FOOTNOTE:
[1] A long piece of cotton or silk cloth, forming the principal garment of Hindu women.
THE MAGIC RICE KETTLE
A KOREAN STORY
THERE was once an old man who was so poor he was scarcely able to buy food enough to keep him alive.
He had never married, and so he had no children, but he had a little dog and cat that lived with him, and these two he loved as though they were his own son and daughter. What little he had was shared with them, and if they were sometimes hungry, it was because he had nothing in the house to eat.
One day the old man found that all he had was one scant handful of rice.
“Alas, my little dog and cat, what will become of us now?” he cried. “This handful of rice is all that is left to keep us alive. After it is gone, you must seek another master who can feed you better than I. Even if I must starve, that is no reason why you should too.”
The little cat mewed, and the dog looked up into his master’s face, as though they had understood all he said to them.
The old man put the rice over the fire to cook, and just as it was done, and he was about to feed the animals, the light in the hut was darkened; looking round, he saw a tall stranger standing in the open doorway.
“Good day,” said the stranger.
“Good day,” answered the old man.
“I have come a long way,” said the stranger, “and I am footsore and weary. May I come in and rest?”
Yes, he might do that and welcome.
The stranger came in and sat down in the most comfortable place. “I am hungry as well as weary.”
“Alas,” cried the old man, “this is a poor house in which to seek for food.”
The stranger looked all about him. “Is not that rice that I see?” he asked, pointing to the kettle.
“Yes, it is rice, but my little dog and cat are hungry also, and not another morsel have we in the house beside that.”
“Nevertheless, it is right that a man should be fed before dumb brutes,” said the stranger. “Give me at least a taste of the rice before you feed them.”
The old man did not know how to refuse him.
“Take some of it, then,” he said, “but leave a little for them, I beg of you.”
At once the stranger dipped into the kettle and began to eat, and he ate so fast that before the old man could stop him, all the rice was gone from the kettle, to the very last grain.
The old man was cut to the heart to think that his guest could have done this. Now his little dog and cat would have to go to bed hungry. All the same, he said nothing. He took up the empty kettle and was about to put it back on the shelf when the stranger said to him, “Fill the kettle with water and hang it over the fire again.”
“Why should I do that?” asked the old man. “Water will not fill our stomachs or satisfy our hunger.”
“Nevertheless, do as I bid you,” said the stranger.
He spoke in such a way that the old man did not dare to disobey him. Muttering to himself, he filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire.
The stranger drew out a piece of something that looked like amber and threw it in the pot. At once the water began to boil, and as it did so it became filled with rice. And such rice! The grains were twice as big as usual, and from them arose a smell more delicious than anything the old man had ever smelled before in all his life.
Filled with wonder and fear, he turned toward where the stranger had been sitting, but the guest was gone. He had disappeared, and only the little cat and dog were left in the room, waiting hungrily for their dinner.
The old man lifted the kettle from the fire and began to serve out the rice. And now a still more wonderful thing happened. No matter how much was dipped out from the kettle, still it was always full. He could hardly believe his eyes. He dipped and dipped. Soon all the pots and kettles and bowls in the house were full of rice, and still the more he took out the more there was.
“It is magic,” cried the old man. “It must be that the amber the stranger threw in the pot was a charm. If so, puss and my dog and I need never suffer hunger again.”
And so it turned out to be. As long as the amber was in the kettle, it was always full of rice to the brim. The rice was always fresh, and delicious too, so that not only the neighbours but the people from the village across the river came to buy it; and they paid well for it.
The little cat and dog grew fat and sleek. As for the man, he not only had enough to eat, but he was able to buy for himself all the clothes he needed and to make presents to those who were poorer than himself.
One evening the old man felt very tired. So many people had come through the day to buy rice that his arm quite ached with serving it out.
He took a bowl and filled it for the cat and dog, and was about to set it on the floor when he noticed to his surprise that the kettle was not as full as it had been. He took another bowl and dipped out some more of the rice. The kettle failed to fill itself.
Again he dipped, and the more he took out, the emptier the kettle grew. The old man was very much frightened. He plunged his hands into the rice that was left in the kettle and began to feel about for the charm, but it was not there. Somehow, that day, while he was dipping out the rice for his customers, he must have dipped out the charm, and some one had carried it off home with his bowl of rice.
The old man was ready to tear his hair with despair. At once he ran out and began to go about the neighbourhood, knocking at all the doors and begging to know whether a piece of amber had been found in the rice the people there had bought that day. But every one told him no. They had found nothing in their bowls but rice.
Worn out with sorrow, he went back to his hut at last and threw himself on the floor to sleep. It was a long time, however, before he could close his eyes. Soon all the money that had been paid him for the rice would be spent, and he was too old to work. Then there would be nothing for him but the same poverty and hunger he had endured for so many years. And his little dog and cat would have to suffer with him unless they were wise enough to run away and seek another master. At last, toward morning, the old man fell asleep, and then the dog and cat began to talk together in low tones.
“This is a bad business,” said the dog.
“Bad enough,” answered puss. “Our master has been very careless. He deserves to suffer. As for me, I have no notion of being half-starved again the way I used to be. I shall go away and try to find another home where there will be more to eat than here.”
“You are very ungrateful,” answered the dog. “Instead of planning to run away, you ought to set your wits to work to think how we can help our master.”
“But how could we do that? I know of no way.”
“Let us go out and hunt for the charm. Perhaps we can find it. Our sense of smell is so keen that if we came anywhere near where it is I am sure we could find it, however well it was hidden. We will go from house to house—all through the village, if need be. I will nose about in the gardens and out-buildings, and you must manage to creep into the houses and hunt about through the rooms.”
“Very well,” answered the cat. “I am sure I would be glad enough to help our master, and to stay with him too, if only he could give us enough to eat.”
So, early the next day, before the old man was awake, the dog and the cat started out together on their search. The people of the village were still asleep, but the cat managed to find a way to creep into several of the houses, and the dog searched about outside, as he had promised to do.
But with all their searchings, they found nothing except some scraps of food here and there. These they ate, and so satisfied their hunger somewhat. Then, when night came, they returned home, footsore and weary.
The old man was very glad to see them. All day he had missed them and had wondered where they were. He had saved some supper for them and was surprised that they did not seem more hungry for it. He was still very sad. All day people had been coming to the hut to buy rice from him, and when they found he had none to sell, they had been very much disappointed. Some of them had even been angry and had scolded him.
The following day the dog and cat continued their search, but night found them still unsuccessful. So it went on, day after day and week after week. At last they had visited every house in the village, but they had seen and heard nothing of the charm.
“Now you see how it is. We are only wasting our time,” said the cat. “I knew we could not find it, and I, for one, shall begin to look for another home.”
“Nay, but wait a bit,” answered the dog. “Have you forgotten that many of our master’s customers came from the village across the river? We have not searched there yet.”
“No, nor will we as far as I am concerned,” answered the cat. “I am no swimmer. I have no idea of getting drowned. If you want to search there, you will have to go by yourself.”
The dog began to beg and plead with her. “Very soon,” said he, “the river will be frozen, and then we can cross on the ice without your wetting even the smallest toe of your paw. Only come!”
“Very well,” said the cat at last. “I will do it; but mind you, we must wait until the river is well frozen, and there is no chance of our breaking through.”
The dog agreed to this, and so, one cold day, when the river was as hard as stone, the two friends crossed to the farther side, and at once began to search the houses there.
At the first house they found nothing. At the second it was the same thing; but no sooner had the cat entered the third house than she smelled something that reminded her of the rice that had bubbled up in the magic kettle. She made her way from one room to the other, and at last she came to a small upper chamber that seemed to be unused. And now she could smell the charm more strongly than ever, and the smell seemed to come from the top of a high chest of drawers.
With a bound puss leaped to the top of it and looked about her. There, pushed well back against the wall, was a heavy wooden box, and the moment the cat put her nose to the keyhole she knew that the charm was inside of it.
She had found the charm, and that was one thing, but how to get it out of the box was quite a different matter. The box was locked, and puss soon found it was impossible to raise the lid. She tried to push it off the chest of drawers, hoping that if it fell on the floor it might burst open, but the box was so heavy that she could not budge it a hair’s breadth. It seemed a hopeless matter. If the dog were only there, no doubt he could have pushed the box off; but then he had no way of getting into the house; and even if he did, he could not climb to the top of the chest of drawers.
But when puss went down to tell him about it, he did not seem to think it was such a hopeless matter after all. He was overjoyed that she had found the charm, and was sure that they could get it out of the box some way or other.
“What we need,” said he, “is to get a good big rat to come and gnaw a hole in the box for us.”
“Yes, but that is not so easy to do,” said the cat. “The rats have no love for me, as you very well know. I have caught and eaten too many of them. I believe they would be glad to starve me to death if they only could.”
“You might make a bargain with them,” said the dog. “They would be glad enough to help you, if you, in return, would promise not to catch any of them for ten years to come.”
Well, the cat did not want to make that bargain at all. She was too fond of catching the rats whenever she could. She and the dog argued about it for a long time, but at last she agreed to do as he wished.
The next thing was to get a message to the king of the rats, and puss knew of a way to manage that. She had seen a mouse-hole near one of the out-buildings, and now she set herself very patiently to wait beside it until the mouse should come out. She had to wait for a long time too. Perhaps the mouse had heard the two friends prowling about. At any rate, it lay so still in its hole that no one would have guessed it was there at all except a cat. At length, toward evening, the mouse thought it might be safe to venture out. But scarcely had it poked its nose out of its hole when the cat pounced upon it and held it in her claws.
The mouse began to beg and plead for mercy. “Oh, good Mrs Cat—oh, dear Mrs Cat, spare me, I pray of you! I have a wife and five little mouselings at home, and they would surely die of grief if any harm came to me.”
“I am not going to hurt you,” answered the cat, though her mouth watered to eat it. “Instead, I am going to let you go, if you will promise to carry a message for me to the king of the rats.”
When the mouse heard that the cat would let it go, it could hardly believe in its good fortune. It promised that it would do anything the cat wished it to, and at once the cat took her paws off it and set it free. Then she told it what the message was that she wished it to carry for her: she wished the king to send a rat to gnaw a hole in a box so that she could get a charm that was locked away in it; if the king would do this, she, in return, would promise not to hurt or harm any mouse or rat for ten long years.
The mouse listened attentively, and as soon as he was sure he quite understood the message he hurried away to carry it to the king of the rats. He was only gone for a short time, and when he came back he brought a stout, strong young rat with him. This rat had been sent by the king, who was ready to agree to the bargain the cat had proposed, and had sent the strongest, sharpest-toothed rat he had to gnaw the hole in the box.
As soon as the cat heard this, she made her way back into the house, while the rat and the mouse followed close after her, leaving the dog to wait for them outside. The cat led the way to the upper room and showed the rat the box on the chest of drawers. At once he set to work on it. He gnawed and gnawed and gnawed, but the wood was as hard as stone, as well as very thick.
At last he gnawed through it, but the hole was too small for him to crawl through, and he was too exhausted to make it any larger. The cat, indeed, could reach her paw through, and could even feel the charm, but she could not hook it out, though she tried again and again. But here the mouse made itself of use. It slipped through the hole into the box and quickly brought the charm out in its mouth.
When the cat saw the charm she purred with joy. Once again she promised the rat and mouse that she would not even try to catch them or any of their kind for ten years. Then she took the charm in her mouth and ran down to where the dog was.
The dog was even more delighted than she when he saw the charm.
“Oh, my dear master!” he cried. “How happy he will be.”
“Yes,” said the cat; “but now make haste. If the people in the house discover the charm is gone, they might suspect us, and follow us, and try to get it back.”
“Come, then,” said the dog. “But, oh, my dear master! I can hardly wait to show him the charm.”
The cat and dog hurried on down to the river, but when they reached the bank they met with a new difficulty. The weather had suddenly turned very warm and the ice had begun to melt. In many places it was gone altogether, and where it was left it was too thin even to bear such small animals as themselves.
“And now what are we to do?” cried the cat. “We will never be able to get back to our village.”
“Oh, yes, we can,” replied the dog. “Do you mount upon my back. Dig your claws deep into my long hair and hold on tight, and I will carry you across.”
The cat was terribly frightened at the thought of such a thing, but still she saw no other way to cross the river. She climbed upon the dog’s back, fastened her claws well in his hair, and then he plunged into the water and began to swim across.
All went well until they neared the other bank. A crowd of children had gathered there to see the ice break up. When they saw the dog swimming across with the cat on his back, it seemed to them the funniest thing they had ever seen in all their lives.
The dog was so busy swimming that he did not even notice them, but the cat, upon his back, saw everything that was going on. She herself suddenly began to think what a funny thing it was that she should be riding at ease on the dog’s back, while he was swimming so hard.
She tried not to laugh, but she was so amused that at last she could refrain no longer. She burst into a loud cat-laugh, and at once the charm slipped from her mouth plump into the river, and sank to the bottom.
“The charm! The charm!” the cat cried. “I have dropped it in the river, and it has sunk to the bottom.”
As soon as the dog heard that, he dived down into the river to regain it. He was in such a hurry that he never thought of telling the cat of what he meant to do.
The cat’s claws were fastened so firmly in his hair that she could not have let go if she had wished. Also her mouth was open, so that when they went down into the river she swallowed a great deal of water. By the time the dog came to the top again, panting and snorting, the cat was almost drowned.
But the dog was too angry to think anything of that. “Wait till we get to the shore,” he growled. “Just wait until we get to the shore, and see what I will do to you for dropping the charm.”
But the cat had no idea of waiting for this. As they came near the shore, she bounded from the dog’s back to the dry land, and then she raced away and up a tall tree.
The dog chased after her, but he could not catch her. For some time he stood at the foot of the tree, barking and growling, but at last he trotted on home with drooping head and ears and a sad heart.
The old man was very glad to welcome the dog home again. He had feared it was lost. He looked out from the door in all directions, hoping to see the cat also, but the cat, which had now climbed down from the tree, had gone to look for another home. It feared the dog’s anger too much to venture back to the hut. Moreover, it had no liking for poverty and hunger, and it hoped to find some place where it would be better fed than with the old man.
And now indeed there were hard times in the hut. The old man grew poorer and poorer, and thinner and thinner, and it was just as bad with the faithful dog. The dog spent much of his time down at the river looking sadly at the place where the charm had been lost and wishing there were some way for him to find it.
Now there was a great deal of fishing done in that river, and sometimes one of the fishermen, more kind-hearted than the rest, would throw a fish to the hungry dog. This the dog always carried home to his master, and the two faithful friends would share it together. It was always a feast day when this happened.
One day one of the fishermen, who had been very lucky, called to the dog and threw him a particularly large fish.
The dog caught it in his mouth and started home with it. Suddenly he smelled something: it was like the magic rice that had bubbled up in the pot; it must be the charm; it could be nothing but that; and the smell came from the fish he was carrying in his mouth.
As soon as the dog was sure of this, he began to run. He could not get home fast enough. He reached the hut and bounded in and laid the fish upon the table.
“Good dog! Good dog!” cried his master. “Have you brought us a fine dinner to-day?”
He took his knife and began to prepare the fish, but scarcely had he cut into it before the blade struck against something hard. The old man looked to see what it was, and what was his joy and amazement to find that it was the charm, which the fish must have swallowed.
The old man was so delighted that he hardly knew how to contain himself.
“Oh, my precious charm!” he cried. “Oh, what good fortune! Oh, how happy I am! Wait until I fill the kettle, my dear little dog, and then what a feast we will have.”
He took out the pot and filled it with water, and hung it over the fire. Then he threw the charm into it. At once the rice began to boil and bubble up. The whole house was filled with the delicious smell of it.
It did not take long for the neighbours to find out that the old man had his wonderful rice again. They hastened to buy of him, and soon he had made even more money than before.
One day the cat, which had grown very lean and thin, came sneaking into the house with one of the customers. As soon as the dog saw her he gave a snarl and was about to fly at her, but the old man caught the cat up in his arms. “Oh, my dear little cat,” he cried, “how glad I am to see you. But how thin you have grown! Never mind; there is plenty in the house now, and soon you will grow fat again.”
So the cat came back to her master again, but for as long as she lived the dog never forgave her, and they never became friends again. The old man did not know that however. He loved them both; he was quite happy to have them as companions, and lived very prosperous and contented until the end of his days.
THE CROW PERI
A PERSIAN STORY
THERE was once a youth named Hassan, who was so poor that he had scarcely rags to cover him, and he was often obliged to go hungry to bed.
One day Hassan went out to the forest beyond the city and set a snare, hoping to catch a bird or some small animal that would serve him for a meal. After setting it, he hid himself in the bushes near by to wait. He had not been there long when he heard a loud flapping, and running out he saw that a large black crow was caught in the snare.
Hassan was greatly disappointed. He had hoped for something more worth eating than a crow. However, even that was better than nothing. He took the bird from the snare, and was about to wring its neck when it spoke to him in a human voice.
“Hassan, Hassan, do not kill me! Spare my life and I will make your fortune for you.”
Hassan was greatly surprised to hear the crow speak, but after a moment he swallowed his surprise and answered it.
“Make my fortune!” cried he. “How can you make my fortune?—you, a crow? No, no, I am hungry, and the best fortune that can happen to me now is to have a full stomach!”
Again he was about to wring the bird’s neck, but it called to him so piteously that he could not but pause.
“Hassan! Hassan! You do not know what you are doing. I am no common crow. Let me go now, and do you return to-morrow to this same spot and you will find something in the snare that will be worth more to you than I can possibly be.”
“Very well,” said Hassan. “I will let you go, but I do this through pity, and not because I believe in the least that you can better my fortunes.”
“That is well,” said the crow. “You will see, however, that I will keep my promise. But before you let me go, pluck three feathers from my wings. If you are ever in trouble, blow one of these feathers into the air and call to me, and I will come and give you aid.”
Hassan did as the crow bade him. He plucked three feathers from its wings, but as he did so he could not keep from laughing.
“You may laugh,” said the crow, “but you will soon find that my promises are not vain. To-morrow return to your snare, and you will find in it something that will be of value to you.”
It then spread its wings and flew away over the tree-tops, flapping heavily.
Hassan returned home, but the next day he came to the forest again. As he approached the spot where the snare was, he gave a cry of joy and wonder. Caught in it was the most beautiful bird he had ever seen or dreamed of. Its feathers were of pure silver, and over them played the most gorgeous colours, like the colours of a rainbow. Its eyes shone like diamonds, and its crest was tipped with jewels of seven different kinds.
“Such a bird as this is not to be eaten,” said Hassan to himself. “It is a gift that is fit for the King. I will take it to the palace and present it to him, and he will be sure to reward me handsomely.” At the same time he could not help marvelling to think how truly the crow had spoken.
The youth hastened back to the city and borrowed a cage from a neighbour. Then he returned to the tree, and put the wonderful bird in the cage, and set out for the palace. He had thrown a piece of cloth over the cage, so as to hide the bird, but the light from it was so bright that it shone through, and set every one to wondering what it could be that the ragged youth was carrying so carefully.
At the palace Hassan found that it was a difficult matter to see the King. At last, however, he was allowed to come before his presence, and at once he uncovered the cage so that the bird could be seen.
The King was filled with wonder at the sight. He had never seen such a bird before. He questioned Hassan and made him repeat again and again the story of how he had caught the bird, and exactly what it was that the crow had said to him.
“There is some magic in this,” said the King. “I will keep the bird, and never before have I received a gift that pleased me so much. I will also prove to you that the crow spoke the truth, for, from now on, your fortune is made.”
The King then caused the youth to be clothed in magnificent garments, and he also gave him for his own a handsome house near to the palace, and slaves to serve him, and gold to spend. Every day he sent for Hassan to come to him, and because the youth was clever and handsome and adroit, he soon became the King’s favourite above all others.
But success is sure to make enemies. The King’s former favourite became very jealous of Hassan, and he began to scheme to destroy the youth, and win back the King’s favour to himself. One day he went to the King and said, “What a pity it is that such a wonderful bird as Hassan has brought you should be kept in a cage! What it should have is an ivory palace, in which you could visit it and sit at ease to watch it.”
“That is true,” answered the King, “but I do not know how I could obtain such a palace. There is not enough ivory in all my kingdom to build such a thing.”
“It is plain enough,” answered Hassan’s enemy, “that Hassan is the favourite of some magic power. Ask him to build the palace, and if he refuses, threaten him with death. Then I am sure that in some way he will be able to provide it for you.”
This the enemy said, not because he at all believed it, but because he wished to destroy Hassan.
After spending a short time in thought, the King agreed to this plan. He sent for Hassan and said to him, “I am, as you know, greatly delighted with the bird that you have given me, but now I wish for still another thing. I wish you to build an ivory palace in which the bird can live, and in which I can go to visit it.”
“Alas, your Majesty, how can I build such a place as that?” cried Hassan. “I have nothing of my own, as you know, but only what you yourself have given me, and in all your kingdom there is not enough ivory to build a whole palace of it.”
“Nevertheless, you must provide it,” answered the King, “and if you do not do so, your life shall answer for it.”
When Hassan heard these words, he was greatly troubled. He went out from the King’s presence and returned home, and there he prepared to die, for he knew not where to find enough ivory to build one room, to say nothing of a whole palace.
Suddenly, in the midst of his despair, he remembered the three feathers that he had plucked from the crow’s wing. He feared they were lost, but after some search he found them laid away in a corner with the rags he had once worn. He took them up, and blowing one of them into the air he called upon the crow to come and help him.
Almost at once he heard outside a heavy flapping of wings, and a large crow flew in through the window and lighted beside him.
“What do you wish?” asked the crow, “and why have you called upon me? Are you in trouble?”
“Trouble enough,” answered Hassan, “and trouble that may end in my losing my life.” He then told the crow what it was that the King had demanded of him, and that he did not see how it would be possible for him to carry it out.
“Do not despair over this,” answered the crow. “It is not such a difficult matter as you seem to think. Ask the King to give you forty cartloads of wine, with bullocks to pull them, and forty slaves to drive the carts, and do you come away with me into the forest, and I may be able to get the ivory for you.”
The youth had little hope of this. Still, he asked the King for the things, as the crow had bade him,—forty cartloads of wine, the bullocks, and the forty slaves, and the King was not slow to give them to him. Then Hassan went away with them into the forest, and the crow flew before to show him in which direction to go. After they had journeyed a long distance, they came to a pool, and all round this pool were marks that showed that it was the drinking-place for a great herd of elephants. There had been a drought, however, and the water had almost dried up.
The crow bade Hassan fill the pool with the wine he had brought with him, and this he did. Then, by the crow’s directions, Hassan hid himself and the carts and bullocks and slaves some little distance away.
Toward evening there was a great noise of trampling and trumpeting in the forest, and a huge herd of elephants came down to the pool to drink. They were very thirsty, for the supply of water had been low for some days. When they found the pool full to the brim, they trumpeted with joy and rushed to it to drink. They drank and drank, and presently they were all overcome with the wine and fell down and lay as though dead.
Then Hassan called to the forty slaves, and they came and cut off all the elephants’ tusks and loaded them upon the carts, and there were forty cartloads.
Hassan and his slaves and carts left the forest before the elephants awoke, and by the next day they were back in the city again.
When the King saw the loads of ivory that Hassan had brought with him, he could not wonder enough.
Hassan’s enemy was filled with rage and envy, but he dissembled. “Did I not know it?” said he to the King. “I tell you there is nothing in the world that Hassan cannot do if only he wishes to.”
The ivory palace was built, and every day the King went there to sit and watch the bird, and Hassan was more of a favourite with him than ever.
But one day Hassan’s enemy thought of a new plot to destroy him. He went to the King and said, “What a pity it is that such a beautiful bird as this should never make a sound. No doubt it could make the most ravishing music if it would but sing.”
“Yes, it is a pity,” answered the King, and at once he became dissatisfied.
“It must be that the bird misses its former owner,” said the enemy. “If Hassan really wished to please you, he would find the former owner and bring him here, so that the bird might sing again.”
“Yes, that is true,” said the King, “and I would greatly like to hear it sing.”
He then sent for Hassan and told him what he wished.
“But, your Majesty,” cried Hassan in despair, “I do not know who was the owner of the bird, nor have I any means for finding out. As you know, I caught it in a snare far away from the city, and where there is no house within sight.”
Nevertheless the King was determined that Hassan must find the former owner of the bird and bring him to the palace. If he did not, his life should answer for it.
Hassan went out from the King’s presence very sad. Then he bethought himself of the crow’s feathers. He took one of the two that still remained, and blew it into the air, and called to the crow to come.
Almost at once the crow appeared and settled on the ground beside him.
“What is it that you wish now?” it asked. “Are you again in trouble?”
“Yes, I am in trouble, and my trouble is very grievous.” Hassan then told the crow what it was that the King demanded of him.
“This is a more difficult matter than the former one,” answered the crow. “Nevertheless, it may be managed. Do you ask the King to give you a vessel fitted out in the most complete and magnificent way. The sails must be of silk and the figurehead of gold. It must be painted and gilded within and without. There must be a dining-hall hung about with velvet curtains, and the dishes must be of solid gold. There must also be a bathroom with a marble bath-tub, and there must be damsels on the ship, dressed in shining colours, and with bracelets and anklets of gold set with precious stones. Do this, and then, when the vessel is ready, I will instruct you further.”
Hassan did as the crow bade him. He went to the King and asked him for a vessel fitted out in exactly the manner the crow had described to him. This the King gave him.
When the vessel was finished, Hassan went on board, taking the crow with him. They sailed away and sailed away, and always the crow told Hassan in which direction to steer. After seven days and seven nights, they came within sight of an island. The island was very pleasant to look upon, for there were flowers and trees loaded with fruit, and shining domes and palaces.
“Look, Hassan,” said the crow. “That is the place whither we are bound. Now listen attentively to what I tell you, for I can guide you no farther; I must leave you, but if you will follow out exactly all my directions, everything will go well with you. That island belongs to the Queen of the Peris. She is a very powerful fairy, and very beautiful. She is very curious as well. When she sees your vessel, she will be anxious to find out about it, whence it comes, and who is the owner. She will send her messengers to inquire about it. But you must answer no questions, and you must let no one but the Queen herself come on board. She will wish to go all over the vessel, and when she sees the bathroom she will admire it so much that she will wish to take a bath there. This you must agree to. Then, while she is bathing, you must sail away with her, for she is the owner of the Wonder Bird, and for her and her alone will it sing.”
Hassan promised to do exactly as the crow bade him in all things, and then it spread its wings and flew away and out of sight. Hassan ordered the captain to sail the vessel up close to the shore of the island, and there they dropped anchor.
Presently he could see that they had been observed from the island. People gathered on the shore, many of them magnificently dressed, and presently several boats put out and were rowed over to the ship’s side. In them were messengers from the Queen.
These messengers questioned Hassan as to whence the vessel came and whose it was. But Hassan would answer none of these questions. Neither would he allow them to come on board to examine the vessel, though they greatly wished it, and it had been, indeed, their Queen’s commands that they should do so.
“If the Queen wishes to know about the vessel, she must come herself,” said Hassan.
The messengers returned to shore very much dissatisfied. But presently another boat put forth from the shore, and in it was the Queen herself. She was rowed over to the ship’s side, and she said to the youth that she would now come on board herself and bring her maidens with her.
She was so beautiful and so magnificent that Hassan scarcely knew how to refuse her. However, he remembered the crow’s words, and was determined to obey them.
“Your majesty, if you will do me the honour to enter my ship, it and all that are in it are yours,” he said; “but as to anyone’s coming on board with you, that I cannot allow, for I was expressly forbidden to permit anyone but yourself to visit the ship.”
The Queen was very much offended by Hassan’s words. Still, she was so very curious that she could not resist coming on board to see whether the ship was really as magnificent within as it seemed from the outside.
The youth showed her all over it, and she was filled with admiration at the beauty and completeness of its furnishing. When she entered the room where the marble bath was, she was particularly delighted, and after examining all the arrangements she signified to Hassan that she would like to bathe in the marble tub.
Hassan at once retired and sent the damsels he had brought with him to attend the Queen.
While she was bathing, the sails were set, and the ship sailed away from the island and back across the sea toward Hassan’s own country.
When the Queen had finished bathing, and had returned to the deck, she was amazed to find the ship under way and the island already lost to view. She commanded Hassan to carry her back at once to her island, but this the youth would in nowise consent to do. He explained to the Queen why it was that he had carried her off—that it was to save his own life. He said that later on, if she wished, she might return to her own country, but first she must see whether the bird belonged to her, and whether it would sing for her. He also told her so many pleasant things about the King, his master, that the Queen became quite curious to see him.
“I make no doubt from what you tell me,” said she, “that the bird is one that I lost some time ago. If it is, I shall be glad to make it sing for your master, but after that I must of course return home, and I shall take the bird with me.”
The youth doubted whether the King would agree to this, but he kept his thoughts to himself, and at last brought the Queen to the city and into the King’s palace.
When the King saw the lady Hassan had brought with him, he was amazed at her beauty. He could think of nothing else. Even the bird was forgotten. He caused her to sit at his right hand and did all he could to entertain her.
The Queen was no less pleased with him, and some time was spent in talking pleasantly together.
“And now, your Majesty,” said the Queen at last, “let us visit the ivory palace where the Wonder Bird is kept, and see whether it is mine, and if it is, I can promise you that it will immediately begin to sing, and that its voice is as beautiful as its plumage.”
The King at once arose, and together they went to the ivory palace. No sooner had the Queen crossed the threshold than the bird burst into song, and its song was so beautiful that all who heard it stood as though enchanted. They could not stir, nor scarcely breathe until the song was ended.
After the first day at the King’s palace, the Queen spoke no more of returning to her own island. She had fallen deeply in love with the King, and he with her.
Before long they were married, and then Hassan became more of a favourite with them than ever. Wealth and honours were heaped upon him, and there was nothing that the King and Queen were not ready to do for him.
The former favourite was more filled with rage and envy than ever. He could scarcely eat or sleep, he was so envious.
Now after the King and Queen had been married for little more than a year the Queen fell ill, and her illness was so grievous that all the doctors in the kingdom could do nothing for her. At last it seemed as though she must surely die.
When this became known, Hassan’s enemy went to the King and said, “Your Majesty, I am but an ignorant man. I know you think nothing of me or my words, but is it not possible that there is some drug in the Queen’s own country that might cure her? And if so, why should not Hassan be sent to fetch it for her? For he and he alone knows where her island lies.”
This the enemy said because he hoped that if Hassan returned to the island the people there would either kill him or make a prisoner of him because he had carried off their Queen.
The King, however, never thought of that. He thought only of what might save the Queen’s life. The advice he received seemed to him very wise. He at once sent for Hassan and told him what he wished him to do—that he was to return to the Queen’s own country, and demand of her court physician some drug that would make her well.
Hassan thoroughly understood how dangerous this errand might prove. He knew, too, why his enemy had suggested it; that it was not through any love of the Queen, but from hatred of him.
However, he said nothing of this to the King. He only agreed to what his master wished and at once made ready to set out. First, however, he took out the third feather that the crow had given him, blew it into the air, and called the crow to come to him.
At once the crow appeared.
“What would you have of me now?” it asked of the youth. “Has some new trouble come upon you?”
“That I do not know,” answered Hassan, “but the King is sending me upon a mission that may, it seems to me, prove very dangerous.”
He then told the crow what it was that the King required of him.
The crow seemed greatly disturbed when it heard of the Queen’s illness. “You must go,” it said, “and go at once. There is indeed a drug in the Queen’s palace that will save her life if you can but fetch it in time. You will suffer no harm from the people in the palace. They will, indeed, give you the drug at once when they learn that the Queen is in need of it. But at the gateway of the palace there are two fierce lions. These would certainly tear you to pieces before ever you could enter, unless you had my help to depend on.”
The crow then bade the youth look carefully at its right wing. “You will find there a single silver feather,” it said. “Pluck it out and carry it with you. When the lions spring at you, you must at once touch them with that feather, and then they will become gentle, and you can pass them by unharmed.”
The crow stooped before Hassan and spread wide its wings, and Hassan saw that the third feather from the tip of the right wing was of pure silver. He plucked it out, and having hidden it in a safe place in his clothing, he started out on his journey. For seven days and seven nights he sailed across the seas in the same direction as he had gone before, and on the morning of the eighth day he came within sight of the island. He landed and made his way toward the palace, and he saw no one on his way. No sooner did he approach the gateway than two fierce lions sprang out and rushed at him as though to tear him to pieces.
Hassan was terrified at their appearance. It seemed as though he must surely lose his life, but he stood firm until they were almost upon him, and then he touched them with the feather. At once they became perfectly gentle, and even fawned at his feet as though he were their master. So Hassan passed by them unharmed and entered the palace.
Those who were there were very much surprised to see a stranger enter. They could not understand how it was he had been able to pass by the lions without being torn to pieces.
The youth explained the matter to them, however, and showed them the silver feather. He also told them the sore need of their Queen, and begged them, if they had any drug that could save her, to bring it to him at once and let him go.
The people of the palace looked at him strangely when he showed them the feather. But when he made known the illness of the Queen they hastened to fetch a drug she always used, and gave it to him.
“This will save her,” they told him, “for she has often used it to bring back life when it was almost gone.”
They then escorted him to the seashore, showing him the greatest honour, and many of them wished to return with him to the King’s country, but this he dared not allow.
It was again seven days and seven nights before Hassan came to the end of the journey, and by that time the King was in despair. He had no longer any hope. However, when he heard that the ship had arrived, he sent his swiftest horses and riders to meet Hassan and bring him to the palace.
The youth was at once taken into the room where the Queen was lying stretched upon a couch, seemingly lifeless. The King, the court physician, and her attendants were with her.
“Have you brought it? The drug?” cried the King.
Hassan drew it forth from his bosom, where he carried it, and placed it in the hands of the Queen’s physician. He did not notice that the crow had followed him into the room.
The physician poured a few drops of the drug into a goblet and held it to the Queen’s lips. No sooner had she swallowed it than a wonderful change came over her. The colour returned to her cheeks and the life to her limbs. She opened her eyes and sat up and looked about her.
At once her eyes fell upon the crow, and it was to it that she addressed her first words.
“Oh, thou careless and disobedient one!” she cried, “into what danger didst thou not throw thy mistress.”
“Alas!” answered the crow, “thou hast indeed been near to death. But all that is over now. There is only happiness before thee. But for me, is my misery never to end?”
“Yes, and that right soon,” cried the Queen. “If I owe my danger to thee, so also do I owe to thee my happiness. Draw near to me.”
All in the room had listened in wonder to this talk between the Queen and the crow. But a still stranger thing was to happen.
As the crow hopped close to the couch, the Queen took a few drops of water from a vial near by and sprinkled it over the bird, at the same time pronouncing some magic words.
At once, instead of the crow, a tall and graceful maiden stood there before the Queen, a maiden of such great beauty that she was even the equal of the Queen herself.
The King and Hassan were filled with wonder at this sight.
The Queen then turned to the King with a gentle smile.
“This maiden,” said she, “was my favourite of all the Peris that once attended me. But she grew proud and haughty because of my favour, and at last presumed to disobey even me. To punish her, I changed her into a crow and sent her to fly about the world, despised by all. But I will now forgive her because she brought me to you, and will take her back into favour if she can assure me of her repentance.”
The Peri sank on her knees before the Queen and kissed her hand, weeping. She assured her mistress that her pride was indeed broken, and that from now on she would be her faithful and obedient servant.
The Queen then raised her from her knees and made her sit beside her, and all was joy and happiness.
As for Hassan, he found the maiden so beautiful that he could not keep his eyes from her. Already he loved her with his whole heart, and longed for nothing so much as to have her for a wife. The Peri returned his love, and with the consent of the King and Queen they were married, and from that time on they lived in the greatest joy and contentment.
As for the former favourite, he was so miserable over the sight of Hassan’s happiness that at length he could bear it no longer. He sold his house and goods and sailed away, no one knew whither, and if anyone regretted him, it was not Hassan.
THE FOUR WISHES
A GERMAN STORY
THERE was once a baron so rich and powerful that only the king himself was greater. He was very fierce and warlike, and what he wished for he took from rich and poor alike, and none was able to withstand him.
The baron had a very gentle and beautiful wife. Often she wept bitterly over the evil deeds her husband did in the world, but this the baron never knew, for she was careful to hide her tears from him.
One day the lady was sitting beside a fountain in the gardens, and she was very sad. Presently she leaned her head on her hand and began to weep. Suddenly the waters of the fountain were disturbed, and up from the midst of them arose the figure of a nixie or water spirit.
The lady was frightened at such a strange sight, but the nixie spoke to her gently and bade her not be afraid.
“I,” said she, “am the spirit who watches over the fortunes of the castle. I have come to tell you that within a year a child will be born to you—a little girl. This child will suffer many things, both dangers and sorrows. There is only one way in which she can be protected. If you will make me her godmother I will be able to guard her and bring her safely through her troubles, but in no other way can she be saved from them.”
The lady was filled with amazement at what she heard. She had known there was a spirit that watched over the fortunes of the castle, and now she promised eagerly that if a child came to her the nixie should be its godmother.
At once the nixie smiled at her and waved its hand, and then sank back again into the waters of the fountain.
In less than a year, as the nixie had foretold, a little daughter was born to the lady, a child as beautiful as the day. The time for christening the child was set. She was to be called Matilda, after her mother, but the lady refused to say who was to stand godmother to the child. A godmother she had chosen, but she would tell no one who that godmother was.
The hour of the christening arrived, all the ladies and gentlemen of the court were gathered together, and still no godmother. Suddenly, without a sound, a stranger appeared among them. She was dressed from head to foot in silver that shone and rippled like running water, and a silver veil was wound about her head. At once the Lady Matilda recognized her as the nixie.
The water spirit took her place as godmother to the child, and the christening proceeded. When it was over, every one looked to see what gift the godmother would give the child. They had no doubt that it would be something very rare and handsome, but instead it was only a common little carved wooden ball, such as ladies sometimes use to carry perfume in. This the godmother placed in the child’s hand. Then, turning to the lady, she said, “Guard carefully this ball which I have given to the child. Place it in some safe place for her. Her good fortune—yes, even her life itself—depends upon this ball.”
After saying this, the stranger at once disappeared, and none could tell where she went, nor how.
The Lady Matilda took the ball and put it away among her jewels in a strong chest, and orders were given that no one should touch or disturb it. As soon as the little Matilda was old enough, the mother meant to give the ball to her and tell her of its value.
Before that time, however, and while the child was still very young, the lady died, and the ball was forgotten. The little Matilda grew up, knowing nothing of its worth; indeed, she did not even know that there was such a thing in the castle.
Not long after his wife’s death the baron married again. His second wife was a very handsome woman, but she was cold and proud and envious. From the first day she saw Matilda, she hated the child because of her beauty and her gentleness. She treated her so unkindly that Matilda was very unhappy. She was worse fed and clothed than any servant in the castle, and the meanest room and the hardest bed were given to her. Still she grew in beauty day by day, and every one except the stepmother loved her for her gentle ways and her sweetness.
“DO NOT BE AFRAID, MY CHILD,” SAID THE NIXIE TO MATILDA
One day the stepmother wished to examine the jewels that had once belonged to the Lady Matilda. She intended to choose from among them such as she might admire. She had the jewel casket brought to her room, and unlocked it and began to examine the ornaments that were in it. Some of them she decided to keep, but others she threw aside. At last, hidden away in a corner, she came upon a common little carved wooden ball.
“What is this?” she asked. “Why should this have been locked away with the jewels as though it were valuable?”
Her ladies whom she had brought with her to the castle could not tell her, and she disdainfully threw the ball out through the open window of her room.
Now it so chanced that Matilda was passing under the window at that very time, and the ball fell directly at her feet. Surprised, she stooped and picked it up, and examined it. The top seemed to be screwed on, but though she tried again and again she could not unscrew it. However, Matilda took the greatest fancy to the ball. Through the day she carried it in her pocket or the bosom of her dress, and at night she slipped it under her pillow, and somehow she felt quite happy and contented now in spite of the unkindness of her stepmother.
One day Matilda sat down beside the fountain in the garden, and, as usual, she began to play with the ball, tossing it up into the air and catching it again. Suddenly the ball slipped from her fingers and fell into the fountain. Matilda bent over and tried to reach it, but it had floated beyond her reach. Then a hand appeared in the waters and seized it, and the figure of the nixie rose out of the fountain.
“Do not be afraid, my child,” said the nixie to Matilda. “I wish you nothing but good. I am your godmother, and it was I who gave this ball to your mother to keep for you until you were old enough to take charge of it yourself. Unfortunately she died before that time arrived. It is well you have found it at last, for the time is at hand when you will need it. Listen well to what I now tell you. This ball contains three wishes which you can use at any time. But be careful. Only in the time of your greatest need must you use its magic, for after it has given you three wishes, its power will be gone, and it can do nothing more for you.”
The nixie then told Matilda that there was one other way in which the ball could aid her. If at any time she wished to become invisible, she had only to hold it in her hand and say:
“Light to guide me,
Dark to hide me,
Let no harm nor ill betide me.”
No one then would be able to see her until she wished to become visible again.
At once, after saying this, the nixie disappeared, dissolving back into the waters, but the ball she left lying on the grass beside the fountain.
Matilda picked it up and slipped it into her bosom, and then went back to the castle, very grave and thoughtful.
Now in the years while Matilda was growing to womanhood, the baron’s enemies had grown very strong, so strong indeed that they no longer feared him. A plan was made to attack him in his castle, to take him prisoner, and to rob him of the possessions that he himself had stolen from others. The attack was planned for a certain night when there would be no moon, and it would be too dark for those inside the castle to see their enemies approach.
Matilda went to bed early that evening, and soon fell asleep. She slept for only a few hours, however. Suddenly, just before midnight, she was awakened by a great uproar and confusion. The assault had begun. The baron’s enemies had surrounded the castle. They entered in and captured the baron and his wife, and presently they came to the door of Matilda’s room and began to break down the door. The poor girl was overcome with terror.
Suddenly she remembered the charm the nixie had taught her. She caught up the wooden ball from under her pillow, and in a whisper she repeated:
“Light to guide me,
Dark to hide me,
Let no harm nor ill betide me.”
At once she became invisible. The door was broken open, and the foemen came into the room, but they saw no one. Matilda, indeed, was there close beside them, but they could not see her, and she was careful not to brush against them. Unseen, she passed from the room and down the stairs and out of the castle. There was a light in the heavens now, a red glow of flames, for the castle had been set on fire.
Matilda hurried away, and when she had gone far enough to feel that she was safe, she wished and became visible again. Just as day was breaking, she came to a deep forest. So far she had seen no one, but before venturing farther she gathered roots and herbs, and with them she stained her face and hands so that no one would have known her. She looked like a gipsy, or some poor servant-maid in search of work. She had now no fear of robbers, for who would think of stopping anyone so poor and miserable-looking as she?
All day she travelled through the forest, and by night she came out on the other side of it and saw before her a great castle. Matilda knocked at the door and humbly begged the woman who opened it to take her in and give her food and shelter. In return for such help she would gladly do any work that might be needed about the castle.
Now it so happened that the old woman was the housekeeper, and she was in need of a scullery-maid. Matilda, with her poor clothes and her darkened hands and face, looked just the one for such a place.
“If you are willing to work,” said the housekeeper, “it may be that we can strike a bargain. You may begin by scouring these pots and pans. If you do it well, I will keep you here as scullery-maid.”
Matilda at once set to work, and soon had the kettles and pans shining like new. The housekeeper was very much pleased, and decided to engage her. So Matilda became a scullery-maid in the castle. Sometimes she helped the cook, for she was very clever in cookery.
Now the nobleman to whom this castle belonged was a young and handsome count named Conrad. His father was dead and his mother was anxious to see him married; but never yet had the count seen any lady who attracted him sufficiently.
At last the old countess decided to give a ball for the count, and to invite to it all the most beautiful ladies from the country round. Among them all she hoped her son would see some one whom he would care to make his wife.
The invitations were sent out, and everywhere there was great excitement. Not only was the count young and handsome; he was also as rich as a prince, and so courteous that he was beloved by all. There were few among the ladies who did not hope that they might be chosen as his bride.
At the castle nothing was talked of but the ball that was to be given for the count. Matilda listened to all that was said, and the more she heard, the more she wished that she too might go to the dance and mingle with the other ladies. All the while she had been at the castle she had kept the ball with her, but she had been careful not to use any of the three wishes it contained. But now the time had come when she determined to try its power. The night of the ball Matilda finished her work early, and then she stole away to her room and fastened the door so that no one could come in.
First of all she took water and washed off the stain from her face and hands. When this was done, her skin was once more as fair as a lily, and her cheeks as red as roses. She shook down her wonderful hair so that it fell in a cloud about her. She combed and braided it, and then she took out the little wooden ball and held it in her hand.
“Little ball, I hold you close;
Little ball, I hold you tight;
By your magic power I pray
Grant my wish to me to-night,”
she whispered. And then, “I wish,” she said, “for a gown more beautiful than any that ever was seen, and for ornaments to go with it—jewels for my neck and jewels for my hair, and slippers, and a fan to wave in my hand.”
At once, upon the bed, appeared a gown more beautiful than Matilda had ever dreamed of. It was woven all of silver, and set with pearls, and with it there were ornaments for her neck and hair and a fan of shining plumes; and on the floor beside the bed stood a tiny pair of satin slippers embroidered with pearls and threads of silver.
Trembling with haste, Matilda dressed, for already the night was late, and when at last she stood clothed all in silvery white, the whole room shone with the light of her beauty.
She stole down the stairs unnoticed, and it was not long before she reached the old countess’s house where the ball was being held. Many beautiful ladies were there, the loveliest in the land, but when Matilda entered the ballroom, she outshone them all as the moon outshines the stars at night.
From the moment he saw her Count Conrad had eyes for no one else, and there was no one else with whom he would dance. Before the end of the evening he drew her aside into another room.
“Listen,” said he. “Never before in all my life have I seen anyone as beautiful as you, nor one whom I could love as already I love you. Tell me, I pray, who you are. Only some great lady or princess could be as beautiful as you.”
Matilda was filled with joy when the count said he loved her, but immediately after she became sad, for she thought that if he learned she was only a kitchen-maid in his castle, he would no longer care for her.
“Look, I beg of you,” she said, “and see whether there is not some one listening at the door.”
The count thought Matilda wished to tell him some secret, and he at once went to the door to make sure that no one could overhear it.
Matilda drew the wooden ball from her pocket and whispered:
“Light to guide me,
Dark to hide me,
Let no harm nor ill betide me.”
At once she became invisible, and she slipped past the count and hurried back to the castle.
When the count turned, he was very much surprised to find that his beautiful partner had disappeared. He could not imagine what had become of her. He hunted for her everywhere, and asked every one which way she had gone, but no one had seen her.
He was very much disquieted at this. However, there was to be another ball the next night, and Count Conrad felt sure Matilda would appear at it also. This time he was determined she should not leave him until he knew who she was and whence she came. To make sure of this, he decided to set a guard about the house, with orders to follow any strange lady who passed out alone, and watch where she went.
All the next day but little was to be heard anywhere but talk of the wonderful stranger, of how beautiful she had been, and how magnificently dressed, and of how much the count had admired her. Every one wondered whether she would appear again at the second ball.
When evening came, Matilda made haste to finish her work, and then stole away to her little garret room. Taking the ball in her hand, she said:
“Little ball, now serve me right,
Grant the wish I wish to-night.
I wish I may have a gown even more beautiful than the one I wore last night, and all ornaments that should go with it.”
At once the room was filled with light, and Matilda saw, lying upon the bed, a gown made entirely of cloth of gold, and set with precious stones. There were jewels for her neck and arms, and a pair of golden slippers that shone like glass. Matilda dressed in haste, and throwing a dark cloak over her, she stole away through the night to the ball.
Count Conrad had been watching for her. He would, indeed, look at no one else, and as soon as she entered, he hastened to her side.
If she had been beautiful the night before, she was far more so now. Then she had shone like the moon, but now she glittered like the sun, so that it dazzled the eyes to look at her.
The count begged her to dance with him, and as soon as he could, he drew her aside into another room. He then took from his hand a ring, and placing it upon her finger, he said, “Now you are my own true love, for you wear my ring upon your finger. But tell me, I pray of you, who you are and whence you come, that I may ask your hand in marriage in a proper manner.”
“Alas, my mother is dead,” answered Matilda, “and my father, I fear, has also been put to death by cruel enemies.”
So saying she dropped her fan. The count at once stooped to pick it up. Quick as thought, as he stooped, Matilda drew her ball from her pocket and whispered the magic charm:
“Light to guide me,
Dark to hide me,
Let no harm nor ill betide me.”
At once she became invisible, and slipping from the room, she hastened back to the castle.
When the count looked up and found that his beautiful partner had once more disappeared, he was in despair. He searched through every room, and then sent for his guards and questioned them closely. None of them could tell him anything of the stranger, however. Not one had seen her pass by. This was not strange, for Matilda had remained invisible until she reached the castle. She was even then in her little attic room, slipping off her beautiful clothes, and staining her face and hands that she might again appear as the kitchen wench.
Again the count had lost her. But now he determined to give a ball himself. He caused it to be made known that this ball was in honour of the unknown beauty, and he had no doubt but that she would appear at it as she had at the other two. This time he determined that not for one instant would he lose sight of her.
The count’s ball was to be much more magnificent than those that the old countess had given. All the servants in the castle were set to work preparing for it, and Matilda was no less busy than the others. She had not a moment to herself.
The night of the ball arrived, and there was still much to be done in the kitchen. Matilda began to see that there would be no chance for her to slip away from her work and appear at the ball.
She did indeed ask the housekeeper to allow her an hour that she might go outside and peep in through a window at the dancers, but the housekeeper refused her angrily.
“Look in through the windows!” she cried. “What are you thinking of? You would frighten the ladies to death with your gipsy face and your big eyes. No; do you stay here in the kitchen where you belong, and do your work in a proper manner.”
Matilda would not disobey her, but as she scoured the pots and pans, she could not prevent the tears from falling. She could think of nothing but Count Conrad, of how handsome he was, and how kind and gentle.
Meanwhile the count was standing close to the door of the ballroom, waiting for the beautiful stranger to appear. Great coaches rolled up to the entrance of the castle. Beautiful ladies in silks and satins and jewels swept through the rooms. They waved their fans and smiled at the count, but he had no eyes for any of them. His thoughts were all of Matilda. Little he guessed that even then she was scouring kettles in the kitchen below and weeping as she scoured.
As hour after hour passed and she did not appear, the count’s heart grew heavy with grief. By the time the ball was over and his guests were leaving, he was quite ill with disappointment. He could hardly stand to bid them farewell. The beautiful stranger had not come, and now he feared he would never see her again.
The next day word passed through the castle that the young count was unable to leave his bed. He had fallen ill through grief and disappointment. Doctors were sent for, but they could do nothing for him. One thing could cure him and one alone, and that was some knowledge of the beautiful stranger who had danced with him.
Matilda had managed to win the confidence of the old housekeeper, and now she went to her and said, “I have heard how ill the count is and how all the medicines the doctors have given him have failed to help him. If you will but let me, I can make a broth of such wonderful qualities that if the count will but taste of it he will be cured.”
At first the housekeeper refused, but Matilda still urged and entreated, until at last the old woman grew tired of saying ‘no’ to her.
“Very well, then,” she said. “It will do no harm for you to make a bowl of broth, but as to its having the power to cure the count, that, of course, I do not believe.”
Matilda at once set to work, and as she was very clever at cooking, she made a broth so rich and delicious that it made the mouth water just to smell of it. It was as clear as crystal, and of a rich amber colour. When it was done, she put it in a silver bowl and covered it over with a napkin, but before doing this she managed to drop into it the ring that the count had given her.
The broth was so good that the housekeeper was delighted with it, and she herself carried it up to her master’s room.
When she entered with it, the count turned away his head. “Why do you come here?” he said. “Do not trouble me. I wish for nothing.”
But the housekeeper would not be sent away in this manner. “I have brought you a bowl of broth,” she said, “and it is so delicious that if you will but taste of it, I am sure you will be better.”
With these words she uncovered the bowl and placed it before the count, and the broth was so clear that at once he saw the ring lying at the bottom of it.
“What is this!” he cried. “Who has made this broth? Tell me immediately.”
The housekeeper was frightened at his look and tone. “It is good broth,” she cried; “the best of broth, I am sure, even though it was made by our little kitchen-maid.”
“Whoever made it, send her to me at once,” demanded the count.
The housekeeper was very much concerned. She hurried away to the kitchen.
“What is to be done now?” she said to Matilda. “The count demands to see you, but the sight of your rags and dark face would surely throw him into a fever. This is a pretty piece of work!”
“Do not be troubled,” said Matilda. “I will wash my face and hands, and then do you lend me your cloak and your long veil. With them I can cover myself so that he will not be able to see what I look like.”
To this the housekeeper agreed, as she could think of no better plan.
Matilda took the cloak and veil and hastened away with them to her own room. There she combed her hair and washed off the stain, and then she put on her golden dress and her jewels, which she had kept hidden away since the night of the ball. When she was dressed, she covered herself carefully with the cloak and veil, so that even the housekeeper’s prying eyes could not catch a glint of the finery beneath. So disguised, Matilda went up to Count Conrad’s room and stood modestly just inside the doorway.
The count had been waiting for her impatiently, and as soon as she entered, he said, “Was it you who made the broth the housekeeper brought to me?”
“It was I,” answered Matilda.
“And who was it who put the ring in it?”
“It was I.”
“Then tell me,” cried the count, “who gave you the ring. How came you by it?”
“It was you yourself who gave me the ring, and it was you who placed it on my finger,” said Matilda.
With these words she put aside the veil and dropped the cloak from her shoulders. There she stood before him, blushing, and filling all the room with the light of her beauty.
The count was transported with joy. “You have come!” he cried, “and you have come at the time when I most despaired of finding you. Now we will be married, and never again shall you leave me.”
At these words Matilda grew very sad. “Alas, that may not be,” said she. “Have you forgotten that I am only your kitchen-maid?”
But the count loved her too dearly to care for that. “You will be my wife,” he said, “and then who will dare to remember what you were before?”
“Yes, but there is another reason why we can never, never marry,” sighed Matilda. “You will agree with me as to that when I tell you that my father was your father’s bitterest enemy.”
“Who was your father?” asked the count, wondering.
Matilda then related to him her whole story, who her father was, how her mother had died while she was still a child, and about her stepmother and her nixie godmother. She also told him of how she had chanced to come to his castle and take service there.
The count listened to all she had to say, and when she had come to an end, he took her in his arms and embraced her tenderly.
“I care not who you are,” he said, “nor whence you come. I know only that I love you, and that you and you alone shall be my bride.”
Matilda was very happy when she heard this. She already loved the count dearly, and now she could no longer refuse him.
Almost at once preparations for the wedding were begun, and people from far and near were invited to come to it.
The first to be asked was the count’s mother, a proud and covetous old woman. She had been the one who was most eager for her son to marry, but when she heard whom he had chosen for a bride, that it was the daughter of an enemy, and, moreover, a girl both poor and homeless, she was filled with rage.
At once she hastened to the castle, and urged and entreated the count to give up Matilda, but he would not listen to her. He loved his bride too tenderly for that.
When his mother found that all her efforts to separate them were in vain, she left the castle in a fury, and drove away to her home. Never again, she vowed, would she set foot in the castle as long as Matilda was there, and the time would come when the young count would bitterly regret his choice of a wife.
Count Conrad was grieved at his mother’s anger, but he was too happy with Matilda to grieve long. He and she were soon married, and so sweet and gentle was her character that every day the count loved her better and was more contented with his choice.
When the count and Matilda had been married for a year, a child was born to them, a little boy so handsome and big and strong that the count was filled with joy and pride.
The nurse who had charge of the child was sent to the castle by the old countess, and both the count and Matilda were delighted at what they took to be a sign that his mother had forgiven them. This was not the case however. The old countess still hated Matilda with a bitter hatred, and had sent the nurse, hoping she might find some way to injure her, and if possible to separate her from the count.
Matilda always slept with the baby’s cradle close to her own bed. One night, when all the castle was wrapped in sleep, the old nurse slipped into the room, and lifting the child carefully from the cradle, she carried it away without waking anyone.
In the morning, as soon as Matilda awoke, her eyes as usual turned first of all to the cradle. She was greatly surprised to see that it was empty, and at once called the nurse and demanded what had become of the child.
The nurse pretended to be equally surprised. “I do not know,” she answered. “When I last saw him, he was asleep in the cradle beside your ladyship.”
Matilda was very much alarmed. The count was called, the castle searched thoroughly, and every one was questioned, but they could find no trace of the baby.
“It must be some evil spirit or enchantress who has carried him away,” said the nurse. “Last night I heard a beating of wings outside my window, and a strange sound of sighing and moaning, but I thought it was only some great bird that was lost in the night.”
This the nurse said not because she had really heard anything, but because this was part of a plot that she and the old countess had hatched between them.
Days passed, and still nothing was heard of the child. The count was in despair. Even Matilda herself was scarcely more dear to him than his infant son.
At the end of a year another child was born to Matilda, and this also was a son, a child as strong and handsome as the first.
But again, when the infant was only a few weeks old, the nurse stole it away secretly in the night, without being seen by anyone. In the morning the cradle was empty, and no trace of the child could be found anywhere.
The count was filled with grief and anguish. In his heart he secretly blamed Matilda because she had not awakened when the child was carried away. But he restrained himself from reproaching her. He could not help treating her somewhat coldly, however, and Matilda was grieved to the heart not only over the loss of the child, but because she feared her husband no longer loved her.
At the end of the year, still a third child was born, and now, in order to make sure that it should not be stolen, a watch was kept over the infant—by day and night; and though he slept by Matilda’s side, there was always some one else in the room with them.
But even this precaution could not keep the nurse from carrying out her wicked plans. When the child was still only a few weeks old, she managed one evening to put a sleeping potion in the repast that was served to Matilda, and in that of the attendant as well.
Night came and the child was laid in the cradle close to Matilda’s bed. The attendant took her place at the door. It was not long, however, before Matilda and the attendant fell into a deep sleep. The nurse then stole into the room, and lifting the child from the cradle, she carried it away with her as she had the two others.
When morning came, and it was discovered that this child too had been stolen, the count could restrain himself no longer. The woman who had been in attendance was thrown into prison, and he heaped reproaches on Matilda for having allowed this third child, the most beautiful of them all, to be stolen from her side.
“You should not be surprised,” said the wicked nurse, “and the attendant is not to blame. There is some enchantment in this, and if you will come aside with me into a private room, I will tell you of some things I have seen here in the castle in the last three years.”
The count was in a state to listen to anything, and he allowed the nurse to speak to him in private, and to tell him the story that she and the old countess had arranged between them.
She told him that though Matilda seemed so fair and gentle, she was in reality a wicked enchantress. This his mother had known, and it was for this reason she had been so unwilling that he should marry her, and for no other cause. During the night when the child was stolen, the nurse said, she had been awakened by a beating of wings, and had stolen to the door and looked out. There she had seen Matilda talking with a being that from its looks could be nothing but an evil spirit. Presently (so the nurse said) Matilda had gone back into her chamber, and when she returned she was carrying the child, and she had given it into the hands of the strange being. “After that,” said the nurse, “I saw no more, for I was afraid to look. But I make no doubt that that is what has become of all the children, and that the young countess caused the attendant to fall into an enchanted sleep so that she might have a chance to give the baby to the evil spirit.”
The count was so distracted with grief that he was ready to believe anything. He remembered what Matilda had told him of her godmother the nixie, and it seemed to him possible that this water spirit had some power over her that might cause her to sacrifice her children. In his distraction he sent for his mother to question her as to what she knew.
The old countess had been waiting for this summons. She came to him at once and in haste, and her heart was full of evil joy at the thought that at last she was to have Matilda in her power.
When she appeared before her son, however, she dissembled her joy, and pretended to be sad.
“Alas, my dear son,” said she, “what I feared has come to pass at last. I would have warned you before that the bride you had chosen was a wicked enchantress, but I knew you would not listen to me. Now, however, she has shown herself in her own wicked character. She has sacrificed her children to an evil spirit, and it is only right that she should be punished for her wickedness.”
The count knew not what to answer to this. He still loved Matilda, but if she had done such a wicked thing as to give her children to an evil spirit, she must suffer for it.
“What you say may be true,” said he to his mother. “As for me, I am so distracted that I no longer seem to understand anything. I will go away on a long journey, and I will leave Matilda in your hands. Do as you think best with her, only treat her as gently as you can.”
As soon as the count had said this he left his mother and went away, and it was well for his mother that he did so. She was so overjoyed at the way her plans had turned out that she could no longer hide her satisfaction. The count left the castle without bidding farewell to his wife. Matilda was cut to the heart when she found he had left her without a word. She was also terrified at the thought that now the old countess had her in her power.
Matilda had indeed good cause for fear. As soon as the count had gone, his mother caused an iron room to be built. All about this room were ovens arranged in such a way that the room could be made so hot that it would be impossible for anyone to remain in it for long and live. After it was finished, Matilda was induced to go into it, and as soon as she was inside, the door was shut and locked.
The moment Matilda found that she had been locked in the room alone, she suspected some evil. She looked about her for a way of escape, but the walls were of iron, and the room had been built in such a way that there were no windows.
“Alas,” said Matilda, “are my misfortunes never to end? Oh, my dear husband, how had you the heart to leave me here alone and in the power of that wicked woman?”
In her despair Matilda threw herself down upon the floor of the room. As she did so, she felt something hard in the pocket of her dress. She slipped her hand into it and drew out the wooden ball that she had so long forgotten. One more wish was left to her. Now, if ever, was her time of need. Holding it in her hand she whispered:
“Little ball, so great my need,
Only you can help indeed;
Save me now and set me free,
Give my children back to me.”
Without her willing it, the ball slipped from her fingers and fell upon the floor, and was broken to pieces. From these fragments arose a silvery mist that spread through the room and filled it with a refreshing coolness. In the midst of the mist appeared the nixie, and in her arms she carried three beautiful little boys. They were the children who had been stolen from Matilda.
The nixie smiled upon her godchild and spoke in a voice like the flowing of cool waters. “At last you have remembered me and my gift,” she said. “Long have I been waiting for you to call upon me, my child. Now I am here, and no harm can come to you. Look! Here are the three children that the wicked old countess caused to be thrown into the water, thinking to drown them. But I saved them. They have been safe in my care until you should call upon me, and now I restore them to you.”
So saying, she placed the children in Matilda’s arms, and the mother clasped them to her, weeping with joy.
Meanwhile the men who had been in charge of the ovens that were to heat the room found that in spite of all they could do the walls of it remained cool. They went to the old countess and told her this. “Our fires are burning brightly,” they said, “and are so hot that we can scarcely go near them, and yet the walls of the room are even cooler than when we began.”
The countess could not understand how this could be. She was about to go and probe the mystery when she heard a clatter of hoofs outside, and a sound of loud voices. She looked from a window, and saw to her surprise and alarm that it was her son returning to the castle.
The count, indeed, had been unable to bear the thought of having left Matilda in his mother’s care. He feared some harm might come to her, and the farther he went, the more anxious he had grown. At last he had turned his horse and ridden back with all speed to tell Matilda that he still loved her, and that whatever their sorrow was, they would bear it together.
As soon as the old countess saw her son, she knew that her plots had failed, and she feared his wrath when he should find his wife shut in the iron room. She determined not to wait for that, and calling the wicked nurse, they escaped together from the castle and fled away, nobody knew whither.
As for the count, he hurried through the castle, searching everywhere for Matilda, and at last he came to the iron room. When he found that she was locked inside it, and saw the ovens all about it, he was like one distracted.
He turned the key and threw open the door, but he scarce dared look inside. He dreaded what he might see there.
When he did summon courage, however, what was his wonder to see not only his wife, but there in her arms the three children they had lost. He could hardly believe his eyes and was well-nigh crazy with joy. Flinging himself on his knees before her, he begged her to forgive him for having doubted her and for having left her as he had done.
Matilda, who was all mildness and sweetness, raised him from his knees and placed the children in his arms.
“See,” said she, “you have no longer any reason to mistrust me. These are our own dear children whom the nixie has returned to us.”
She then told the count the whole story, and when she came to an end they kissed each other and the children, and from that time on they lived in mutual love and happiness.
As for the wicked old countess, unless she died of spite, she may be living and wandering over the world to this very day.
WHY THE ANIMALS NO LONGER FEAR THE SHEEP
A FRENCH CREOLE STORY
LONG, long ago, when the animals were not as wise as they are now, they were all very much afraid of the sheep. Even the lion and tiger were afraid of him. They had never seen him angry, but he had such a solemn look, and his beard was so long, and his horns so strong and curly, that they were sure he would be very dangerous indeed if he were once roused.
One day old Papa Sheep invited Mr Tiger to come and spend the day with him, and he also invited him to bring Little Tiger along to play with Little Sheep, for Mr Tiger’s little boy was just the same age as Papa Sheep’s little boy.
Mr Tiger was very pleased at this invitation. He was glad to come himself, and he was glad to have Little Tiger become friendly with Little Sheep, for after a while Little Sheep would probably grow up and be just as big and strong and dangerous as his father was.
Mr Tiger and his little boy arrived quite early in the morning at the sheep’s house, and they brought a present with them, so that Papa Sheep would feel pleased with them. The present they brought was a basket of nice fresh green things such as all sheep like.
Papa Sheep thanked them for the present, and patted Little Tiger on the head, and then he told the two children to run out of doors and play, because he and Mr Tiger wanted to talk big talk together.
The little ones were very glad to do this, for it was bright and pleasant outside, and they liked it better than staying in the house.
Little Tiger was very frisky and frolicsome, and Little Sheep was too. At first they ran about and chased each other, and tried which could jump highest, but after a while they grew rougher in their play. Little Sheep butted Little Tiger with his forehead, and then Little Tiger raised his paw and gave Little Sheep a blow on the side of the head.
Though the Tiger was young and small, he was also very strong, and his blow sent Little Sheep tumbling heels over head. Little Sheep was not angry however. He got up and laughed and laughed. When he laughed he opened his mouth wide, and Little Tiger was very much surprised to see what little teeth the sheep had. He did not say anything at the time, however, but only went on with his play.
But when Little Tiger and his father were walking home together that evening, Little Tiger said, “Papa, I saw Little Sheep’s teeth to-day, and he only has little, little bits of teeth. They do not look as though they could bite anyone.”
“Hush, hush,” cried the Tiger. “You mustn’t talk in that way. Some one might hear you.”
“But it is true,” said Little Tiger. “Why, I wouldn’t be afraid of Little Sheep now, even if he did get angry.”
“Will you be quiet?” cried the Tiger angrily. “If you ever say such a thing again I will box you so hard that you will forget whether you ever saw his teeth or not.”
All the same Mr Tiger could not help wondering whether what Little Tiger had said was true. How strange it would be if Little Sheep only had little weak teeth, and stranger still if Papa Sheep’s teeth were just the same!
That night, after all the Tiger family had gone to bed, Mr Tiger began to talk to his wife in a low tone.
“Do you know what Little Tiger said to-day?”
“No; how should I know? Some nonsense, no doubt.”
“He said he saw Little Sheep’s teeth, and that they were so small and weak he did not believe he could bite anybody.”
“Oh! oh! be quiet,” cried his wife. “Are you crazy to talk so? Suppose some one heard you, and went and told Papa Sheep what you had been saying. He certainly would come and tear us all to pieces.”
Mr Tiger said nothing in answer to this, but the less he said, the more he thought. At last he made up his mind to find out for a certainty whether Papa Sheep had biting teeth or no. For this purpose he in his turn invited Papa Sheep and Little Sheep to come and spend the day with him and his family.
Papa Sheep accepted the invitation, and on the day named he and Little Sheep arrived bright and early at the tiger’s house.
As before, the little ones went out of doors to play, and the big animals sat and talked inside the house.
Presently Mr Tiger brought out a bottle of wine and set it on the table, and he and the sheep began to drink together. The more Papa Sheep drank, the merrier he grew. He quite lost his solemn look. He began to laugh loudly, and he threw back his head and opened his mouth so wide that the tiger could see every tooth he had. And very poor teeth they were too—so small and weak that they were not fit for biting anything tougher than grass.
When Mr Tiger saw how small the sheep’s teeth were, he became very angry. He was in a rage to think he had ever been afraid of Papa Sheep, and had treated him with respect. With a roar he sprang at the old sheep, and gave him such a blow with his paw that the sheep fell down dead.
Little Tiger, outside, heard the noise, and he ran and looked in at the window. As soon as he saw what had happened, he called to Little Sheep, “Run, Little Sheep! Run away, quick! My papa is biting your papa, and if you do not run away he will bite you next.”
When Little Sheep heard this he was very much frightened. He did not stop to ask any questions. He took to his heels and ran home, crying bitterly all the way.
Old Mother Sheep saw him coming and hurried out to meet him. “What is the matter?” she cried. “Where is your father, and why are you crying so bitterly?”
“Oh! oh!” wept Little Sheep. “The Tiger! He has bitten Papa to pieces, and I’m afraid he’ll come and bite me too.”
When Mother Sheep heard this, she too began to weep and lament. “What shall we do now?” she cried. “Where shall we go? The Tiger will certainly come in search of us next, and tear us to pieces as he did your father.”
At this the Little Sheep raised his voice and wept more bitterly than ever.
Now it so chanced that when Mother Sheep ran out to meet Little Sheep she met him under a tall tree, and in this tree the Queen of the Birds was sitting. The Queen heard everything the two below her said, and she felt very sorry for them because they were in such distress and terror. She flew down to a branch just over their heads and spoke to them in a soothing manner.
“I have overheard all that you have been saying. This Tiger that you speak of is indeed a very wicked animal. You are in great danger, but do not be afraid. I will help you. I have a plan that may rid us of him for ever. Do you go back to your home. Shut yourself in and remain there quietly until I send you further word.”
When Mother Sheep heard this she was comforted, for she saw at once that it was a queen that was speaking to her. She promised to do as she was told, and with Little Sheep at her side she returned quickly to the house. There they shut themselves in and sat down to wait for what might happen.
Meanwhile the Queen flew away to the forest where she lived, and called all the birds together. “Listen now,” she said to them. “Do you know what the wicked Tiger has done? He has killed poor old Papa Sheep, who never did harm to anyone. We all know how cruel the Tiger is, but this is the worst thing he has done yet. It is time for us to rid the forest of him.”
The Queen then told them that she was going to give a grand ball. To this ball she intended to invite the Tiger. And not only should he be invited, but he should be her own partner for the dance. “When the music begins, you also must take partners,” said she. “We will all stand up to dance, and then I will give a sign, and all the herons must clap their wings together. When they do this, the rest of you must instantly hide your heads under your wings. When I make another sign, they will again clap their wings, and then you must take your heads out again. If the plan I have in my mind only works out well, we will soon put an end to this Tiger.”
The birds promised to obey their Queen exactly in everything, and then she sent several of them away to the Tiger’s house to invite him to the ball.
The Tiger was at home when the birds arrived, and he was very much flattered when he heard that the Queen wished him to come to her ball. He was even more delighted when he found that he was to be the Queen’s own partner in the dance.
He at once began to make himself ready, smoothing his whiskers, and brushing his coat until it shone.
The Tiger’s wife, however, was not at all pleased. “What nonsense is this?” cried she. “Why should you want to go to a ball? You have never been to court before, and you will not know how to act. You will be sure to do something foolish, and then every one will laugh at you.”
The Tiger became very angry when she said this. “Of course I shall go,” he cried. “I know how to behave as well as anyone. You only talk this way because you are jealous at not being asked. If you had been invited too, you would have been eager enough to go. But you cannot dissuade me, whatever you say.” The Tiger then hurried away through the forest to the place where the ball was to be held.
As soon as the Queen of the Birds saw him coming, she made haste to welcome him. A fine feast was already spread, and the Queen made the Tiger sit down at her right hand, and she offered him so many delicious things that he ate and drank a great deal more than was good for him. She also flattered him until he hardly knew what he was doing.
After the feast was ended the music began to play, and the birds all stood up to dance. Each one had a partner, but the Queen’s partner was the Tiger himself, as she had promised him. When all were in position, the Queen gave a sign, and the great herons clapped their wings together with a loud noise. The noise was so very loud and so very sudden that it made the Tiger blink, and in that moment that the Tiger blinked all the birds hid their heads under their wings.
When the Tiger looked about him again he was very much surprised to see all the birds standing there apparently without any heads. The Queen alone held her head high, and she looked at him with an angry air.
“How is this?” said she. “Are these your court manners? Do you not know that at court no one except the Queen ever dances without removing his head? Look about you. Do you see even a single one of the birds with his head on?”
“But—but—” stammered the Tiger, “after the dance is over, what will they do without their heads? Your Majesty, how could I take care of my wife and family without a head?”
“Oh,” said the Queen smiling, “after the dance is over they will have their heads again. It is only while they dance that they are without them. I will show you.”
With these words the Queen again gave a sign. At once all the herons clapped their wings, and in the instant when the Tiger blinked the birds drew their heads from under their wings. The Tiger looked about him. There the birds all stood just as before, only now their heads were in their proper places, and they were all looking at him with a scornful air.
“Oh, your Majesty,” cried the Tiger, “I am very much ashamed. I have never been to court before, and I did not know what was expected of me. If you will excuse me, I will run home and get rid of my head, and then I will return at once to dance with you.”
“Very well,” answered the Queen, “only do not be gone long”; and she smiled upon him sweetly.
At once the Tiger bounded away, but the Queen bade a little sparrow follow him and bring her word of what happened to him.
The Tiger hurried on, leaping over logs and breaking through bushes, while the sparrow fluttered overhead unnoticed.
He reached his home, and scarcely had he crossed the threshold before he began to bawl for his wife. “Wife! Wife! Come here, quick! Bring an axe and chop off my head.”
“Are you crazy?” cried his wife. “Chop off your head! Why should I do that?”
“You do not understand. I am to dance with the Queen, and no one may do that as long as he has a head on his shoulders.”
“All the better for you. Why should you dance with her? And I certainly shall not kill you, Queen or no Queen.”
When his wife said this, Mr Tiger fell into a terrible rage. “Am I the master of the house, or am I not?” he cried. “Do as I tell you, or I will tear you to pieces, as I did the poor silly Sheep.” He looked so fierce that his wife was terrified. She ran out and got the axe. When she returned with it, however, she again began to argue with him. “Think, husband—think well what you would have me do. If your head is once off, there will be no putting it on again. That will be the end of you.”
“You do not understand,” cried the Tiger. “The Queen will see to that. She will see that my head is put back again after the dance.” Then, as his wife still hesitated, he began to roar in such a terrible manner that she almost lost her wits, and seizing the axe, she cut off his head in a hurry. And that was the end of him, for even if the Queen had been able to do it, she would not have restored the head of such a wicked beast.
As soon as the sparrow had seen the end of the Tiger, he flew back to carry the news to the Queen. Then there was the greatest rejoicing all through the forest. Not a single bird or beast but was glad the Tiger was dead. No one, however, rejoiced as heartily as Mother Sheep and Little Sheep, for they were the ones who had been in most danger. Now they could come out from their house again and go about their usual business.
After a while, as time passed by, Little Sheep played so hard and ate so much that he grew up to be Big Sheep. He was larger and stronger than his father had ever been. His beard was longer, and his horns were curlier, and yet nobody was afraid of him. Word had gone to all the animals that the sheep’s teeth were too small and weak to hurt anyone. And so it has been ever since. Not one of the animals has been afraid of the sheep from that day to this.
PRINCESS ROSETTA
A FRENCH FAIRY TALE
THERE were once a King and Queen who had three of the most beautiful children in the world. They loved all the children tenderly, one no better than the others; but the youngest, who was a girl, was always kept locked up in a strong tower. She was allowed to see no one but her attendants, and her parents and her two brothers, who went every day to visit her.
No one knew why she was kept shut up in this way except the King and Queen. Even her brothers did not know, and they often grieved to think that their sister Rosetta should be a prisoner all her life.
The fact was that when Rosetta was born a fairy had appeared to her parents and had told them that some time the princess would bring a great misfortune upon her brothers. Because of her they would be cast into a dungeon and perhaps even lose their lives. These misfortunes would happen when the Princess Rosetta was about to be married.
The royal parents were greatly troubled at hearing this, and they immediately caused a high tower to be built, and in this they placed the child. Every luxury was hers; the most beautiful clothes and jewels, and the most delicious and delicately cooked food. Her furniture was of gold and was carved in strange and wonderful shapes, and the hangings were all woven of gold and silver thread and richly embroidered.
No one, however, as was said, ever came to the tower, or saw her, except her father and mother and her brothers and the ladies who waited upon her.
The royal parents intended to tell their sons the reason for this imprisonment when Rosetta should have reached the age of eighteen. Her brothers would then understand that it was not through any cruelty that their sister was kept prisoner, but to protect their own lives.
Unfortunately, just before Rosetta’s eighteenth birthday the King and Queen both died, and so suddenly that they had no time to reveal to anyone what the fairy had told them.
The keys of the tower were given to the elder prince, and one of his first acts was to set Rosetta free.
The princess was delighted to be able to see at last what the world outside of her tower was like. Everything was a wonder to her—the trees, the grass, the flowers and fountains. She wished to know the names of everything.
At one spot in the gardens a peacock sat sunning itself.
“What is that beautiful creature called?” she asked.
“That, dear sister, is a peacock,” answered the princes.
“A peacock!” cried Rosetta. “Never in my life did I dream that such a beautiful thing existed. I am sure that in all the world there can be nothing else that is quite so beautiful. Dear brothers, if you love me, find the King of the Peacocks and bring him here, for he, and he alone, shall be my husband. Moreover, unless you find him and bring him to me, I shall certainly die of grief.”
The princes loved their sister so dearly that they could refuse nothing that she asked of them. They at once began to make ready to set out into the world in search of the country of the peacocks. Before starting they caused a portrait of their sister to be painted. This they intended to take with them to the Peacock country, for they were sure that if the king of that country could only know how beautiful Rosetta was, he would never be contented until he had her for his queen.
As soon as their preparations had been made and the portrait was finished, the two princes set out upon their travels. They journeyed on and on, over many seas and many mountains and through many strange lands, until at last they came to a country where there were nothing but peacocks. There were peacock bakers and peacock tradesmen. Peacocks went in and out of the houses, and drove through the streets in magnificent coaches shining with gold and precious stones. Everywhere were only peacocks spreading their tails and parading in all their magnificence. Strangely enough, however, the King who ruled over this country was not a peacock at all, but a young man so handsome and graceful that even the peacocks could not equal him in beauty.
The princes, who had not taken long in finding the castle, were brought before the King by the peacocks who attended him. The brothers at once told him that they too were sons of a king, and that they were travelling through the world upon a secret errand of great importance. They did not tell him what their errand was, but after they had been talking with him for a short time, they began to speak of their sister, and of her beauty and sweetness. The young King became quite eager to see such a lovely creature, and the brothers sent for the portrait they had brought with them and showed it to him.
The King of the Peacocks had no sooner seen it than he fell violently in love with Rosetta, and begged them to promise her to him for a bride. The brothers were the more ready to do this because they had found that the Peacock King was not only singularly handsome, but that he was one of the richest and most powerful kings in the whole world.
Messengers were appointed to go to the princes’ country and to bring Rosetta back with them. They were urged to make all the speed they could, for the young King was so eager to see the Beauty that he was ready to die with impatience.
After they had gone, the King had the portrait put where he could see it constantly, and feast his eyes upon it, and he was only happy when he was with it. The more he looked at it, however, the more he doubted whether any human being could be as beautiful as the painting. The brothers were obliged to assure him every day that when he saw Rosetta he would find her even more lovely than her portrait.
“Very well,” said the Peacock King at last, “if I find all that you tell me is true, I will load you with wealth and honours, but if you have deceived me, I will surely put you to death.”
The brothers were not dismayed at this threat, for they knew that it was impossible that he should be disappointed in the beauty of their sister.
Meanwhile the messengers, after many days, reached the country where Rosetta lived. They at once were brought before her, and when she heard that they had come to take her to the King of the Peacocks, she was wild with joy. She determined to set out at once, and as the journey was shorter by way of the sea, she made up her mind to go in a ship rather than in a coach and by land. She took with her only an old nurse and her foster-sister, and her little dog Fifine. This little dog was very wonderful, and had been given to her by a fairy. He was of a bright green colour and had only one ear, but he understood everything the princess said to him, and he knew a hundred pretty tricks.
The old nurse and her daughter pretended to be very fond of Rosetta, but in truth they hated her because she was so beautiful and beloved, and would have been glad to injure her in any way.
After they had sailed along for several days, and were almost within sight of the kingdom of the Peacocks, the old nurse brought to Rosetta a drink that she had mixed, and in which she had put a sleeping potion. Rosetta suspected nothing, and she drank all the old woman had brought her, except for a small part that she gave to Fifine.
Rosetta had scarcely swallowed the potion before she became very drowsy. Her eyelids weighed like lead, and before long she fell into a deep sleep. Fifine also became very sleepy. He crawled in under the silken covering that the princess had drawn over her, and lay there as though dead.
As soon as the old nurse saw that Rosetta was asleep, and that nothing could awaken her, she went to the sailors, and by means of bribes and threats she obliged them to do exactly as she bade them. Under her directions they carried the mattress upon which Rosetta lay up to the deck. The nurse looked about for Fifine, but could not find the little dog anywhere, for it was hidden under the coverlet. “No matter,” said she. “I wished to keep the little animal for my daughter, but it is probably hiding somewhere about the ship, and I will find it later.”
She then made the sailors take up the mattress and throw it overboard into the sea. This they did without awakening either Rosetta or Fifine. They then set all sail and sped on toward the shores of the Peacock country, which could already be seen before them. The wicked nurse felt sure that it would not be long before the mattress would become heavy with water and would sink, so she and her daughter need trouble themselves no more about the hated Rosetta.
Meanwhile the King of the Peacocks was growing more and more impatient to see his bride. Watchers had been placed upon the seashore to bring him news the moment the sails of the returning ship were seen.
It was on the twenty-first day after the messengers had departed that these watchers hastened to the palace, all out of breath, and told the King that the ship was approaching.
The King called his attendants about him, and hurried down to the seashore.
The vessel had already come to land. The wicked nurse had dressed her daughter in the most magnificent of Rosetta’s clothes, which she wore as a toad might wear the dress of a fairy. The nurse had also bedecked her with the jewels belonging to the princess, and last of all she had thrown a silver veil over her, as though to guard her beauty from the sun.
As the prince saw this magnificently dressed person approaching him, he assumed it must be his bride. He hastened to meet her, and threw back the veil that covered her face, but when he saw the ugliness beneath the veil he almost fainted. He at once decided that the two princes had deceived him; that they had tricked him into sending for their sister and promising to marry her because no other king had been willing to take such a hideous creature for his wife.
Filled with rage, he sent his guards to take the princes and throw them into the deepest and darkest of the palace dungeons. He had given his word that he would marry their sister, and this word he could not break, but he promised himself that upon the day when he was married to this creature the two brothers should die.
The princes, meanwhile, had also heard that the ship had returned. They had no doubt that their sister was on board, and they had at once made ready to appear before the King, to be loaded with wealth and honours as he had promised them.
THE MATTRESS UPON WHICH SHE LAY HAD FLOATED ON AND ON
It was not long, indeed, before they heard a loud knock on their door, but instead of smiling courtiers coming to congratulate them, a guard of soldiers had arrived, and the two brothers were carried away, not to a grateful king, but to a horrible dungeon where their only companions were snakes and toads and slimy crawling things. The princes could not understand it. They could not imagine what had happened, nor why they were treated in this way. The soldiers would not answer their questions, and after they were shut in the dungeon no living soul came near them except the jailer, who unlocked the door to throw in to them a few vile crusts, and he was both deaf and dumb.
While the princes were lying thus imprisoned, preparations for the wedding were being made. A magnificent apartment had been set apart for the bride. Everything she asked for was given her, jewels and dresses of every kind, but the King she never saw. He had fallen ill with rage and disappointment, and no one could come near him except his attendants and the doctors.
The old nurse and her daughter were well content, however. The ugly girl was to become a queen, and one of the greatest queens in all the world, and that was enough for them. As for Rosetta, they were sure that she had been drowned, and that there was no need to trouble themselves about her.
The princess had not been drowned however. She was alive and well, and even more beautiful than ever, and she was at that very moment living in a poor hut in the outskirts of the city, and within sight of the very castle itself.
After the ship had sailed away and left her, the mattress upon which she lay had floated on and on until at last it had stranded upon a rock not far out from the shore.
The jar of striking the rock woke Fifine, for the little dog had only swallowed a small portion of the sleeping potion. He crawled out from under the silken coverlet, which was trailing in the sea, and when he saw the water all about him and his mistress still asleep, he began to bark as loudly as he could. The noise he made attracted the attention of a poor old beggar who lived in a hut not far away.
The old man hastened down to the water’s edge, and with the aid of a boat-hook soon managed to draw the mattress to shore. What was his amazement to see a beautiful lady lying upon it fast asleep, and a little green dog keeping guard over her.
The old man tried to arouse Rosetta, but for a long time he was unsuccessful. At length, however, she opened her eyes and sat up and looked about her. She was amazed to find herself stranded upon an unknown shore and with only an old man and Fifine for her attendants instead of safely aboard her ship, with her nurse and foster-sister in attendance upon her.
“Where am I?” she cried. “Where is the ship and where are my attendants? And who are you, old man?”
The old man told her he was only a poor beggar, and of how he had seen her mattress stranded upon a rock and had drawn it to shore, and that this country where she found herself was the kingdom of the Peacocks. As to any ship, he knew nothing of it.
Rosetta could not wonder enough when she learned she was already in the Peacock country. The old man even pointed out to her a shining castle and a town not far away, and told her that was the place where the King of the Peacocks lived.
Seeing she was now able to raise herself and move about, the old man invited her to come with him to his hut. “It is but a poor place for a great princess,” he said (for it was easy for him to see that Rosetta was a princess), “but at least it will be a safe shelter for you.”
Rosetta gladly accepted his invitation. His hut was indeed poor and mean, but the old man was so kind and eager to please her that she could not but be grateful. He was greatly distressed because he could offer her nothing to eat but a piece of black bread and a cup of water.
“Do not grieve over that,” said the princess. “Only give me a basket and we shall soon be supplied with a fine feast.”
Wondering, the old man gave her a basket. Rosetta tied it round the neck of Fifine.
“Fifine,” said she, “run to the palace of the King and bring us from there a part of the dinner that has been prepared for him.”
Fifine understood every word perfectly. He at once set out, and made such good speed that he quickly reached the palace. He slipped into the kitchen without being seen. The King’s dinner was done to a turn, and waiting to be carried to him. Fifine, slipping about here and there, managed to steal a part of everything, and the best part at that, of the meat, the poultry, the pastries and sweetmeats—he took some of each, and hid it in the basket. Then he ran away, still without being noticed, and was soon back at the old man’s hut.
The old man was filled with amazement when he saw what the dog had brought. Never had he seen such delicious food before. The princess sat down and he served her, and after she had finished he ate his fill, and still there was some left.
The next day Rosetta wished for some fresh food. She had no love for cold dishes. Again she tied the basket round the neck of the little dog. “Fifine,” she said, “you did very well yesterday. To-day you must again bring me a portion of all that the King is to have for dinner.”
Fifine bounded away with the basket, and it was not long before he returned, bringing a part of all that was to have been served to the King.
So it went on for some time. Every day the best part of the King’s dinner was stolen just before it was ready to be carried to him. Rosetta and the old man feasted finely every day, and the poor young King was like to die of hunger, because every day his dinner was stolen. A guard was set about the palace kitchen to prevent anyone except the cook and his assistants from going in and out, but still the food continued to disappear; for Fifine was so small and quick that he managed to escape the notice of the guard.
At last one day a little scullion, who had grown very curious about the matter, hid himself behind the kitchen door, determined to watch for himself. The dinner was cooked, and ready to be put into the dishes, when the scullion saw a little green dog, with a basket tied about his neck, slip into the room. The dog looked about to make sure that no one was watching. Seeing no one, he hastened to take the best part of the dinner and put it in the basket. As soon as he had done this, he slipped silently from the kitchen and ran off as fast as he could toward the old man’s hut. The scullion followed him and saw where he went. Then he returned to the palace and told the cook what he had seen. The cook found it hard to believe such a strange tale, but still he repeated it to the Captain of the Guard, the Captain told it to the Grand Councillor, the Grand Councillor told it to the King’s favourite, and so in time it reached the ears of the King himself.
“This is a curious thing if it is true,” said the King. “I would like to see it for myself.” So the next day he arose, and just before dinner-time he went down to the kitchen and hid himself behind the door. He had not been there long when the door was pushed open, and a little green dog slipped into the room. The little animal went from dish to dish, just as the scullion had said, and helped himself until his basket was full. Then he slipped away and ran home to the old man’s hut, and the King followed him without being observed.
His Majesty did not go as far as the hut, however. He waited until the little dog had been admitted and the door closed behind him, and then he returned to his palace, very thoughtful.
The next day he sent to the hut for Rosetta and the old man to appear before him. The beggar was greatly alarmed when he received the message.
“See what you have brought upon us,” he cried to the princess. “No doubt they have discovered that it is your dog that has been stealing the King’s dinner, and now we shall be punished for it. Perhaps we may even lose our lives.”
Rosetta, however, was not troubled. She was, indeed, only too glad to be brought before the King. It was what she had been hoping for. She waited only to draw a veil over her face, and then she was ready to go with the guard to the palace.
As soon as Rosetta, with the beggar and Fifine, entered the room where the young King was, he was struck by the grace and dignity with which she moved. He called her close to him and began to question her.
“Who are you,” he asked, “and whence do you come? And is it you who have caused my dinners to disappear?”
To all this Rosetta answered nothing. The King then leaned forward and drew the veil aside from her face. As soon as he did so, the beauty of the princess shone forth like the sun. Every one was amazed at it. As for the King, he was overcome with joy and wonder, for he at once recognized her as the original of the portrait that the princes had shown him, only her living face was far more beautiful than the painting, even as the sun surpasses the moon in brightness.
“Beautiful princess, whence come you?” he cried. “Why have you hidden from me for all these days and allowed another to take your place? And one so hideous as she who claims to be my bride?”
Rosetta told him her story as far as she knew it, and the King listened attentively. He at once guessed that it was the treachery of the old nurse and her daughter that had placed Rosetta in this situation. He sent for them to appear before him, and while he waited for them to come, he and the princess talked together, and so wise she was and so witty that with every word she said he loved her better.
The nurse and her daughter, when they received the King’s message, made sure that he had sent for them in order to arrange the time for the wedding. They were overjoyed, and at once put on their finest clothes. But no sooner had they entered the audience-room, and seen Rosetta seated on the throne beside the King, than they almost swooned with terror. They knew that now all had been discovered, and they fell on their knees before him and began to beseech him to pardon them.
The King was so angry at the wrong they had done the princess that he would have sent them to some miserable dungeon for the rest of their lives. But Rosetta was as tender-hearted as she was beautiful. She pleaded with him to have mercy; so the two wicked women were spared that fate.
Instead, their fine clothes were taken from them, and they were dressed in rags and driven from the palace, and as they were too ugly and wicked for anyone but Rosetta to pity them, no doubt they ended their lives in misery.
The two princes were brought from their dungeons and given all the wealth and honours the King had promised them, and when they learned how he had been deceived, they could not but forgive him his ill-treatment of them.
As for the old beggar-man, he was made rich for life.
The King and the princess were married, and lived in mutual love and happiness to the end of their days; and as for Fifine, he slept on satin cushions and ate the daintiest fare, and lived long enough to play with Rosetta’s children and show them the hundred pretty tricks he knew.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 137, “or” changed to “of” (of iron and fifteen)