I
Once upon a time, in a lonely glade between high mountains far, far
above the World of Men, there stood a hut. It was a miserable,
tumbledown, little hut, and the mosses of many summers clung to its
sloping roof. It had a bent stovepipe where its chimney should have
been, a slanting board in place of a doorstep, and just one, poor,
little, broken window.
Yet it was not its forlorn appearance alone that made the hut hide
behind the shadows of the grim forest, far away from the sight of man.
It had more, much more than that to be ashamed of. For a hideous Witch
lived there,--and with her, a Goosegirl.
They lived alone, those two,--the Goosegirl, with the joy of youth in
her heart; and the Witch, unmindful of joy or youth, thinking only of
magic and evil and hate. While the Goosegirl had been growing from
babyhood to girlhood, from girlhood to womanhood, dreaming and wondering
and wishing,--she knew not what,--the Witch had been trying to make her
as ugly and as wicked as herself. But try as she would, the heart of the
Goosegirl was so pure that evil could find no spot in it to lodge. As
for her face, each passing year left it lovelier than the last. The
sunshine was no brighter than her yellow hair, the sky no bluer than her
clear blue eyes. The lone lily before the hut envied the whiteness of
her skin, and the birch tree in the woods, the slenderness of her form.
Now it chanced upon a sunny afternoon in summer that the Goosegirl lay
on her back in the long grass before the hut. Now and then she tossed a
handful of corn to her quacking geese or played with a wreath of wild
daisies. But her thoughts were far away. Her eyes were full of the
wonder of things,--of the sun that shone, the brook that laughed, the
flowers that bloomed, the birds that sang, and the blue sky over all.
And her dreams were full of the World of Men, which she had never seen
and to which she longed to go. Something within her whispered that
happiness was to be found there, and the Goosegirl desired happiness
above all things. And she desired kindness and love, too, although she
had never heard of them, and did not know what they were.
As far back as she could remember, ever since she was a tiny little
child, the Goosegirl had lived in the wretched hut. And the hideous
Witch had been her only companion. The Goosegirl wondered whether all
the people in the World of Men had such gruesome bodies, such ugly
faces, such evil ways, as the Witch. She had never seen any one else, so
she could not tell. For fear of the Witch no one had ever come that way.
Winter and summer, summer and winter, it had always been the same.
The Goosegirl's dreams were suddenly interrupted by the hoarse voice of
the Witch.
"Where are you, good-for-naught?" came from the doorway. "Idle, I'll be
bound, when there's work to be done!"
The Goosegirl turned her eyes toward the figure of the Witch, and,
familiar as it was, for the thousandth time she shuddered with disgust.
The crooked back, the burning eyes peering out from under the tangled
hair, the rags, the ugliness,--oh, must she always stay? She arose
slowly and walked toward the door. With hands outstretched she begged
the hideous creature to set her free and to let her go down to the World
of Men to seek for happiness.
"I will never become a Witch," she implored. "Oh, please let me go."
The Witch's crooked mouth widened into a horrible smile. One yellow
tooth stuck out.
"Not make a Witch of you, indeed! Wait and see! I'll bend your proud
back!" Then brandishing her cane, she muttered savagely:
"Get to work. There's bread to knead!"
The frightened Goosegirl ran for bowl and flour, and set to work.
Meanwhile the Witch took out some dark powders. She mumbled strange
words over them, and while the Goosegirl, with busy hands but unseeing
eyes, kneaded and kneaded and kneaded, the Witch poured the powders into
the dough. Poor Goosegirl! Her bread was soon finished, but it was a
foul-smelling bread, and it contained enough poison to kill a dozen men.
Soon afterward the Witch, chuckling fiendishly, took up her basket and
hobbled away to the grim forest. But the Goosegirl, full of horror for
the deed she had been made to do, sat motionless, staring straight
ahead. Would her life never, never change? With a sigh she called to her
geese and wandered back to her place in the grass. Ah, that there should
be so much evil in such a beautiful world! She looked at the dancing
shadows of the fluttering leaves. They were beautiful. There was beauty
in the thin, blue line of smoke as it climbed lazily upward from the
broken chimney. Two turtledoves cooed above her head. The sunlight
shimmered upon the wings of the buzzing bumblebees and made them shine
like gold. All, all was beautiful. Were people the only ugly things? The
Goosegirl gazed toward the World of Men far, far below, and wondered.
Presently her fingers, wandering idly over the grass, found the wreath
of daisies. Idly she placed it upon her head.
"Look at me, geese!" she cried. "Look at me! Am I ugly, too?"
With the geese at her heels, she ran swiftly toward the pool and peered
earnestly into its clear depths. Her hair hung in long golden strands on
each side of her face, her eyes shone like stars, her cheeks were
flushed.
"Ah!" she exclaimed happily. "I am beautiful! Geese dear, I am
beautiful, very beautiful!" And she gazed and gazed again.
Suddenly a song broke the silence. The Goosegirl started. For it was a
song of youth and joy, the like of which she had never heard before in
all her life.
Then, down from the mountains, out of the woods, straight to that lonely
glade, came a youth, a ragged youth, but a noble youth, with a sword at
his side, a bundle on his back, and a smile on his lips. His bearing was
so proud, he looked so straight ahead, with eyes both fearless and true,
that the Goosegirl held her breath as he halted before her.
"Hey, pretty Queen of the Geese," he said. "How goes the world with you?
Have you no greeting for me?"
The Goosegirl continued to stare, saying nothing, her eyes wide with
wonder. Finally she found her voice, and in a whisper just loud enough
for him to hear, ventured timidly:
"Are you a man?"
"From top to toe!" exclaimed the youth, and laughed. How he laughed! He
threw back his head, his white teeth gleamed, and the distant hills rang
with the joyous sound. Even the Goosegirl was forced to smile at her own
ignorance.
Such merriment soon made them the best of friends, and before long,
seated side by side in the grass, the youth told the Goosegirl whence he
had come and whither he was roving.
A King's Son was he, of noble name and fortune. High up among the
mountains stood his father's castle, and there, amid the luxuries of the
court, he had been reared. But when he had grown old enough to wander,
the luxury had palled, the court life had fettered his free spirit. "Up
and away!" cried a summons from within his heart. And so, while no one
watched, he had stolen forth, with naught but a sword by his side, a
bundle on his back, and a song on his lips. And he had wandered over
the mountains, through the valleys, up and down, in and out, in search
of adventure.
The Goosegirl heard the marvelous tale to the end. Then in faltering
tones, but with shining eyes, she said slowly:
"Oh, that I might go with you!"
The youth smiled scornfully.
"King's Son and beggar maid!" exclaimed he, shaking his head. But as he
looked into her face he stopped short.
The nobility of her expression, her simple beauty, drew him nearer. Ah!
this was no beggar maid. There was something regal in the pose of that
golden head, the glance of those clear blue eyes. What a companion she
would make for now and forevermore! He forgot the rags, he forgot the
geese, he forgot the hut.
"Have you courage?" he asked, gazing at her searchingly.
In answer she placed her hand in his. So he took off her wreath of
white daisies and placed it within his jacket, close to his heart. And
he opened his bundle and drew forth a golden crown, which he placed upon
her head. Then crying:
"Up and away!" he led her to the edge of the grim wood.
At that instant, however, the sky began to darken with rushing clouds.
Broad flashes of lightning blazed forth, thunder rolled, and the wind
blew furiously through the trees. The geese flapped their wings in
terror and gathered about the Goosegirl. She stood still, staring before
her in fear. She was turned to stone. She could not move. Her feet were
fixed to the ground.
"What makes you stand so still and stare?" cried the King's Son.
"Oh, I am afraid!" answered the Goosegirl. "I cannot go! I am
bewitched!"
"Fear is but shame," declared the King's Son, angrily. "You have lied to
me. You are not fit to wander with a King's Son. You are only a beggar
maid, after all."
Then, overpowered by his wrath, he made ready to go, adding:
"Farewell. You shall never see me any more. No, never again, unless a
star from heaven falls into the lily yonder." And pointing to the lone
lily by the door of the hut, he rushed into the grim forest and was lost
to sight.