The Yellow Bird

Once upon a time a Fairy, who had somehow or other got into mischief,

was condemned by the High Court of Fairyland to live for several years

under the form of some creature, and at the moment of resuming her

natural appearance once again to make the fortune of two men. It was

left to her to choose what form she would take, and because she loved

yellow she transformed herself into a lovely bird with shining golden

feathers such as no one had ever seen before. When the time of her

punishment was at an end the beautiful yellow bird flew to Bagdad, and

let herself be caught by a Fowler at the precise moment when

Badi-al-Zaman was walking up and down outside his magnificent summer

palace. This Badi-al-Zaman--whose name means 'Wonder-of-the-World'--was

looked upon in Bagdad as the most fortunate creature under the sun,

because of his vast wealth. But really, what with anxiety about his

riches and being weary of everything, and always desiring something he

had not, he never knew a moment's real happiness. Even now he had come

out of his palace, which was large and splendid enough for fifty kings,

weary and cross because he could find nothing new to amuse him. The

Fowler thought that this would be a favourable opportunity for offering

him the marvellous bird, which he felt certain he would buy the instant

he saw it. And he was not mistaken, for when Badi-al-Zaman took the

lovely prisoner into his own hands, he saw written under its right wing

the words, 'He who eats my head will become a king,' and under its left

wing, 'He who eats my heart will find a hundred gold pieces under his

pillow every morning.' In spite of all his wealth he at once began to

desire the promised gold, and the bargain was soon completed. Then the

difficulty arose as to how the bird was to be cooked; for among all his

army of servants not one could Badi-al-Zaman trust. At last he asked the

Fowler if he were married, and on hearing that he was he bade him take

the bird home with him and tell his wife to cook it.

[Illustration]

'Perhaps,' said he, 'this will give me an appetite, which I have not had

for many a long day, and if so your wife shall have a hundred pieces of

silver.'

The Fowler with great joy ran home to his wife, who speedily made a

savoury stew of the Yellow Bird. But when Badi-al-Zaman reached the

cottage and began eagerly to search in the dish for its head and its

heart he could not find either of them, and turned to the Fowler's wife

in a furious rage. She was so terrified that she fell upon her knees

before him and confessed that her two children had come in just before

he arrived, and had so teased her for some of the dish she was preparing

that she had presently given the head to one and the heart to the other,

since these morsels are not generally much esteemed; and Badi-al-Zaman

rushed from the cottage vowing vengeance against the whole family. The

wrath of a rich man is generally to be feared, so the Fowler and his

wife resolved to send their children out of harm's way; but the wife, to

console her husband, confided to him that she had purposely given them

the head and heart of the bird because she had been able to read what

was written under its wings. So, believing that their children's

fortunes were made, they embraced them and sent them forth, bidding them

get as far away as possible, to take different roads, and to send news

of their welfare. For themselves, they remained hidden and disguised in

the town, which was really rather clever of them; but very soon

afterwards Badi-al-Zaman died of vexation and annoyance at the loss of

the promised treasure, and then they went back to their cottage to wait

for news of their children. The younger, who had eaten the heart of the

Yellow Bird, very soon found out what it had done for him, for each

morning when he awoke he found a purse containing a hundred gold pieces

under his pillow. But, as all poor people may remember for their

consolation, nothing in the world causes so much trouble or requires so

much care as a great treasure. Consequently, the Fowler's son, who spent

with reckless profusion and was supposed to be possessed of a great

hoard of gold, was before very long attacked by robbers, and in trying

to defend himself was so badly wounded that he died.

The elder brother, who had eaten the Yellow Bird's head, travelled a

long way without meeting with any particular adventure, until at last he

reached a large city in Asia, which was all in an uproar over the

choosing of a new Emir. All the principal citizens had formed themselves

into two parties, and it was not until after a prolonged squabble that

they agreed that the person to whom the most singular thing happened

should be Emir. Our young traveller entered the town at this juncture,

with his agreeable face and jaunty air, and all at once felt something

alight upon his head, which proved to be a snow-white pigeon. Thereupon

all the people began to stare, and to run after him, so that he

presently reached the palace with the pigeon upon his head and all the

inhabitants of the city at his heels, and before he knew where he was

they made him Emir, to his great astonishment.

As there is nothing more agreeable than to command, and nothing to which

people get accustomed more quickly, the young Emir soon felt quite at

his ease in his new position; but this did not prevent him from making

every kind of mistake, and so misgoverning the kingdom that at last the

whole city rose in revolt and deprived him at once of his authority and

his life--a punishment which he richly deserved, for in the days of his

prosperity he disowned the Fowler and his wife, and allowed them to die

in poverty.

'I have told you this story, my dear Sylvain and Jocosa,' added the

Fairy, 'to prove to you that this little cottage and all that belongs to

it is a gift more likely to bring you happiness and contentment than

many things that would at first seem grander and more desirable. If you

will faithfully promise me to till your fields and feed your flocks,

and will keep your word better than you did before, I will see that you

never lack anything that is really for your good.'

Sylvain and Jocosa gave their faithful promise, and as they kept it they

always enjoyed peace and prosperity. The Fairy had asked all their

friends and neighbours to their wedding, which took place at once with

great festivities and rejoicings, and they lived to a good old age,

always loving one another with all their hearts.

By the Comte de Caylus.

_FAIRY GIFTS_

It generally happens that people's surroundings reflect more or less

accurately their minds and dispositions, so perhaps that is why the

Flower Fairy lived in a lovely palace, with the most delightful garden

you can imagine, full of flowers, and trees, and fountains, and

fish-ponds, and everything nice. For the Fairy herself was so kind and

charming that everybody loved her, and all the young princes and

princesses who formed her court, were as happy as the day was long,

simply because they were near her. They came to her when they were quite

tiny, and never left her until they were grown up and had to go away

into the great world; and when that time came she gave to each whatever

gift he asked of her. But it is chiefly of the Princess Sylvia that you

are going to hear now. The Fairy loved her with all her heart, for she

was at once original and gentle, and she had nearly reached the age at

which the gifts were generally bestowed. However, the Fairy had a great

wish to know how the other princesses who had grown up and left her,

were prospering, and before the time came for Sylvia to go herself, she

resolved to send her to some of them. So one day her chariot, drawn by

butterflies, was made ready, and the Fairy said: 'Sylvia, I am going to

send you to the court of Iris; she will receive you with pleasure for my

sake as well as for your own. In two months you may come back to me

again, and I shall expect you to tell me what you think of her.'

Sylvia was very unwilling to go away, but as the Fairy wished it she

said nothing--only when the two months were over she stepped joyfully

into the butterfly chariot, and could not get back quickly enough to the

Flower-Fairy, who, for her part, was equally delighted to see her again.

[Illustration]

'Now, child,' said she, 'tell me what impression you have received.'

'You sent me, madam,' answered Sylvia, 'to the Court of Iris, on whom

you had bestowed the gift of beauty. She never tells anyone, however,

that it was your gift, though she often speaks of your kindness in

general. It seemed to me that her loveliness, which fairly dazzled me at

first, had absolutely deprived her of the use of any of her other gifts

or graces. In allowing herself to be seen, she appeared to think that

she was doing all that could possibly be required of her. But,

unfortunately, while I was still with her she became seriously ill, and

though she presently recovered, her beauty is entirely gone, so that she

hates the very sight of herself, and is in despair. She entreated me to

tell you what had happened, and to beg you, in pity, to give her beauty

back to her. And, indeed, she does need it terribly, for all the things

in her that were tolerable, and even agreeable, when she was so pretty,

seem quite different now she is ugly, and it is so long since she

thought of using her mind or her natural cleverness, that I really don't

think she has any left now. She is quite aware of all this herself, so

you may imagine how unhappy she is, and how earnestly she begs for your

aid.'

'You have told me what I wanted to know,' cried the Fairy, 'but alas! I

cannot help her; my gifts can be given but once.'

Some time passed in all the usual delights of the Flower-Fairy's palace,

and then she sent for Sylvia again, and told her she was to stay for a

little while with the Princess Daphne, and accordingly the butterflies

whisked her off, and set her down in quite a strange kingdom. But she

had only been there a very little time before a wandering butterfly

brought a message from her to the Fairy, begging that she might be sent

for as soon as possible, and before very long she was allowed to return.

'Ah! madam,' cried she, 'what a place you sent me to that time!'

'Why, what was the matter?' asked the Fairy. 'Daphne was one of the

princesses who asked for the gift of eloquence, if I remember rightly.'

'And very ill the gift of eloquence becomes a woman,' replied Sylvia,

with an air of conviction. 'It is true that she speaks well, and her

expressions are well chosen; but then she never leaves off talking, and

though at first one may be amused, one ends by being wearied to death.

Above all things she loves any assembly for settling the affairs of her

kingdom, for on those occasions she can talk and talk without fear of

interruption; but, even then, the moment it is over she is ready to

begin again about anything or nothing, as the case may be. Oh! how glad

I was to come away I cannot tell you.'

The Fairy smiled at Sylvia's unfeigned disgust at her late experience;

but after allowing her a little time to recover she sent her to the

Court of the Princess Cynthia, where she left her for three months. At

the end of that time Sylvia came back to her with all the joy and

contentment that one feels at being once more beside a dear friend. The

Fairy, as usual, was anxious to hear what she thought of Cynthia, who

had always been amiable, and to whom she had given the gift of pleasing.

'I thought at first,' said Sylvia, 'that she must be the happiest

Princess in the world; she had a thousand lovers who vied with one

another in their efforts to please and gratify her. Indeed, I had nearly

decided that I would ask a similar gift.'

'Have you altered your mind, then?' interrupted the Fairy.

'Yes, indeed, madam,' replied Sylvia; 'and I will tell you why. The

longer I stayed the more I saw that Cynthia was not really happy. In her

desire to please everyone she ceased to be sincere, and degenerated

into a mere coquette; and even her lovers felt that the charms and

fascinations which were exercised upon all who approached her without

distinction were valueless, so that in the end they ceased to care for

them, and went away disdainfully.'

'I am pleased with you, child,' said the Fairy; 'enjoy yourself here for

awhile and presently you shall go to Phyllida.'

Sylvia was glad to have leisure to think, for she could not make up her

mind at all what she should ask for herself, and the time was drawing

very near. However, before very long the Fairy sent her to Phyllida, and

waited for her report with unabated interest.

'I reached her court safely,' said Sylvia, 'and she received me with

much kindness, and immediately began to exercise upon me that brilliant

wit which you had bestowed upon her. I confess that I was fascinated by

it, and for a week thought that nothing could be more desirable; the

time passed like magic, so great was the charm of her society. But I

ended by ceasing to covet that gift more than any of the others I have

seen, for, like the gift of pleasing, it cannot really give

satisfaction. By degrees I wearied of what had so delighted me at first,

especially as I perceived more and more plainly that it is impossible to

be constantly smart and amusing without being frequently ill-natured,

and too apt to turn all things, even the most serious, into mere

occasions for a brilliant jest.'

The Fairy in her heart agreed with Sylvia's conclusions, and felt

pleased with herself for having brought her up so well.

But now the time was come for Sylvia to receive her gift, and all her

companions were assembled; the Fairy stood in the midst and in the usual

manner asked what she would take with her into the great world.

Sylvia paused for a moment, and then answered: 'A quiet spirit.' And the

Fairy granted her request.

This lovely gift makes life a constant happiness to its possessor, and

to all who are brought into contact with her. She has all the beauty of

gentleness and contentment in her sweet face; and if at times it seems

less lovely through some chance grief or disquietude, the hardest thing

that one ever hears said is:

'Sylvia's dear face is pale to-day. It grieves one to see her so.'

And when, on the contrary, she is gay and joyful, the sunshine of her

presence rejoices all who have the happiness of being near her.

By the Comte de Caylus.

_PRINCE NARCISSUS AND THE PRINCESS POTENTILLA_

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who, though it is a very

long while since they died, were much the same in their tastes and

pursuits as people nowadays. The King, who was called Cloverleaf, liked

hunting better than anything else; but he nevertheless bestowed as much

care upon his kingdom as he felt equal to--that is to say, he never made

an end of folding and unfolding the State documents. As to the Queen,

she had once been very pretty, and she liked to believe that she was so

still, which is, of course, always made quite easy for queens. Her name

was Frivola, and her one occupation in life was the pursuit of

amusement. Balls, masquerades, and picnics followed one another in rapid

succession, as fast as she could arrange them, and you may imagine that

under these circumstances the kingdom was somewhat neglected. As a

matter of fact, if anyone had a fancy for a town, or a province, he

helped himself to it; but as long as the King had his horses and dogs,

and the Queen her musicians and her actors, they did not trouble

themselves about the matter. King Cloverleaf and Queen Frivola had but

one child, and this Princess had from her very babyhood been so

beautiful, that by the time she was four years old the Queen was

desperately jealous of her, and so fearful that when she was grown up

she would be more admired than herself, that she resolved to keep her

hidden away out of sight. To this end she caused a little house to be

built not far beyond the Palace gardens, on the bank of a river. This

was surrounded by a high wall, and in it the charming Potentilla was

imprisoned. Her nurse, who was dumb, took care of her, and the

necessaries of life were conveyed to her through a little window in the

wall, while guards were always pacing to and fro outside, with orders to

cut off the head of anyone who tried to approach, which they would

certainly have done without thinking twice about it. The Queen told

everyone, with much pretended sorrow, that the Princess was so ugly, and

so troublesome, and altogether so impossible to love, that to keep her

out of sight was the only thing that could be done for her. And this

tale she repeated so often, that at last the whole court believed it.

Things were in this state, and the Princess was about fifteen years old

when Prince Narcissus, attracted by the report of Queen Frivola's gay

doings, presented himself at the court. He was not much older than the

Princess, and was as handsome a Prince as you would see in a day's

journey, and really, for his age, not so very scatter-brained. His

parents were a King and Queen, whose story you will perhaps read some

day. They died almost at the same time, leaving their kingdom to the

eldest of their children, and commending their youngest son, Prince

Narcissus, to the care of the Fairy Melinette. In this they did very

well for him, for the Fairy was as kind as she was powerful, and she

spared no pains in teaching the little Prince everything it was good for

him to know, and even imparted to him some of her own Fairy lore. But as

soon as he was grown up she sent him out to see the world for himself,

though all the time she was secretly keeping watch over him, ready to

help in any time of need. Before he started she gave him a ring which

would render him invisible when he put it on his finger. These rings

seem to be quite common; you must often have heard of them, even if you

have never seen one. It was in the course of the Prince's wanderings, in

search of experience of men and things, that he came to the court of

Queen Frivola, where he was extremely well received. The Queen was

delighted with him, so were all her ladies; and the King was very polite

to him, though he did not quite see why the whole court was making such

a fuss over him.

[Illustration]

Prince Narcissus enjoyed all that went on, and found the time pass very

pleasantly. Before long, of course, he heard the story about the

Princess Potentilla, and, as it had by that time been repeated many

times, and had been added to here and there, she was represented as such

a monster of ugliness that he was really quite curious to see her, and

resolved to avail himself of the magic power of his ring to accomplish

his design. So he made himself invisible, and passed the guard without

their so much as suspecting that anyone was near. Climbing the wall was

rather a difficulty, but when he at length found himself inside it he

was charmed with the peaceful beauty of the little domain it enclosed,

and still more delighted when he perceived a slender, lovely maiden

wandering among the flowers. It was not until he had sought vainly for

the imaginary monster that he realised that this was the Princess

herself, and by that time he was deeply in love with her, for indeed it

would have been hard to find anyone prettier than Potentilla, as she sat

by the brook, weaving a garland of blue forget-me-nots to crown her

waving golden locks, or to imagine anything more gentle than the way she

tended all the birds and beasts who inhabited her small kingdom, and who

all loved and followed her. Prince Narcissus watched her every movement,

and hovered near her in a dream of delight, not daring as yet to appear

to her, so humble had he suddenly become in her presence. And when

evening came, and the nurse fetched the Princess into her little house,

he felt obliged to go back to Frivola's palace, for fear his absence

should be noticed and someone should discover his new treasure. But he

forgot that to go back absent, and dreamy, and indifferent, when he had

before been gay and ardent about everything, was the surest way of

awakening suspicion; and when, in response to the jesting questions

which were put to him upon the subject, he only blushed and returned

evasive answers, all the ladies were certain that he had lost his heart,

and did their utmost to discover who was the happy possessor of it. As

to the Prince, he was becoming day by day more attached to Potentilla,

and his one thought was to attend her, always invisible, and help her in

everything she did, and provide her with everything that could possibly

amuse or please her. And the Princess, who had learnt to find diversion

in very small things in her quiet life, was in a continual state of

delight over the treasures which the Prince constantly laid where she

must find them. Then Narcissus implored his faithful friend Melinette to

send the Princess such dreams of him as should make her recognise him as

a friend when he actually appeared before her eyes; and this device was

so successful that the Princess quite dreaded the cessation of these

amusing dreams, in which a certain Prince Narcissus was such a

delightful lover and companion. After that he went a step further and

began to have long talks with the Princess--still, however, keeping

himself invisible, until she begged him so earnestly to appear to her

that he could no longer resist, and after making her promise that, no

matter what he was like, she would still love him, he drew the ring from

his finger, and the Princess saw with delight that he was as handsome as

he was agreeable. Now, indeed, they were perfectly happy, and they

passed the whole long summer day in Potentilla's favourite place by the

brook, and when at last Prince Narcissus had to leave her it seemed to

them both that the hours had gone by with the most amazing swiftness.

The Princess stayed where she was, dreaming of her delightful Prince,

and nothing could have been further from her thoughts than any trouble

or misfortune, when suddenly, in a cloud of dust and shavings, by came

the enchanter Grumedan, and unluckily he chanced to catch sight of

Potentilla. Down he came straightway and alighted at her feet, and one

look at her charming blue eyes and smiling lips quite decided him that

he must appear to her at once, though he was rather annoyed to remember

that he had on only his second-best cloak. The Princess sprang to her

feet with a cry of terror at this sudden apparition, for really the

Enchanter was no beauty. To begin with, he was very big and clumsy, then

he had but one eye, and his teeth were long, and he stammered badly;

nevertheless, he had an excellent opinion of himself, and mistook the

Princess's cry of terror for an exclamation of delighted surprise. After

pausing a moment to give her time to admire him, the Enchanter made her

the most complimentary speech he could invent, which, however, did not

please her at all, though he was extremely delighted with it himself.

Poor Potentilla only shuddered and cried:

'Oh! where is my Narcissus?'

To which he replied with a self-satisfied chuckle: 'You want a

narcissus, madam? Well, they are not rare; you shall have as many as you

like.'

Whereupon he waved his wand, and the Princess found herself surrounded

and half buried in the fragrant flowers. She would certainly have

betrayed that this was not the kind of narcissus she wanted, but for the

Fairy Melinette, who had been anxiously watching the interview, and now

thought it quite time to interfere. Assuming the Prince's voice, she

whispered in Potentilla's ear:

'We are menaced by a great danger, but my only fear is for you, my

Princess. Therefore I beg you to hide what you really feel, and we will

hope that some way out of the difficulty may present itself.'

The Princess was much agitated by this speech, and feared lest the

Enchanter should have overheard it; but he had been loudly calling her

attention to the flowers, and chuckling over his own smartness in

getting them for her; and it was rather a blow to him when she said very

coldly that they were not the sort she preferred, and she would be glad

if he would send them all away. This he did, but afterwards wished to

kiss the Princess's hand as a reward for having been so obliging; but

the Fairy Melinette was not going to allow anything of that kind. She

appeared suddenly, in all her splendour, and cried:

'Stay, Grumedan; this Princess is under my protection, and the smallest

impertinence will cost you a thousand years of captivity. If you can win

Potentilla's heart by the ordinary methods I cannot oppose you, but I

warn you that I will not put up with any of your usual tricks.'

This declaration was not at all to the Enchanter's taste; but he knew

that there was no help for it, and that he would have to behave well,

and pay the Princess all the delicate attentions he could think of,

though they were not at all the sort of thing he was used to. However,

he decided that to win such a beauty it was quite worth while; and

Melinette, feeling that she could now leave the Princess in safety,

hurried off to tell Prince Narcissus what was going forward. Of course,

at the very mention of the Enchanter as a rival he was furious, and I

don't know what foolish things he would not have done if Melinette had

not been there to calm him down. She represented to him what a powerful

enchanter Grumedan was, and how, if he were provoked, he might avenge

himself upon the Princess, since he was the most unjust and churlish of

all the enchanters, and had often before had to be punished by the Fairy

Queen for some of his ill-deeds. Once he had been imprisoned in a tree,

and was only released when it was blown down by a furious wind; another

time he was condemned to stay under a big stone at the bottom of a

river, until by some chance the stone should be turned over; but nothing

could ever really improve him. The Fairy finally made Narcissus promise

that he would remain invisible when he was with the Princess, since she

felt sure that this would make things easier for all of them. Then began

a struggle between Grumedan and the Prince, the latter under the name of

Melinette, as to which could best delight and divert the Princess and

win her approbation. Prince Narcissus first made friends with all the

birds in Potentilla's little domain, and taught them to sing her name

and her praises, with all their sweetest trills and most touching

melodies, and all day long to tell her how dearly he loved her.

Grumedan, thereupon, declared that there was nothing new about that,

since the birds had sung since the world began, and all lovers had

imagined that they sang for them alone. Therefore he said he would

himself write an opera that should be absolutely a novelty and something

worth hearing. When the time came for the performance (which lasted five

weary hours) the Princess found to her dismay that the 'opera' consisted

of this more than indifferent verse, chanted with all their might by ten

thousand frogs:

'Admirable Potentilla,

Do you think it kind or wise

In this sudden way to kill a

Poor Enchanter with your eyes?'

Really, if Narcissus had not been there to whisper in her ear and divert

her attention, I don't know what would have become of poor Potentilla,

for though the first repetition of this absurdity amused her faintly,

she nearly died of weariness before the time was over. Luckily Grumedan

did not perceive this, as he was too much occupied in whipping up the

frogs, many of whom perished miserably from fatigue, since he did not

allow them to rest for a moment. The Prince's next idea for Potentilla's

amusement was to cause a fleet of boats exactly like those of Cleopatra,

of which you have doubtless read in history, to come up the little

river, and upon the most gorgeously decorated of these reclined the

great Queen herself, who, as soon as she reached the place where

Potentilla sat in rapt attention, stepped majestically on shore and

presented the Princess with that celebrated pearl of which you have

heard so much, saying:

'You are more beautiful than I ever was. Let my example warn you to make

a better use of your beauty!'

And then the little fleet sailed on, until it was lost to view in the

windings of the river. Grumedan was also looking on at the spectacle,

and said very contemptuously:

'I cannot say I think these marionettes amusing. What a to-do to make

over a single pearl! But if you like pearls, madam, why, _I_ will soon

gratify you.'

So saying, he drew a whistle from his pocket, and no sooner had he blown

it than the Princess saw the water of the river bubble and grow muddy,

and in another instant up came hundreds of thousands of great oysters,

who climbed slowly and laboriously towards her and laid at her feet all

the pearls they contained.

'Those are what I call pearls,' cried Grumedan in high glee. And truly

there were enough of them to pave every path in Potentilla's garden and

leave some to spare! The next day Prince Narcissus had prepared for the

Princess's pleasure a charming arbour of leafy branches, with couches of

moss and grassy floor and garlands everywhere, with her name written in

different-coloured blossoms. Here he caused a dainty little banquet to

be set forth, while hidden musicians played softly, and the silvery

fountains splashed down into their marble basins, and when presently the

music stopped a single nightingale broke the stillness with his

delicious chant.

'Ah!' cried the Princess, recognising the voice of one of her

favourites, 'Philomel, my sweet one, who taught you that new song?'