Princess again; and, seeing this, Giroflée kissed her and hugged her
with delight. The old woman knocked at the door, and, without entering,
she handed Giroflée some fresh fruit which they were very pleased to
have to eat; and then they went to bed. But, as soon as day dawned,
Désirée took again the shape and form of a White Hind.
Now Becafigue was in the very same wood, and came to the hut where the
old woman lived. He begged her to give him something for his master to
eat; but the old woman told him that if his master spent the night in
the forest, harm would surely happen to him, because it was full of wild
animals. Why should he not come to her hut? Why should he not accept the
little room she could offer him? He was welcome to it and a good meal
besides.
Then Becafigue went back and told the Prince all that the old woman had
said and persuaded him to accept her offer. They put the Prince into the
room next to the Princess, but neither of them knew anything of this
arrangement.
[Illustration: THE HIND OF THE WOOD
Giroflée thanked the fairy and went ... far into the wood; and there,
sure enough, she saw a hut and an old woman sitting outside.
_See page 56_]
The next morning the Prince called Becafigue, and told him that he was
going into the forest and that he was not to follow him. The Prince had
walked and walked for a long time in the forest, grieving over his loss,
when suddenly in the distance he saw a lovely little White Hind, and
gave chase and tried to catch it. The Hind, who was no other than the
little Princess, ran and ran far away until the Prince, in utter
fatigue, gave up the chase; but he resolved to look again the next day,
and to be more careful this time, so as not to let the Hind get away.
Then he went home and told the story to Becafigue, while the Princess on
her side was telling her dear Giroflée that a young hunter had chased
her and tried to kill her, but she was so fleet-footed that she got
away.
Giroflée told her not to go out any more, but to stay in and read some
books that she would find for her; but, after a little thought, the
Princess found it too awful to be shut up in one little room all day
long, so the next morning she went out again into the forest, and
wandered through the beautiful dells and glades. After going some
distance she saw a young hunter lying down on the mossy bank asleep,
and, approaching him cautiously, she found that she was now so very
close to him that it would be impossible to get away before he awoke.
Then again, he was so handsome, that, instead of running away, she
rubbed her little nose against the young hunter. What was her surprise
to see that it was her dear Prince! for he, at her caress, opened his
eyes, and she at once recognised him. And when he jumped up and stroked
and patted her, she trembled with delight and raised her beautiful eyes
to his in the dumb eloquence of love.
'Ah! little White Hind,' said he, 'if you only knew how miserable I am,
and what the cause of it is, you would not envy me! I love you, little
Hind, and I will take care of you and look after you.' And with this he
went farther into the forest to find some green herbs for her.
Now the Hind with a sudden fright found its heels again, and, just
because she wanted so much to stay, she bounded off as fast as she could
go, and never stopped till she reached home, where in great excitement
she told Giroflée all that had happened.
The Prince, when he returned and found that the Hind had disappeared,
went back also to the hut, and told the old woman that the Hind had
deserted him just when he had been so very kind to it and had gone in
search of food for it. The Warrior Prince then explained to Becafigue
that it was only to see the little Hind that he had remained so long,
and that on the morrow he would depart and go away. But he did not.
The Princess in the meantime resolved to go a long way into the forest
on the morrow, so as to miss the Prince; but he guessed her little
trick, and so the next day he did the same as she. Then, suddenly, in
the distance he saw the Hind so plainly that he let fly an arrow to
attract its attention. What was his dismay to see the arrow pierce the
flank of the poor little Hind! She fell down immediately on a mossy
bank, and swiftly the Prince ran up. He was so upset at what had
happened, that he flew and got leaves and stopped the bleeding. Then he
said:
'Is it not your fault, little flier? You ran away and left me yesterday,
and the same would have happened to-day if this had not occurred.'
The Hind did not reply at all; what could she say? And besides, she was
in too much pain to do anything but moan.
The Prince caressed her again and again. 'What have I done to you?' he
said. 'I love you, and I cannot bear to think I have wounded you.'
But her moaning went on. At last the Prince resolved to go to the hut
and get something to carry her on, but before he went he tied her up
with little ribbons, and they were tied in such a manner that the
Princess could not undo them. As she was trying to free herself she saw
Giroflée coming towards her, and made a sign to her to hasten; and,
strange to say, Giroflée reached her exactly at the same moment as the
Prince with Becafigue.
'I have wounded this little Hind, madam,' said the Prince, 'and she is
mine.'
'Sir,' replied Giroflée, 'this little Hind is well known to me--and, if
you want to see how she recognises me, you will give her her liberty.'
The Prince then cut the ribbons in compliance with her request.
'Come along, my little Hind,' said Giroflée; 'kiss me!'
At this the little Hind threw herself on Giroflée's neck. 'Nestle to my
heart! Now give me a sigh!' The Hind obeyed, and the Prince could not
doubt that what Giroflée said was true.
'I give her to you,' said the Prince; 'for I see she loves you.'
Now when Becafigue saw Giroflée, he told the Prince that he had seen her
in the castle with the Princess Désirée, and that he knew that Giroflée
was staying in a part of their own hut. Why could they not find out if
the Princess was staying there also? So the following night, the Prince
having agreed, Becafigue listened through a chink in the wall of the
hut, and what was his surprise to hear two voices talking! One said:
'Oh, that I might die at once! It would be better than to remain a Hind
all the days of my life! What a fate! Only to be myself to you, and to
all others a little White Hind! How terrible never to be able to talk to
my Prince!'
Becafigue put his eye to the chink and this is what he saw.
There was the Princess in a beautiful dress all shining with gold. In
her lovely hair were diamonds, but the tears in her eyes seemed to
sparkle even more brightly. She was beautiful beyond words, and
disconsolate beyond sorrow.
Becafigue nearly cried out with joy at sight of her. He ran off at once
and told the Prince.
'Ah! seigneur,' said he, 'come with me at once and you will see in the
flesh the maiden you love.'
The Prince ran with him, and when they came on tip-toe to the chink in
the wall, he looked and saw his dear Princess.
Then so great was his joy that he could not be restrained. He went and
knocked at the door, resolving to see his Princess at once.
Giroflée, thinking it was the old woman, opened the door, and the Prince
immediately dashed into the room and threw himself at the feet of the
Princess, and kissed her hand and told her how much he loved her.
'What! my dear little Princess, was it you that I wounded as a little
Hind? What can I do to show my sorrow for so great a crime?'
The way in which he spoke put all the doubts from the Princess's mind.
The Prince, knowing all, loved her. She bade him rise, and then stood
with downcast eyes, fearing the worst. Her fears were justified: in a
moment his arms were around her, and she was sobbing for joy on his
breast.
They had stood a moment so, when suddenly the Prince started and
listened. What sound was that? It was the tramp of armed men; nearer and
nearer it came--the threatening sound of an advancing host. He opened
the window, and, on looking out, saw a great army approaching. They were
his own soldiers, going up against Désirée's father to avenge the insult
offered to their Prince. And the King his father was at their head, in a
litter of gold.
When the Warrior Prince saw that his father was there he ran out to him
and threw his arms round his neck and kissed him.
'Where have you been, my son?' said the King. 'Your absence has caused
me great sorrow!'
Then the Prince told him all about Long-Epine, and how the Princess had
been changed into a Hind through her disregard of the Fairy's warning.
The King was terribly grieved at this news, and turned his eyes to
heaven and clasped his hands. At this moment the Princess Désirée came
out, mounted on a pure-white horse and looking more beautiful and lovely
than she had ever been. Giroflée was also with her as her attendant. The
spell had been removed for ever.
At sight of them the old King blessed them, and said that he would give
his kingdom to his son as soon as he was married to the Princess
Désirée. The Princess thanked him a thousand times for his goodness, and
then the King ordered the army to return to the city, for there would be
no war, but only rejoicing.
Back into the capital, a mighty procession--an army headed by its
rulers, and victorious without striking a blow. Great was the joy of all
the people to see the Prince and the Princess, and they showered upon
them heaps of presents the like of which was never seen.
The faithful Becafigue begged the Prince to allow him to marry Giroflée.
She was delighted to have such a great offer, and more than delighted to
remain in a land where she would always be with her dear Princess.
Now the Fairy Tulip, when she heard all that had happened, resolved, out
of the goodness of her heart, to give Giroflée a splendid present, so
that her husband should not have the advantage of being the richer. It
will astonish you to hear that she gave her four big gold mines in
India; and you know what gold mines in India are worth.
And the marriage feasts lasted several months. Each day was a greater
day than the one before; and every day the adventures of the little
White Hind were sung throughout the country, even as they are still
sung, in boudoir, fireside, and camp, to this very day.
IVAN AND THE CHESTNUT HORSE
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
In a far land where they pay people to keep its name a profound secret,
there lived an old man who brought up his three sons just exactly in the
way they should go. He taught them the three R's, and also showed them
what books to read and how to read them. He was particularly careful
about their education, for he had learned that to know things was to be
able to do things.
At last, when he came to die, he gathered his three sons round his
deathbed and cautioned them.
'Do not forget,' he said--'do not forget to come and read the prayers
over my grave.'
'We will not forget, father,' they replied.
The two elder brothers were great big, strapping fellows, but the
youngest one, Ivan, was a mere stripling. As they all stood around the
bed of their dying father, he looked a mere reed compared to his proud,
stout, elder brothers. But his eyes were full of fire and spirit, and
the firm expression of his mouth showed great determination. And, when
the father had breathed his last, and his two elder brothers wept
without restraint, Ivan stood silent, his pale face set and his eyes
full of the bright wonder of tears that would not melt.
On the day that they buried their father, Ivan returned to the grave in
the evening to read prayers over it. He had done so, and was making his
way homeward, when there was a great clatter of hoofs behind him; then,
as he reached the village square, the horseman pulled up and dismounted
quite near to him. After blowing a loud blast on his silver
trumpet--for he was the King's messenger--he cried in a loud voice:
'All and every man, woman and child, take notice, in the name of the
King. It is the King's will that this proclamation be cried abroad in
every town and village where his subjects dwell. The King's daughter,
Princess Helena the Fair, has caused to be built for herself a shrine
having twelve pillars and twelve rows of beams. And she sits there upon
a high throne till the time when the bridegroom of her choice rides by.
And this is how she shall know him: with one leap of his steed he
reaches the height of the tower, and, in passing, his lips press those
of the Princess as she bends from her throne. Wherefore the King has
ordered this to be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of the
land, for if any deems himself able so to reach the lips of the Princess
and win her, let him try. In the name of the King I have said it!'
The blood of the youth of the nation, wherever this proclamation was
issued, took flame and leapt to touch the lips of Princess Helena the
Fair. All wondered to whose lot this lucky fate would fall. Some said it
would be to the most daring, others contended that it was a matter of
the leaping powers of the steed, and yet others that it depended not
only on the steed but on the daring skill of the rider also.
When the three brothers had listened to the words of the King's
messenger they looked at one another; at least the elder two did, for it
was apparent to them that Ivan, the youngest, was quite out of the
competition, whereas they, two splendid handsome fellows, were
distinctly in it.
'Brothers,' said Ivan at last, 'our first thought must be to fulfil our
father's dying wish. But, if you prefer it, we could take it in turns to
read the prayers over our father's grave. Let it be the duty of one of
us each day to fulfil the duty, morning and evening.'
The elder brothers agreed readily to this, but, when Ivan asked whose
turn it should be on the morrow, they both began to make excuses.
[Illustration: IVAN AND THE CHESTNUT HORSE
The chestnut horse seemed to linger in the air at the top of its leap
while that kiss endured.
_See page 69_]
'As for me,' said the eldest, 'I must go and order the work of the farm
my father left me, and that will take seven days.'
'And for me,' said the younger, 'I must see to the estate which is my
part of the inheritance, and that also will take seven days.'
'Then,' replied Ivan, 'if I perform the duty for seven days, you will
each do your share afterwards?'
His brothers agreed still more readily than before. Then they went their
ways, Ivan full of thoughts of his father, and the other two to train
their jumping horses, the one on his farm and the other on his estate.
And both laughed to themselves, for neither knew the purpose of the
other.
How they curled their hair and cleaned their teeth, and practised
'prunes and prisms' with their mouths close to the looking-glass!--so
that when, at one bound of their magnificent steeds, they reached the
level of the Princess's lips, to aim the kiss that was to win the prize,
they would make a brave show, and a conquering one. As for their little
brother, they each thought he could go on praying over their father's
grave as long as he liked,--it would be the best thing he could do, and
it would not interfere with their secret plans, so carefully concealed
from each other and from him.
So, for seven days, in their separate districts, they raced about on
their horses by day and dreamed of the greatest leaping feats by night.
And at the end of the seven days the youngest brother summoned them to
keep their agreement, and asked which of them would read the prayers,
morning and evening, for the second seven days.
'I have done my part,' he said; 'now it is for you to arrange between
you which one shall continue the sacred duty.'
The two elder brothers looked at each other and then at Ivan.
'As for me,' said one, 'I care little who does it, so long as I am free
to get on with my business, which is more important.'
'And as for me,' said the other, 'I am in no mind to watch each blade
of grass growing on the grave. I cannot really afford the time, I am so
busy. You, Ivan,--you are different: you are not a man of affairs; how
could you spend your time better than reading prayers over our father's
grave?'
'So be it,' replied Ivan. 'You get back to your work and I will attend
to the sacred duty for another seven days.'
The two elder brothers went their separate ways, and for seven more days
devoted their entire attention to training their horses for the flying
leap at the Princess's lips. How they tore like mad about the fields!
How they jumped the hedges and ditches! How they curled their hair and
dyed their moustaches and practised their lips, not only to 'prunes and
prisms,' but to 'peaches of passion' and 'pomegranates,' and
'peripatetic perambulation' and everything they could think of! In fact,
they paid so much attention to the lips which were to meet those of the
Princess at the top of the flying leap, that they began to neglect their
own and their horses' meals. In other words, they were beginning to show
signs of over-training.
At the end of the second seven days Ivan again summoned them to a family
council, and asked them if either of them could now take up the sacred
duty. But no; thinking heavily on horses and lips, and high jumps and
kisses, they spoke lightly of fields to be tilled, seed to be sown, and
all such things that must be done at once. Their view was--and they got
quite friendly over it--that Ivan should be more than delighted to bear
this pleasurable burden of reading prayers over his father's grave.
Indeed, nothing but the stern call of immediate duty would prevail upon
them to relinquish a task so pleasant.
'So be it,' said Ivan; 'I will perform the sacred duty for another seven
days.' But as he spoke, he noted his brothers' curled hair and dyed
moustaches, and gleaned from this, and from the look of sudden suspicion
and jealousy exchanged between them, that they were both in love with
the same fair one. But he kept this to himself, and left them to their
own concerns.
Again, at the end of seven days, when Ivan had read the prayers
devoutly, he summoned his brothers. But they did not come. Both sent
messages saying that they were frightfully busy, and would he be so good
as to go on with the sacred duty until they could be spared to do their
share later on. Ivan accepted their messages, and went on reading the
prayers over the father's grave.
Meanwhile each of his brothers prepared for the great flying leap; and
each said to himself: 'What about Ivan? He would like to see this great
exploit. It might make a man of him. He is altogether lacking in
ambition, and to see a great deed done might stir him to try to be a
great hero himself. But yet--I fear it would never do. He is so weedy,
so insignificant. I feel I should lose by having a brother like that
anywhere about. No; he is far better reading prayers over our father's
grave.'
So each in his own way resolved to go in alone--apart from the other and
apart from Ivan.
The morning of the great day came. The eldest brother had chosen from
his horses a magnificent black one with arched neck and flowing mane and
tail. The second brother had selected a bay equally splendid. And now,
at sunrise, they were, each unknown to the other, combing their
well-curled hair, re-dyeing their moustaches, and booting and trapping
themselves for the wonderful display of prowess the day was to bring
forth. And they did not forget to make sure that their lips were as fit
as they were anxious for the 'high kiss.'
At the appointed time they rode into the lists and drew their lots, and
neither was altogether surprised at seeing his brother among the host of
competitors for the hand of Helena the Fair. Their surprise came later,
when Ivan arrived on the scene.
It so happened in this way: that, towards evening, when his two brothers
had each had their last try to leap up to the Princess's lips and
failed, like every one else, Ivan himself was reading the prayers over
his father's grave. Suddenly a great emotion came over him, and he
stopped in his reading. He was filled with a longing to look just for
once upon the face of Helena the Fair, for whose favour he knew that
the most splendid in the land were competing with their wonderful
steeds. So strong was this longing that he broke down and, bending over
his father's grave, wept bitterly.
And then a strange thing happened. His father heard him in his coffin,
and shook himself free from the damp earth, and came out and stood
before him.
'Do not weep, Ivan, my son,' he said. And Ivan looked up and was
terrified at the sight of him.
'Nay, my son, do not fear me,' his father went on. 'You have fulfilled
my dying wish, and I will help you in your trouble. You wish to look
upon the face of Helena the Fair, and so it shall be.'
With this he drew himself up, and his aspect was commanding. Then he
called in a loud voice, and, as the echoes of his tones began to die
away, Ivan heard them change into the far-distant beat of a horse's
hoofs. After listening for a while his father called again, and this
time the echo was a horse's neigh and galloping hoofs. It seemed beyond
the hillside, and Ivan looked up and wondered. A third time his father
called, and nearer and nearer came the galloping sound, until at last,
with a thundering snort and a ringing neigh, a beautiful chestnut horse
appeared, circled round them thrice, and then came to a halt before
them, its two forefeet close together and its eyes, ears, and nostrils
shooting flames of fire.
Then came a voice, and Ivan knew it was the voice of the chestnut horse
with the proudly arched neck and flowing mane:
'What is your will? Command me and I obey!'
The father took Ivan by the hand and led him to the horse's head.
'Enter here at the right ear,' he said, 'and pass through, and make your
way out at the left ear. By so doing you will be able to command the
horse, and he will do whatever you may wish that a horse should do.'
So Ivan, nothing doubting, passed in at the right ear of the chestnut
horse and came out at the left; and immediately there was a wonderful
change in him. He was no longer a dreamy youth: he was at once a man of
affairs, and the light of a high ambition shone in his eyes.
'Mount! Go, win the Princess Helena the Fair!' said his father, and
immediately vanished.
With one spring Ivan was astride the chestnut horse, and, in another
moment, they were speeding like lightning towards the shrine of Helena
the Fair.
The sun was setting, and the two elder brothers, disconsolate, were
about to withdraw from the field, when, startled by the cries of the
people, they saw a steed come galloping on, well ridden, and at a
terrific pace. They turned to look and they marked how Helena the Fair,
disappointed of all others, leaned out to watch the oncoming horseman.
And the whole concourse turned and stood to await the possible event.
On came the chestnut horse, his nostrils snorting fire, his hoofs
shaking the earth. He neared the shrine, and, to a masterful rein, rose
at a flying leap. The daring rider looked up and the Princess leaned
down, but he could not reach her lips, ready as they were.
The whole field now stood at gaze as the chestnut horse with its rider
circled round and came up again. And this time, with a splendid leap,
the brave steed bore its rider aloft so that the fragrant breath of the
Princess seemed to meet his nostrils, and yet his lips did not meet
hers.
Again they circled round while all stood still and tense. Again the
chestnut steed rose to the leap, and, this time, the lips of Ivan met
those of the Princess in a long sweet kiss, for the chestnut horse
seemed to linger in the air at the top of its leap while that kiss
endured.
Then, while the Princess looked after, horse and rider reached the
ground and disappeared like lightning.
Instantly the host of onlookers swarmed in.
'Who is he? Where is he?' was the cry on every hand. 'He kissed her on
the lips, and she kissed him. Look at her! Is it not true?'
It was true, for Princess Helena the Fair, with a lovelight in her eyes,
was leaning down and searching, with all her soul, even for the very
dust spurned from the heels of her lover's horse. But she could see
nothing, and sank back within her shrine, treasuring the kiss upon her
lips; while the people, dissatisfied, but wondering greatly, melted
away. Among them went the splendid brothers, seeking how they could sell
their well-trained horses to advantage, for they had both been
frantically near to the Princess's lips.