the tiny one smiled through its tears and said, “Forget-me-not.”
And ever since that day at creation time, when God the Father named every
beast of the forest and every bird and flower and tree, the wee blossom
whose petals are the color of heaven and whose heart is the color of
gold, has been called “Forget-me-not.”
THE LITTLE STEPMOTHER
(_Thuringian Folk Tale—Nature Study_)
Once upon a time, say the peasants of the Rhineland, a woodman lived with
his wife and two daughters in a little hut in the forest. They were very
poor, but what mattered that, since they were very happy?
They had five chairs,—one apiece, and one for company,—clean, sweet
feather beds to keep them warm at night, a bit of soup to eat with their
black bread, and once each year they went to the fair.
But after a time the mother died, and things were different. The father
took another wife, who had two children of her own, and she was very
unkind to her husband’s little daughters. She forced them to do all the
work, and if the poor woodman so much as opened his mouth to object, she
beat him with her slipper. You will know how greedy she was when I tell
you that she took two of the fine wood chairs for her own children and
kept two for herself, and you remember there were only five in the hut.
That left one for the husband and his daughters, and as the father was
kind and good, he let them have it all to themselves and patiently stood
while he ate his meals.
For a long time that greedy little stepmother ruled her husband and his
children with an iron hand, while her own daughters acted like spoiled
princesses, until one night something happened. The hut and the family
disappeared. Just how it came to pass, nobody knows, but the next morning
the other woodmen found a little flower growing where the house had
stood, and they knew that a fairy or witch or something had turned the
family into the blossom which you may see almost any summer day. The
greedy stepmother still sits on her two chairs, with her children on
each side of her holding a chair apiece. The woodman’s little daughters
are crowded together on one, just as they were in the hut. And what of
the poor henpecked husband, who did not dare to object to anything his
spouse chose to do? Look in the center, right under her slipper, and you
will find what most people say is the pistil. But the peasants of the
Rhineland know better. It is the woodman, who once upon a time lived in
the hut in the forest, and the flower you call the pansy is to them “The
Little Stepmother.”
THE RABBIT AND THE EASTER EGGS
(_Bavarian Folk Tale_)
Once, in the German land of Bavaria, there was a mother who was very
poor. She was sad as Easter time drew near, for it was the custom in
that land to give presents then just as we do at Christmas, and she had
nothing for her children. She grieved about it day and night, and one day
was so unhappy over it that she wept.
“Never fear,” the old grandmother said, “the hens are laying well, and I
know how to make beautiful dyes from moss and leaves. We can color some
eggs for Hans and Annchen, and they will be happy.”
This was a lovely thought to the poor mother, and she went to work. Soon
she had beautiful red, blue, yellow, purple, and orange eggs, and when
Easter morning came she and the grandmother hid them in a nest in the
woods. It was a lovely spot, with a thick carpet of moss underfoot and
the snowy blossoms of the wild plum overhead.
Then they all went to the tiny chapel that stood at the other side of the
village, to listen to the music and hear the good pastor tell the story
of Easter day, after which they walked home by the woodland path.
Little Hans and Annchen were running ahead of the others, and all at once
they called, “Oh, Mother, Grandmother, come!”
The good mother said, “They must have found the eggs,” and hurried to see.
Yes, there the children knelt, bending over the nest of eggs lovelier
than they had ever seen.
“They are beautiful, Mother!” exclaimed Hans. “See, they look like hen’s
eggs, yet they are every color, like the rainbow. How did they get here
in the woods?”
“I know,” cried little Annchen. “A fairy bird laid them.”
Just then a rabbit leaped out of some tall grass behind the nest, and
hopped away into the forest.
The children screamed with delight. “The rabbit laid the eggs! The rabbit
laid the eggs!” they shouted.
And ever since that time Bavarian children have played that rabbits lay
Easter eggs.
THE EASTER EGGS
ADAPTED FROM STORY BY CANON SCHMIDT
(_Ethics_)
During the days of the Crusades a little village stood in the heart of a
little valley. The people living there were very poor, but so good and
gentle that despite their poverty they were happier than many of the
great folk of the realm. They had none of the cares that trouble the
rich. Their rude black huts, each with its tiny garden plot and bit of
meadow land where they pastured the cow or goats, satisfied them because
they knew nothing else, and they lived so simply and healthfully that
there were men over a hundred years of age among them. Sometimes they
burned charcoal for the iron works in the mountains and earned a few
pennies, when they felt rich indeed, but if there was no money they did
not complain. They ate their vegetables and black bread and drank their
goat’s milk in contentment.
One day, when the corn ears were yellowing, a little girl hurried down
the mountain side where she had been tending goats. She ran to her home
at the edge of the village, and called to her mother in the garden,
“Oh, mamma, come quickly! A beautiful woman with two pretty children is
waiting for me on the mountain. They are very tired and hungry, and she
asked me for some bread and milk.”
Kind hearts beat in the breasts of those village folk, and although they
had little themselves, they were always ready to share their small store.
Quickly the mother filled a jar with goat’s milk and took some bread,
butter, and cheese, and she and her husband followed the little daughter
up the mountain side. After a while they came to a turn in the path, and
saw a woman, very young and very beautiful, sitting on a rock under a
beech tree. She was holding a little girl who was as lovely as herself,
and beside them, on the ground, a tiny dark-eyed boy played with a bunch
of thistles. Not far away an old man was unloading a mule and opening
bundles as if preparing to camp for the night. Their clothing was of the
costly kind that is worn only by the very rich, and it seemed strange
that they should be asking food of the poor.
The village wife offered the bread, butter, and cheese she had brought
with her, which the woman received with smiles and words of thanks. She
kept nothing herself, but gave all to the old man and children, who ate
the coarse peasant fare as if it tasted very good, and as she watched
them tears streamed down her cheeks. She asked many questions about the
valley, and finding that no one but charcoal burners lived there, and
that strangers almost never came by, exclaimed, “I think God must have
sent me here. I have been driven from home and am seeking a spot where we
may rest in peace.”
They went down to the valley together, and the peasant and his wife led
the way to a vacant house, which the woman rented for her home. It was
a very humble cottage, but she said it suited her, for it was new and
clean, and from its little windows one could see out over the cabins and
the garden plots to the tall, dark fir trees on the mountain slopes. She
took one of the village girls for a servant, and the worn, unhappy look
began to leave her face.
Early the next morning she called the maid Marie, gave her a silver
piece, and said, “Go and get some eggs for breakfast.”
The girl looked at her in surprise.
“Oh, madame!” she asked sorrowfully, “do you mean that I must take the
eggs of the dear little birds that sing in the forest?”
“Of course not,” her mistress replied, thinking her very silly, “I want
hen’s eggs, not bird’s eggs.”
But Marie looked more amazed than before.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘hens,’” she said. “We have none of them
here.”
“You have no hens!” the woman exclaimed. “How can that be?”
Then she remembered that this was a village of poor peasants and that
only the rich had chickens, because they had just been brought to Europe
from Asia, and were very costly. So she bade the old man Kuno go to the
city across the mountains and bring her everything she needed.
“And be sure not to forget the cock and hens,” she called after him as he
rode away.
Late that afternoon the man returned, and the woman met him at the door.
“Have you brought the chickens?” she asked.
Nodding in reply, he set the cage on the ground.
By this time the village children had gathered around, and were greatly
excited about the strange-looking birds. They laughed and clapped their
hands, for they never had seen anything like them, and when Kuno turned
them out of the cage and they walked around picking up the grain he threw
to them, their joy knew no bounds. Then the cock flapped his wings and
crowed and some of the hens cackled, and the children danced and screamed
in delight. They stayed until it was dark, and early the next morning
came again and brought their fathers and mothers to see the wonderful
birds that sang such curious songs.
Summer passed and autumn came. The last apples fell from the trees, nuts
dropped in the frost-painted forest, and the sharp winds of November
blew down from the peaks, yet still the lovely stranger and her children
stayed in the village. That was very strange, for the valley was entirely
surrounded by rugged mountains, and was a rough, wild country in winter,
when the tiny houses were almost buried in the snow. But they seemed
happy there, and the people wondered much about it. They talked of it
as they herded the goats on the slopes, as they burned charcoal in
the shadow of the fir trees, and always would end by saying, “She is
some great lady, for she speaks the language of court, and she and her
children have costly clothes and many gold pieces.”
But they found out nothing, for when they asked the children who their
mother was they said, “She is mamma, and we are Blanche and Edmund.”
So still they wondered and still they did not know. But they were glad
she lived among them, because they had grown to love her very much. She
was kind and charitable toward every one in the village. She gave food to
the poor and took care of the sick, and the peasants repaid her with many
kindnesses. They gave her game they killed in the forest, and when spring
came and the snow melted, the village children roamed the woods for the
earliest violets and cowslips, and brought them to her door.
These acts of kindness touched her, and the morning before Easter she
thought, “I must do something to make them happy.” But what could it
be? She couldn’t give them a feast, because, although she had plenty of
money, it was impossible to get any meat in the village; and she couldn’t
give them presents, because there was no place to buy them. She had
nothing but eggs, which she thought would be no treat at all. Then an
idea came to her. Calling Marie, the maid, she told her of it and they
merrily went to work.
They went into the woods and gathered roots, moss, and berries such as
were used for dyeing in those days. They made cakes and custards. They
colored eggs red, blue, green, orange, and lilac, and planned to give the
people a grand surprise. Late in the afternoon little Blanche and Edmund
went out through the village and stopped at every house, saying, “Mamma
invites you, you and all your family, great and small, to a feast at our
house tomorrow. Come after the mass.”
Everybody accepted the invitation. They had never been to a real feast,
and to go to one at the house of the lovely stranger would be fine
indeed. They took out their best holiday attire, polished their shoe
buckles until they shone, and made ready for a gala time, and on Easter
morning a line of men, women, and children went from the chapel to the
cottage of the lady.
She met them at the door and led them into the garden, where two long
tables were spread. The parents were told to sit down, but she said to
the children, “It is not time for you to eat yet. Go into the woods with
Edmund and Blanche, and make little nests of moss. Put them under the
trees, and be sure to remember where you left them.”
They ran out laughing, and the parents sat down to the feast, and a
splendid feast it seemed to them! There were eggs in the shell, fried
eggs, eggs in milk, omelets, and sweet, yellow custards, and as they
never had tasted eggs before, they thought them wonderfully delicious.
After a while the children came back for their share in the good things,
and as soon as they had finished eating, the woman said, “Go out and look
for your pretty nests.”
A rush and a scramble and they were in the woods, and a moment later
cries of delight and wonder were heard, for in each nest they found five
lovely eggs of red, blue, green, purple, and orange. They came pell-mell
to show them to their fathers and mothers, who discovered something
written upon them.
It was a motto, and the villagers, who were too unlettered to read it,
asked the lady to tell them what it meant. They smiled as they listened,
as if believing in the truth of the words they heard:
In God’s protecting goodness trust,
For He will aid the kind and just.
The afternoon passed joyously, and when the chapel bell rang out the
Angelus, the villagers departed, and the woman stood in the doorway
with a smile upon her face, watching them go to their homes. While she
watched, a youth carrying a bundle came walking down the mountain path.
He seemed very tired and sad, and tears came into his eyes as she called
to him. He told her he was on his way to a village beyond to see his
mother, who was old and sick, and that he had walked a long way without
food.
“I have a little money,” he said, “but must not spend it for myself,
because it is needed at home.”
Touched by his story, the woman took him into the house, where a good
meal was set before him; and as he was about to start away, she gave him
a gold piece and some eggs for his little brother and sister.
Refreshed by rest and food he strode on his way through the village, took
the path that led to the other side of the mountains, and after a while
came to the edge of a ravine. From that point the trail was narrow and
dangerous, and he walked rapidly because he wanted to reach home before
night.
But suddenly he stopped. Looking down to where a tiny stream wound
through the gulch, he saw a horse. It was saddled and bridled, which
seemed very strange to him.
“I wonder if some one has fallen and needs help,” he murmured.
So, although he wanted to be on his way, he climbed down over the crags.
It was as he feared. A man was lying there, motionless as if dead. He was
dressed in heavy armor, by which the lad knew he was some one rich and
great.
Pulling off the helmet to use as a dipper, he ran to the river for water,
and poured it over the drawn, white face.
The rider opened his eyes slowly, and when he saw the youth kneeling
beside him said, “Thank God for sending you! I fell down over the cliffs,
and thought I was to lie here and die. Oh, I am so weak and faint!” he
sighed.
The peasant boy remembered the pretty eggs in his bundle that were
intended for his little brother and sister at home. “But they would want
me to give them to this poor fellow,” he thought. So he shelled one and
held it to the trembling lips.
The man ate it as if nearly starved, and another and another. Then,
seeing the motto on the one that was still unbroken, he opened his eyes
wide.
“Stop,” he said as the boy was about to break it. “Let me have it as it
is and I will give you a gold piece for it.”
Then the peasant youth, who was stalwart and strong, helped him on to his
horse, and led him to his own village, where the doctor said he must lie
still for six weeks. He groaned as he heard those words, and exclaimed,
“Six weeks, and my master waiting for word of her!”
But he was a soldier, and knew how to wait. He stayed patiently, and at
the end of the time went on his way.
Meanwhile, back in the village in the valley, the beautiful stranger
lived on with her children. She seemed very happy until one day the man
Kuno went to the city across the mountain, and returned looking pale and
worried.
“Madame,” he said as she met him at the door, “I have bad news for you.”
She turned white, as if some terrible thing had happened, took him into
the house, and they talked together for a long time. Then Kuno left the
cottage and hurried through the village to the house of the miller, who
was also the mayor.
“My mistress wishes to speak to you,” he said.
The man went back with him, and when they reached the house, the woman
told a strange story.
“I am Rosalinde, daughter of the Duke of Burgundy,” she said. “In my
father’s court were two knights, Hanno of Schraffeneck and Arno of
Lindenburg, who were suitors for my hand. I chose Arno, and Hanno was
furiously angry. He vowed he would have revenge, but I was happy with my
husband, and did not fear him.
“All went well for a long time. Then the emperor summoned my husband to
go on the Holy Wars to Palestine, and he rode away with the Crusaders,
leaving me alone with the children. Hanno, too, was summoned to fight the
Moslems, but he stayed behind, vowing that now he would have his revenge,
and unless I married him he would put me into prison and kill my children.
“The castle of my lord was strong, but there was no one to defend it
after he and his train went away, and Hanno brought many men and began
a siege. My good Kuno, who knew a secret passage, aided me to escape and
brought me across the mountains to your village, where I have felt safe.
But today he saw Hanno in the city, asking people if a lady with two
children and an old domestic had passed that way.”
She stopped a moment as if she could not speak for tears, then went on
sadly, “Kuno hid and was not seen, but I fear that when Hanno comes
through the valley, the people will tell him I am here, and then he will
put me in prison and kill my children.”
The miller shook his head and spoke words of comfort.
“Have no fear, madame,” he said. “The villagers will not tell that you
are here, and if Hanno comes and tries to take you, we will defend you
with our lives.”
Then he went from house to house, telling the story of the Lady
Rosalinde. Soon every one in the village knew it and the people swore to
protect her at any cost, and the next day when Hanno came, they pretended
to be so stupid that they didn’t know what he was talking about.
“She has not been here,” he said to his men. And they went away.
After that all was peaceful in the village, and the Lady Rosalinde
was no longer afraid. Her children played with the charcoal burners’
children, and every evening they went to the little chapel at the edge
of the forest to pray for the safe return of the husband and father from
Palestine.
One lovely evening in the month of May, they went to the church as usual,
and when they came out, sat down on some rocks to watch the sun sink
behind the mountain. A pilgrim came by, bending low over a staff, his
long white hair reaching his shoulders and his beard flowing down over
his breast. He noticed the children and spoke to them, and little Edmund
said, “We have just been to church to pray for our dear papa.”
The Lady Rosalinde was terribly frightened, for she thought he might
be some one who would carry word to Hanno, but a moment later her fear
turned to joy, for the pilgrim snatched off his beard and white hair, and
a young, handsome knight stood before them. Little Blanche and Edmund
screamed in delight, for they knew it was their father.
“How did you find us?” Lady Rosalinde asked.
“I found you, my dear Rosalinde, because you were good and charitable.”
Then he told how he had returned from the Crusades to a ruined castle.
“I questioned the peasants around, who said Hanno had besieged it, and
that you and the children had escaped. Then I led my train against him
and took him prisoner, and sent out horsemen to find word of you. It
seemed they would never come back, and when they did my heart almost
broke, for although they had scoured the land they had no news. There was
one, however, who did not return, and thinking he had been killed, I gave
up hope. But six weeks later he came with a strange story, and gave me a
colored egg, and imagine my joy, to find upon it in your own handwriting,
the motto of my house:
“In God’s protecting goodness trust,
For He will aid the kind and just.”
Then, continuing the story, Lord Arno told how he had gone in the guise
of a pilgrim to the home of the peasant from whom the cavalier received
the egg, and learning that his wife and children were in the valley, had
come seeking them.
Word that the lovely woman had been found by her husband soon traveled
throughout the village, and the people, young and old, came to welcome
him.
He was a true and valiant knight and thanked them for their kindness to
his loved ones, for the Lady Rosalinde had told him of her stay in the
valley, and of how good and gentle the peasants were.
“And now, my dear friends,” he said, “to show you how grateful I am,
I promise to give a fine, big cow to every family in the village. And
every year at Easter time, my wife and I will send colored eggs to the
children, not only to those of this valley, but to every boy and girl in
the realm.”
Then Lord Arno and his family departed, rebuilt their ruined castle, and
lived happily there. But they never forgot the charcoal burners in the
valley, and every year sent quantities of gay eggs to the children. As
years passed the custom spread from country to country, until now colored
eggs are given at Easter time to children in every Christian land.
PRINCE UNEXPECTED
FROM THE POLISH OF GLINSKI
(_Slavic Wonder Tale_)
There were a king and a queen who had been married for three years, but
had no children, at which they were both much distressed. Once upon a
time the king found himself obliged to make a visit of inspection round
his dominions; he took leave of his queen, set off, and was not at home
for eight months.
Towards the end of the ninth month the king returned from his progress
through his country, and was already hard by his capital city, when, as
he journeyed over an uninhabited plain during the most scorching heat of
summer, he felt such excessive thirst that he sent his servants round
about to see if they could find water anywhere and let him know of it at
once. The servants dispersed in various directions, sought in vain for a
whole hour, and returned without success to the king.
The thirst-tormented king proceeded to traverse the whole plain far and
wide himself, not believing that there was not a spring somewhere or
other; on he rode, and on a level spot, on which there had not previously
been any water, he espied a well with a new wooden fence round it, full
to the brim with spring water, in the midst of which floated a silver cup
with a golden handle. The king sprang from his horse and reached after
the cup with his right hand; but the cup, just as if it were alive and
had eyes, darted quickly on one side and floated again by itself. The
king knelt down and began to try to catch it, now with his right hand,
now with his left, but it moved and dodged away in such a manner that,
not being able to seize it with one hand, he tried to catch it with both.
But scarcely had he reached out with both hands when the cup dived like a
fish, and floated again on the surface.
“Hang it!” thought the king, “I can’t help myself with the cup, I’ll
manage without it.” He then bent down to the water, which was as clear as
crystal and as cold as ice, and began in his thirst to drink. Meanwhile
his long beard, which reached down to his girdle, dipped into the water.
When he had quenched his thirst and wished to get up again, something was
holding his beard and would not let it go. He pulled once and again, but
it was of no use; he cried out therefore in anger, “Who’s there? Let go!”
“It’s I, the subterranean king, immortal Bony, and I shall not let go
till you give me that which you left unknowingly at home, and which you
do not expect to find on your return.”
The king looked into the depth of the well, and there was a huge head
like a tub, with green eyes and a mouth from ear to ear; the creature was
holding the king by the beard with extended claws like those of a crab,
and was laughing mischievously.