scarcely half-full. Oh, how she envied her brother his full jar! Fried
was a good boy--he loved his little sister dearly. He made her sit down
on the soft grass, placed his jar beside her, and did not cease his work
until Lorchen's jar was likewise filled. Their day's work was now ended.
But it was so beautiful in the forest. The birds sang so joyfully among
the leaves, everything exhaled the fragrance of the dewy evening that
crept slowly between the trembling branches.
At a little distance a small stretch of meadow shimmered through the
trees. The bright sunshine still rested on the fresh, green grass, and
thousands of daffodils, bluebells, pinks, and forget-me-nots unfolded
there their varied beauties. It was a delightful play-place for the
children. They hastened thither, placed their jars carefully behind a
large tree-trunk, and soon forgot their hard afternoon's work in a merry
game. Greyer grew the shadows, closer the dusk of evening veiled the
lonely forest. Then the brother and sister thought of returning--the
rest had strengthened their weary limbs, and their game in the flowery
meadow had made them cheerful and merry.
Now the dew that wetted their bare feet, and hunger that began to make
itself felt, urged them to return home. They ran to the tree behind
which they had placed their jars, but oh, horror! the jars had vanished.
At first the children thought they had mistaken the place; they searched
farther, behind every trunk, behind every bush, but no trace of the jars
could they find.
They had vanished, together with the precious fruit. What would their
mother say when they returned home, their task unfulfilled? With the
price of the berries she intended to buy meal to make bread. They had
been almost without bread for several days, and now they had not even
the jars in which to gather other berries.
Lorchen began to sob loudly; Fried's face grew crimson with rage, and
his eyes sparkled, he did not weep. The darkness increased, the
tree-trunks looked black and spectral, the wind rustled in the branches.
Who could have stolen their berries? No one had come near the meadow.
Squirrels and lizards could not carry away jars. The poor children stood
helpless beside the old tree-trunk. They could not return to their
mother empty-handed; they feared she would reproach them for losing
sight of their jars.
The little maiden shivered in her thin frock, and wept with fear,
hunger, and fatigue. Fried took his little sister's hand, and said:
"Listen, Lorchen: you must run home, it is night now in the forest. Tell
mother our jars have disappeared, eat your supper, and go to bed and to
sleep. I will remain here and search behind every tree and everywhere,
until I find the jars. I am neither hungry nor tired, and am not afraid
to pass the night alone in the forest, in spite of all the stories our
grand-mother used to tell of wicked spirits in the forest, hobgoblins
who tease children, will-o'-the-wisps, and mountain-demons who store
their treasures beneath the earth."
Lorchen shuddered and looked fearfully around--she was a timid, weakly
child. Wrapping her little arms in her apron, she wept bitterly.
"Come home with me, Fried," she pleaded. "I am afraid to go through the
gloomy forest alone!"
Fried took her hand and went with her until they saw the lights of the
village. Then he stopped and said: "Now run along alone; see, there is
the light burning in our mother's window. I shall turn back, I cannot go
home empty-handed."
He turned quickly into the forest. Lorchen waited a moment, and cried,
"Fried, Fried!" Then, receiving no answer, she fled swiftly up the
grassy slope she had descended so merrily a few hours previously.
Their mother, who had grown uneasy at their prolonged absence, was
standing at the door when Lorchen returned, weeping and breathless. Poor
child, she had scarcely strength enough left to tell that they had lost
strawberries and jars, and that Fried had remained behind.
[Illustration: "LORCHEN BEGAN TO SOB" (_p._ 205).]
The mother grew sad as she listened--she had scarcely any bread left,
and knew not whence to procure more; but Fried remaining in the forest
was worse than all, for she, like all the villagers, firmly believed in
hobgoblins. Sadly she lay down to rest beside her little daughter.
Fried ran ever farther and farther into the forest, through whose thick
foliage the stars looked down timidly. He said his evening prayer, and
no longer feared the rustling of the leaves, the cracking of the
branches, or the whisper of the night wind in the trees.
Soon the moon arose, and it was light enough for Fried to seek his jars.
In vain his search--the hours passed and he found nothing. At length he
saw a small mountain overgrown with shrubs. Then the moon crept behind a
thick cloud, and all was dark. Tired out, Fried sank down behind a tree
and almost fell asleep. Suddenly he saw a bright light moving about
close to the mountain, He sprang up and hastened towards it.
Coming closer, he heard a peculiar noise, as of groans uttered by a man
engaged in heavy toil. He crept softly forward, and beheld, to his
astonishment, a little dwarf, who was trying to push some heavy object
into a hole, that apparently led into the mountain. The little man wore
a silver coat and a red cap with points, to which the wonderful light, a
large, sparkling precious stone, was fastened.
Fried soon stood close behind the dwarf, who in his eagerness had not
observed the boy's approach, and saw with indignation that the object
the little man was striving so hard to push into the hole was his jar of
strawberries. In great wrath Fried seized a branch that lay near, and
gave the little man a mighty blow. Thereupon the dwarf uttered a cry
very like the squeak of a small mouse, and tried to creep into the hole.
[Illustration: "But Fried held him fast." _page 209_]
But Fried held him fast by his silver coat, and angrily demanded where
he had put his other jar of strawberries. The dwarf replied he had no
other jar, and strove to free himself from the grasp of the little
giant.
Fried again seized his branch, which so terrified the dwarf that he
cried: "The other jar is inside; I will fetch it for you."
"I should wait a long time," said Fried, "if I once let you escape; no,
I will go with you and fetch my own jar."
The dwarf stepped forward, the light in his cap shining brighter than
the brightest candle. Fried followed, his jar in one hand, and the
branch in the other. Thus they journeyed far into the mountain. The
dwarf crept along like a lizard, but Fried, whose head almost touched
the roof, could scarcely get along.
At length strains of lovely music resounded through the vaulted
passages: a little farther on their journey was stopped by a grey stone
wall. Taking a silver hammer from his doublet, the little dwarf gave
three sounding knocks on the wall; it sprang asunder, and as it opened
such a flood of light streamed forth that Fried was obliged to close his
eyes. Half-blinded, with hand shading his face, he followed the dwarf,
the stone door closed behind them, and Fried was in the secret dwellings
of the gnomes.
A murmur of soft voices, mingled with the sweet strains of the music,
sounded in his ears. When at length he was able to remove his hand from
his eyes, he saw a wondrous sight. A beauteous, lofty hall, hewn out of
the rock, lay before him; on the walls sparkled thousands of precious
stones such as his guide had worn in his cap. They served instead of
candles, and shed forth a radiance that almost blinded human eyes.
Between them hung wreaths and sprays of flowers such as Fried had never
before seen. All around crowds of wonderful little dwarfs stood gazing
at him full of curiosity.
In the centre of the hall stood a throne of green transparent stone,
with cushions of soft mushrooms. On this sat the gnome-King; around him
was thrown a golden mantle, and on his head was a crown cut from a
flaming carbuncle. Before the throne the dwarf, Fried's guide, stood
relating his adventure.
When the dwarf ceased speaking, the King rose, approached the boy, who
still stood by the door, surrounded by the gnomes, and said: "You human
child, what has brought you to my secret dwelling?"
"My Lord Dwarf," replied Fried politely, "I desire my strawberries which
yonder dwarf has stolen. I pray you order them to be restored to me, and
then suffer me to return to my mother."
The King thought for a few moments, then he said: "Listen, to-day we
hold a great feast, for which your strawberries are necessary. I will,
therefore, buy them. I will also allow you to remain with us a short
time, then my servants shall lead you back to the entrance of the
mountain."
"Have you money to buy my strawberries?" asked the boy.
"Foolish child, know you not that the gold, silver, and copper come out
of the earth? Come with me and see my treasure-chambers."
[Illustration: "I WILL GO WITH YOU" (_p._ 209).]
So saying, the King led him from the hall through long rooms, in which
mountains of gold, silver, and copper were piled; in other rooms lay
like masses of precious stones. Presently they came to a grotto, in the
centre of which stood a large vase. From out this vase poured three
sparkling streams, each of a different colour: they flowed out of the
grotto and discharged themselves into the veins of the rocks.
Beside these streams knelt dwarfs, filling buckets with the flowing
gold, silver, and copper, which other dwarfs carried away and stored in
the King's treasure-chambers. But the greatest quantity flowed into the
crevices of the mountain, from whence men dig it out with much toil.
Fried would have liked to fill his pockets with the precious metals, but
did not dare ask the gnome-King's permission. They soon returned to the
hall where the feast was prepared. On a long white marble table stood
rows of golden dishes filled with various dainties, prepared from
Fried's strawberries. In the background sat the musicians, bees and
grasshoppers, that the dwarfs had caught in the forest. The dwarfs ate
off little gold plates, and Fried ate with them. But the pieces were so
tiny, they melted on his tongue before he could taste them.
After the feast came dancing. The gnome-men were old and shrivelled,
with faces like roots of trees; all wore silver coats and red caps. The
gnome-maidens were tall and stately, and wore on their heads wreaths of
flowers that sparkled as though wet with dew. Fried danced with them,
but because his clothes were so poor, his partner took a wreath of
flowers from the wall and placed it on his head. Very pretty it looked
on his bright, brown hair--but he could not see this, for the dwarfs
have no looking-glasses. The bees buzzed and hummed like flutes and
trombones, the grasshoppers chirped like fiddles.
The dancing ended, Fried approached the King, who was resting on his
green throne, and said: "My Lord King, be so good as to pay for my
berries, and have me guided out of the mountain, for it is time I
returned to my mother."
[Illustration: "IT IS TIME I RETURNED TO MY MOTHER."]
The King nodded his carbuncle crown, and wrapping his golden mantle
around him, departed to fetch the money. How Fried rejoiced at the
thought of taking that money home! Being very tired, he mounted the
throne, seated himself on the soft mushroom cushion from which the
gnome-King had just risen, and, ere that monarch returned, Fried was
sleeping sound as a dormouse.
Day was dawning in the forest when he awoke. His limbs were stiff, and
his bare feet icy cold. He rubbed his eyes and stretched himself. He
still sat beneath the tree from whence, on the previous evening, he had
seen the light moving. "Where am I?" he muttered; then he remembered
falling asleep on the gnome-King's mushroom cushion. He also remembered
the money he had been promised, and felt in his pockets--they were
empty. Yes, he remembered it all. This was the morning his mother should
have gone to town, and he had neither berries nor money. Tears flowed
from his eyes, and he reviled the dwarfs who had carried him sleeping
from the mountain, and cheated him out of his money. Rising sorrowfully,
he went to the mountain, but though he searched long and carefully, no
opening could he find.
There was nothing for it but to return home, and this he did with a
heavy heart. No one was stirring when he reached the village. Gently he
knocked on the shutter of the room where his mother slept. "Wake up,
mother," he cried. "It is I, your Fried."
Quickly the door of the little house opened.
"Thank Heaven you have returned," said his mother, embracing him. "But
has nothing happened to you all night alone in the forest?"
"Nothing, mother," he replied; "I only had a foolish dream about the
gnomes who dwell in the mountain."
And whilst his mother lit the stove, Fried related his dream. She shook
her head on hearing it, for she believed her boy had really seen and
heard these wonderful things.
Then Lorchen came in, and her mother told her to unfasten the shutters.
The child obeyed, but on re-entering the room, she cried aloud, and
placed her hands on her brother's head.
Something heavy and sparkling fell to the ground. They picked it up. It
was the wreath of many-coloured flowers Fried's partner had given him at
the dance. But the flowers were not like those that grow in the fields
and meadows: they were cold, and sparkling, like those that adorned the
walls of the mountain hall, and which the gnome-maidens wore in their
hair.
It was now clear that Fried had really spent the night with the dwarfs.
They all thought the flowers were only coloured glass; but as they
sparkled so brilliantly, and filled the cottage with indescribable
splendour, the mother determined to ask advice about them. She therefore
broke a tiny branch from the wreath and took it to the town to a
goldsmith, who told her, to her great astonishment, that the branch was
composed of the most costly gems, rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. In
exchange for it, he gave her a sack of gold so heavy she could scarcely
carry it home.
Want was now at an end for ever, for the wreath was a hundred times
more valuable than the tiny branch. Great excitement prevailed in the
village when the widow's good fortune was made known, and all the
villagers ran into the forest to search for the wonderful hole. But
their searching was vain--none ever found the entrance to the mountain.
From henceforth the widow and her children lived very happily; they
remained pious and industrious in spite of their wealth, did good to the
poor, and were contented to the end of their lives.
The Adventures of Said.
[Illustration]
THE ADVENTURES OF SAID.
From the German of W. Hauff.
IN the time of Haroun Al-Raschid, ruler of Bagdad, there lived in
Balsora a man Benezar by name. His means enabled him to live quietly and
comfortably, without carrying on a business or trade; and when a son was
born to him he made no change in his manner of living, "For," said he,
"what will feed two will feed three." Said, for so they called the boy,
soon made a name for himself among his playmates as a lusty fighter, and
was surpassed by none in riding or swimming.
When he was eighteen, his father sent him on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and
before he started gave him much good advice, and provided him with money
for his journey. Lastly he said:
"There is something more I must tell you, my boy. I am not the man to
believe that fairies and enchanters, whatever they may be, have any
influence over the fate of mankind; that sort of nonsense is only good
for whiling away the time; but your mother believed in them as firmly as
in the Koran. She even told me, after making me swear never to reveal
the secret except to her child, that she herself was under the
protection of a fairy. I always laughed at her, but still I must confess
that some very strange events happened at your birth. It rained and
thundered all day, and the heavens were black with clouds.
"When they told me that I had a little son, I hastened to see and bless
my first-born, but I found my wife's door shut, and all her attendants
standing outside. I knocked, but with no result. While I was waiting
there, the sky cleared just over Balsora, although the lightning still
flashed and writhed round the blue expanse. As I was gazing in
astonishment at this spectacle, your mother's door flew open and I went
in alone. On entering the room, I perceived a delicious odour of roses,
carnations, and hyacinths. Your mother Zemira showed me a tiny silver
whistle, that was hanging round your neck by a gold chain as fine as
silk. 'This is the fairy's gift to our boy,' she said. 'Well,' I
laughed, 'I think she might have given him something better than that--a
purse of gold, for instance, or a horse.'
"But Zemira begged me not to anger the good fairy, for fear she might
turn her blessing to a curse; so, to please her, the matter was never
mentioned again till she was dying. Then she gave me the whistle,
telling me never to part with you till you were twenty, when the whistle
was to be yours. But I see no objection to your going away now. You have
common sense, and can defend yourself as well as any man of
four-and-twenty. Go in peace, my son. Think ever of your father in good
fortune or in ill, and may Heaven defend you from that last."
Said took an affectionate farewell of his father, and placing the chain
round his neck, sprang lightly into his saddle, and went off to join the
caravan for Mecca. At last they were all assembled, and Said rode gaily
out of Balsora. Just at first the novelty of his position and
surroundings occupied his thoughts, but as they drew near to the desert
he began to consider his father's words. He drew out the whistle and put
it to his lips, but wonder of wonders, no matter how hard he blew, not a
sound came out! This was disappointing, and Said impatiently thrust the
whistle back into his girdle; still the marvellous had a strange
attraction for him, and he spent the whole day in building his airy
castles.
Said was a fine-looking fellow, with a distinguished face, and a bearing
which, young as he was, marked him out as one born to command. Every one
was attracted to him, and especially was this the case with an elderly
man, who rode near him. They entered into conversation, and it was not
long before the mysterious power of fairies was mentioned.
"Do you believe in fairies?" asked Said, at last.
"Well," replied the other, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "I should
not like to say that there are no such beings, although I have never
seen one." And then he began to relate such wonderful stories, that Said
felt that his mother's words must have been true, and when he went to
sleep was transported to a veritable fairyland.
The next day the travellers were dismayed to see a band of robbers
swooping down on them. All was confusion in an instant, and they had
scarcely had time to place the women and children in the centre, when
the Arabs were upon them. Bravely as the men acquitted themselves, all
was in vain, for the robbers were more than four hundred strong. At this
dreadful moment Said bethought him of his whistle; but, alas! it
remained dumb as before, and poor Said, dropping it hastily, fired on a
man, who seemed from his dress to be of some importance.
"What have you done?" cried the old man, who was fighting at his side.
"There is no hope for us now."
And so, indeed, it seemed--for the robbers, maddened by the death of the
man, pressed so closely on the youth that they broke down even his
sturdy resistance. The others were soon overcome or slain, and Said
found himself on horseback, bound and guarded by armed men. These
treated him with roughness, and the only drop of comfort in his cup was
that his old friend was riding near. You may be sure his thoughts were
not very pleasant--slavery or death was all he had to look forward to.
After riding for some time, they saw in the far distance trees and
tents, and in a short time they were met by bands of women and children,
who had no sooner heard the news than they began to throw sticks and
clods of earth at Said, shrieking, "That is the man who killed the
great Almansor, bravest of men; he must die, and we will throw his body
to the jackals."
[Illustration: "AFTER SEVERAL HOURS HE AWOKE" (_p._ 225).]
They became so threatening that the bandits interfered and, bearing off
their prisoner, led him bound into one of the tents. Here was seated an
old man, evidently the leader of the band. His head was bent.
"The weeping of the women has told me all--Almansor is dead," said he.
"Almansor is dead," answered the robbers, "O Mighty One of the Desert,
but here is his murderer. Only speak the word. Shall his doom be to be
shot, or to be hanged from the nearest tree?"
But the aged Selim questioned Said, and found that his son had been
slain in fair fight. "He has done, then, no more than we ourselves
should have done. Loose his bonds. The innocent shall not die," cried
Selim, in his sternest tones, seeing his men's reluctance and
discontent. As for Said, the very fulness of his heart closed his lips,
and he could not find words in which to thank his deliverer. From this
time he lived in Selim's tent, almost taking the place of that son whose
death he had caused.
But sedition was rife among the robbers. Their beloved Prince had been
murdered, and his murderer was shielded by the father! Many were the
execrations hurled at Said, as he walked in the camp; indeed, several
attempts were made on his life. At length Selim perceived that soon even
his influence would not be sufficient to guard the young man, and so he
sent him away with an escort, saying that his ransom had been paid. But
before they started he bound the robbers by a dreadful oath that they
would not kill Said.
It was indeed a terrible ride! Said saw that his guides were performing
their task with great reluctance, and soon they began to whisper
together. He nerved himself to listen, and what he heard did not tend
to reassure him.
"This is the very spot," said one. "I shall never forget it."
"And to think that his murderer still lives!"
"Ah! if his father had not made us take that oath!"
"Stay," cried the most forbidding-looking of all, "we have not sworn to
bring this fellow to the end of his journey. We will leave him his life,
but the scorching sun and the sharp teeth of the jackal shall perform
our vengeance. Let us bind him and leave him here."
Said, hearing this brutal suggestion, made a desperate effort for his
life. Spurring his horse, he rode off at full speed; but the bandits
soon recovered from their amazement, and, giving chase, had him at their
mercy. Tears, prayers, even bribes were of no avail, and the wretched
Said was left to face death in its most painful form. Higher and higher
mounted the sun, and Said tried to roll over to obtain some small
relief. In doing this the whistle attracted his notice, and he contrived
to get it between his lips; but for the third time it refused its
office, and Said, overcome by the heat and the horror of his situation,
fainted. After several hours he awoke to see, not the dreaded beast of
prey but a human being.
This was a little man with small eyes and a long beard, who informed
Said, when the latter had somewhat recovered, that he was Kalum Bek, a
merchant, and that he was on a business expedition when he found him
lying half dead in the sand. Said thanked the little man, and gratefully
accepted a seat on his camel. As they were journeying the merchant
related many stories in praise of the justice and acuteness of the
Father of the Faithful.
"My cousin Messour," he said, "is his Lord Chamberlain, and he has often
told me how the Caliph is wont to sally forth at night, attended by
himself alone, to see how his people are cared for. And so, when we go
about the streets at night, we have to be polite to every idiot we meet,
for it is as likely to be the Caliph as some dog of an Arab from the
desert."
Hearing such accounts as these, Said thought himself a lucky fellow to
have the chance of seeing Bagdad and the renowned Al-Raschid. When they
arrived in the city, Kalum invited Said to accompany him home. The next
day the youth had just dressed himself in his most magnificent clothes,
thinking of the sensation he would cause, when the merchant entered,
and, looking at him scornfully, said: "That is all very fine, my young
sir, but it seems to me you are a great dreamer. Have you the money to
keep up that style?"