The icy shower drenched her lacy robe and wet her through and
through, the tiny fishes splashed and wriggled coldly all about her,
and, waking with a cry, “I shiver! Oh, I shiver!” she saw that she was
conquered at last.
Then, with a loud scream of rage, she turned herself into a great black
eagle and flew out of the garden away across the prairies. But the
seven-league boots could fly, too. So after her sped the broom master,
flogging her with the birchen broom, until she was glad to alight in
a forest and turn herself into a roaring lion; but the broom master
belabored her so hard she was forced to take to the air again, this
time turning into a lovely white swan; and he, following in her wake,
flogged and flogged until the blood stained her white feathers, and
she was forced to turn again toward the palace garden. And just at
daybreak, with drooping pinions and plaintive cries, she flew over the
garden wall and, dropping her swan form, fell at the broom master’s
feet. Then the golden sun rose over the fair garden, where all the
sweet flowers stretched their little lovely faces up to smile at him,
and all the birds woke to chant his praise.
Then the sleeping ladies woke, too, to see their mistress, all draggled
and disheveled, seated on her couch by the side of a handsome lad, who
was kissing her as if he never meant to stop and vowing to make her a
kind and loving husband.
This he did, for the next day they were wed amidst great rejoicing, and
the broom master and the king’s daughter lived happily forever after.