just outside the window and saw all that was going on.
'Dear Signy,' said Asmund, 'do try to get hold of that piece of
brocade and make the clothes yourself, for really we shall have no
rest day or night with such a noise.'
'I will try,' said Signy; 'it won't be an easy matter, but it's worth
while taking some trouble to have a little peace.'
So she watched for an opportunity and managed to carry off the brocade
the first time the witch left her room. Then she set to work, cutting
out and sewing as best she could, and by the end of six days she had
turned it into an elegant robe with a long train and a mantle. When it
was finished she climbed to the top of her tree and contrived to
throw the clothes on to a table through the open window.
[Illustration: SIGNY AT THE WINDOW]
How delighted the witch was when she found the clothes all finished!
The next time Prince Ring came to see her she gave them to him, and he
paid her many compliments on her skilful work, after which he took
leave of her in the most friendly manner. But he had scarcely left the
house when the witch began to rage as furiously as ever, and never
stopped till her brother Ironhead appeared.
When Asmund saw all these wild doings from his tree he felt he could
no longer keep silence. He went to Prince Ring and said: 'Do come with
me and see the strange things that are happening in the new princess's
room.'
The prince was not a little surprised, but he consented to hide
himself with Asmund behind the panelling of the room, from where they
could see all that went on through a little slit. The witch was raving
and roaring as usual, and said to her brother:
'Once I am married to the king's son I shall be better off than now. I
shall take care to have all that pack of courtiers put to death, and
then I shall send for all my relations to come and live here instead.
I fancy the giants will enjoy themselves very much with me and my
husband.'
When Prince Ring heard this he fell into such a rage that he ordered
the house to be set on fire, and it was burnt to the ground, with the
witch and her brother in it.
Asmund then told the prince about the two oak trees and took him to
see them. The prince was quite astonished at them and at all their
contents, but still more so at the extreme beauty of Signy. He fell in
love with her at once, and entreated her to marry him, which, after a
time, she consented to do. Asmund, on his side, asked for the hand of
Prince Ring's sister, which was gladly granted him, and the double
wedding was celebrated with great rejoicings.
After this Prince Asmund and his bride returned to his country to live
with the king his father. The two couples often met, and lived happily
for many, many years. And that is the end of the story.
[From _Isländische Mährchen_.]
_RÜBEZAHL_
Over all the vast under-world the mountain Gnome Rübezahl was lord;
and busy enough the care of his dominions kept him. There were the
endless treasure chambers to be gone through, and the hosts of gnomes
to be kept to their tasks. Some built strong barriers to hold back the
fiery rivers in the earth's heart, and some had scalding vapours to
change dull stones to precious metal, or were hard at work filling
every cranny of the rocks with diamonds and rubies; for Rübezahl loved
all pretty things. Sometimes the fancy would take him to leave those
gloomy regions, and come out upon the green earth for a while, and
bask in the sunshine and hear the birds sing. And as gnomes live many
hundreds of years he saw strange things. For, the first time he came
up, the great hills were covered with thick forests, in which wild
animals roamed, and Rübezahl watched the fierce fights between bear
and bison, or chased the grey wolves, or amused himself by rolling
great rocks down into the desolate valleys, to hear the thunder of
their fall echoing among the hills. But the next time he ventured
above ground, what was his surprise to find everything changed! The
dark woods were hewn down, and in their place appeared blossoming
orchards surrounding cosy-looking thatched cottages; from every
chimney the blue smoke curled peacefully into the air, sheep and oxen
fed in the flowery meadows, while from the shade of the hedges came
the music of the shepherd's pipe. The strangeness and pleasantness of
the sight so delighted the gnome that he never thought of resenting
the intrusion of these unexpected guests, who, without saying 'by your
leave' or 'with your leave,' had made themselves so very much at home
upon his hills; nor did he wish to interfere with their doings, but
left them in quiet possession of their homes, as a good householder
leaves in peace the swallows who have built their nests under his
eaves. He was indeed greatly minded to make friends with this being
called 'man,' so, taking the form of an old field labourer, he entered
the service of a farmer. Under his care all the crops flourished
exceedingly, but the master proved to be wasteful and ungrateful, and
Rübezahl soon left him, and went to be shepherd to his next neighbour.
He tended the flock so diligently, and knew so well where to lead the
sheep to the sweetest pastures, and where among the hills to look for
any who strayed away, that they too prospered under his care, and not
one was lost or torn by wolves; but this new master was a hard man,
and begrudged him his well-earned wages. So he ran away and went to
serve the judge. Here he upheld the law with might and main, and was a
terror to thieves and evildoers; but the judge was a bad man, who took
bribes, and despised the law. Rübezahl would not be the tool of an
unjust man, and so he told his master, who thereupon ordered him to be
thrown into prison. Of course that did not trouble the gnome at all,
he simply got out through the keyhole, and went away down to his
underground palace, very much disappointed by his first experience of
mankind. But, as time went on, he forgot the disagreeable things that
had happened to him, and thought he would take another look at the
upper world.
[Illustration: THE GNOME FALLS IN LOVE WITH THE PRINCESS]
So he stole into the valley, keeping himself carefully hidden in copse
or hedgerow, and very soon met with an adventure; for, peeping through
a screen of leaves, he saw before him a green lawn where stood a
charming maiden, fresh as the spring, and beautiful to look upon.
Around her upon the grass lay her young companions, as if they had
thrown themselves down to rest after some merry game. Beyond them
flowed a little brook, into which a waterfall leapt from a high rock,
filling the air with its pleasant sound, and making a coolness even in
the sultry noontide. The sight of the maiden so pleased the gnome
that, for the first time, he wished himself a mortal; and, longing for
a better view of the gay company, he changed himself into a raven and
perched upon an oak-tree which overhung the brook. But he soon found
that this was not at all a good plan. He could only see with a raven's
eyes, and feel as a raven feels; and a nest of field-mice at the foot
of the tree interested him far more than the sport of the maidens.
When he understood this he flew down again in a great hurry into the
thicket, and took the form of a handsome young man--that was the best
way--and he fell in love with the girl then and there. The fair maiden
was the daughter of the king of the country, and she often wandered in
the forest with her play fellows gathering the wild flowers and
fruits, till the midday heat drove the merry band to the shady lawn by
the brook to rest, or to bathe in the cool waters. On this particular
morning the fancy took them to wander off again into the wood. This
was Master Rübezahl's opportunity. Stepping out of his hiding-place he
stood in the midst of the little lawn, weaving his magic spells, till
slowly all about him changed, and when the maidens returned at noon to
their favourite resting-place they stood lost in amazement, and almost
fancied that they must be dreaming. The red rocks had become white
marble and alabaster; the stream that murmured and struggled before in
its rocky bed, flowed in silence now in its smooth channel, from which
a clear fountain leapt, to fall again in showers of diamond drops, now
on this side now on that, as the wandering breeze scattered it.
Daisies and forget-me-nots fringed its brink, while tall hedges of
roses and jasmine ringed it round, making the sweetest and daintiest
bower imaginable. To the right and left of the waterfall opened out a
wonderful grotto, its walls and arches glittering with many-coloured
rock-crystals, while in every niche were spread out strange fruits and
sweetmeats, the very sight of which made the princess long to taste
them. She hesitated a while, however, scarcely able to believe her
eyes, and not knowing if she should enter the enchanted spot or fly
from it. But at length curiosity prevailed, and she and her companions
explored to their heart's content, and tasted and examined everything,
running hither and thither in high glee, and calling merrily to each
other.
At last, when they were quite weary, the princess cried out suddenly
that nothing would content her but to bathe in the marble pool, which
certainly did look very inviting; and they all went gaily to this new
amusement. The princess was ready first, but scarcely had she slipped
over the rim of the pool when down--down--down she sank, and vanished
in its depths before her frightened playmates could seize her by so
much as a lock of her floating golden hair!
Loudly did they weep and wail, running about the brink of the pool,
which looked so shallow and so clear, but which had swallowed up their
princess before their eyes. They even sprang into the water and tried
to dive after her, but in vain; they only floated like corks in the
enchanted pool, and could not keep under water for a second.
They saw at last that there was nothing for it but to carry to the
king the sad tidings of his beloved daughter's disappearance. And what
great weeping and lamentation there was in the palace when the
dreadful news was told! The king tore his robes, dashed his golden
crown from his head, and hid his face in his purple mantle for grief
and anguish at the loss of the princess. After the first outburst of
wailing, however, he took heart and hurried off to see for himself the
scene of this strange adventure, thinking, as people will in sorrow,
that there might be some mistake after all. But when he reached the
spot, behold, all was changed again! The glittering grotto described
to him by the maidens had completely vanished, and so had the marble
bath, the bower of jasmine; instead, all was a tangle of flowers, as
it had been of old. The king was so much perplexed that he threatened
the princess's playfellows with all sorts of punishments if they would
not confess something about her disappearance; but as they only
repeated the same story he presently put down the whole affair to the
work of some sprite or goblin, and tried to console himself for his
loss by ordering a grand hunt; for kings cannot bear to be troubled
about anything long.
Meanwhile the princess was not at all unhappy in the palace of her
elfish lover.
When the water-nymphs, who were hiding in readiness, had caught her
and dragged her out of the sight of her terrified maidens, she herself
had not had time to be frightened. They swam with her quickly by
strange underground ways to a palace so splendid that her father's
seemed but a poor cottage in comparison with it, and when she
recovered from her astonishment she found herself seated upon a couch,
wrapped in a wonderful robe of satin fastened with a silken girdle,
while beside her knelt a young man who whispered the sweetest speeches
imaginable in her ear. The gnome, for he it was, told her all about
himself and his great underground kingdom, and presently led her
through the many rooms and halls of the palace, and showed her the
rare and wonderful things displayed in them till she was fairly
dazzled at the sight of so much splendour. On three sides of the
castle lay a lovely garden with masses of gay, sweet flowers, and
velvet lawns all cool and shady, which pleased the eye of the
princess. The fruit trees were hung with golden and rosy apples, and
nightingales sang in every bush, as the gnome and the princess
wandered in the leafy alleys, sometimes gazing at the moon, sometimes
pausing to gather the rarest flowers for her adornment. And all the
time he was thinking to himself that never, during the hundreds of
years he had lived, had he seen so charming a maiden. But the princess
felt no such happiness; in spite of all the magic delights around her
she was sad, though she tried to seem content for fear of displeasing
the gnome. However, he soon perceived her melancholy, and in a
thousand ways strove to dispel the cloud, but in vain. At last he said
to himself: 'Men are sociable creatures, like bees or ants. Doubtless
this lovely mortal is pining for company. Who is there I can find for
her to talk to?'
Thereupon he hastened into the nearest field and dug up a dozen or so
of different roots--carrots, turnips, and radishes--and laying them
carefully in an elegant basket brought them to the princess, who sat
pensive in the shade of the rose-bower.
'Loveliest daughter of earth,' said the gnome, 'banish all sorrow; no
more shall you be lonely in my dwelling. In this basket is all you
need to make this spot delightful to you. Take this little
many-coloured wand, and with a touch give to each root the form you
desire to see.'
With this he left her, and the princess, without an instant's delay,
opened the basket, and touching a turnip, cried eagerly: 'Brunhilda,
my dear Brunhilda! come to me quickly!' And sure enough there was
Brunhilda, joyfully hugging and kissing her beloved princess, and
chattering as gaily as in the old days.
[Illustration: RÜBEZAHL AND THE PRINCESS]
This sudden appearance was so delightful that the princess could
hardly believe her own eyes, and was quite beside herself with the joy
of having her dear playfellow with her once more. Hand in hand they
wandered about the enchanted garden, and gathered the golden apples
from the trees, and when they were tired of this amusement the
princess led her friend through all the wonderful rooms of the
palace, until at last they came to the one in which were kept all the
marvellous dresses and ornaments the gnome had given to his hoped-for
bride. There they found so much to amuse them that the hours passed
like minutes. Veils, girdles, and necklaces were tried on and admired,
the imitation Brunhilda knew so well how to behave herself, and showed
so much taste that nobody would ever have suspected that she was
nothing but a turnip after all. The gnome, who had secretly been
keeping an eye upon them, was very pleased with himself for having so
well understood the heart of a woman; and the princess seemed to him
even more charming than before. She did not forget to touch the rest
of the roots with her magic wand, and soon had all her maidens about
her, and even, as she had two tiny radishes to spare, her favourite
cat, and her little dog whose name was Beni.
And now all went cheerfully in the castle. The princess gave to each
of the maidens her task, and never was mistress better served. For a
whole week she enjoyed the delight of her pleasant company
undisturbed. They all sang, they danced, they played from morning to
night; only the princess noticed that day by day the fresh young faces
of her maidens grew pale and wan, and the mirror in the great marble
hall showed her that she alone still kept her rosy bloom, while
Brunhilda and the rest faded visibly. They assured her that all was
well with them; but, nevertheless, they continued to waste away, and
day by day it became harder to them to take part in the games of the
princess, till at last, one fine morning, when the princess started
from bed and hastened out to join her gay playfellows, she shuddered
and started back at the sight of a group of shrivelled crones, with
bent backs and trembling limbs, who supported their tottering steps
with staves and crutches, and coughed dismally. A little nearer to the
hearth lay the once frolicsome Beni, with all four feet stretched
stiffly out, while the sleek cat seemed too weak to raise his head
from his velvet cushion.
The horrified princess fled to the door to escape from the sight of
this mournful company, and called loudly for the gnome, who appeared
at once, humbly anxious to do her bidding.
'Malicious Sprite,' she cried, 'why do you begrudge me my
playmates--the greatest delight of my lonely hours? Isn't this
solitary life in such a desert bad enough without your turning the
castle into a hospital for the aged? Give my maidens back their youth
and health this very minute, or I will never love you!'
'Sweetest and fairest of damsels,' cried the gnome, 'do not be angry;
everything that is in my power I will do--but do not ask the
impossible. So long as the sap was fresh in the roots the magic staff
could keep them in the forms you desired, but as the sap dried up they
withered away. But never trouble yourself about that, dearest one, a
basket of fresh turnips will soon set matters right, and you can
speedily call up again every form you wish to see. The great green
patch in the garden will provide you with a more lively company.'
So saying the gnome took himself off. And the princess with her magic
wand touched the wrinkled old women, and left them the withered roots
they really were, to be thrown upon the rubbish heap; and with light
feet skipped off across to the meadow to take possession of the
freshly filled basket. But to her surprise she could not find it
anywhere. Up and down the garden she searched, spying into every
corner, but not a sign of it was to be found. By the trellis of grape
vines she met the gnome, who was so much embarrassed at the sight of
her that she became aware of his confusion while he was still quite a
long way off.
'You are trying to tease me,' she cried, as soon as she saw him.
'Where have you hidden the basket? I have been looking for it at least
an hour.'
'Dear queen of my heart,' answered he, 'I pray you to forgive my
carelessness. I promised more than I could perform. I have sought all
over the land for the roots you desire; but they are gathered in, and
lie drying in musty cellars, and the fields are bare and desolate, for
below in the valley winter reigns, only here in your presence spring
is held fast, and wherever your foot is set the gay flowers bloom.
Have patience for a little, and then without fail you shall have your
puppets to play with.'
Almost before the gnome had finished, the disappointed princess turned
away, and marched off to her own apartments, without deigning to
answer him.
The gnome, however, set off above ground as speedily as possible, and
disguising himself as a farmer, bought an ass in the nearest
market-town, and brought it back loaded with sacks of turnip, carrot,
and radish seed. With this he sowed a great field, and sent a vast
army of his goblins to watch and tend it, and to bring up the fiery
rivers from the heart of the earth near enough to warm and encourage
the sprouting seeds. Thus fostered they grew and flourished
marvellously, and promised a goodly crop.
The princess wandered about the field day by day, no other plants or
fruits in all her wonderful garden pleased her as much as these roots;
but still her eyes were full of discontent. And, best of all, she
loved to while away the hours in a shady fir-wood, seated upon the
bank of a little stream, into which she would cast the flowers she had
gathered and watch them float away.
The gnome tried hard by every means in his power to please the
princess and win her love, but little did he guess the real reason of
his lack of success. He imagined that she was too young and
inexperienced to care for him; but that was a mistake, for the truth
was that another image already filled her heart. The young Prince
Ratibor, whose lands joined her father's, had won the heart of the
princess; and the lovers had been looking forward to the coming of
their wedding-day when the bride's mysterious disappearance took
place. The sad news drove Ratibor distracted, and as the days went on,
and nothing could be heard of the princess, he forsook his castle and
the society of men, and spent his days in the wild forests, roaming
about and crying her name aloud to the trees and rocks. Meanwhile, the
maiden, in her gorgeous prison, sighed in secret over her grief, not
wishing to arouse the gnome's suspicions. In her own mind she was
wondering if by any means she might escape from her captivity, and at
last she hit upon a plan.
By this time spring once more reigned in the valley, and the gnome
sent the fires back to their places in the deeps of the earth, for the
roots which they had kept warm through all the cruel winter had now
come to their full size. Day by day the princess pulled up some of
them, and made experiments with them, conjuring up now this longed-for
person, and now that, just for the pleasure of seeing them as they
appeared; but she really had another purpose in view.
One day she changed a tiny turnip into a bee, and sent him off to
bring her some news of her lover.
'Fly, dear little bee, towards the east,' said she, 'to my beloved
Ratibor, and softly hum into his ear that I love him only, but that I
am a captive in the gnome's palace under the mountains. Do not forget
a single word of my greeting, and bring me back a message from my
beloved.'
So the bee spread his shining wings and flew away to do as he was
bidden; but before he was out of sight a greedy swallow made a snatch
at him, and to the great grief of the princess her messenger was eaten
up then and there.
After that, by the power of the wonderful wand she summoned a cricket,
and taught him this greeting:
'Hop, little cricket, to Ratibor, and chirp in his ear that I love
him only, but that I am held captive by the gnome in his palace under
the mountains.'
So the cricket hopped off gaily, determined to do his best to deliver
his message; but, alas! a long-legged stork who was prancing along the
same road caught him in her cruel beak, and before he could say a word
he had disappeared down her throat.
These two unlucky ventures did not prevent the princess from trying
once more.
This time she changed the turnip into a magpie.
'Flutter from tree to tree, chattering bird,' said she, 'till you come
to Ratibor, my love. Tell him that I am a captive, and bid him come
with horses and men, the third day from this, to the hill that rises
from the Thorny Valley.'
The magpie listened, hopped awhile from branch to branch, and then
darted away, the princess watching him anxiously as far as she could
see.
Now Prince Ratibor was still spending his life in wandering about the
woods, and not even the beauty of the spring could soothe his grief.
One day, as he sat in the shade of an oak tree, dreaming of his lost
princess, and sometimes crying her name aloud, he seemed to hear
another voice reply to his, and, starting up, he gazed around him, but
he could see no one, and he had just made up his mind that he must be
mistaken, when the same voice called again, and, looking up sharply,
he saw a magpie which hopped to and fro among the twigs. Then Ratibor
heard with surprise that the bird was indeed calling him by name.
'Poor chatterpie,' said he; 'who taught you to say that name, which
belongs to an unlucky mortal who wishes the earth would open and
swallow up him and his memory for ever?'
Thereupon he caught up a great stone, and would have hurled it at the
magpie, if it had not at that moment uttered the name of the princess.
This was so unexpected that the prince's arm fell helplessly to his
side at the sound, and he stood motionless.
But the magpie in the tree, who, like all the rest of his family, was
not happy unless he could be for ever chattering, began to repeat the
message the princess had taught him; and as soon as he understood it,
Prince Ratibor's heart was filled with joy. All his gloom and misery
vanished in a moment, and he anxiously questioned the welcome
messenger as to the fate of the princess.
But the magpie knew no more than the lesson he had learnt, so he soon
fluttered away; while the prince hurried back to his castle to gather
together a troop of horsemen, full of courage for whatever might
befall.
The princess meanwhile was craftily pursuing her plan of escape. She
left off treating the gnome with coldness and indifference; indeed,
there was a look in her eyes which encouraged him to hope that she
might some day return his love, and the idea pleased him mightily. The
next day, as soon as the sun rose, she made her appearance decked as a
bride, in the wonderful robes and jewels which the fond gnome had
prepared for her. Her golden hair was braided and crowned with myrtle
blossoms, and her flowing veil sparkled with gems. In these
magnificent garments she went to meet the gnome upon the great
terrace.
'Loveliest of maidens,' he stammered, bowing low before her, 'let me
gaze into your dear eyes, and read in them that you will no longer
refuse my love, but will make me the happiest being the sun shines
upon.'
So saying he would have drawn aside her veil; but the princess only
held it more closely about her.
'Your constancy has overcome me,' she said; 'I can no longer oppose
your wishes. But believe my words, and suffer this veil still to hide
my blushes and tears.'
'Why tears, beloved one?' cried the gnome anxiously; 'every tear of
yours falls upon my heart like a drop of molten gold. Greatly as I
desire your love, I do not ask a sacrifice.'
'Ah!' cried the false princess, 'why do you misunderstand my tears? My
heart answers to your tenderness, and yet I am fearful. A wife cannot
always charm, and though _you_ will never alter, the beauty of mortals
is as a flower that fades. How can I be sure that you will always be
as loving and charming as you are now?'
'Ask some proof, sweetheart,' said he. 'Put my obedience and my
patience to some test by which you can judge of my unalterable love.'
'Be it so,' answered the crafty maiden. 'Then give me just one proof
of your goodness. Go! count the turnips in yonder meadow. My wedding
feast must not lack guests. They shall provide me with bride-maidens
too. But beware lest you deceive me, and do not miss a single one.
That shall be the test of your truth towards me.'
Unwilling as the gnome was to lose sight of his beautiful bride for a
moment, he obeyed her commands without delay, and hurried off to begin
his task. He skipped along among the turnips as nimbly as a
grasshopper, and had soon counted them all; but, to be quite certain
that he had made no mistake, he thought he would just run over them
again. This time, to his great annoyance, the number was different; so
he reckoned them for the third time, but now the number was not the
same as either of the previous ones! And this was hardly to be
wondered at, as his mind was full of the princess's pretty looks and
words.
As for the maiden, no sooner was her deluded lover fairly out of sight
than she began to prepare for flight. She had a fine fresh turnip
hidden close at hand, which she changed into a spirited horse, all
saddled and bridled, and, springing upon its back, she galloped away
over hill and dale till she reached the Thorny Valley, and flung
herself into the arms of her beloved Prince Ratibor.
Meanwhile the toiling gnome went through his task over and over again
till his back ached and his head swam, and he could no longer put two
and two together; but as he felt tolerably certain of the exact number
of turnips in the field, big and little together, he hurried back
eager to prove to his beloved one what a delightful and submissive
husband he would be. He felt very well satisfied with himself as he
crossed the mossy lawn to the place where he had left her; but, alas!
she was no longer there.
He searched every thicket and path, he looked behind every tree, and
gazed into every pond, but without success; then he hastened into the
palace and rushed from room to room, peering into every hole and
corner and calling her by name; but only echo answered in the marble
halls--there was neither voice nor footstep.
Then he began to perceive that something was amiss, and, throwing off
the mortal form that encumbered him, he flew out of the palace, and
soared high into the air, and saw the fugitive princess in the far
distance just as the swift horse carried her across the boundary of
his dominions.
Furiously did the enraged gnome fling two great clouds together, and
hurl a thunderbolt after the flying maiden, splintering the rocky
barriers which had stood a thousand years. But his fury was vain, the
thunderclouds melted away into a soft mist, and the gnome, after
flying about for a while in despair, bewailing to the four winds his
unhappy fate, went sorrowfully back to the palace, and stole once more
through every room, with many sighs and lamentations. He passed
through the gardens which for him had lost their charm, and the sight
of the princess's footprints on the golden sand of the pathway renewed
his grief. All was lonely, empty, sorrowful; and the forsaken gnome
resolved that he would have no more dealings with such false creatures
as he had found men to be.
Thereupon he stamped three times upon the earth, and the magic
palace, with all its treasures, vanished away into the nothingness out
of which he had called it; and the gnome fled once more to the depths
of his underground kingdom.
* * * * *
While all this was happening, Prince Ratibor was hurrying away with
his prize to a place of safety. With great pomp and triumph he
restored the lovely princess to her father, and was then and there
married to her, and took her back with him to his own castle.
But long after she was dead, and her children too, the villagers would
tell the tale of her imprisonment underground, as they sat carving
wood in the winter nights.
[_Volksmährchen der Deutschen._]
_STORY OF THE KING WHO WOULD BE STRONGER THAN FATE_
Once upon a time, far away in the east country, there lived a king who
loved hunting so much that, when once there was a deer in sight, he
was careless of his own safety. Indeed, he often became quite
separated from his nobles and attendants, and in fact was particularly
fond of lonely adventures. Another of his favourite amusements was to
give out that he was not well, and could not be seen; and then, with
the knowledge only of his faithful Grand Wazeer, to disguise himself
as a pedlar, load a donkey with cheap wares, and travel about. In this
way he found out what the common people said about him, and how his
judges and governors fulfilled their duties.
One day his queen presented him with a baby daughter as beautiful as
the dawn, and the king himself was so happy and delighted that, for a
whole week, he forgot to hunt, and spent the time in public and
private rejoicing.
Not long afterwards, however, he went out after some deer which were
to be found in a far corner of his forests. In the course of the beat
his dogs disturbed a beautiful snow-white stag, and directly he saw it
the king determined that he would have it at any cost. So he put the
spurs to his horse, and followed it as hard as he could gallop. Of
course all his attendants followed at the best speed that they could
manage; but the king was so splendidly mounted, and the stag was so
swift, that, at the end of an hour, the king found that only his
favourite hound and himself were in the chase; all the rest were far,
far behind and out of sight.
Nothing daunted, however, he went on and on, till he perceived that he
was entering a valley with great rocky mountains on all sides, and
that his horse was getting very tired and trembled at every stride.
Worse than all evening was already drawing on, and the sun would soon
set. In vain had he sent arrow after arrow at the beautiful stag.
Every shot fell short, or went wide of the mark; and at last, just as
darkness was setting in, he lost sight altogether of the beast. By
this time his horse could hardly move from fatigue, his hound
staggered panting along beside him, he was far away amongst mountains
where he had never been before, and had quite missed his way, and not
a human creature or dwelling was in sight.
All this was very discouraging, but the king would not have minded if
he had not lost that beautiful stag. That troubled him a good deal,
but he never worried over what he could not help, so he got down from
his horse, slipped his arm through the bridle, and led the animal
along the rough path in hopes of discovering some shepherd's hut, or,
at least, a cave or shelter under some rock, where he might pass the
night.
Presently he heard the sound of rushing water, and made towards it. He
toiled over a steep rocky shoulder of a hill, and there, just below
him, was a stream dashing down a precipitous glen, and, almost beneath
his feet, twinkling and flickering from the level of the torrent, was
a dim light as of a lamp. Towards this light the king with his horse
and hound made his way, sliding and stumbling down a steep, stony
path. At the bottom the king found a narrow grassy ledge by the brink
of the stream, across which the light from a rude lantern in the mouth
of a cave shed a broad beam of uncertain light. At the edge of the
stream sat an old hermit with a long white beard, who neither spoke
nor moved as the king approached, but sat throwing into the stream
dry leaves which lay scattered about the ground near him.
'Peace be upon you,' said the king, giving the usual country
salutation.
'And upon you peace,' answered the hermit; but still he never looked
up, nor stopped what he was doing.
For a minute or two the king stood watching him. He noticed that the
hermit threw two leaves in at a time, and watched them attentively.
Sometimes both were carried rapidly down by the stream; sometimes only
one leaf was carried off, and the other, after whirling slowly round
and round on the edge of the current, would come circling back on an
eddy to the hermit's feet. At other times both leaves were held in the
backward eddy, and failed to reach the main current of the noisy
stream.
'What are you doing?' asked the king at last, and the hermit replied
that he was reading the fates of men; every one's fate, he said, was
settled from the beginning, and, whatever it were, there was no escape
from it. The king laughed.
'I care little,' he said, 'what my fate may be; but I should be
curious to know the fate of my little daughter.'
'I cannot say,' answered the hermit.
'Do you not know, then?' demanded the king.
'I might know,' returned the hermit, 'but it is not always wisdom to
know much.'
But the king was not content with this reply, and began to press the
old man to say what he knew, which for a long time he would not do. At
last, however, the king urged him so greatly that he said:
'The king's daughter will marry the son of a poor slave-girl called
Puruna, who belongs to the king of the land of the north. There is no
escaping from Fate.'
The king was wild with anger at hearing these words, but he was also
very tired; so he only laughed, and answered that he hoped there would
be a way out of _that_ fate anyhow. Then he asked if the hermit could
shelter him and his beasts for the night, and the hermit said 'Yes';
so, very soon the king had watered and tethered his horse, and, after
a supper of bread and parched peas, lay down in the cave, with the
hound at his feet, and tried to go to sleep. But instead of sleeping
he only lay awake and thought of the hermit's prophecy; and the more
he thought of it the angrier he felt, until he gnashed his teeth and
declared that it should never, never come true.
Morning came, and the king got up, pale and sulky, and, after learning
from the hermit which path to take, was soon mounted and found his way
home without much difficulty. Directly he reached his palace he wrote
a letter to the king of the land of the north, begging him, as a
favour, to sell him his slave girl Puruna and her son, and saying
that, if he consented, he would send a messenger to receive them at
the river which divided the kingdoms.
For five days he awaited the reply, and hardly slept or ate, but was
as cross as could be all the time. On the fifth day his messenger
returned with a letter to say that the king of the land of the north
would not sell, but he would give, the king the slave girl and her
son. The king was overjoyed. He sent for his Grand Wazeer and told him
that he was going on one of his lonely expeditions, and that the
Wazeer must invent some excuse to account for his absence. Next he
disguised himself as an ordinary messenger, mounted a swift camel, and
sped away to the place where the slave girl was to be handed over to
him. When he got there he gave the messengers who brought her a letter
of thanks and a handsome present for their master and rewards for
themselves; and then without delay he took the poor woman and her tiny
boy-baby up on to his camel and rode off to a wild desert.
After riding for a day and a night, almost without stopping, he came
to a great cave where he made the woman dismount, and, taking her and
the baby into the cave, he drew his sword and with one blow chopped
her head off. But although his anger made him cruel enough for
anything so dreadful, the king felt that he could not turn his great
sword on the helpless baby, who he was sure must soon die in this
solitary place without its mother; so he left it in the cave where it
was, and, mounting his camel, rode home as fast as he could.
Now, in a small village in his kingdom there lived an old widow who
had no children or relations of any kind. She made her living mostly
by selling the milk of a flock of goats; but she was very, very poor,
and not very strong, and often used to wonder how she would live if
she got too weak or ill to attend to her goats. Every morning she
drove the goats out into the desert to graze on the shrubs and bushes
which grew there, and every evening they came home of themselves to be
milked and to be shut up safely for the night.
One evening the old woman was astonished to find that her very best
nanny-goat returned without a drop of milk. She thought that some
naughty boy or girl was playing a trick upon her and had caught the
goat on its way home and stolen all the milk. But when evening after
evening the goat remained almost dry she determined to find out who
the thief was. So the next day she followed the goats at a distance
and watched them while they grazed. At length, in the afternoon, the
old woman noticed this particular nanny-goat stealing off by herself
away from the herd and she at once went after her. On and on the goat
walked for some way, and then disappeared into a cave in the rocks.
The old woman followed the goat into the cave and then, what should
she see but the animal giving her milk to a little boy-baby, whilst on
the ground near by lay the sad remains of the baby's dead mother!
Wondering and frightened, the old woman thought at last that this
little baby might be a son to her in her old age, and that he would
grow up and in time to come be her comfort and support. So she carried
home the baby to her hut, and next day she took a spade to the cave
and dug a grave where she buried the poor mother.
Years passed by, and the baby grew up into a fine handsome lad, as
daring as he was beautiful, and as industrious as he was brave. One
day, when the boy, whom the old woman had named Nur Mahomed, was about
seventeen years old, he was coming from his day's work in the fields,
when he saw a strange donkey eating the cabbages in the garden which
surrounded their little cottage. Seizing a big stick, he began to beat
the intruder and to drive him out of his garden. A neighbour passing
by called out to him--'Hi! I say! why are you beating the pedlar's
donkey like that?'
'The pedlar should keep him from eating my cabbages,' said Nur
Mahomed; 'if he comes this evening here again I'll cut off his tail
for him!'
Whereupon he went off indoors, whistling cheerfully. It happened that
this neighbour was one of those people who make mischief by talking
too much; so, meeting the pedlar in the 'serai,' or inn, that evening,
he told him what had occurred, and added: 'Yes; and the young spitfire
said that if beating the donkey would not do, he would beat you also,
and cut your nose off for a thief!'
A few days later, the pedlar having moved on, two men appeared in the
village inquiring who it was who had threatened to ill-treat and to
murder an innocent pedlar. They declared that the pedlar, in fear of
his life, had complained to the king; and that they had been sent to
bring the lawless person who had said these things before the king
himself. Of course they soon found out about the donkey eating Nur
Mahomed's cabbages, and about the young man's hot words; but although
the lad assured them that he had never said anything about murdering
anyone, they replied they were ordered to arrest him, and bring him to
take his trial before the king. So, in spite of his protests, and the
wails of his mother, he was carried off, and in due time brought
before the king. Of course Nur Mahomed never guessed that the
supposed pedlar happened to have been the king himself, although
nobody knew it.
But as he was very angry at what he had been told, he declared that he
was going to make an example of this young man, and intended to teach
him that even poor travelling pedlars could get justice in _his_
country, and be protected from such lawlessness. However, just as he
was going to pronounce some very heavy sentence, there was a stir in
the court, and up came Nur Mahomed's old mother, weeping and
lamenting, and begging to be heard. The king ordered her to speak, and
she began to plead for the boy, declaring how good he was, and how he
was the support of her old age, and if he were put in prison she would
die. The king asked her who she was. She replied that she was his
mother.
'His mother?' said the king; 'you are too old, surely, to have so
young a son!'
Then the old woman, in her fright and distress, confessed the whole
story of how she found the baby, and how she rescued and brought him
up, and ended by beseeching the king for mercy.
It is easy to guess how, as the story came out, the king looked
blacker and blacker, and more and more grim, until at last he was half
fainting with rage and astonishment. This, then, was the baby he had
left to die, after cruelly murdering his mother! Surely fate might
have spared him this! He wished he had sufficient excuse to put the
boy to death, for the old hermit's prophecy came back to him as
strongly as ever; and yet the young man had done nothing bad enough to
deserve such a punishment. Everyone would call him a tyrant if he were
to give such an order--in fact, he dared not try it!
At length he collected himself enough to say:--'If this young man will
enlist in my army I will let him off. We have need of such as him, and
a little discipline will do him good.' Still the old woman pleaded
that she could not live without her son, and was nearly as terrified
at the idea of his becoming a soldier as she was at the thought of his
being put in prison. But at length the king--determined to get the
youth into his clutches--pacified her by promising her a pension large
enough to keep her in comfort; and Nur Mahomed, to his own great
delight, was duly enrolled in the king's army.
As a soldier Nur Mahomed seemed to be in luck. He was rather
surprised, but much pleased, to find that he was always one of those
chosen when any difficult or dangerous enterprise was afoot; and,
although he had the narrowest escapes on some occasions, still, the
very desperateness of the situations in which he found himself gave
him special chances of displaying his courage. And as he was also
modest and generous, he became a favourite with his officers and his
comrades.
Thus it was not very surprising that, before very long, he became
enrolled amongst the picked men of the king's bodyguard. The fact is,
that the king had hoped to have got him killed in some fight or
another; but, seeing that, on the contrary, he throve on hard knocks,
he was now determined to try more direct and desperate methods.
One day, soon after Nur Mahomed had entered the bodyguard, he was
selected to be one of the soldiers told off to escort the king through
the city. The procession was marching on quite smoothly, when a man,
armed with a dagger, rushed out of an alley straight towards the king.
Nur Mahomed, who was the nearest of the guards, threw himself in the
way, and received the stab that had been apparently intended for the
king. Luckily the blow was a hurried one, and the dagger glanced on
his breastbone, so that, although he received a severe wound, his
youth and strength quickly got the better of it. The king was, of
course, obliged to take some notice of this brave deed, and as a
reward made him one of his own attendants.
After this the strange adventures the young man passed through were
endless. Officers of the bodyguard were often sent on all sorts of
secret and difficult errands, and such errands had a curious way of
becoming necessary when Nur Mahomed was on duty. Once, while he was
taking a journey, a foot-bridge gave way under him; once he was
attacked by armed robbers; a rock rolled down upon him in a mountain
pass; a heavy stone coping fell from a roof at his feet in a narrow
city alley. Altogether, Nur Mahomed began to think that, somewhere or
other, he had made an enemy; but he was light-hearted, and the thought
did not much trouble him. He escaped somehow every time, and felt
amused rather than anxious about the next adventure.
It was the custom of that city that the officer for the day of the
palace guards should receive all his food direct from the king's
kitchen. One day, when Nur Mahomed's turn came to be on duty, he was
just sitting down to a delicious stew that had been sent in from the
palace, when one of those gaunt, hungry dogs, which, in eastern
countries, run about the streets, poked his nose in at the open
guard-room door, and looked at Nur Mahomed with mouth watering and
nostrils working. The kind-hearted young man picked out a lump of
meat, went to the door, and threw it outside to him. The dog pounced
upon it, and gulped it down greedily, and was just turning to go, when
it staggered, fell, rolled over, and died. Nur Mahomed, who had been
lazily watching him, stood still for a moment, then he came back
whistling softly. He gathered up the rest of his dinner and carefully
wrapped it up to carry away and bury somewhere; and then he sent back
the empty plates.
How furious the king was when, at the next morning's durbar, Nur
Mahomed appeared before him fresh, alert, and smiling as usual. He was
determined, however, to try once more, and bidding the young man come
into his presence that evening, gave orders that he was to carry a
secret despatch to the governor of a distant province. 'Make your
preparations at once,' added he, 'and be ready to start in the
morning. I myself will deliver you the papers at the last moment.'
Now this province was four or five days' journey from the palace, and
the governor of it was the most faithful servant the king had. He
could be silent as the grave, and prided himself on his obedience.
Whilst he was an old and tried servant of the king's, his wife had
been almost a mother to the young princess ever since the queen had
died some years before. It happened that, a little before this time,
the princess had been sent away for her health to another remote
province; and whilst she was there her old friend, the governor's
wife, had begged her to come and stay with them as soon as she could.
The princess accepted gladly, and was actually staying in the
governor's house at the very time when the king made up his mind to
send Nur Mahomed there with the mysterious despatch.
According to orders Nur Mahomed presented himself early the next
morning at the king's private apartments. His best horse was saddled,
food placed in his saddle-bag, and with some money tied up in his
waistband, he was ready to start. The king handed over to him a sealed
packet, desiring him to give it himself only into the hands of the
governor, and to no one else. Nur Mahomed hid it carefully in his
turban, swung himself into the saddle, and five minutes later rode out
of the city gates, and set out on his long journey.
The weather was very hot; but Nur Mahomed thought that the sooner his
precious letter was delivered the better; so that, by dint of riding
most of each night and resting only in the hottest part of the day, he
found himself, by noon on the third day, approaching the town which
was his final destination.
Not a soul was to be seen anywhere; and Nur Mahomed, stiff, dry,
thirsty, and tired, looked longingly over the wall into the gardens,
and marked the fountains, the green grass, the shady apricot orchards,
and giant mulberry trees, and wished he were there.
At length he reached the castle gates, and was at once admitted, as he
was in the uniform of the king's bodyguard. The governor was resting,
the soldier said, and could not see him until the evening. So Nur
Mahomed handed over his horse to an attendant, and wandered down into
the lovely gardens he had seen from the road, and sat down in the
shade to rest himself. He flung himself on his back and watched the
birds twittering and chattering in the trees above him. Through the
branches he could see great patches of sky where the kites wheeled and
circled incessantly, with shrill whistling cries. Bees buzzed over the
flowers with a soothing sound, and in a few minutes Nur Mahomed was
fast asleep.
Every day, through the heat of the afternoon, the governor, and his
wife also, used to lie down for two or three hours in their own rooms,
and so, for the matter of that, did most people in the palace. But the
princess, like many other girls, was restless, and preferred to wander
about the garden, rather than rest on a pile of soft cushions. What a
torment her stout old attendants and servants sometimes thought her
when she insisted on staying awake, and making them chatter or do
something, when they could hardly keep their eyes open! Sometimes,
however, the princess would pretend to go to sleep, and then, after
all her women had gladly followed her example, she would get up and go
out by herself, her veil hanging loosely about her. If she was
discovered her old hostess scolded her severely; but the princess only
laughed, and did the same thing next time.
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS STEALS THE KING'S LETTER]
This very afternoon the princess had left all her women asleep, and,
after trying in vain to amuse herself indoors, she had slipped out
into the great garden, and rambled about in all her favourite nooks
and corners, feeling quite safe as there was not a creature to be
seen. Suddenly, on turning a corner, she stopped in surprise, for
before her lay a man fast asleep! In her hurry she had almost tripped
over him. But there he was, a young man, tanned and dusty with travel,
in the uniform of an officer of the king's guard. One of the few
faults of this lovely princess was a devouring curiosity, and she
lived such an idle life that she had plenty of time to be curious. Out
of one of the folds of this young man's turban there peeped the corner
of a letter! She wondered what the letter was--whom it was for! She
drew her veil a little closer, and stole across on tip-toe and caught
hold of the corner of the letter. Then she pulled it a little, and
just a little more! A great big seal came into view, which she saw to
be her father's, and at the sight of it she paused for a minute half
ashamed of what she was doing. But the pleasure of taking a letter
which was not meant for her was more than she could resist, and in
another moment it was in her hand. All at once she remembered that it
would be death to this poor officer if he lost the letter, and that at
all hazards she must put it back again. But this was not so easy; and,
moreover, the letter in her hand burnt her with longing to read it,
and see what was inside. She examined the seal. It was sticky with
being exposed to the hot sun, and with a very little effort it parted
from the paper. The letter was open and she read it! And this was what
was written:
'Behead the messenger who brings this letter secretly and at once. Ask
no questions.'
The girl grew pale. What a shame! she thought. _She_ would not let a
handsome young fellow like that be beheaded; but how to prevent it was
not quite clear at the moment. Some plan must be invented, and she
wished to lock herself in where no one could interrupt her, as might
easily happen in the garden. So she crept softly to her room, and took
a piece of paper and wrote upon it: 'Marry the messenger who brings
this letter to the princess openly at once. Ask no questions.' And
even contrived to work the seals off the original letter and to fix
them to this, so that no one could tell, unless they examined it
closely, that it had ever been opened. Then she slipped back, shaking
with fear and excitement, to where the young officer still lay
asleep, thrust the letter into the folds of his turban, and hurried
back to her room. It was done!
Late in the afternoon Nur Mahomed woke, and, making sure that the
precious despatch was still safe, went off to get ready for his
audience with the governor. As soon as he was ushered into his
presence he took the letter from his turban and placed it in the
governor's hands according to orders. When he had read it the governor
was certainly a little astonished; but he was told in the letter to
'ask no questions,' and he knew how to obey orders. He sent for his
wife and told her to get the princess ready to be married at once.
'Nonsense!' said his wife, 'what in the world do you mean?'
'These are the king's commands,' he answered; 'go and do as I bid you.
The letter says "at once," and "ask no questions." The marriage,
therefore, must take place this evening.'
In vain did his wife urge every objection; the more she argued, the
more determined was her husband. 'I know how to obey orders,' he said,
'and these are as plain as the nose on my face!' So the princess was
summoned, and, somewhat to their surprise, she seemed to take the news
very calmly; next Nur Mahomed was informed, and he was greatly
startled, but of course he could but be delighted at the great and
unexpected honour which he thought the king had done him. Then all the
castle was turned upside down; and when the news spread in the town,
_that_ was turned upside down too. Everybody ran everywhere, and tried
to do everything at once; and, in the middle of it all, the old
governor went about with his hair standing on end, muttering something
about 'obeying orders.'
And so the marriage was celebrated, and there was a great feast in the
castle, and another in the soldiers' barracks, and illuminations all
over the town and in the beautiful gardens. And all the people
declared that such a wonderful sight had never been seen, and talked
about it to the ends of their lives.
The next day the governor despatched the princess and her bridegroom
to the king, with a troop of horsemen, splendidly dressed, and he sent
a mounted messenger on before them, with a letter giving the account
of the marriage to the king.
When the king got the governor's letter, he grew so red in the face
that everyone thought he was going to have apoplexy. They were all
very anxious to know what had happened, but he rushed off and locked
himself into a room, where he ramped and raved until he was tired.
Then, after awhile, he began to think he had better make the best of
it, especially as the old governor had been clever enough to send him
back his letter, and the king was pretty sure that this was in the
princess's handwriting. He was fond of his daughter, and though she
had behaved so badly, he did not wish to cut _her_ head off, and he
did not want people to know the truth because it would make him look
foolish. In fact, the more he considered the matter, the more he felt
that he would be wise to put a good face on it, and to let people
suppose that he had really brought about the marriage of his own free
will.
So, when the young couple arrived, the king received them with all
state, and gave his son-in-law a province to govern. Nur Mahomed soon
proved himself as able and honourable a governor as he was a brave
soldier; and, when the old king died, he became king in his place, and
reigned long and happily.
Nur Mahomed's old mother lived for a long time in her 'son's' palace,
and died in peace. The princess, his wife, although she had got her
husband by a trick, found that she could not trick _him_, and so she
never tried, but busied herself in teaching her children and scolding
her maids. As for the old hermit, no trace of him was ever discovered;
but the cave is there, and the leaves lie thick in front of it unto
this day.
[Told the writer by an Indian.]
_STORY OF WALI DÂD THE SIMPLE-HEARTED_
Once upon a time there lived a poor old man whose name was Wali Dâd
Gunjay, or Wali Dâd the Bald. He had no relations, but lived all by
himself in a little mud hut some distance from any town, and made his
living by cutting grass in the jungle, and selling it as fodder for
horses. He only earned by this five halfpence a day; but he was a
simple old man, and needed so little out of it, that he saved up one
halfpenny daily, and spent the rest upon such food and clothing as he
required.
In this way he lived for many years until, one night, he thought that
he would count the money he had hidden away in the great earthen pot
under the floor of his hut. So he set to work, and with much trouble
he pulled the bag out on to the floor, and sat gazing in astonishment
at the heap of coins which tumbled out of it. What should he do with
them all? he wondered. But he never thought of spending the money on
himself, because he was content to pass the rest of his days as he had
been doing for ever so long, and he really had no desire for any
greater comfort or luxury.
At last he threw all the money into an old sack, which he pushed under
his bed, and then, rolled in his ragged old blanket, he went off to
sleep.
Early next morning he staggered off with his sack of money to the shop
of a jeweller, whom he knew in the town, and bargained with him for a
beautiful little gold bracelet. With this carefully wrapped up in his
cotton waistband he went to the house of a rich friend, who was a
travelling merchant, and used to wander about with his camels and
merchandise through many countries. Wali Dâd was lucky enough to find
him at home, so he sat down, and after a little talk he asked the
merchant who was the most virtuous and beautiful lady he had ever met
with. The merchant replied that the princess of Khaistân was renowned
everywhere as well for the beauty of her person as for the kindness
and generosity of her disposition.
'Then,' said Wali Dâd, 'next time you go that way, give her this
little bracelet, with the respectful compliments of one who admires
virtue far more than he desires wealth.'
With that he pulled the bracelet from his waistband, and handed it to
his friend. The merchant was naturally much astonished, but said
nothing, and made no objection to carrying out his friend's plan.
Time passed by, and at length the merchant arrived in the course of
his travels at the capital of Khaistân. As soon as he had opportunity
he presented himself at the palace, and sent in the bracelet, neatly
packed in a little perfumed box provided by himself, giving at the
same time the message entrusted to him by Wali Dâd.
The princess could not think who could have bestowed this present on
her, but she bade her servant to tell the merchant that if he would
return, after he had finished his business in the city, she would give
him her reply. In a few days, therefore, the merchant came back, and
received from the princess a return present in the shape of a
camel-load of rich silks, besides a present of money for himself. With
these he set out on his journey.
Some months later he got home again from his journeyings, and
proceeded to take Wali Dâd the princess's present. Great was the
perplexity of the good man to find a camel-load of silks tumbled at
his door! What was he to do with these costly things? But, presently,
after much thought, he begged the merchant to consider whether he did
not know of some young prince to whom such treasures might be useful.
'Of course,' cried the merchant, greatly amused; 'from Delhi to
Baghdad, and from Constantinople to Lucknow, I know them all; and
there lives none worthier than the gallant and wealthy young prince of
Nekabad.'
'Very well, then, take the silks to him, with the blessing of an old
man,' said Wali Dâd, much relieved to be rid of them.
So, the next time that the merchant journeyed that way he carried the
silks with him, and in due course arrived at Nekabad, and sought an
audience of the prince. When he was shown into his presence he
produced the beautiful gift of silks that Wali Dâd had sent, and
begged the young man to accept them as a humble tribute to his worth
and greatness. The prince was much touched by the generosity of the
giver, and ordered, as a return present, twelve of the finest breed of
horses for which his country was famous to be delivered over to the
merchant, to whom also, before he took his leave, he gave a munificent
reward for his services.
As before, the merchant at last arrived at home; and next day, he set
out for Wali Dâd's house with the twelve horses. When the old man saw
them coming in the distance he said to himself: 'Here's luck! a troop
of horses coming! They are sure to want quantities of grass, and I
shall sell all I have without having to drag it to market.' Thereupon
he rushed off and cut grass as fast as he could. When he got back,
with as much grass as he could possibly carry, he was greatly
discomfited to find that the horses were all for himself. At first he
could not think what to do with them, but, after a little, a brilliant
idea struck him! He gave two to the merchant, and begged him to take
the rest to the princess of Khaistân, who was clearly the fittest
person to possess such beautiful animals.
The merchant departed, laughing. But, true to his old friend's
request, he took the horses with him on his next journey, and
eventually presented them safely to the princess. This time the
princess sent for the merchant, and questioned him about the giver.
Now, the merchant was usually a most honest man, but he did not quite
like to describe Wali Dâd in his true light as an old man whose income
was five halfpence a day, and who had hardly clothes to cover him. So
he told her that his friend had heard stories of her beauty and
goodness, and had longed to lay the best he had at her feet. The
princess then took her father into her confidence, and begged him to
advise her what courtesy she might return to one who persisted in
making her such presents.
'Well,' said the king, 'you cannot refuse them; so the best thing you
can do is to send this unknown friend at once a present so magnificent
that he is not likely to be able to send you anything better, and so
will be ashamed to send anything at all!' Then he ordered that, in
place of each of the ten horses, two mules laden with silver should be
returned by her.
Thus, in a few hours, the merchant found himself in charge of a
splendid caravan; and he had to hire a number of armed men to defend
it on the road against the robbers, and he was glad indeed to find
himself back again in Wali Dâd's hut.
'Well, now,' cried Wali Dâd, as he viewed all the wealth laid at his
door, 'I can well repay that kind prince for his magnificent present
of horses; but to be sure you have been put to great expense! Still,
if you will accept six mules and their loads, and will take the rest
straight to Nekabad, I shall thank you heartily.'
The merchant felt handsomely repaid for his trouble, and wondered
greatly how the matter would turn out. So he made no difficulty about
it; and as soon as he could get things ready, he set out for Nekabad
with this new and princely gift.
This time the prince, too, was embarrassed, and questioned the
merchant closely. The merchant felt that his credit was at stake, and
whilst inwardly determining that he would not carry the joke any
further, could not help describing Wali Dâd in such glowing terms that
the old man would never have known himself had he heard them. The
prince, like the king of Khaistân, determined that he would send in
return a gift that would be truly royal, and which would perhaps
prevent the unknown giver sending him anything more. So he made up a
caravan of twenty splendid horses caparisoned in gold embroidered
cloths, with fine morocco saddles and silver bridles and stirrups,
also twenty camels of the best breed, which had the speed of
race-horses, and could swing along at a trot all day without getting
tired; and, lastly, twenty elephants, with magnificent silver howdahs
and coverings of silk embroidered with pearls. To take care of these
animals the merchant hired a little army of men; and the troop made a
great show as they travelled along.
When Wali Dâd from a distance saw the cloud of dust which the caravan
made, and the glitter of its appointments, he said to himself: 'By
Allah! here's a grand crowd coming! Elephants, too! Grass will be
selling well to-day!' And with that he hurried off to the jungle and
cut grass as fast as he could. As soon as he got back he found the
caravan had stopped at his door, and the merchant was waiting, a
little anxiously, to tell him the news and to congratulate him upon
his riches.
'Riches!' cried Wali Dâd, 'what has an old man like me with one foot
in the grave to do with riches? That beautiful young princess, now!
She'd be the one to enjoy all these fine things! Do you take for
yourself two horses, two camels, and two elephants, with all their
trappings, and present the rest to her.'
The merchant at first objected to these remarks, and pointed out to
Wali Dâd that he was beginning to feel these embassies a little
awkward. Of course he was himself richly repaid, so far as expenses
went; but still he did not like going so often, and he was getting
nervous. At length, however, he consented to go once more, but he
promised himself never to embark on another such enterprise.
So, after a few days' rest, the caravan started off once more for
Khaistân.
The moment the king of Khaistân saw the gorgeous train of men and
beasts entering his palace courtyard, he was so amazed that he hurried
down in person to inquire about it, and became dumb when he heard that
these also were a present from the princely Wali Dâd, and were for the
princess, his daughter. He went hastily off to her apartments, and
said to her: 'I tell you what it is, my dear, this man wants to marry
you; that is the meaning of all these presents! There is nothing for
it but that we go and pay him a visit in person. He must be a man of
immense wealth, and as he is so devoted to you, perhaps you might do
worse than marry him!'
The princess agreed with all that her father said, and orders were
issued for vast numbers of elephants and camels, and gorgeous tents
and flags, and litters for the ladies, and horses for the men, to be
prepared without delay, as the king and princess were going to pay a
visit to the great and munificent prince Wali Dâd. The merchant, the
king declared, was to guide the party.
The feelings of the poor merchant in this sore dilemma can hardly be
imagined. Willingly would he have run away; but he was treated with so
much hospitality as Wali Dâd's representative, that he hardly got an
instant's real peace, and never any opportunity of slipping away. In
fact, after a few days, despair possessed him to such a degree that he
made up his mind that all that happened was fate, and that escape was
impossible; but he hoped devoutly some turn of fortune would reveal to
him a way out of the difficulties which he had, with the best
intentions, drawn upon himself.
On the seventh day they all started, amidst thunderous salutes from
the ramparts of the city, and much dust, and cheering, and blaring of
trumpets.
Day after day they moved on, and every day the poor merchant felt more
ill and miserable. He wondered what kind of death the king would
invent for him, and went through almost as much torture, as he lay
awake nearly the whole of every night thinking over the situation, as
he would have suffered if the king's executioners were already setting
to work upon his neck.
At last they were only one day's march from Wali Dâd's little mud
home. Here a great encampment was made, and the merchant was sent on
to tell Wali Dâd that the King and Princess of Khaistân had arrived
and were seeking an interview. When the merchant arrived he found the
poor old man eating his evening meal of onions and dry bread, and when
he told him of all that had happened he had not the heart to proceed
to load him with the reproaches which rose to his tongue. For Wali Dâd
was overwhelmed with grief and shame for himself, for his friend, and
for the name and honour of the princess; and he wept and plucked at
his beard, and groaned most piteously. With tears he begged the
merchant to detain them for one day by any kind of excuse he could
think of, and to come in the morning to discuss what they should do.
As soon as the merchant was gone Wali Dâd made up his mind that there
was only one honourable way out of the shame and distress that he had
created by his foolishness, and that was--to kill himself. So, without
stopping to ask any one's advice, he went off in the middle of the
night to a place where the river wound along at the base of steep
rocky cliffs of great height, and determined to throw himself down and
put an end to his life. When he got to the place he drew back a few
paces, took a little run, and at the very edge of that dreadful black
gulf he stopped short! He _could_ not do it!
From below, unseen in the blackness of the deep night shadows, the
water roared and boiled round the jagged rocks--he could picture the
place as he knew it, only ten times more pitiless and forbidding in
the visionless darkness; the wind soughed through the gorge with
fearsome sighs, and rustlings and whisperings, and the bushes and
grasses that grew in the ledges of the cliffs seemed to him like
living creatures that danced and beckoned, shadowy and indistinct. An
owl laughed 'Hoo! hoo!' almost in his face, as he peered over the edge
of the gulf, and the old man threw himself back in a perspiration of
horror. He was afraid! He drew back shuddering, and covering his face
in his hands he wept aloud.
Presently he was aware of a gentle radiance that shed itself before
him. Surely morning was not already coming to hasten and reveal his
disgrace! He took his hands from before his face, and saw before him
two lovely beings whom his instinct told him were not mortal, but were
Peris from Paradise.
'Why do you weep, old man?' said one, in a voice as clear and musical
as that of the bulbul.
'I weep for shame,' replied he.
'What do you here?' questioned the other.
'I came here to die,' said Wali Dâd. And as they questioned him, he
confessed all his story.
[Illustration: WALI DÂD AND THE PERIS]
Then the first stepped forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder, and
Wali Dâd began to feel that something strange--what, he did not
know--was happening to him. His old cotton rags of clothes were
changed to beautiful linen and embroidered cloth; on his hard, bare
feet were warm, soft shoes, and on his head a great jewelled turban.
Round his neck there lay a heavy golden chain, and the little old bent
sickle, which he cut grass with, and which hung in his waistband, had
turned into a gorgeous scimetar, whose ivory hilt gleamed in the
pale light like snow in moonlight. As he stood wondering, like a man
in a dream, the other peri waved her hand and bade him turn and see;
and, lo! before him a noble gateway stood open. And up an avenue of
giant plane trees the peris led him, dumb with amazement. At the end
of the avenue, on the very spot where his hut had stood, a gorgeous
palace appeared, ablaze with myriads of lights. Its great porticoes
and verandahs were occupied by hurrying servants, and guards paced to
and fro and saluted him respectfully as he drew near, along mossy
walks and through sweeping grassy lawns where fountains were playing
and flowers scented the air. Wali Dâd stood stunned and helpless.
'Fear not,' said one of the peris; 'go to your house, and learn that
God rewards the simple-hearted.'
With these words they both disappeared and left him. He walked on,
thinking still that he must be dreaming. Very soon he retired to rest
in a splendid room, far grander than anything he had ever dreamed of.
When morning dawned he woke, and found that the palace, and himself,
and his servants were all real, and that he was not dreaming after
all!
If he was dumbfounded, the merchant, who was ushered into his presence
soon after sunrise, was much more so. He told Wali Dâd that he had not
slept all night, and by the first streak of daylight had started to
seek out his friend. And what a search he had had! A great stretch of
wild jungle country had, in the night, been changed into parks and
gardens; and if it had not been for some of Wali Dâd's new servants,
who found him and brought him to the palace, he would have fled away
under the impression that his trouble had sent him crazy, and that all
he saw was only imagination.
Then Wali Dâd told the merchant all that had happened. By his advice
he sent an invitation to the king and princess of Khaistân to come and
be his guests, together with all their retinue and servants, down to
the very humblest in the camp.
For three nights and days a great feast was held in honour of the
royal guests. Every evening the king and his nobles were served on
golden plates and from golden cups; and the smaller people on silver
plates and from silver cups; and each evening each guest was requested
to keep the plates and cups that they had used as a remembrance of the
occasion. Never had anything so splendid been seen. Besides the great
dinners, there were sports and hunting, and dances, and amusements of
all sorts.
On the fourth day the king of Khaistân took his host aside, and asked
him whether it was true, as he had suspected, that he wished to marry
his daughter. But Wali Dâd, after thanking him very much for the
compliment, said that he had never dreamed of so great an honour, and
that he was far too old and ugly for so fair a lady; but he begged the
king to stay with him until he could send for the Prince of Nekabad,
who was a most excellent, brave, and honourable young man, and would
surely be delighted to try to win the hand of the beautiful princess.
To this the king agreed, and Wali Dâd sent the merchant to Nekabad,
with a number of attendants, and with such handsome presents that the
prince came at once, fell head over ears in love with the princess,
and married her at Wali Dâd's palace amidst a fresh outburst of
rejoicings.
And now the King of Khaistân and the Prince and Princess of Nekabad,
each went back to their own country; and Wali Dâd lived to a good old
age, befriending all who were in trouble, and preserving, in his
prosperity, the simple-hearted and generous nature that he had when he
was only Wali Dâd Gunjay, the grass cutter.
[Told the author by an Indian.]
_TALE OF A TORTOISE AND OF A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY_
Once upon a time there was a country where the rivers were larger, and
the forests deeper, than anywhere else. Hardly any men came there, and
the wild creatures had it all to themselves, and used to play all
sorts of strange games with each other. The great trees, chained one
to the other by thick flowering plants with bright scarlet or yellow
blossoms, were famous hiding-places for the monkeys, who could wait
unseen, till a puma or an elephant passed by, and then jump on their
backs and go for a ride, swinging themselves up by the creepers when
they had had enough. Near the rivers huge tortoises were to be found,
and though to our eyes a tortoise seems a dull, slow thing, it is
wonderful to think how clever they were, and how often they outwitted
many of their livelier friends.
There was one tortoise in particular that always managed to get the
better of everybody, and many were the tales told in the forest of his
great deeds. They began when he was quite young, and tired of staying
at home with his father and mother. He left them one day, and walked
off in search of adventures. In a wide open space surrounded by trees
he met with an elephant, who was having his supper before taking his
evening bath in the river which ran close by. 'Let us see which of us
two is strongest,' said the young tortoise, marching up to the
elephant. 'Very well,' replied the elephant, much amused at the
impertinence of the little creature; 'when would you like the trial to
be?'
'In an hour's time; I have some business to do first,' answered the
tortoise. And he hastened away as fast as his short legs would carry
him.
In a pool of the river a whale was resting, blowing water into the air
and making a lovely fountain. The tortoise, however, was too young and
too busy to admire such things, and he called to the whale to stop, as
he wanted to speak to him. 'Would you like to try which of us is the
stronger?' said he. The whale looked at him, sent up another fountain,
and answered: 'Oh, yes; certainly. When do you wish to begin? I am
quite ready.'
'Then give me one of your longest bones, and I will fasten it to my
leg. When I give the signal, you must pull, and we will see which can
pull the hardest.'
'Very good,' replied the whale; and he took out one of his bones and
passed it to the tortoise.
The tortoise picked up the end of the bone in his mouth and went back
to the elephant. 'I will fasten this to your leg,' said he, 'in the
same way as it is fastened to mine, and we must both pull as hard as
we can. We shall soon see which is the stronger.' So he wound it
carefully round the elephant's leg, and tied it in a firm knot. 'Now!'
cried he, plunging into a thick bush behind him.
The whale tugged at one end, and the elephant tugged at the other, and
neither had any idea that he had not the tortoise for his foe. When
the whale pulled hardest the elephant was dragged into the water; and
when the elephant pulled the hardest the whale was hauled on to the
land. They were very evenly matched, and the battle was a hard one.
At last they were quite tired, and the tortoise, who was watching, saw
that they could play no more. So he crept from his hiding-place, and
dipping himself in the river, he went to the elephant and said: 'I see
that you really are stronger than I thought. Suppose we give it up
for to-day?' Then he dried himself on some moss and went to the whale
and said: 'I see that you really are stronger than I thought. Suppose
we give it up for to-day?'
The two adversaries were only too glad to be allowed to rest, and
believed to the end of their days that, after all, the tortoise was
stronger than either of them.
A day or two later the young tortoise was taking a stroll, when he met
a fox, and stopped to speak to him. 'Let us try,' said he in a
careless manner, 'which of us can lie buried in the ground during
seven years.'
'I shall be delighted,' answered the fox, 'only I would rather that
you began.'
'It is all the same to me,' replied the tortoise; 'if you come round
this way to-morrow you will see that I have fulfilled my part of the
bargain.'
So he looked about for a suitable place, and found a convenient hole
at the foot of an orange tree. He crept into it, and the next morning
the fox heaped up the earth round him, and promised to feed him every
day with fresh fruit. The fox so far kept his word that each morning
when the sun rose he appeared to ask how the tortoise was getting on.
'Oh, very well; but I wish you would give me some fruit,' replied he.
'Alas! the fruit is not ripe enough yet for you to eat,' answered the
fox, who hoped that the tortoise would die of hunger long before the
seven years were over.
'Oh dear, oh dear! I am so hungry!' cried the tortoise.
'I am sure you must be; but it will be all right to-morrow,' said the
fox, trotting off, not knowing that the oranges dropped down the
hollow trunk, straight into the tortoise's hole, and that he had as
many as he could possibly eat.
So the seven years went by; and when the tortoise came out of his hole
he was as fat as ever.
Now it was the fox's turn, and he chose his hole, and the tortoise
heaped the earth round, promising to return every day or two with a
nice young bird for his dinner. 'Well, how are you getting on?' he
would ask cheerfully when he paid his visits.
'Oh, all right; only I wish you had brought a bird with you,' answered
the fox.
'I have been so unlucky, I have never been able to catch one,' replied
the tortoise. 'However, I shall be more fortunate to-morrow, I am
sure.'
But not many to-morrows after, when the tortoise arrived with his
usual question: 'Well, how are you getting on?' he received no answer,
for the fox was lying in his hole quite still, dead of hunger.
By this time the tortoise was grown up, and was looked up to
throughout the forest as a person to be feared for his strength and
wisdom. But he was not considered a very swift runner, until an
adventure with a deer added to his fame.
One day, when he was basking in the sun, a stag passed by, and stopped
for a little conversation. 'Would you care to see which of us can run
fastest?' asked the tortoise, after some talk. The stag thought the
question so silly that he only shrugged his shoulders. 'Of course, the
victor would have the right to kill the other,' went on the tortoise.
'Oh, on that condition I agree,' answered the deer; 'but I am afraid
you are a dead man.'
'It is no use trying to frighten me,' replied the tortoise. 'But I
should like three days for training; then I shall be ready to start
when the sun strikes on the big tree at the edge of the great
clearing.'
The first thing the tortoise did was to call his brothers and his
cousins together, and he posted them carefully under ferns all along
the line of the great clearing, making a sort of ladder which
stretched for many miles. This done to his satisfaction, he went back
to the starting place.
The stag was quite punctual, and as soon as the sun's rays struck the
trunk of the tree the stag started off, and was soon far out of the
sight of the tortoise. Every now and then he would turn his head as he
ran, and call out: 'How are you getting on?' and the tortoise who
happened to be nearest at that moment would answer: 'All right, I am
close up to you.'
Full of astonishment, the stag would redouble his efforts, but it was
no use. Each time he asked: 'Are you there?' the answer would come:
'Yes, of course, where else should I be?' And the stag ran, and ran,
and ran, till he could run no more, and dropped down dead on the
grass.
And the tortoise, when he thinks about it, laughs still.
* * * * *
But the tortoise was not the only creature of whose tricks stories
were told in the forest. There was a famous monkey who was just as
clever and more mischievous, because he was so much quicker on his
feet and with his hands. It was quite impossible to catch him and give
him the thrashing he so often deserved, for he just swung himself up
into a tree and laughed at the angry victim who was sitting below.
Sometimes, however, the inhabitants of the forest were so foolish as
to provoke him, and then they got the worst of it. This was what
happened to the barber, whom the monkey visited one morning, saying
that he wished to be shaved. The barber bowed politely to his
customer, and begging him to be seated, tied a large cloth round his
neck, and rubbed his chin with soap; but instead of cutting off his
beard, the barber made a snip at the end of his tail. It was only a
very little bit, and the monkey started up more in rage than in pain.
'Give me back the end of my tail,' he roared, 'or I will take one of
your razors.' The barber refused to give back the missing piece, so
the monkey caught up a razor from the table and ran away with it, and
no one in the forest could be shaved for days, as there was not
another to be got for miles and miles.
As he was making his way to his own particular palm-tree, where the
cocoa-nuts grew, which were so useful for pelting passers-by, he met a
woman who was scaling a fish with a bit of wood, for in this side of
the forest a few people lived in huts near the river.
'That must be hard work,' said the monkey, stopping to look; 'try my
knife--you will get on quicker.' And he handed her the razor as he
spoke. A few days later he came back and rapped at the door of the
hut. 'I have called for my razor,' he said, when the woman appeared.
'I have lost it,' answered she.
'If you don't give it to me at once I will take your sardine,' replied
the monkey, who did not believe her. The woman protested she had not
got the knife, so he took the sardine and ran off.
A little further along he saw a baker who was standing at the door,
eating one of his loaves. 'That must be rather dry,' said the monkey,
'try my fish'; and the man did not need twice telling. A few days
later the monkey stopped again at the baker's hut. 'I've called for
that fish,' he said.
'That fish? But I have eaten it!' exclaimed the baker in dismay.
'If you have eaten it I shall take this barrel of meal in exchange,'
replied the monkey; and he walked off with the barrel under his arm.
As he went he saw a woman with a group of little girls round her,
teaching them how to dress hair. 'Here is something to make cakes for
the children,' he said, putting down his barrel, which by this time he
found rather heavy. The children were delighted, and ran directly to
find some flat stones to bake their cakes on, and when they had made
and eaten them, they thought they had never tasted anything so nice.
Indeed, when they saw the monkey approaching not long after, they
rushed to meet him, hoping that he was bringing them some more
presents. But he took no notice of their questions, he only said to
their mother: 'I've called for my barrel of meal.'
'Why, you gave it to me to make cakes of!' cried the mother.
'If I can't get my barrel of meal, I shall take one of your children,'
answered the monkey. 'I am in want of somebody who can bake me bread
when I am tired of fruit, and who knows how to make cocoa-nut cakes.'
'Oh, leave me my child, and I will find you another barrel of meal,'
wept the mother.
'I don't _want_ another barrel, I want _that_ one,' answered the
monkey sternly. And as the woman stood wringing her hands, he caught
up the little girl that he thought the prettiest and took her to his
home in the palm tree.
She never went back to the hut, but on the whole she was not much to
be pitied, for monkeys are nearly as good as children to play with,
and they taught her how to swing, and to climb, and to fly from tree
to tree, and everything else they knew, which was a great deal.
Now the monkey's tiresome tricks had made him many enemies in the
forest, but no one hated him so much as the puma. The cause of their
quarrel was known only to themselves, but everybody was aware of the
fact, and took care to be out of the way when there was any chance of
these two meeting. Often and often the puma had laid traps for the
monkey, which he felt sure his foe could not escape; and the monkey
would pretend that he saw nothing, and rejoice the hidden puma's heart
by seeming to walk straight into the snare, when, lo! a loud laugh
would be heard, and the monkey's grinning face would peer out of a
mass of creepers and disappear before his foe could reach him.
This state of things had gone on for quite a long while, when at last
there came a season such as the oldest parrot in the forest could
never remember. Instead of two or three hundred inches of rain
falling, which they were all accustomed to, month after month passed
without a cloud, and the rivers and springs dried up, till there was
only one small pool left for everyone to drink from. There was not an
animal for miles round that did not grieve over this shocking
condition of affairs, not one at least except the puma. His only
thought for years had been how to get the monkey into his power, and
this time he imagined his chance had really arrived. He would hide
himself in a thicket, and when the monkey came down to drink--and come
he must--the puma would spring out and seize him. Yes, on this
occasion there could be no escape!
And no more there would have been if the puma had had greater
patience; but in his excitement he moved a little too soon. The
monkey, who was stooping to drink, heard a rustling, and turning
caught the gleam of two yellow, murderous eyes. With a mighty spring
he grasped a creeper which was hanging above him, and landed himself
on the branch of a tree; feeling the breath of the puma on his feet as
the animal bounded from his cover. Never had the monkey been so near
death, and it was some time before he recovered enough courage to
venture on the ground again.
Up there in the shelter of the trees, he began to turn over in his
head plans for escaping the snares of the puma. And at length chance
helped him. Peeping down to the earth, he saw a man coming along the
path carrying on his head a large gourd filled with honey.
He waited till the man was just underneath the tree, then he hung from
a bough, and caught the gourd while the man looked up wondering, for
he was no tree-climber. Then the monkey rubbed the honey all over him,
and a quantity of leaves from a creeper that was hanging close by; he
stuck them all close together into the honey, so that he looked like a
walking bush. This finished, he ran to the pool to see the result,
and, quite pleased with himself, set out in search of adventures.
Soon the report went through the forest that a new animal had
appeared from no one knew where, and that when somebody had asked his
name, the strange creature had answered that it was Jack-in-the-Green.
Thanks to this, the monkey was allowed to drink at the pool as often
as he liked, for neither beast nor bird had the faintest notion who he
was. And if they made any inquiries the only answer they got was that
the water of which he had drunk deeply had turned his hair into
leaves, so that they all knew what would happen in case they became
too greedy.
By-and-by the great rains began again. The rivers and streams filled
up, and there was no need for him to go back to the pool, near the
home of his enemy, the puma, as there was a large number of places for
him to choose from. So one night, when everything was still and
silent, and even the chattering parrots were asleep on one leg, the
monkey stole down softly from his perch, and washed off the honey and
the leaves, and came out from his bath in his own proper skin. On his
way to breakfast he met a rabbit, and stopped for a little talk.
'I am feeling rather dull,' he remarked; 'I think it would do me good
to hunt a while. What do you say?'
'Oh, I am quite willing,' answered the rabbit, proud of being spoken
to by such a large creature. 'But the question is, what shall we
hunt?'
'There is no credit in going after an elephant or a tiger,' replied
the monkey stroking his chin, 'they are so big they could not possibly
get out of your way. It shows much more skill to be able to catch a
small thing that can hide itself in a moment behind a leaf. I'll tell
you what! Suppose I hunt butterflies, and you, serpents.'
The rabbit, who was young and without experience, was delighted with
this idea, and they both set out on their various ways.
The monkey quietly climbed up the nearest tree, and ate fruit most of
the day, but the rabbit tired himself to death poking his nose into
every heap of dried leaves he saw, hoping to find a serpent among
them. Luckily for himself the serpents were all away for the
afternoon, at a meeting of their own, for there is nothing a serpent
likes so well for dinner as a nice plump rabbit. But, as it was, the
dried leaves were all empty, and the rabbit at last fell asleep where
he was. Then the monkey, who had been watching him, fell down and
pulled his ears, to the rage of the rabbit, who vowed vengeance.
It was not easy to catch the monkey off his guard, and the rabbit waited
long before an opportunity arrived. But one day Jack-in-the-Green was
sitting on a stone, wondering what he should do next, when the rabbit
crept softly behind him, and gave his tail a sharp pull. The monkey gave
a shriek of pain, and darted up into a tree, but when he saw that it was
only the rabbit who had dared to insult him so, he chattered so fast in
his anger, and looked so fierce, that the rabbit fled into the nearest
hole, and stayed there for several days, trembling with fright.
Soon after this adventure the monkey went away into another part of
the country, right on the outskirts of the forest, where there was a
beautiful garden full of oranges hanging ripe from the trees. This
garden was a favourite place for birds of all kinds, each hoping to
secure an orange for dinner, and in order to frighten the birds away
and keep a little fruit for himself, the master had fastened a waxen
figure on one of the boughs.
Now the monkey was as fond of oranges as any of the birds, and when he
saw a man standing in the tree where the largest and sweetest oranges
grew, he spoke to him at once. 'You man,' he said rudely, 'throw me
down that big orange up there, or I will throw a stone at you.' The
wax figure took no notice of this request, so the monkey, who was
easily made angry, picked up a stone, and flung it with all his force.
But instead of falling to the ground again, the stone stuck to the
soft wax.
At this moment a breeze shook the tree, and the orange on which the
monkey had set his heart dropped from the bough. He picked it up and
ate it every bit, including the rind, and it was so good he thought he
should like another. So he called again to the wax figure to throw him
an orange, and as the figure did not move, he hurled another stone,
which stuck to the wax as the first had done. Seeing that the man was
quite indifferent to stones, the monkey grew more angry still, and
climbing the tree hastily, gave the figure a violent kick. But like
the two stones his leg remained stuck to the wax, and he was held
fast. 'Let me go at once, or I will give you another kick,' he cried,
suiting the action to the word, and this time also his foot remained
in the grasp of the man. Not knowing what he did, the monkey hit out,
first with one hand and then with the other, and when he found that he
was literally bound hand and foot, he became so mad with anger and
terror that in his struggles he fell to the ground, dragging the
figure after him. This freed his hands and feet, but besides the shock
of the fall, they had tumbled into a bed of thorns, and he limped away
broken and bruised, and groaning loudly; for when monkeys _are_ hurt,
they take pains that everybody shall know it.
It was a long time before Jack was well enough to go about again; but
when he did, he had an encounter with his old enemy the puma. And this
was how it came about.
One day the puma invited his friend the stag to go with him and see a
comrade, who was famous for the good milk he got from his cows. The
stag loved milk, and gladly accepted the invitation, and when the sun
began to get a little low the two started on their walk. On the way
they arrived on the banks of a river, and as there were no bridges in
those days it was necessary to swim across it. The stag was not fond
of swimming, and began to say that he was tired, and thought that
after all it was not worth going so far to get milk, and that he
would return home. But the puma easily saw through these excuses, and
laughed at him.
'The river is not deep at all,' he said; 'why, you will never be off
your feet. Come, pluck up your courage and follow me.'
The stag was afraid of the river; still, he was much more afraid of
being laughed at, and he plunged in after the puma; but in an instant
the current had swept him away, and if it had not borne him by
accident to a shallow place on the opposite side, where he managed to
scramble up the bank, he would certainly have been drowned. As it was,
he scrambled out, shaking with terror, and found the puma waiting for
him. 'You had a narrow escape that time,' said the puma.
After resting for a few minutes, to let the stag recover from his
fright, they went on their way till they came to a grove of bananas.
'They look very good,' observed the puma with a longing glance, 'and I
am sure you must be hungry, friend stag? Suppose you were to climb the
tree and get some. You shall eat the green ones, they are the best and
sweetest; and you can throw the yellow ones down to me. I dare say
they will do quite well!' The stag did as he was bid, though, not
being used to climbing, it gave him a deal of trouble and sore knees,
and, besides, his horns were continually getting entangled in the
creepers. What was worse, when once he had tasted the bananas, he
found them not at all to his liking, so he threw them all down, green
and yellow alike, and let the puma take his choice. And what a dinner
he made! When he had _quite_ done, they set forth once more.
The path lay through a field of maize, where several men were working.
As they came up to them, the puma whispered: 'Go on in front, friend
stag, and just say "Bad luck to all workers!"' The stag obeyed, but
the men were hot and tired, and did not think this a good joke. So
they set their dogs at him, and he was obliged to run away as fast as
he could.
'I hope your industry will be rewarded as it deserves,' said the puma
as he passed along; and the men were pleased, and offered him some of
their maize to eat.
By-and-by the puma saw a small snake with a beautiful shining skin,
lying coiled up at the foot of a tree. 'What a lovely bracelet that
would make for your daughter, friend stag!' said he. The stag stooped
and picked up the snake, which bit him, and he turned angrily to the
puma. 'Why did you not tell me it would bite?' he asked.
'Is it my fault if you are an idiot?' replied the puma.
At last they reached their journey's end, but by this time it was
late, and the puma's comrade was ready for bed, so they slung their
hammocks in convenient places, and went to sleep. But in the middle of
the night the puma rose softly and stole out of the door to the
sheep-fold, where he killed and ate the fattest sheep he could find,
and taking a bowl full of its blood, he sprinkled the sleeping stag
with it. This done, he returned to bed.
In the morning the shepherd went as usual to let the sheep out of the
fold, and found one of them missing. He thought directly of the puma,
and ran to accuse him of having eaten the sheep. 'I, my good man? What
has put it into your head to think of such a thing? Have _I_ got any
blood about me? If anyone has eaten a sheep it must be my friend the
stag.' Then the shepherd went to examine the sleeping stag, and of
course he saw the blood. 'Ah! I will teach you how to steal!' cried
he, and he hit the stag such a blow on his skull that he died in a
moment. The noise awakened the comrade above, and he came downstairs.
The puma greeted him with joy, and begged he might have some of the
famous milk as soon as possible, for he was very thirsty. A large
bucket was set before the puma directly. He drank it to the last drop,
and then took leave.
On his way home he met the monkey. 'Are you fond of milk?' asked he.
'I know a place where you get it very nice. I will show you it if you
like.' The monkey knew that the puma was not so good-natured for
nothing, but he felt quite able to take care of himself, so he said he
should have much pleasure in accompanying his friend.
They soon reached the same river, and, as before, the puma remarked:
'Friend monkey, you will find it very shallow; there is no cause for
fear. Jump in, and I will follow.'
'Do you think you have the stag to deal with?' asked the monkey,
laughing. 'I should prefer to follow; if not I shall go no further.'
The puma understood that it was useless trying to make the monkey do
as he wished, so he chose a shallow place and began to swim across.
The monkey waited till the puma had got to the middle, then he gave a
great spring and jumped on his back, knowing quite well that the puma
would be afraid to shake him off, lest he should be swept away into
deep water. So in this manner they reached the bank.
The banana grove was not far distant, and here the puma thought he
would pay the monkey out for forcing him to carry him over the river.
'Friend monkey, look what fine bananas,' cried he. 'You are fond of
climbing; suppose you run up and throw me down a few. You can eat the
green ones, which are the nicest, and I will be content with the
yellow.'
'Very well,' answered the monkey, swinging himself up; but he ate all
the yellow ones himself, and only threw down the green ones that were
left. The puma was furious and cried out: 'I will punch your head for
that.' But the monkey only answered: 'If you are going to talk such
nonsense I won't walk with you.' And the puma was silent.
In a few minutes more they arrived at the field where the men were
reaping the maize, and the puma remarked as he had done before:
'Friend monkey, if you wish to please these men, just say as you go
by: "Bad luck to all workers."'
'Very well,' replied the monkey; but, instead, he nodded and smiled,
and said: 'I hope your industry may be rewarded as it deserves.' The
men thanked him heartily, let him pass on, and the puma followed
behind him.
Further along the path they saw the shining snake lying on the moss.
'What a lovely necklace for your daughter,' exclaimed the puma. 'Pick
it up and take it with you.'
'You are very kind, but I will leave it for you,' answered the monkey,
and nothing more was said about the snake.
Not long after this they reached the comrade's house, and found him
just ready to go to bed. So, without stopping to talk, the guests
slung their hammocks, the monkey taking care to place his so high that
no one could get at him. Besides, he thought it would be more prudent
not to fall asleep, so he only lay still and snored loudly. When it
was quite dark and no sound was to be heard, the puma crept out to the
sheep-fold, killed the sheep, and carried back a bowl full of its
blood with which to sprinkle the monkey. But the monkey, who had been
watching him out of the corner of his eye, waited until the puma drew
near, and with a violent kick upset the bowl all over the puma
himself.
When the puma saw what had happened, he turned in a great hurry to
leave the house, but before he could do so, he saw the shepherd
coming, and hastily lay down again.
'This is the second time I have lost a sheep,' the man said to the
monkey; 'it will be the worse for the thief when I catch him, I can
tell you.' The monkey did not answer, but silently pointed to the puma
who was pretending to be asleep. The shepherd stooped and saw the
blood, and cried out: 'Ah! so it is you, is it? then take that!' and
with his stick he gave the puma such a blow on the head that he died
then and there.
Then the monkey got up and went to the dairy, and drank all the milk
he could find. Afterwards he returned home and married, and that is
the last we heard of him.
[_Adapted from Folklore Brésilien._]
_THE KNIGHTS OF THE FISH_
Once upon a time there lived an old cobbler who worked hard at his
trade from morning till night, and scarcely gave himself a moment to
eat. But, industrious as he was, he could hardly buy bread and cheese
for himself and his wife, and they grew thinner and thinner daily.
For a long while they pretended to each other that they had no
appetite, and that a few blackberries from the hedges were a great
deal nicer than a good strong bowl of soup. But at length there came a
day when the cobbler could bear it no longer, and he threw away his
last, and borrowing a rod from a neighbour he went out to fish.
Now the cobbler was as patient about fishing as he had been about
cobbling. From dawn to dark he stood on the banks of the little
stream, without hooking anything better than an eel, or a few old
shoes, that even he, clever though he was, felt were not worth
mending. At length his patience began to give way, and as he undressed
one night he said to himself: 'Well, I will give it one more chance;
and if I don't catch a fish to-morrow, I will go and hang myself.'
He had not cast his line for ten minutes the next morning before he
drew from the river the most beautiful fish he had ever seen in his
life. But he nearly fell into the water from surprise, when the fish
began to speak to him, in a small, squeaky voice:
'Take me back to your hut and cook me; then cut me up, and sprinkle me
over with pepper and salt. Give two of the pieces to your wife, and
bury two more in the garden.'
The cobbler did not know what to make of these strange words; but he
was wiser than many people, and when he did not understand, he thought
it was well to obey. His children wanted to eat all the fish
themselves, and begged their father to tell them what to do with the
pieces he had put aside; but the cobbler only laughed, and told them
it was no business of theirs. And when they were safe in bed he stole
out and buried the two pieces in the garden.
* * * * *
By and by two babies, exactly alike, lay in a cradle, and in the
garden were two tall plants, with two brilliant shields on the top.
Years passed away, and the babies were almost men. They were tired of
living quietly at home, being mistaken for each other by everybody
they saw, and determined to set off in different directions, to seek
adventures.
So, one fine morning, the two brothers left the hut, and walked
together to the place where the great road divided. There they
embraced and parted, promising that if anything remarkable had
happened to either, he would return to the cross roads and wait till
his brother came.
The youth who took the path that ran eastwards arrived presently at a
large city, where he found everybody standing at the doors, wringing
their hands and weeping bitterly.
'What is the matter?' asked he, pausing and looking round. And a man
replied, in a faltering voice, that each year a beautiful girl was
chosen by lot to be offered up to a dreadful fiery dragon, who had a
mother even worse than himself, and this year the lot had fallen on
their peerless princess.
'But where _is_ the princess?' said the young man once more, and again
the man answered him: 'She is standing under a tree, a mile away,
waiting for the dragon.'
This time the Knight of the Fish did not stop to hear more, but ran
off as fast as he could, and found the princess bathed in tears, and
trembling from head to foot.
She turned as she heard the sound of his sword, and removed her
handkerchief from her eyes.
'Fly,' she cried; 'fly while you have yet time, before that monster
sees you.'
She said it, and she meant it; yet, when he had turned his back, she
felt more forsaken than before. But in reality it was not more than a
few minutes before he came back, galloping furiously on a horse he had
borrowed, and carrying a huge mirror across its neck.
'I am in time, then,' he cried, dismounting very carefully, and
placing the mirror against the trunk of a tree.
'Give me your veil,' he said hastily to the princess. And when she had
unwound it from her head he covered the mirror with it.
'The moment the dragon comes near you, you must tear off the veil,'
cried he; 'and be sure you hide behind the mirror. Have no fear; I
shall be at hand.'
He and his horse had scarcely found shelter amongst some rocks, when
the flap of the dragon's wings could be plainly heard. He tossed his
head with delight at the sight of her, and approached slowly to the
place where she stood, a little in front of the mirror. Then, still
looking the monster steadily in the face, she passed one hand behind
her back and snatched off the veil, stepping swiftly behind the tree
as she did so.
The princess had not known, when she obeyed the orders of the Knight
of the Fish, what she expected to happen. Would the dragon with snaky
locks be turned to stone, she wondered, like the dragon in an old
story her nurse had told her; or would some fiery spark dart from the
heart of the mirror, and strike him dead? Neither of these things
occurred, but, instead, the dragon stopped short with surprise and
rage when he saw a monster before him as big and strong as himself. He
shook his mane with rage and fury; the enemy in front did exactly the
same. He lashed his tail, and rolled his red eyes, and the dragon
opposite was no whit behind him. Opening his mouth to its very widest,
he gave an awful roar; but the other dragon only roared back. This was
too much, and with another roar which made the princess shake in her
shoes, he flung himself upon his foe. In an instant the mirror lay at
his feet broken into a thousand pieces, but as every piece reflected
part of himself, the dragon thought that he too had been smashed into
atoms.
It was the moment for which the Knight of the Fish had watched and
waited, and before the dragon could find out that he was not hurt at
all, the young man's lance was down his throat, and he was rolling,
dead, on the grass.
Oh! what shouts of joy rang through the great city, when the youth
came riding back with the princess sitting behind him, and dragging
the horrible monster by a cord. Everybody cried out that the king must
give the victor the hand of the princess; and so he did, and no one
had ever seen such balls and feasts and sports before. And when they
were all over the young couple went to the palace prepared for them,
which was so large that it was three miles round.
The first wet day after their marriage the bridegroom begged the bride
to show him all the rooms in the palace, and it was so big and took so
long that the sun was shining brightly again before they stepped on to
the roof to see the view.
'What castle is that out there,' asked the knight; 'it seems to be
made of black marble?'
'It is called the castle of Albatroz,' answered the princess. 'It is
enchanted, and no one that has tried to enter it has ever come back.'
[Illustration: THE DRAGON AND THE MIRROR]
Her husband said nothing, and began to talk of something else; but
the next morning he ordered his horse, took his spear, called his
bloodhound, and set off for the castle.
It needed a brave man to approach it, for it made your hair stand on
end merely to look at it; it was as dark as the night of a storm, and
as silent as the grave. But the Knight of the Fish knew no fear, and
had never turned his back on an enemy; so he drew out his horn, and
blew a blast.
The sound awoke all the sleeping echoes in the castle, and was
repeated now loudly, now softly; now near, and now far. But nobody
stirred for all that.
'Is there anyone inside?' cried the young man in his loudest voice;
'anyone who will give a knight hospitality? Neither governor, nor
squire, not even a page?'
'Not even a page!' answered the echoes. But the young man did not heed
them, and only struck a furious blow at the gate.
Then a small grating opened, and there appeared the tip of a huge
nose, which belonged to the ugliest old woman that ever was seen.
'What do you want?' said she.
'To enter,' he answered shortly. 'Can I rest here this night? Yes or
No?'
'No, No, No!' repeated the echoes.
Between the fierce sun and his anger at being kept waiting, the Knight
of the Fish had grown so hot that he lifted his visor, and when the
old woman saw how handsome he was, she began fumbling with the lock of
the gate.
'Come in, come in,' said she, 'so fine a gentleman will do us no
harm.'
'Harm!' repeated the echoes, but again the young man paid no heed.
'Let us go in, ancient dame,' but she interrupted him.
'You must call me the Lady Berberisca,' she answered, sharply; 'and
this is my castle, to which I bid you welcome. You shall live here
with me and be my husband.' But at these words the knight let his
spear fall, so surprised was he.
'I marry _you_? why you must be a hundred at least!' cried he. 'You
are mad! All I desire is to inspect the castle and then go.' As he
spoke he heard the voices give a mocking laugh; but the old woman took
no notice, and only bade the knight follow her.
Old though she was, it seemed impossible to tire her. There was no
room, however small, she did not lead him into, and each room was full
of curious things he had never seen before.
At length they came to a stone staircase, which was so dark that you
could not see your hand if you held it up before your face.
'I have kept my most precious treasure till the last,' said the old
woman; 'but let me go first, for the stairs are steep, and you might
easily break your leg.' So on she went, now and then calling back to
the young man in the darkness. But he did not know that she had
slipped aside into a recess, till suddenly he put his foot on a trap
door which gave way under him, and he fell down, down, as many good
knights had done before him, and his voice joined the echoes of
theirs.
'So you would not marry me!' chuckled the old witch. 'Ha! ha! Ha! ha!'
* * * * *
Meanwhile his brother had wandered far and wide, and at last he
wandered back to the same great city where the other young knight had
met with so many adventures. He noticed, with amazement, that as he
walked through the streets the guards drew themselves up in line, and
saluted him, and the drummers played the royal march; but he was still
more bewildered when several servants in livery ran up to him and told
him that the princess was sure something terrible had befallen him,
and had made herself ill with weeping. At last it occurred to him that
once more he had been taken for his brother. 'I had better say
nothing,' thought he; 'perhaps I shall be able to help him after all.'
So he suffered himself to be borne in triumph to the palace, where the
princess threw herself into his arms.
'And so you did go to the castle?' she asked.
'Yes, of course I did,' answered he.
'And what did you see there?'
'I am forbidden to tell you anything about it, until I have returned
there once more,' replied he.
'Must you really go back to that dreadful place?' she asked wistfully.
'You are the only man who has ever come back from it.'
'I must,' was all he answered. And the princess, who was a wise woman,
only said: 'Well, go to bed now, for I am sure you must be very
tired.'
But the knight shook his head. 'I have sworn never to lie in a bed as
long as my work in the castle remains standing.' And the princess
again sighed, and was silent.
Early next day the young man started for the castle, feeling sure that
some terrible thing must have happened to his brother.
At the blast of his horn the long nose of the old woman appeared at
the grating, but the moment she caught sight of his face, she nearly
fainted from fright, as she thought it was the ghost of the youth
whose bones were lying in the dungeon of the castle.
'Lady of all the ages,' cried the new comer, 'did you not give
hospitality to a young knight but a short time ago?'
'A short time ago!' wailed the voices.
'And how have you ill-treated him?' he went on.
'Ill-treated him!' answered the voices. The woman did not stop to hear
more; she turned to fly; but the knight's sword entered her body.
'Where is my brother, cruel hag?' asked he sternly.
'I will tell you,' said she; 'but as I feel that I am going to die I
shall keep that piece of news to myself, till you have brought me to
life again.'
The young man laughed scornfully. 'How do you propose that I should
work that miracle?'
'Oh, it is quite easy. Go into the garden and gather the flowers of
the everlasting plant and some of dragon's blood. Crush them together
and boil them in a large tub of water, and then put me into it.'
The knight did as the old witch bade him, and, sure enough, she came
out quite whole, but uglier than ever. She then told the young man
what had become of his brother, and he went down into the dungeon, and
brought up his body and the bodies of the other victims who lay there,
and when they were all washed in the magic water their strength was
restored to them.
And, besides these, he found in another cavern the bodies of the girls
who had been sacrificed to the dragon, and brought them back to life
also.
As to the old witch, in the end she died of rage at seeing her prey
escape her; and at the moment she drew her last breath the castle of
Albatroz fell into ruins with a great noise.
[From _Cuentos, Oraciones, Adivinas recogidos por Fernan Caballaro_.]