Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
[Illustration: “Indeed,” said the Duke, “I should not have thought you
so very pretty.”
[_Vain Kesta_, _p._ 43.]
THE WINDFAIRIES
_AND OTHER TALES_
BY
MARY DE MORGAN
AUTHOR OF “ON A PINCUSHION,” “THE NECKLACE OF PRINCESS FIORIMONDE.”
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
OLIVE COCKERELL
LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1900
[Illustration:
TO ANGELA
DENNIS
AND CLARE
THESE LITTLE TALES
ARE DEDICATED
BY THEIR WRITER]
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE WINDFAIRIES 1
VAIN KESTA 35
THE POOL AND THE TREE 52
NANINA’S SHEEP 65
THE GIPSY’S CUP 81
THE STORY OF A CAT 128
DUMB OTHMAR 147
THE RAIN MAIDEN 192
THE PLOUGHMAN AND THE GNOME 209
[Illustration:
THE WIND
FAIRIES]
THERE was once a windmill which stood on the downs by the sea, far
from any town or village, and in which the miller lived alone with his
little daughter. His wife had died when the little girl, whose name was
Lucilla, was a baby, and so the miller lived by himself with his child,
of whom he was very proud. As her father was busy with his work, and
as little Lucilla had no other children to play with, she was alone
nearly all day, and had to amuse herself as best she could, and one
of her greatest pleasures was to sit and watch the great sails of the
windmill figures like them, and they held each other by the hand, and
were dancing and springing from the ground as lightly as if they had
been made of feather-down.
“Come, sisters, come,” cried the one nearest Lucilla. “See, here is a
little human child out here alone at twelve o’clock at night. Come and
let us play with her.”
“Who are you?” asked Lucilla; “my name is Lucilla, and I live in the
mill with my father.”
“We are windfairies,” said the first grey figure.
“Windfairies!” said Lucilla, “what are they?”
“We blow the winds and sweep the earth. When there are many of us
together we make a great hurricane, and human beings are frightened. We
it is who turn your mill wheel for you, and make all the little waves
on the sea. See, if you will come with us we will take you for a ride
on one of the sails of your mill. That is, if you will be brave, and
not cry.”
“I will not cry one bit,” said Lucilla, and she sprang up, and held out
her arms.
At once she was lifted up, and felt herself going higher and higher,
till she rested on one of the great windmill sails, and, with the
little grey elves beside her, was sweeping through the air, clinging to
the sail.
“She is quite good,” whispered one, as she held Lucilla in her tiny
white arms. “I really think we might teach her to dance, for she has
not cried at all.”
“No, she would surely tell some one if we did,” said another. “Little
human child, would you like us to teach you how to dance as we dance?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Lucilla; and now they were sweeping down near the
ground, and the fairies slid off the sail with Lucilla in their arms,
and let her slide gently to earth. “Teach me to dance, I beg. I will
never tell anybody.”
“Ah, but that is what all mortals say,” whispered one who had not
spoken yet, “no mortal can keep a secret. Never yet was one known who
could be silent.”
“Try me,” cried Lucilla again, “I will never tell. Indeed I will not,”
and she looked entreatingly from one to another of the elves.
“But if you did,” said they, “if you broke your promise to us when
once you had made it, we should punish you severely.”
“But I promise faithfully,” repeated Lucilla, “I will never tell any
one.”
“Well then, you may try,” they said. “Only remember, if you break
your word to us, and tell any mortal who it was that taught you how
to dance, you will never dance again, for your feet will become heavy
as lead, and not only that, but some great misfortune will overtake
whatever you love best in this world. But if you keep faith with us,
then the windfairies will never forget you, but will come to your help
in your direst hour of need.”
“Teach me, teach me,” cried Lucilla; “indeed I will never, never tell,
and I long to dance as you do.”
“Come then,” they said, and some came behind her, and some went in
front of her, and some took her arms and some her feet, and all at
once Lucilla felt as if she were made of feather-down. She swayed up
and down as lightly as they, and it seemed to her quite easy. Never
had she been so happy, and she would gladly have danced for hours, but
suddenly, just as the sun was beginning to show a red light in the
sky, she heard her father’s horse galloping over the downs, and in an
instant the windfairies had vanished.
When the miller came up to her, he was angry with her for being out on
the grass instead of warm in bed, but Lucilla dared not tell him what
had kept her, or say that she had been playing with windfairies.
Years passed, and Lucilla never saw the windfairies again, though she
watched for them every night. She grew up to be a beautiful young
woman, and her father was very proud of her. She was as tall and as
lithe as a willow wand, and when she ran or danced it seemed as if she
were as light as a feather blown in the wind. There were few people
to see her, or tell her she was beautiful, for save the fisher folk
who lived in little cottages on the beach, scarce anybody came to the
downs. But all who saw her admired her beauty, and most of all her
wonderful dancing. Sometimes she would go out on the downs, and dance
and run there by herself, and her father would look at her and say:
“Heaven help the maid! I don’t know whom she has learned it from, but
I have never seen a dancer who can come nigh her.” Then sometimes she
would go down to the sea-shore, and this she loved to do best of all,
and there she would dance with the waves, and move with them as they
slid up to her feet and drew back, and to those who watched, it seemed
as if she and they were one together.
The time came when her father wished her to be married, and among the
young fishermen and the country folk who came to the mill from the
farms across the country, she had suitors enough, but always she said
when a young man came to woo her, “First let me see how you can dance,
for as dancing is the thing I love best in the world, it would be a
pity that I and my husband should not be able to dance together,” and
as none of them could dance as she did, she sent them all away, saying
she would wait for a husband till she could find a man who could dance
to her liking.
But one day there was a great storm, and a big ship was blown on to
the shore close to the mill, and among the sailors was a young fellow
with black curly hair and bright eyes and white teeth, and when he saw
Lucilla, he said to himself, “I will wed that girl and take her home
for my wife.” So one day as they sat on the downs together he begged
her to marry him, and go back with him to his own land; he said he
would give up going to sea, and would live with her in a little cottage
and make their bread by fishing. Then Lucilla said, as she had said
to all her other suitors, “First let me see how you can dance, for I
will never marry any man who cannot dance with me.” The sailor swore he
could dance as well as any man in the world, for all sailors can dance,
he said, and they began to dance together on the downs. The sailor
danced well and merrily, but Lucilla danced faster, and seemed as if
she were made of feather-down; and then the sailor, seeing that his
dancing was as nothing to hers, caught her by the waist, and held her
still, crying, “My sweetheart, I cannot dance as you can, but my arms
are strong enough to hold you still and keep you from dancing with any
man but me.”
So Lucilla married the sailor, and went with him to live in his little
cottage by the sea, many miles away from the mill, and as her father
was growing old and no longer cared to work, he went with her too.
For some time the sailor and Lucilla lived together very happily, and
they had two little children, and her husband fished and sold his fish,
and often still, Lucilla would go down to the waves and dance with them
as she had done in her old home. She tried to teach her little children
to dance as she did, but they could not learn because the windfairies
had never touched them. But one winter her husband’s boat was dashed to
pieces, and the sea froze so that all the fish died, and they became so
poor that they could barely get enough to eat. Then it chanced that a
big ship came to the village where they lived, and the captain wanted
men for a long journey, and her husband told Lucilla that he had best
go with him, and then he would have enough money to buy another boat,
and then next year they must hope for better luck. So Lucilla was left
alone in the cottage with her father and her two little children, and
she felt very lonely and sad without her husband, and often she thought
of the mill and the windfairies, and when the wind blew, she would go
down to the water’s edge and hold out her arms and pray them to take
care of her husband’s ship, and bring it safe home again.
“Oh, kind windfairies,” she cried, “see, I have kept faith with you, so
do you now keep faith with me, and do me no hurt.” And often she would
dance by the edge of the waves, as she used to do in her old home, and
think that the windfairies were dancing with her, and holding up her
steps.
Now it chanced that one day, as Lucilla was dancing on the shore, there
rode by two horsemen, and they stopped and watched her as she danced,
with the waves coming close to her feet. Then they got down from their
horses, and asked who she was, and where she had learned such dancing.
She told them she was only the wife of a poor fisherman, but she had
danced for long years, since she was a little child, when she had lived
in a windmill, on the downs far away. They rode away, but next day they
came again, and brought others with them, and begged Lucilla that she
would go down to the water’s edge and dance with the waves as she had
done yesterday. So she ran down the beach, and danced in time to the
sea as it moved, and the strangers all applauded, and said to each
other, “It is wonderful, it is marvellous.”
They then told her that they came from a country where the King loved
nothing so much as beautiful dancing, and that he would give great sums
of money to any one who danced well, and if she would go back with them
to his court, and dance before the King, she should have a sack of gold
to take home with her, and this would make her a rich woman, and her
husband would never have need to work any more.
At first she refused, and said her husband was away, and would not
know where she was gone, and she did not like to leave her two little
children; but still the courtiers persuaded her, and said it would not
be for long, and her father persuaded her too, since he said it would
make them all rich if she brought home a sack of gold. So at last
Lucilla agreed that she would go back with them to the King’s court
and dance there, but she made them promise that before the spring came
they would send her back to her own little cottage. On hearing this,
the strangers were much delighted, and bid Lucilla make ready to start
at once, and that night she said good-bye to her little ones, and
left them, to go with the travellers. Her eyes were red with crying at
leaving her home, and before she started, she went out alone on to the
cliffs, and stretched out her arms, and called to the windfairies to go
with her and help her, for she feared what she was going to do, and she
begged them to be true to her, as she had been true to them.
They sailed for many days, till at last they came to a country of which
Lucilla had never even heard, and to a big town, which seemed to her
as if it must hold all the people in the world, so crowded was it, and
above the town on the hill, they pointed out to her a royal palace, and
told her it was where the King dwelt, and there she would have to dance
ere the week was out.
“And it is most lucky we saw you just now,” said they, “for the King is
just going to be married, and in a few days the Princess will arrive,
and there will be festivities and rejoicing for days, and at some of
these you will appear before their Majesties, and be sure you dance
your very best.”
Then Lucilla went with them into a great hall close to the palace,
where musicians were playing on every kind of instrument, and here the
courtiers bid her dance on a platform at one end of the hall, in time
to the music; and when they had seen it, the musicians one and all lay
down their instruments, and rose together, clapping and applauding, and
all declared that it was the greatest of luck that the travellers had
met with Lucilla, and that it would delight the King more than anything
they had prepared for him.
By and by the Princess who was to marry the King arrived, and the
wedding was celebrated with much magnificence, and after the wedding
there was a feast, and in the evening there was to be singing and
dancing, and all sorts of play for the royal couple and the court to
see, and then Lucilla was to dance. The courtier who brought her wished
her to be dressed in the most gorgeous dress, with gold and jewels, but
she pleaded that she might wear a light grey gown like the windfairies,
because she remembered how they looked when they danced on the downs.
When the evening came when she was to dance before the King, she threw
wide her window and held out her arms, and cried out, “Now help me,
dear windfairies, as you have done before; keep faith with me, as I
have kept faith with you.” But in truth she could scarce keep from
crying with thoughts of her husband at sea, and her little ones at the
cottage at home.
The hall was brilliantly lighted, and in the middle on the throne sat
the King and the young Queen. The musicians began to play, and then
Lucilla stepped forth on the platform and began to dance. She felt as
light as the sea foam, and when she swayed and curved to the sound of
the music, it seemed to her as if she heard only the swish of the waves
as they beat upon the shore, and the murmur of the wind as it played
with the water, and she thought of her husband out at sea, with the
wind blowing his ship along, and of her little babies living in the
cottage on the beach.
When she stopped, there was such a noise of applauding and cheering in
the hall, as had never been heard there before, and the King sent for
her, and asked her where she came from, and who had taught her such
wonderful steps, but she only answered that she was the daughter of a
poor miller, who lived in a windmill, and she thought she must have
learnt to dance from watching the windmill’s sails go round. Every
night the King would have her dance again and again, as he never tired
of watching her, and every night Lucilla said to herself, “Now another
night is gone, and I am one day nearer to their taking me back to my
own home and my children, with a bag of gold to give to my husband when
he comes back from sea.”
The new Queen was a handsome woman, but she was very jealous, and it
made her angry that the King should admire the new dancer’s dancing so
much, and she thought she would like to be able to dance like her. So
one evening when no one was watching her, she put on a big cloak that
covered her all over, and asked her way to where the dancer lived.
Lucilla sat alone in the little house that they had given her to live
in, and the Queen came in behind her, and took off her cloak, and
bade her be silent and not say her name, for fear some one should be
listening and know that she was there.
“Now,” she said, “I have come to you that you may tell me, though no
one else knows it, who taught you to dance, that I may go and learn
from them also to dance like you; for in the home that I come from, I
was said to be the most graceful woman in the land and the best dancer,
so that there is no dancing that I cannot learn.”
Lucilla trembled, but she answered:
“Your Majesty, I lived in a little windmill by the sea when I was a
child, far from teachers or dancers, but I watched the windmill sails
go round, morn, noon, and night; and perhaps it is that that taught me
to dance as I do now. And if your Majesty wishes to learn to do what
I do, I will gladly teach you all I know, and doubtless you will soon
learn to dance far better than I.”
Upon this the Queen was delighted, and flung aside her cloak, and stood
opposite to Lucilla, and begged her to begin to teach her at once, that
she might learn as soon as possible. All that evening they danced, but
when the Queen thought she looked just as Lucilla did, she appeared to
be quite awkward and heavy beside her, and was dancing just as other
mortals might. When she went away she was very much pleased, and said
that she would come twice more to learn from her, and then she was
sure that she would be perfect. In her heart Lucilla was very much
frightened, because she knew that the Queen did not dance as she did,
and never could. However, the next night she came again, and the next
again, and then there was to be a grand court ball; and at this the
Queen thought she would first show her husband how she could dance.
The King himself was fond of dancing, and danced well, although not
half so well as Lucilla’s husband the sailor; and the Queen thought
how delighted he would be when he saw what a graceful wife he had got.
As the ball began, all the fine people were saying to each other, it
really seemed silly to dance after they had seen the wonderful new
dancer, but the Queen smiled and thought to herself, “Now they will see
that I can do quite as well as she.” When her turn came she tripped
lightly forward and danced as best she could, and thought it was just
like Lucilla, and the courtiers said among each other, “Our new Queen
dances well,” but no one thought of saying that it was like Lucilla’s
dancing, and the King said nothing at all on the matter; therefore the
Queen felt herself growing hot and angry, and she turned red and white
by turns.
“That lying wench has been tricking me,” she said to herself, “and
she has not taught me right at all; but I will punish her for her
deception, and soon she shall know what it is to deceive a Queen.”
So the next day she went to her husband and said, “Husband, I have
thought much of the new wonderful dancer whom we all admire so much,
and truly I have never seen any one on earth who could dance as she
can; but now I think we should do well before she goes back to her own
home to know who has taught her her marvellous art, so that we may have
our court dancers taught, that they may be there to please us when she
is gone, for really there is nothing on earth that cannot be learnt if
it is taught in the right way.”
The King agreed, and they sent for Lucilla, and the King asked her to
tell him where she had learnt her dancing, that they might summon the
same teachers to teach their court dancers. But Lucilla answered as
before—she did not know—she thought she must have learnt dancing from
watching the windmill sails going round. At this the King became angry,
and said, “That is nonsense, no one could learn dancing from looking
at windmill sails, neither was it possible that she, a poor miller’s
daughter, could have learnt such dancing by nature;” then he threatened
her, that if she would not tell him the truth he should be obliged to
punish her, and he said she should have a day to think of it in, but at
the end of the next day, he should expect her to tell him everything he
wanted to know quite plainly.
When she was gone away the King said to the Queen, “Wife, if this
dancer persists in her silence, and will not tell us how she has
learnt, there is another thing which we must do. We must keep her here
to dance for us as much as we choose, and not let her return at all to
the home from which she came.”
The Queen was silent for a little, but she felt very jealous at the
thought of the dancer remaining at the court, so she nodded her head
and said, “Yes, but I think she ought to tell us more about it; for
myself, I begin to think that it is witchcraft, and perhaps she has
been taught by the Evil One, and then we shouldn’t like her to remain
here and dance to us however beautiful it be, for who knows what ill
luck it might not bring upon us?” Upon this the King looked grave, and
said he did not believe much in ill luck or good luck, but he should be
loth to lose the dancer, so they had better settle to keep her if she
declined to tell them how the other dancers were to be taught.
Meantime Lucilla went back to her little house, and wept bitterly.
“Would that I had never left my babes and my home,” she cried, “for I
cannot break my word to the windfairies, and if I did they might do
some terrible harm to my little ones or to my husband at sea; yet if I
refuse to tell them they will most likely put me into prison, and there
I shall remain for my life, and my husband and children will never
know what has become of me.” And she knelt down before the windows and
lifted her arms and cried out, “Oh, dear windfairies, I have not broken
faith with you, so don’t break faith with me, and come to my help and
save me in my trouble.”
Next evening Lucilla went again before the King, and he said to her,
“Well, now will you tell us what we asked you last night, so that we
may send for your teachers, and have others taught to dance as you do?”
“My gracious liege,” answered Lucilla, “I can tell you nothing that I
have not told you before. Since I was a child I have danced as I dance
now, and I watched the sails of my father’s windmill, and I danced in
time to the waves, and perhaps that is what taught me to keep time and
step so well. I was dancing by the sea-shore when the travellers who
brought me here found me, and they promised me a bag of gold to take
home to my husband if I would come and dance at your Majesty’s court;
and now you have seen me dance, and I have done all I can do, so I
entreat you to give me the bag of gold, and let me go home again.”
The King was silent, but the Queen was still more angry, and in her
heart was determined that Lucilla should never return to her home until
she had found out about her dancing. So when they were alone she said
to her husband, “It is now quite clear, it is by witchcraft that this
woman has learned, and we should do very wrong if we let her go till
she has confessed all.” So again they sent for Lucilla and ordered her
to confess, and again she wept and declared that she could tell no
more. Then the King said, “Well, let us give the woman her bag of gold
and let her go,” but the Queen stopped him, and said, “No indeed, let
us first try shutting her up in prison for a bit, and see if that won’t
open her lips.”
At first the King refused, for he said that Lucilla had done no wrong,
but the Queen insisted that she was deceiving them, and that her
dancing must be witchcraft, and at last the King began to listen to
her. Also he was very angry with Lucilla for wanting to go home, and
much disappointed to think he should see her dancing no more; so he
consented, and said that either she must tell him how it was she came
to be able to dance better than anybody else in this world, and who
taught her, or else they should think her dancing witchcraft, and she
must go to prison and wait her punishment.
Poor Lucilla wept most bitterly. “Alas!” cried she to herself, “woe is
me, for I dare not break faith with the windfairies, and yet if I do
not, I shall never see my husband or my babies again, for I fear lest
they may put me to death here.”
However, she continued to be silent, and the King ordered her to be
put into prison until she should speak out and tell them the truth;
and the guards came and led her away to prison, and locked her into a
dark cell. It was dreary and cold, and the walls were so thick that
she could not hear any of the noises from without, and there was only
one little window, which was too high up for her to see through. Here
she lay and lamented, and almost wished she could die at once, for she
believed that they would burn her, or drown her, and bitterly did she
grieve that she had left her home and her children.
Every day the King sent down to ask if she had changed her mind, but
every day she answered that she had nothing to say. One evening she sat
in her dark cell alone, grieving as usual, when the prison door opened,
and there entered a woman wrapped in a cloak and with her face hidden
by a mask. When she took off the mask Lucilla saw it was the Queen, and
she sprang up hoping that she had come to tell her that she was to be
released, but the Queen said, “Now I have come to you alone that you
may tell me the truth. Who taught you to dance, and where can I learn
to do what you do? If you will tell me I will ask the King to forgive
you, and you shall have your bag of gold, and go when you like.”
Then poor Lucilla began to cry afresh, and said, “My gracious lady,
I can tell you one thing that I have not yet told to any one, that
is, that I did learn my dancing, but who told me, or how it was, is a
secret that I swore I would never tell to any one. And now I implore
your Royal Highness to let me go back to my fisherman husband, and my
babies. Alack! alack! it was an evil hour for me when I left my home.”
Upon this the Queen became furious, but she hid her anger, and first
she tried to coax Lucilla to confess all, then she threatened her
with the King’s wrath, and then, as Lucilla still wept and said that
she could not break her promise, she started up in a rage, and said,
“Indeed, it is of little use, however much you love your husband and
your children, for you will never see them again. The King has settled
that you shall be killed this very week, so now you know what you have
gained by your wicked obstinacy.”
So the Queen returned to the King, and told him that the dancer had
confessed that she had learned her dancing, but she would not say from
whom, therefore it must be from the Evil One, and therefore there was
nothing for it but that she should be killed. So they settled that
first they would try to drown Lucilla, and if she were a witch she
would not sink, and the King gave orders that she should be taken out
to sea next day and thrown overboard, and also that she should have
heavy weights tied to her feet, and her arms should be bound to her
sides.
Next morning the guards fetched her, and they bound her arms to her
sides, and tied heavy weights to her feet, and they took her down and
placed her in a boat on the sea-shore, and they rowed her out to sea,
and all along the beach stood crowds of people, shouting and jeering,
and calling out, “She is a witch! she is a witch! the King has done
well to have her killed.”
“Alas! alas!” cried Lucilla, “what have I done to deserve this? surely
I have done no wrong to be so cruelly treated. Dear windfairies, come
to my help, for in truth now is the time of my direst need, and if you
desert me I am lost; but I pray you keep faith with me, as I have
kept faith with you.” Then, when they had rowed the boat out a little
way, the guards seized her, and threw her into the water, and the salt
waves splashed over her face and through her hair; but in spite of the
heavy weights on her feet she never sank, but felt as light as when she
danced with the waves on the sea-shore by her home, and she knew that
the windfairies held her up; and the waves rocked her gently, and drew
her in towards the land, and laid her on the sand, and all the crowd
yelled with rage.
When they found that Lucilla could not be drowned both the King and
Queen were very angry, and said that now it was quite clear that she
was a witch, and that she must be burnt, so they must take her back to
prison, and arrange for her to be burnt in the market-place. So Lucilla
was again taken back to her little dark cell, and she kneeled on the
ground and looked up to the window, and murmured, “Thank you, dear
windfairies, you have kept faith with me, as I have kept faith with
you.”
[Illustration]
Then again the guards came, and took her by the arms and led her to
the market-place, and here she saw a great pile of wood made, whereon
she was to be laid, and already men were busy setting fire to it.
But as Lucilla and the guards came to the spot, there arose a little
breeze, and it blew on to the faces of the crowd who went to see her
burnt. The men who were trying to light the pile of wood, said they
could not make it catch for the wind; when at last it did catch fire,
the flames would not rise in the air, but were blown along the ground.
Still they brought Lucilla up to the pile, and placed her upon it, and
then the flames divided on each side, and were blown away from her all
round, so she sat in the midst quite unhurt.
At this the people all cried out, “Now we know that she really is a
witch, since she will not drown and the fire will not burn her,” and
they ran to tell the King and the Queen that the dancing woman did not
mind the fire, but sat in the midst of it unhurt. On hearing this the
King and Queen came down to the market-place together, and saw Lucilla
sitting on the pile of wood, and the flames blown away from her on all
sides, and causing a great hubbub; so they told the guards to take her
back to prison and keep her there, till they could arrange for her to
be beheaded. And again Lucilla bent her head, and said, “Now I know,
dear windfairies, that you will never desert me, and I have nothing to
fear, for while I keep faith with you, you will keep faith with me.”
By now it was getting late in the day, and the King commanded that
Lucilla should not be executed till next day, and that the scaffold
should be erected in the market-place, on which the block should be
put, so that all the crowd might see, and both he and the Queen would
be there. But in order to give her one last chance that every one might
see how fair they were, the King offered that if she would confess,
even when she was upon the scaffold, who had taught her to dance, she
should be allowed to return whence she came, and take her bag of gold
with her, and therefore the bag of gold was placed on the scaffold so
that all the people might see, and the bag was so large that Lucilla
could scarcely lift it.
That evening Lucilla felt no fear, and she would have slept calmly in
her cell, but the wind was beginning to blow in all directions, and all
round she heard it roaring, and the trees were bending and breaking
in the gale. When the morning came, the King and Queen said to each
other, “This is the morning when they should execute the dancer, but
it will be hard to get her on to the scaffold with a gale like this
blowing.” However, the guards came to Lucilla’s cell, and took her out
as before, and led her towards the market-place, though they had much
ado to get along, for the wind blew so hard that they could scarce keep
upright in it. All along the coast the little boats were being blown in
to shore, and there were big ships, which had been driven in, to take
refuge from the storm. But Lucilla felt no fear, only she looked up to
the wind, and in her heart she said, “Now, dear windfairies, help me
for the last time, and keep faith with me, as I have kept faith with
you.”
Near the shore came a big ship with shining white sails, riding over
the crested waves, and although all the other boats seemed troubled by
the wind, and some were dismasted and others were wrecked, this boat
seemed no way hurt by it, and the people who saw it called out, “What
a gallant ship it was, and how brave the captain must be, who knew
so well how to manage wind and water.” But when they knew that the
time had come for Lucilla to be beheaded, the people did not trouble
further about the boats, and in spite of the gale they flocked to the
market-place, and crowded round the scaffold on which was the block.
Then the guards and Lucilla mounted the scaffold, and Lucilla began to
fear that at last the windfairies had forsaken her, and she wept and
held out her arms, and cried out, “Oh, dear windfairies, indeed I have
kept my faith with you, surely, surely you will keep yours with me.”
In spite of the terrible gale, the King and the Queen came down to the
market-place, though they could scarce see or hear for the wind, though
all the time the sun was shining and the sky was blue. Then the guards
bid Lucilla kneel down and place her head upon the block, and the bag
of gold was beside her, and they said, “This is your last chance, speak
now and confess the truth to the King, and here is your gold, and you
shall go.” And Lucilla answered as before, “I have spoken the truth,
and there is no more that I can tell, since I have sworn never to say
from whom I learnt my dancing.”
Then the executioner lifted the axe in the air, but before it fell,
there came a sudden roar of wind, and the axe was swept from his hand,
and the houses in the market-place tottered and fell, and high up
on the hill the palace was a mass of ruins. Only Lucilla knelt upon
the scaffold unhurt, for the King and the Queen and all the people
were blown right and left, amidst the ruins of the houses, and no one
thought of anything save how they could save themselves.
Then Lucilla lifted her head and looked out to sea, and saw the big
ship coming in, and she heard the sailors cry, “Heyday, these poor folk
are in a sad plight, we had better go and help them,” and they all
trooped up into the market-place, and the wind troubled them no more
than it had troubled their ship. But when Lucilla looked at them, the
first whom she saw was her husband, and she gave a great cry, and held
out her arms, and called out, “Now, dear windfairies, do I indeed know
that you have kept faith with me, and saved me in my direst hour of
need.”
Then she told her husband all that had happened, and showed him the
bag of gold, and prayed him take her back to her little cottage and
her babies by the sea; and she knew that it was the windfairies that
had brought her husband to her, for he told her that whatever way they
steered the ship it would only take one course, and the wind had blown
it without their guidance straight to the town where she was to be
killed.
So Lucilla and her husband took the bag of gold, and went back to the
little cottage by the sea-shore, and her father and her babies, and the
King and the Queen and all the rest of the people were left to build up
their town as best they could, and Lucilla never saw nor heard of them
any more, but lived happily with her husband for the rest of her life.
[Illustration: VAIN KESTA]
ONCE upon a time there lived a young girl called Kesta who was the
dairy-maid at a large farm. She milked the cows and made the cheese and
butter, and sometimes took them into the town to sell for her master.
On the farm worked a man named Adam. He drove in the cows for Kesta to
milk and watched her milking them. As she was a comely-looking girl and
did her work well, he thought she would make him a good wife; so one
day he said, “Kesta, how would you like to marry me? and then we can
save our money and some day buy a farm for ourselves, and I should be
a farmer and you should be the farmer’s wife, and have servants to wait
on you.”
“That I should like very much,” said Kesta, “but I can’t say yes, at
once. To-morrow I am going to town with my cheeses, when I come back I
will give you an answer.”
At night Kesta looked into her glass and said, “I wonder why Adam
wishes to marry me? but as he does, most likely some better man would
like to do so; it would be folly to marry him till I see if I can’t do
better. I must look about me when I go to town to-morrow, and see who I
can meet.”
In the morning she dressed herself with great care in her best clothes,
and set out for the town with the cheeses in a basket under her arm.
When she had got a little way she passed a mill, and the miller all
white with flour stood in the yard directing his men. He was an oldish
man, and his wife was recently dead, and Kesta thought as she drew
near, it would be a better thing to marry him than to marry poor Adam,
so she said, “Good-day, would you kindly let me rest a little?”
“Certainly, my girl,” said the miller, “you seem to be out of breath?”
“And well I may be,” said Kesta, “such a run as I have had. I’ve come
from the farm yonder, and it was as much as I could do to get away, for
the farmer’s man was very angry because I would not marry him, and of
course I am too good for him, a pretty girl like me.”
“Are you really a pretty girl?” said the miller; “let me see, perhaps
you are. Well, if you are too good for the farmer’s man perhaps
you would suit me. How would you like to marry me, and live in the
mill-house yonder?”
“I think I should like it well,” said Kesta, “but I have some business
in the town, and must go there first, so I’ll stop here and tell you as
I come back.” So she said good-bye, and went on her way feeling very
merry.
“It would be much better to marry the miller than to marry Adam, but
who knows if I may not do better than either, so I must not be in any
hurry.” So she walked on, and near to the town she met a man on a white
horse, and saw it was the bailiff of the great Duke at the Palace. “Who
knows but that he may want a wife?” she said to herself, “I can but
try.” So she sat down by the road-side and called out, “Ah me, what a
thing it is to be a poor girl who has to run away from all the men she
meets!”
“Why,” cried the bailiff, stopping his horse. “Why have you to run? who
tries to hurt you?”
“No one tries to hurt me,” said Kesta, “but I have to run from men who
want to marry me, because I am so pretty. At first it was a man at our
farm, and now it is the miller, who would not let me pass his door
unless I promised to come back and marry him, but I am far too good for
such as he.”
“Is this really so?” cried the bailiff, who hated the miller; “did the
miller really want to marry you? If you’re too good to marry him, it
may be you would suit me.”
“Indeed,” said Kesta, “I think that might do well, for I should live
in a nice house and have plenty of servants. But I have to go into the
town on business, and you’re sure to be somewhere about here, and when
I come back we will arrange it.” So she set off, leaving the bailiff
chuckling at the thought of how angry the miller would be if he married
Kesta.
On went Kesta in high good-humour. “Now am I indeed doing well,” said
she; “how clever I was not to marry Adam before I came to town.”
Presently she reached the town, and in the high street she passed the
bank, and the banker himself stood in the doorway. He was fat and ugly
and old, but his hands were covered with rings, and Kesta knew his
pockets were full of gold. Kesta said, “It would be a fine thing to
marry him, and I could hold up my head with any one. I think I’ll speak
to him, as it would be folly to pass him without trying.” So she gave a
loud sigh and said, “Alack a day, how hard is my lot!”
“Why, what is wrong, my pretty lass?” said the banker.
“Pretty you may well say,” answered Kesta. “Would I were not so, for
thence come all my troubles.”
“And what are they?” asked the banker.
“Only wherever I go, I have no peace, for all the men want to marry me.
First it is the farmer, then the miller, and lastly the duke’s bailiff,
who would scarcely let me pass on the road till I had promised him; and
of course it is impossible, and I am much too pretty for any of them.”
“Is this really true?” cried the banker; “if so, there must be
something very superior about you. Perhaps you would be good enough for
me. How would you like to be my wife, and ride in a fine carriage, and
wear silk gowns all day?”
“Nay, that would be much more fitting,” cried Kesta, “and from the
first I thought you would be much more suitable to be my husband than
any of the others I have met; but I must go down the town first, so I
will come in here on my way back.” So she went on till she came to a
great square in front of the barracks where the soldiers were drilling,
with their helmets and swords glittering in the sun, and at their head
rode the General of the army. His voice was hoarse with shouting at his
men, and he swore dreadfully, but he was covered with gold, and looked
very grand. “Now supposing he has no wife,” thought Kesta, “it would be
a really fine thing to marry him: I can but try.” So she waited till
the soldiers were marching into the barracks, and then, when he was
riding away, she went so close under the horse’s feet that he shouted
to her in case she should be run over. “Alas! what a life is mine,” she
cried very loud that he might hear, “hunted here and there till I don’t
know where I go!”
“Why, who hunts you?” cried the General angrily; “what nonsense you
talk, my good girl.”
“How dare you say I talk nonsense,” cried Kesta, “when it is as much as
I can do to get through your town for the men who want me to stop and
marry them!”
“And why do they want you to marry them?” asked the General.
“Because I’m so pretty, of course,” said Kesta promptly, and she took
off her hat and looked up at the General.
“I don’t think you are so pretty,” he said.
“But I am,” cried Kesta angrily, “and it’s only stupid people who don’t
see it. Go and ask the men in the town. First it was a man at the farm,
then the miller, then the duke’s bailiff, then the banker—they all
wanted to marry me, and I am much too good for any of them!”
“If this is all true,” said the General, “of course you must be
exceedingly pretty, and as you say you are much too good for them,
perhaps you might suit me. How would you like that?”
“That might be better,” said Kesta, “and as you wish it very much I
will agree, and I hope you will try to make me a good husband; but I am
obliged to go a little further on important business, and I will meet
you here on my way back,” and on she went laughing to herself. “Indeed
I am fortunate,” thought she; “and as they all seem willing to marry
me why should I not try higher, and see what the Duke himself would
say? There is nothing like being practical, and it would be downright
silly not to speak to the Duke now I am here.” By this time she had
come to the Duke’s palace, so she stopped a servant who was coming out
and asked if he were at home, for she said, “I have special business
with him.” “He is sitting by the stream in the garden, where he sits
fishing all day, and you can go and speak to him if you choose,” said
the servant. So Kesta went through the courtyard into the garden, and
straight on to where the Duke sat beside the stream with a long rod in
his hand fishing. He was dressed all in green, and seemed to be half
asleep, and Kesta came quite near him before he saw her. Then she
said, “Ah, pity me, your Grace, and listen to my sad story.”
“Good gracious! who are you?—don’t you know I am the Duke?” said he.
“And that is why I have come to you to ask you to protect me from all
the men who pursue me,” said Kesta.
“Why do they pursue you?” asked the Duke.
“Because I am so pretty,” replied Kesta. “They all want to marry me:
first the man at the farm, then the miller I met on the road, then your
bailiff, then the banker, then the General of your army, and he would
only let me go when I promised to go back to him.”
“The General!” said the Duke. “Is this true? does he really want to
marry you?”
“Of course he does,” said Kesta; “if you doubt what I say you had
better send to the town and ask.”
“Indeed,” said the Duke, “I should not have thought you so very pretty,
but if what you say is true you must be. I’m not sure if it would not
suit me to marry you myself; but mind, I shall be exceedingly angry if
I find you have not told me the truth, and they did not want to marry
you. Of course you would be delighted to marry me and be the Duchess?”
“Aye, that I should,” cried Kesta, and she grinned with delight.
Then the Duke took from his side a horn and blew it loudly. There came
from the palace four pages, dressed in blue and gold, who stood in a
row to receive his orders. “See,” cried the Duke, “I am going to marry
this lady, who everybody thinks is very beautiful, so see that you
treat her with respect; and go to the palace and bid them to prepare a
feast and fitting clothes for the bride, and tell the chaplain to be
ready, for I mean to marry her at once.”
“And now,” he said to Kesta, when all his pages had returned to the
palace, “come and sit by me and watch me fish till all is ready.”
So Kesta sat by his side and watched him fishing with his long rod, but
after a time she grew tired of being silent, and said, “What have you
caught?”
“Nothing yet,” said the Duke.
“Then why do you go on?” asked she.
“Because I’m sure to catch something soon, and it’s amusing. Wouldn’t
you like to hold the rod a little?”
“Yes, very much,” answered Kesta, who was afraid of offending him. So
she put out her hand to take the rod, and as she did so the basket fell
from her arm and the cheeses rolled out.
“What are those round balls?” asked the Duke, “and what an odd smell
they have.”
“They are my cheeses,” cried Kesta; “I made them yesterday, and was
taking them to sell, when——”
“Good gracious, you made them!” cried the Duke with a scream. “Then
you must be a common dairy-maid, and your hands are quite rough.
How terrible! And I was just going to marry you. How dare you think
yourself good enough to marry me!” and he sprang to his feet in a
towering passion, and seizing his horn blew it so loudly that the four
pages ran up in great alarm. “Hunt her away,” cried the Duke, “she is
an impostor—a common farm wench and makes cheeses. She thought herself
good enough to be the Duchess!”
Away flew Kesta, with the pages after her hooting and shouting, “Down
with the impertinent hussy who wanted to marry the Duke, a common
dairy-maid who makes cheeses.”
On rushed Kesta till she came to the General’s house, and at his window
he sat in his fine uniform. He sat waiting for her, but when he saw the
pages behind her he called, “Hey-dey, what is all this fuss about?”
“It is nothing,” said Kesta. “See, I have come back to marry you as I
promised.”
But here the pages shouted, “Away with the impertinent dairy-maid, who
thought herself good enough to marry the Duke.”
“And wouldn’t the Duke marry her?” asked the General.
“Of course not; she is nothing but a farm wench,” cried the pages, “and
she is to be chased from the town for her impertinence.”
“And so she shall,” cried the General; “she thought she was fit for me
too—it is disgraceful!” and he cried to some soldiers who stood by his
door, “Here, my men, help to chase this good-for-nothing hussy out of
the town.”
But before he had finished Kesta was running down the street with all
her might to the banker’s. At last she came to the banker’s big square
house standing beside the bank, and on the steps was the banker himself
in his shiny black clothes with gold rings on his hands.
“Here I am,” cried Kesta; “and let me in quickly, for I am out of
breath with running.”
“Why have you hurried so?” cried the banker, and as he spoke the pages
and the soldiers came round the corner, “and what is all this shouting
for?”
“Nay, how should I know?” cried Kesta, running into the house.
But up came her pursuers, crying, “Away with her! down with her!”
“Who is it you are calling after?” asked the banker.
“That wench in the yellow dress who has gone into your house.”
“Why, what has she done?” he asked.
“Why, she thought herself good enough to marry the Duke and the
General, and she is to be hooted out of the town for her impudence!”
“But didn’t the General want to marry her?” asked the banker.
“Our General!” cried the soldiers angrily; “why, she’s only a
dairy-maid, and not fit for him.”
“Then I’m sure she can’t be good enough for me, for I’m quite as good
as he,” said the banker, and he ran into the house in a great rage,
crying, “Begone, you impertinent jade! how dare you think yourself good
enough for me to marry!” It chanced at this moment that the clerks were
coming out of the bank next door, and when he saw them he cried, “Here,
my good fellows, help to chase this minx from the town; she wishes to
be my wife, when she is nothing but a common dairy-maid.” On this the
clerks burst out laughing, and one and all ran after Kesta, who ran
with all her might and main.
“It’s too hard,” sobbed she; “what have I done to be treated like
this?” But run as fast as she might she could not reach the bailiff’s
house before them, and the pages, soldiers, and clerks were all close
to her, shouting and laughing.
“Why, what’s the matter?” cried the bailiff, “and why are you shouting
at this poor maid?”
“Why,” said they, “she wanted to marry first the Duke, and the General,
and the banker, and of course they would not have her, because she is
only a common dairy wench.”
“What impertinence!” cried the bailiff; “and, now I come to think of
it, she asked to marry me too; indeed she merits punishment for such
behaviour,” and seeing some of his farm people close at hand, he bid
them run after Kesta and drive her out of the town. But this time she
had started first, and had got on to the mill before they could reach
her, and she ran into the garden where the miller was. “Well, I’m glad
to see you back,” said he, “but how hard you have run.”
“I was in such a hurry to get back. Now let’s go into the house,” she
said.
“Come along,” said the miller; “but what are all those people shouting
for?”
“’Tis only the farmers bringing home pigs from the market,” said Kesta,
but she felt frightened, for she heard the people calling after her.