Dapplegrim thought it might easily be done, but first of all he must
be newly shod; and for that, ten pounds of iron and twelve pounds of
steel besides were needed; and two smiths, one to hammer and the other
to hold, and then they'd soon get the sun to shine into the palace
hall.
So when the lad asked for all these things, he got them at once--the
king couldn't say nay for very shame; and so Dapplegrim got new shoes,
and such shoes! Then the lad jumped upon his back, and off they went
again; and for every leap that Dapplegrim gave, down sank the ridge
fifteen feet into the earth, and so they went on till there was
nothing left of the ridge for the king to see.
When the lad got back to the king's palace, he asked the king if the
Princess was not his now; for now no one could say that the sun didn't
shine into the hall. But then the others whispered to the king again,
and he answered that the lad should have her, of course; he had never
thought of anything else; but first of all he must get as grand a
horse for the bride to ride on to church as the bridegroom had
himself.
The lad said the king hadn't spoken a word about this before, and that
he thought he had now fairly earned the Princess; but the king held to
his own; and more, if the lad couldn't do that he should lose his
life; that was what the king said. So the lad went down to the stable
in doleful dumps, as you may well fancy, and there he told Dapplegrim
all about it; how the king had laid that task upon him, to find the
bride as good a horse as the bridegroom had himself, else he would
lose his life.
"But that's not so easy," he said, "for your match isn't to be found
in the wide world."
"Oh, yes, I have a match," said Dapplegrim; "but he lives a long way
from here, and rules over a great country. Still, we'll try. And now
you must go up to the king and ask for new shoes for me, ten pounds of
iron and twelve pounds of steel; and two smiths, one to hammer and one
to hold; and mind you see that the points and ends of those shoes are
sharp; and twelve sacks of rye, and twelve sacks of barley, and twelve
roasted oxen we must have with us; and mind, we must have the twelve
ox-hides, with twelve hundred spikes driven into each; and, let me
see, a big tar-barrel--that's all we want."
So the lad went up to the king and asked for all that Dapplegrim
required, and the king again thought he couldn't say nay, for shame's
sake, and so the lad got all he wanted.
Well, he jumped up on Dapplegrim's back, and rode away from the
palace, and when he had ridden far over hill and heath, Dapple asked:
"Do you hear anything?"
"Yes, I hear an awful hissing and rustling up in the air," said the
lad; "I think I'm getting afraid."
"That's all the wild birds that fly through the wood. They are sent to
stop us; but just cut a hole in the corn sacks, and then they'll have
so much to do with the corn, they'll forget us, quite."
Yes, the lad did that; he cut holes in the corn sacks, so that the
rye and the barley ran out on all sides. Then all the wild birds came
flying round them so thick that the sunbeams grew dark, but as soon as
they saw the corn they couldn't keep to their purpose, but flew down
and began to pick and scratch at the rye and barley; and after that
they began to fight amongst themselves. As for Dapplegrim and the lad,
they forgot all about them, and did them no harm.
So the lad rode on and on--far, far over mountain and dale, over
sand-hills and moor. Then Dapplegrim began to prick up his ears again,
and at last he asked the lad if he heard anything.
"Yes, now I hear such an ugly rushing and howling in the wood all
round, it makes me quite afraid."
"Ah!" said Dapplegrim, "that's all the wild beasts that range through
the wood, and they're sent out to stop us. But just cast out the
twelve carcasses of the oxen; that will give them enough to do, and so
they'll forget us outright."
Yes, the lad cast out the carcasses, and then all the wild beasts in
the wood--bears and wolves and lions--came after them. But when they
saw the carcasses, they began to fight for them amongst themselves,
till blood flowed in streams; but Dapple and the lad they quite
forgot.
So the lad rode far away, and they changed the landscape many, many
times, for Dapplegrim didn't let the grass grow under him, as you may
imagine. At last Dapple gave a great neigh.
"Do you hear anything?" he said.
"Yes, I hear something like a colt neighing loudly a long, long way
off," answered the lad.
"That's a full-grown colt, then," said Dapplegrim, "if we hear him
neigh so loud such a long way off."
After that they travelled a good bit, changing the landscape once or
twice, maybe. Then Dapplegrim gave another neigh.
"Now listen, and tell me if you hear anything," he said.
"Yes, now I hear a neigh like a full-grown horse," answered the lad.
"Ay, ay!" said Dapplegrim, "you'll hear him once again soon, and then
you'll hear he's got a voice of his own."
So they travelled on and on, and changed the landscape once or twice,
perhaps, and then Dapplegrim neighed the third time; but before he
could ask the lad if he heard anything, something gave such a neigh
across the heathery hillside, the lad thought hill and rock would
surely be rent asunder.
"Now he's here!" said Dapplegrim; "make haste, now, and throw the
ox-hides, with the spikes in them, over me, and throw down the
tar-barrel on the plain; then climb up into that great spruce-fir
yonder. When it comes, fire will flash out of both nostrils, and then
the tar-barrel will catch fire. Now, mind what I say. If the flame
rises, I win; if it falls, I lose; but if you see me winning, take and
cast the bridle--you must take it off me--over its head, and then it
will be tame enough."
So just as the lad had done throwing the ox-hides, with the spikes,
over Dapplegrim, and had cast down the tar-barrel on the plain, and
had got well up into the spruce-fir, up galloped a horse, with fire
flashing out of its nostrils, and the flame caught the tar-barrel at
once. Then Dapplegrim and the strange horse began to fight till the
stones flew heaven-high. They fought and bit and kicked, both with
fore feet and hind feet, and sometimes the lad could see them, and
sometimes he couldn't; but at last the flame began to rise; for
wherever the strange horse kicked or bit, he met the spiked hides, and
at last he had to yield.
When the lad saw that, he wasn't long getting down from the tree and
in throwing the bridle over its head, and then it was so tame you
could hold it with a pack-thread.
And what do you think--that horse was dappled, too, and so like
Dapplegrim, you couldn't tell which was which. Then the lad bestrode
the new Dapple he had won, and rode home to the palace, and old
Dapplegrim ran loose by his side. So when he got home, there stood the
king out in the yard.
"Can you tell me, now," said the lad, "which is the horse I have
caught and broken, and which is the one I had before? If you can't, I
think your daughter is fairly mine."
Then the king went and looked at both Dapples, high and low, before
and behind, but there wasn't a hair on one which wasn't on the other
as well.
"No," said the king, "that I can't; and since you've got my daughter
such a grand horse for her wedding, you shall have her with all my
heart. But still we'll have one trial more, just to see whether you're
fated to have her. First, she shall hide herself twice, and then you
shall hide yourself twice. If you can find out her hiding-place, and
she can't find out yours, why, then, you're fated to have her, and so
you shall have her."
"That's not in the bargain, either," said the lad; "but we must try,
since it must be so;" and so the Princess went off to hide herself
first.
So she turned herself into a duck, and lay swimming on a pond that was
close to the palace. But the lad only ran down to the stable, and
asked Dapplegrim what she had done with herself.
"Oh, you only need take your gun," said Dapplegrim, "and go down to
the brink of the pond, and aim at the duck which lies swimming about
there, and she'll soon show herself."
So the lad snatched his gun and ran off to the pond.
"I'll just take a pop at this duck," he said, and began to aim at it.
"Nay, nay, dear friend, don't shoot. It's I," said the Princess.
So he found her once.
The second time the Princess turned herself into a loaf of bread, and
laid herself on the table amongst four other loaves; and so like was
she to the others, no one could say which was which.
But the lad went again down to the stable to Dapplegrim, and said how
the Princess had hidden herself again, and he couldn't tell at all
what had become of her.
"Oh, just take and sharpen a good bread-knife," said Dapplegrim, "and
do as if you were going to cut in two the third loaf on the left hand
of those four loaves which are lying on the dresser in the king's
kitchen, and you'll find her soon enough."
Yes, the lad was down in the kitchen in no time, and began to sharpen
the biggest bread-knife he could lay his hands on; then he caught
hold of the third loaf on the left hand, and put the knife to it, as
though he were going to cut it in two.
"I'll just have a slice off this loaf," he said.
"Nay, dear friend," said the Princess, "don't cut. It's I."
So he found her twice.
Then he was to go and hide but he and Dapplegrim had settled it so
well beforehand, it wasn't easy to find him. First he turned himself
into a fly, and hid himself in Dapplegrim's left nostril; and the
Princess went about hunting for him everywhere, high and low. At last
she wanted to go into Dapplegrim's stall, but he began to bite and
kick, so that she daren't go near him, and so she couldn't find the
lad.
"Well," she said, "since I cannot find you, you must show where you
are yourself;" and in a trice the lad stood there on the stable floor.
The second time Dapplegrim told him just what to do; and then he
turned into a clod of earth, and stuck himself between Dapple's hoof
and shoe on the near forefoot. So the Princess hunted up and down, out
and in, everywhere; at last she came into the stable, and wanted to go
into Dapplegrim's loose box. This time he let her come up to him, and
she pried high and low, but under his heels she couldn't come, for he
stood firm as a rock on his feet, and so she couldn't find the lad.
"Well, you must just show yourself, for I'm sure I can't find you,"
said the Princess, and as she spoke the lad stood by her side on the
stable floor.
"Now you are mine indeed," said the lad; "for now you can see I'm
fated to have you." This he said both to the father and daughter.
"Yes; it is so fated," said the king; "so it must be."
Then everything was made ready for the wedding with great splendour
and promptitude; and the lad got on Dapplegrim, and the Princess on
Dapplegrim's match, and then you may guess they were not long on their
way to church.
_The Hermit_
In the reign of King Moabdar there lived at Babylon a young man named
Zadig. He was handsome, rich, and naturally good-hearted; and at the
moment when this story opens, he was travelling on foot to see the
world, and to learn philosophy and wisdom. But, hitherto, he had
encountered so much misery, and endured so many terrible disasters,
that he had become tempted to rebel against the will of Heaven, and to
believe that the Providence which rules the world neglects the good
and lets the evil prosper. In this unhappy spirit he was one day
walking on the banks of the Euphrates, when he chanced to meet a
venerable hermit, whose snowy beard descended to his girdle, and who
carried in his hand a scroll which he was reading with attention.
Zadig stopped, and made him a low bow. The hermit returned the
salutation with an air so kindly, and so noble, that Zadig felt a
curiosity to speak to him. He inquired what scroll was that which he
was reading.
"It is the Book of Destiny," replied the hermit; "would you like to
read it?"
He handed it to Zadig; but the latter, though he knew a dozen
languages, could not understand a word of it. His curiosity increased.
"You appear to be in trouble," said the kindly hermit.
"Alas!" said Zadig, "I have cause to be so."
"If you will allow me," said the hermit, "I will accompany you.
Perhaps I may be useful to you. I am sometimes able to console the
sorrowful."
Zadig felt a deep respect for the appearance, the white beard, and the
mysterious scroll of the old hermit, and perceived that his
conversation was that of a superior mind. The old man spoke of
destiny, of justice, of morality, of the chief good of life, of human
frailty, of virtue, and of vice, with so much power and eloquence,
that Zadig felt himself attracted by a kind of charm, and besought the
hermit not to leave him until they should return to Babylon.
"I ask you the same favour," said the hermit. "Promise me that,
whatever I may do, you will keep me company for several days."
Zadig gave the promise; and they set forth together.
That night the travellers arrived at a grand mansion. The hermit
begged for food and lodging for himself and his companion. The porter,
who might have been mistaken for a prince, ushered them in with a
contemptuous air of welcome. The chief servant showed them the
magnificent apartments; and they were then admitted to the bottom of
the table, where the master of the mansion did not condescend to cast
a glance at them. They were, however, served with delicacies in
profusion, and, after dinner, washed their hands in a golden basin set
with emeralds and rubies. They were then conducted for the night into
a beautiful apartment; and the next morning, before they left the
castle, a servant brought them each a piece of gold.
"The master of the house," said Zadig, as they went their way,
"appears to be a generous man, although a trifle haughty. He practises
a noble hospitality." As he spoke he perceived that a kind of large
pouch which the hermit carried appeared singularly distended; within
it was the golden basin, set with precious stones, which the old man
had purloined. Zadig was amazed; but he said nothing.
At noon the hermit stopped before a little house, in which lived a
wealthy miser, and once more asked for hospitality. An old valet in a
shabby coat received them very rudely, showed them into the stable,
and set before them a few rotten olives, some moldy bread, and beer
which had turned sour. The hermit ate and drank with as much content
as he had shown the night before; then, addressing the old valet, who
had kept his eye upon them to make sure that they stole nothing, he
gave him the two gold pieces which they had received that morning,
and thanked him for his kind attention. "Be so good," he added, "as
to let me see your master."
The astonished valet showed them in.
"Most mighty signor," said the hermit, "I can only render you my
humble thanks for the noble manner in which you have received us. I
beseech you to accept this golden basin as a token of my gratitude."
The miser almost fell backwards with amazement. The hermit, without
waiting for him to recover, set off with speed with his companion.
"Holy Father," said Zadig, "what does all this mean? You seem to me to
resemble other men in nothing. You steal a golden basin set with
jewels from a signor who receives you with magnificence, and you give
it to a curmudgeon who treats you with indignity."
"My son," replied the hermit, "this mighty lord, who only welcomes
travellers through vanity, and to display his riches, will henceforth
grow wiser, while the miser will be taught to practise hospitality. Be
amazed at nothing, and follow me."
Zadig knew not whether he was dealing with the most foolish or the
wisest of all men. But the hermit spoke with such ascendancy that
Zadig, who, besides, was fettered by his promise, had no choice except
to follow him.
That night they came to an agreeable house, of simple aspect, and
showing signs neither of prodigality nor avarice. The owner was a
philosopher, who had left the world, and who studied peacefully the
rules of virtue and of wisdom, and who yet was happy and contented. He
had built this calm retreat to please himself, and he received the
strangers in it with a frankness which displayed no sign of
ostentation. He conducted them himself to a comfortable chamber, where
he made them rest awhile; then he returned to lead them to a dainty
little supper. During their conversation they agreed that the affairs
of this world are not always regulated by the opinions of the wisest
men, but the hermit still maintained that the ways of Providence are
wrapped in mystery, and that men do wrong to pass judgment on a
universe of which they only see the smallest part. Zadig wondered how
a person who committed such mad acts could reason so correctly.
At length, after a conversation as agreeable as instructive, the host
conducted the two travellers to their apartment, and thanked Heaven
for sending him two visitors so wise and virtuous. He offered them
some money, but so frankly that they could not feel offended. The old
man declined, and desired to say farewell, as he intended to depart
for Babylon at break of day. They therefore parted on the warmest
terms, and Zadig, above all, was filled with kindly feelings toward so
amiable a man.
When the hermit and himself were in their chamber, they spent some
time in praises of their host. At break of day the old man woke his
comrade.
"We must be going," he remarked. "But while every one is still asleep,
I wish to leave this worthy man a pledge of my esteem." With these
words he took a torch and set the house on fire.
Zadig burst forth into cries of horror, and would have stopped the
frightful act. But the hermit, by superior strength, drew him away.
The house was in a blaze; and the old man, who was now a good way off
with his companion, looked back calmly at the burning pile.
"Heaven be praised!" he cried, "our kind host's house is destroyed
from top to bottom."
At these words Zadig knew not whether he should burst out laughing,
call the reverend father an old rascal, knock him down, or run away.
But he did neither. Still subdued by the superior manner of the
hermit, he followed him against his will to their next lodging.
This was the dwelling of a good and charitable widow, who had a nephew
of fourteen, her only hope and joy. She did her best to use the
travellers well; and the next morning she bade her nephew guide them
safely past a certain bridge, which, having recently been broken, had
become dangerous to cross over. The youth, eager to oblige them, led
the way.
"Come," said the hermit, when they were half across the bridge, "I
must show my gratitude toward your aunt;" and as he spoke he seized
the young man by the hair and threw him into the river. The youth
fell, reappeared for an instant on the surface, and then was swallowed
by the torrent.
"Oh, monster!" exclaimed Zadig, "ah, most detestable of men--"
"You promised me more patience," interrupted the old man. "Listen!
Beneath the ruins of that house which Providence saw fit to set on
fire, the owner will discover an enormous treasure; while this young
man, whose existence Providence cut short, would have killed his aunt
within a year, and you yourself in two."
"Who told you so, barbarian?" cried Zadig; "and even if you read the
issue in your Book of Destiny, who gave you power to drown a youth who
never injured you?"
While he spoke, he saw that the old man had a beard no longer, and
that his face had become fair and young; his hermit's frock had
disappeared; four white wings covered his majestic form, and shone
with dazzling lustre.
"Angel of heaven," cried Zadig, "you are then descended from the skies
to teach an erring mortal to submit to the eternal laws."
"Men," replied the angel Jezrael, "judge all things without knowledge;
and you, of all men, most deserved to be enlightened. The world
imagines that the youth who has just perished fell by chance into the
water, and that by a like chance the rich man's house was set on fire.
But there is no such thing as chance; all is trial, or punishment, or
foresight. Feeble mortal, cease to argue and rebel against what you
ought to adore!"
As he spoke these words the angel took his flight to heaven, and Zadig
fell upon his knees.
_The Watch-tower Between Earth and Heaven_[5]
Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons and one daughter.
He kept the daughter in a cage and guarded her as the eyes in his
head.
[Footnote 5: From "The Russian Grandmother's Wonder Tales." Copyright,
1906, by Charles Scribner's Sons.]
When the maiden was grown up she begged her father one evening to let
her go out and take a walk before the castle with her brothers. The
father consented, but hardly was she out of the door when suddenly a
Dragon came swooping down from the sky, seized the maiden from among
her brothers, and carried her away with him high into the clouds.
The brothers rushed headlong back to their father, told him of their
misfortune, and begged permission to go and seek their stolen sister.
The father consented, gave them each a horse and everything needful
for a journey, and they set out.
After many wanderings they came across a watch-tower which stood
neither on earth nor in heaven. When they reached the place it
occurred to them that their sister might be within, and they at once
began to take counsel among themselves as to how they should reach it.
After long consultation they decided to kill one of their horses, cut
his skin into a long strap, fasten the end to an arrow, and shoot it
up into some place in the watch-tower where it would hold securely.
Then they could easily climb up. The two younger brothers asked the
eldest to sacrifice his horse, but he would not; nor would the second
brother. So the youngest brother slew his horse, cut the hide into a
long strap, bound one end to his arrow, and with his bow shot it up
into the tower.
But now, when it came to climbing up by the strap, the eldest and
second brothers declined, whereupon the youngest undertook the
adventure. Arriving at the tower, he went from room to room, until at
last he came to one where he saw his sister sitting, with the Dragon's
head in her lap, the Dragon being fast asleep.
When the sister perceived her brother she was greatly terrified, and
softly entreated him to flee before the Dragon should awake. This he
would not do, but seized his cudgel, struck out boldly, and dealt the
Dragon a heavy blow upon the head. The Dragon, without awaking, put
his hand up to the spot, murmuring, "Something hit me right here."
As he said this the Prince fetched him a second blow upon the head,
and again the Dragon murmured, "Something hit me here." But now, as
the brother made ready to strike a third time, the sister made a sign
showing the Dragon's vulnerable spot; and the brother, giving a
powerful blow, killed him as dead as a mouse.
Then the Princess pushed him from her, flew into her brother's arms,
and smothered him with kisses. After this she took him by the hand and
began to lead him through all the rooms. First she led him into a room
in which a black fox, with a harness of pure silver, was standing
before a manger. Then she led him into another room, where a white
horse, with a harness of pure gold, stood before another manger.
Finally she led him into a third room, where a brown horse stood
before a manger, his harness all studded with diamonds.
When they had gone through these rooms, the sister led her brother
into a chamber where a maiden sat before a golden embroidery frame,
working with golden threads. From this room she led him into another,
where a second maiden was spinning gold thread, and at last into a
room where a third maiden was stringing pearls, while at her feet a
golden hen, with a brood of chickens, was picking up pearls from a
golden basin.
When they had gone through all these rooms and seen all they wanted to
see, they went back into the room where the dead Dragon lay, dragged
him out, and threw him head-foremost down to the earth. When the other
brothers saw him they were almost convulsed with terror. But now the
youngest brother let down to them first their sister and then the
three maidens, one after another, each with her work. As he let them
down he allotted one to each of his brothers, and when he let down the
third, that is, the one with the hen and chickens, he reserved her to
himself.
But his brothers, filled with envy because he was the hero who had
discovered all these things and rescued their sister, cut the strap to
make it impossible for him to return. Then they rode away, and coming
upon a shepherd boy with his sheep, they dressed him like their
brother and brought him home to their father, forbidding their sister
and the maidens, with fearful threats, under any circumstances to
reveal the secret.