them to appear before him next morning, each provided with a new whip.
They obeyed, and John commanded them to strip and lash one another
till the blood should run down on the ground, while he stood looking
on as grim and cruel as an Eastern tyrant. Still the little people cut
and slashed themselves, and mocked at John, and refused to comply with
his wishes. This he did for three or four days.
Several other courses did he try, but all in vain; his temper was too
gentle to struggle with their obstinacy, and he began now to despair
of ever accomplishing his dearest wish. He began to hate the little
people whom he was before so fond of; he kept away from their banquets
and dances, associated only with Elizabeth, and ate and drank quite
solitary in his chamber. In short, he became almost a perfect hermit,
and sank into moodiness and melancholy.
While in this temper, as he was taking a solitary walk in the evening,
and, to divert his melancholy, was flinging the stones that lay in his
path against each other, he happened to break a tolerably large one,
and out of it jumped a toad. The moment John saw the ugly animal, he
caught him up in ecstasy, and put him into his pocket and ran home,
crying, "Now I have her! I have my Elizabeth! Now you shall catch it,
you little mischievous rascals!" And on getting home he put the toad
into a costly silver casket, as if it was the greatest treasure.
To account for John's joy you must know Klas Starkwolt had often told
him that the underground people could not endure any ill odour, and
that the sight or even the smell of a toad made them faint and suffer
the most dreadful tortures, so that, by means of these animals, one
could compel them to anything. Hence there are no bad smells to be
found in the whole glass empire, and a toad is a thing unheard of
there; this toad must therefore have been inclosed in the stone from
the Creation, as it were for the sake of John and Elizabeth.
Resolved to try the effect of his toad, John took the casket under his
arm and went out, and on the way he met two of the little people in a
lonesome place. The moment he approached them they fell to the ground,
and whimpered and howled most lamentably, as long as he was near them.
Satisfied now of his power, he next morning summoned the fifty
principal persons, with their wives and children, to his apartment.
When they came, he addressed them, reminding them once again of his
kindness and gentleness towards them, and of the good terms on which
they had hitherto lived together. He reproached them with their
ingratitude in refusing him the only favour he had ever asked of them,
but firmly declared he would not give way to their obstinacy.
"Wherefore," said he, "for the last time, I warn you;--think for a
minute, and if you then say No, you shall feel that pain which is to
you and your children the most terrible of all sufferings."
They did not take long to deliberate, but unanimously replied "No;"
for they thought to themselves, What new scheme has the youth hit on,
with which he thinks to frighten wise ones like us? and they smiled
when they said No. Their smiling enraged John above all, and he ran
back to where he had laid the casket with the toad, under a bush.
He was hardly come within a hundred paces of them when they all fell
to the ground as if struck with a thunderbolt, and began to howl and
whimper, and to writhe, as if suffering the most excruciating pain.
They stretched out their hands, and cried, "Have mercy! have mercy! we
feel you have a toad, and there is no escape for us. Take the odious
beast away, and we will do all you require." He let them kick a few
seconds longer, and then took the toad away. They then stood up and
felt no more pain. John let all depart but the six chief persons, to
whom he said,--
"This night, between twelve and one, Elizabeth and I will depart. Load
then for me three waggons, with gold, and silver, and precious stones.
I might, you know, take all that is in the hill, and you deserve it,
but I will be merciful. Farther, you must put all the furniture of my
chamber in two waggons, and get ready for me the handsomest
travelling-carriage that is in the hill with six black horses.
Moreover, you must set at liberty all the servants who have been so
long here that on earth they would be twenty years old and upwards,
and you must give them as much silver and gold as will make them rich
for life, and make a law that no one shall be detained here longer
than his twentieth year."
The six took the oath, and went away quite melancholy, and John buried
his toad deep in the ground. The little people laboured hard according
to his bidding. At midnight everything was out of the hill, and John
and Elizabeth got into the silver tun and were drawn up.
It was then one o'clock, and midsummer-eve, the very time that twelve
years before John had gone down into the hill. Music sounded around
them, and they saw the glass hill open, and the rays of the light of
heaven shine on them for the first time after so many years; and when
they got out they saw the streaks of dawn already in the east. Crowds
of the underground people were around them busied about the waggons.
John bade them a last farewell, waved his brown cap three times in the
air, and then flung it among them. And at the same moment he ceased to
see them; he beheld nothing but a green hill, and the well-known
bushes and fields, and heard the church-clock of Rambin strike two.
When all was still, save a few larks who were tuning their morning
songs, they both fell on their knees and worshipped God, resolving
henceforth to lead a pious and a Christian life.
When the sun rose, John and his Elizabeth, with the children whom they
had saved from the underground people, set out for Rambin. Every
well-known object that they saw awakened pleasing recollections; and
as they passed by Rodenkirchen, John recognised, among the people
that gazed at and followed them, his old friend Klas Starkwolt, the
cowherd, and his dog Speed. It was four in the morning when they
entered Rambin, and they halted in the middle of the village, about
twenty paces from the house where John was born. The whole village
poured out to gaze on these Asiatic princes; for such the old sexton,
who had in his youth been at Moscow and Constantinople, said they
were. There John saw his father and mother, and his brother Andrew,
and his sister Trine. The old minister, Krabbe, stood there too, in
his black slippers and white nightcap, gaping and staring with the
rest.
John discovered himself to his parents, and Elizabeth to hers, and the
wedding-day was soon fixed, and such a wedding was never seen before
or since in the island of Rugen; for John sent to Stralsund and
Greifswald for whole boat-loads of wine, and sugar, and coffee, and
whole herds of oxen, sheep, and pigs. The quantity of harts and roes
and hares that were shot on the occasion it were vain to attempt to
tell, or to count the fish that were caught. There was not a musician
in Rugen and Pomerania that was not engaged, for John was immensely
rich, and he wished to display his wealth.
John did not neglect his old friend Klas Starkwolt, the cowherd. He
gave him enough to make him comfortable for the rest of his days, and
insisted on his coming and staying with him as often and as long as he
wished.
After his marriage, John made a progress through the country with his
beautiful Elizabeth and they purchased towns, and villages, and
lands, until he became master of nearly half Rugen and a very
considerable portion of the country. His father, old James Dietrich,
was made a nobleman, and his brothers and sisters gentlemen and
ladies--for what cannot money do?
John and his wife spent their days in acts of piety and charity. They
built several churches, they had the blessings of every one that knew
them, and died universally lamented. It was Count John Dietrich who
built and richly endowed the present church of Rambin. He built it on
the site of his father's house, and presented to it several of the
cups and plates made by the underground people, and his own and
Elizabeth's glass shoes, in memory of what had befallen them in their
youth. But they were all taken away in the time of the great Charles
the Twelfth of Sweden, when the Russians came on the island, and the
Cossacks plundered even the churches, and took away everything.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three boys
and three girls. As he was himself a man of great sense, he spared no
expense for their education. The three daughters were all handsome,
but particularly the youngest; indeed, she was so very beautiful, that
in her childhood every one called her the Little Beauty; and being
equally lovely when she was grown up, nobody called her by any other
name, which made her sisters very jealous of her. This youngest
daughter was not only more handsome than her sisters, but also was
better tempered. The two eldest were vain of their wealth and
position. They gave themselves a thousand airs, and refused to visit
other merchants' daughters; nor would they condescend to be seen
except with persons of quality. They went every day to balls, plays,
and public walks, and always made game of their youngest sister for
spending her time in reading or other useful employments. As it was
well known that these young ladies would have large fortunes, many
great merchants wished to get them for wives; but the two eldest
always answered, that, for their parts, they had no thoughts of
marrying any one below a duke or an earl at least. Beauty had quite as
many offers as her sisters, but she always answered, with the
greatest civility, that though she was much obliged to her lovers, she
would rather live some years longer with her father, as she thought
herself too young to marry.
It happened that, by some unlucky accident, the merchant suddenly lost
all his fortune, and had nothing left but a small cottage in the
country. Upon this he said to his daughters, while the tears ran down
his cheeks, "My children, we must now go and dwell in the cottage, and
try to get a living by labour, for we have no other means of support."
The two eldest replied that they did not know how to work, and would
not leave town; for they had lovers enough who would be glad to marry
them, though they had no longer any fortune. But in this they were
mistaken; for when the lovers heard what had happened, they said, "The
girls were so proud and ill-tempered, that all we wanted was their
fortune: we are not sorry at all to see their pride brought down: let
them show off their airs to their cows and sheep." But everybody
pitied poor Beauty, because she was so sweet-tempered and kind to all,
and several gentlemen offered to marry her, though she had not a
penny; but Beauty still refused, and said she could not think of
leaving her poor father in this trouble. At first Beauty could not
help sometimes crying in secret for the hardships she was now obliged
to suffer; but in a very short time she said to herself, "All the
crying in the world will do me no good, so I will try to be happy
without a fortune."
When they had removed to their cottage, the merchant and his three
sons employed themselves in ploughing and sowing the fields, and
working in the garden. Beauty also did her part, for she rose by four
o'clock every morning, lighted the fires, cleaned the house, and got
ready the breakfast for the whole family. At first she found all this
very hard; but she soon grew quite used to it, and thought it no
hardship; indeed, the work greatly benefited her health. When she had
done, she used to amuse herself with reading, playing her music, or
singing while she spun. But her two sisters were at a loss what to do
to pass the time away: they had their breakfast in bed, and did not
rise till ten o'clock. Then they commonly walked out, but always found
themselves very soon tired; when they would often sit down under a
shady tree, and grieve for the loss of their carriage and fine
clothes, and say to each other, "What a mean-spirited poor stupid
creature our young sister is, to be so content with this low way of
life!" But their father thought differently: and loved and admired his
youngest child more than ever.
After they had lived in this manner about a year, the merchant
received a letter, which informed him that one of his richest ships,
which he thought was lost, had just come into port. This news made the
two eldest sisters almost mad with joy; for they thought they should
now leave the cottage, and have all their finery again. When they
found that their father must take a journey to the ship, the two
eldest begged he would not fail to bring them back some new gowns,
caps, rings, and all sorts of trinkets. But Beauty asked for nothing;
for she thought in herself that all the ship was worth would hardly
buy everything her sisters wished for. "Beauty," said the merchant,
"how comes it that you ask for nothing: what can I bring you, my
child?"
"Since you are so kind as to think of me, dear father," she answered,
"I should be glad if you would bring me a rose, for we have none in
our garden." Now Beauty did not indeed wish for a rose, nor anything
else, but she only said this that she might not affront her sisters;
otherwise they would have said she wanted her father to praise her for
desiring nothing. The merchant took his leave of them, and set out on
his journey; but when he got to the ship, some persons went to law
with him about the cargo, and after a deal of trouble he came back to
his cottage as poor as he had left it. When he was within thirty miles
of his home, and thinking of the joy of again meeting his children, he
lost his way in the midst of a dense forest. It rained and snowed very
hard, and, besides, the wind was so high as to throw him twice from
his horse. Night came on, and he feared he should die of cold and
hunger, or be torn to pieces by the wolves that he heard howling round
him. All at once, he cast his eyes towards a long avenue, and saw at
the end a light, but it seemed a great way off. He made the best of
his way towards it, and found that it came from a splendid palace, the
windows of which were all blazing with light. It had great bronze
gates, standing wide open, and fine court-yards, through which the
merchant passed; but not a living soul was to be seen. There were
stables too, which his poor, starved horse, less scrupulous than
himself, entered at once, and took a good meal of oats and hay. His
master then tied him up, and walked towards the entrance hall, but
still without seeing a single creature. He went on to a large
dining-parlour, where he found a good fire, and a table covered with
some very nice dishes, but only one plate with a knife and fork. As
the snow and rain had wetted him to the skin, he went up to the fire
to dry himself. "I hope," said he, "the master of the house or his
servants will excuse me, for it surely will not be long now before I
see them." He waited some time, but still nobody came: at last the
clock struck eleven, and the merchant, being quite faint for the want
of food, helped himself to a chicken, and to a few glasses of wine,
yet all the time trembling with fear. He sat till the clock struck
twelve, and then, taking courage, began to think he might as well look
about him: so he opened a door at the end of the hall, and went
through it into a very grand room, in which there was a fine bed; and
as he was feeling very weary, he shut the door, took off his clothes,
and got into it.
It was ten o'clock in the morning before he awoke, when he was amazed
to see a handsome new suit of clothes laid ready for him, instead of
his own, which were all torn and spoiled. "To be sure," said he to
himself, "this place belongs to some good fairy, who has taken pity on
my ill luck." He looked out of the window, and instead of the
snow-covered wood, where he had lost himself the previous night, he
saw the most charming arbours covered with all kinds of flowers.
Returning to the hall where he had supped, he found a breakfast table,
ready prepared. "Indeed, my good fairy," said the merchant aloud, "I
am vastly obliged to you for your kind care of me." He then made a
hearty breakfast, took his hat, and was going to the stable to pay his
horse a visit; but as he passed under one of the arbours, which was
loaded with roses, he thought of what Beauty had asked him to bring
back to her, and so he took a bunch of roses to carry home. At the
same moment he heard a loud noise, and saw coming towards him a beast,
so frightful to look at that he was ready to faint with fear.
"Ungrateful man!" said the beast in a terrible voice, "I have saved
your life by admitting you into my palace, and in return you steal my
roses, which I value more than anything I possess. But you shall atone
for your fault: you shall die in a quarter of an hour."
The merchant fell on his knees, and clasping his hands, said, "Sir, I
humbly beg your pardon: I did not think it would offend you to gather
a rose for one of my daughters, who had entreated me to bring her one
home. Do not kill me, my lord!"
"I am not a lord, but a beast," replied the monster; "I hate false
compliments: so do not fancy that you can coax me by any such ways.
You tell me that you have daughters; now I suffer you to escape, if
one of them will come and die in your stead. If not, promise that you
will yourself return in three months, to be dealt with as I may
choose."
The tender-hearted merchant had no thoughts of letting any one of his
daughters die for his sake; but he knew that if he seemed to accept
the beast's terms, he should at least have the pleasure of seeing them
once again. So he gave his promise, and was told he might then set off
as soon as he liked. "But," said the beast, "I do not wish you to go
back empty-handed. Go to the room you slept in, and you will find a
chest there; fill it with whatsoever you like best, and I will have it
taken to your own house for you."
When the beast had said this, he went away. The good merchant, left to
himself, began to consider that as he must die--for he had no thought
of breaking a promise, made even to a beast--he might as well have the
comfort of leaving his children provided for. He returned to the room
he had slept in, and found there heaps of gold pieces lying about. He
filled the chest with them to the very brim, locked it, and, mounting
his horse, left the palace as sorrowful as he had been glad when he
first beheld it. The horse took a path across the forest of his own
accord, and in a few hours they reached the merchant's house. His
children came running round him, but, instead of kissing them with
joy, he could not help weeping as he looked at them. He held in his
hand the bunch of roses, which he gave to Beauty saying, "Take these
roses, Beauty; but little do you think how dear they have cost your
poor father;" and then he gave them an account of all that he had seen
or heard in the palace of the beast.
The two eldest sisters now began to shed tears, and to lay the blame
upon Beauty, who, they said, would be the cause of her father's death.
"See," said they, "what happens from the pride of the little wretch;
why did not she ask for such things as we did? But, to be sure, Miss
must not be like other people; and though she will be the cause of her
father's death, yet she does not shed a tear."
"It would be useless," replied Beauty, "for my father shall not die.
As the beast will accept of one of his daughters, I will give myself
up, and be only too happy to prove my love for the best of fathers."
"No, sister," said the three brothers with one voice, "that cannot be;
we will go in search of this monster, and either he or we will
perish."
"Do not hope to kill him," said the merchant, "his power is far too
great. But Beauty's young life shall not be sacrificed: I am old, and
cannot expect to live much longer; so I shall but give up a few years
of my life, and shall only grieve for the sake of my children."
"Never, father!" cried Beauty: "If you go back to the palace, you
cannot hinder my going after you; though young, I am not over-fond of
life; and I would much rather be eaten up by the monster, than die of
grief for your loss."
The merchant in vain tried to reason with Beauty, who still
obstinately kept to her purpose; which, in truth, made her two sisters
glad, for they were jealous of her, because everybody loved her.
The merchant was so grieved at the thoughts of losing his child, that
he never once thought of the chest filled with gold, but at night, to
his great surprise, he found it standing by his bedside. He said
nothing about his riches to his eldest daughters, for he knew very
well it would at once make them want to return to town; but he told
Beauty his secret, and she then said, that while he was away, two
gentlemen had been on a visit at their cottage, who had fallen in love
with her two sisters. She entreated her father to marry them without
delay, for she was so sweet-natured, she only wished them to be happy.
Three months went by, only too fast, and then the merchant and Beauty
got ready to set out for the palace of the beast. Upon this, the two
sisters rubbed their eyes with an onion, to make believe they were
crying; both the merchant and his sons cried in earnest. Only Beauty
shed no tears. They reached the palace in a very few hours, and the
horse, without bidding, went into the same stable as before. The
merchant and Beauty walked towards the large hall, where they found a
table covered with every dainty, and two plates laid ready. The
merchant had very little appetite; but Beauty, that she might the
better hide her grief, placed herself at the table, and helped her
father; she then began to eat herself, and thought all the time that,
to be sure, the beast had a mind to fatten her before he ate her up,
since he had provided such good cheer for her. When they had done
their supper, they heard a great noise, and the good old man began to
bid his poor child farewell, for he knew it was the beast coming to
them. When Beauty first saw that frightful form, she was very much
terrified, but tried to hide her fear. The creature walked up to her,
and eyed her all over--then asked her in a dreadful voice if she had
come quite of her own accord.
"Yes," said Beauty.
"Then you are a good girl, and I am very much obliged to you."
This was such an astonishingly civil answer that Beauty's courage
rose: but it sank again when the beast, addressing the merchant,
desired him to leave the palace next morning, and never return to it
again. "And so good night, merchant. And good night, Beauty."
"Good night, beast," she answered, as the monster shuffled out of the
room.
"Ah! my dear child," said the merchant, kissing his daughter, "I am
half dead already, at the thought of leaving you with this dreadful
beast; you shall go back and let me stay in your place."
"No," said Beauty, boldly, "I will never agree to that; you must go
home to-morrow morning."
They then wished each other good night, and went to bed, both of them
thinking they should not be able to close their eyes; but as soon as
ever they had lain down, they fell into a deep sleep, and did not
awake till morning. Beauty dreamed that a lady came up to her, who
said, "I am very much pleased, Beauty, with the goodness you have
shown, in being willing to give your life to save that of your father.
Do not be afraid of anything; you shall not go without a reward."
As soon as Beauty awoke, she told her father this dream; but though it
gave him some comfort, he was a long time before he could be persuaded
to leave the palace. At last Beauty succeeded in getting him safely
away.
When her father was out of sight, poor Beauty began to weep sorely;
still, having naturally a courageous spirit, she soon resolved not to
make her sad case still worse by sorrow, which she knew was vain, but
to wait and be patient. She walked about to take a view of all the
palace, and the elegance of every part of it much charmed her.
But what was her surprise, when she came to a door on which was
written, BEAUTY'S ROOM! She opened it in haste, and her eyes were
dazzled by the splendour and taste of the apartment. What made her
wonder more than all the rest, was a large library filled with books,
a harpsichord, and many pieces of music. "The beast surely does not
mean to eat me up immediately," said she, "since he takes care I shall
not be at a loss how to amuse myself." She opened the library and saw
these verses written in letters of gold on the back of one of the
books:--