A
miser living in Kufa had heard that in Bassora also there dwelt a Miser—more miserly than himself, to whom he might go to school, and from whom he might learn much. He forthwith journeyed thither; and presented himself to the great master as a humble commencer in the Art of Avarice, anxious to learn, and under him to become a student. "Welcome!" said the Miser of Bassora; "we will straight go into the market to make some purchase." They went to the baker.
"Hast thou good bread?"
"Good, indeed, my masters,—and fresh and soft as butter." "Mark this, friend," said the man of Bassora to the one of Kufa, "—butter is compared with bread as being the better of the two: as we can only consume a small quantity of that, it will also be the cheaper,—andwe shall therefore act more wisely, and more savingly too, in being satisfied with butter."
They then went to the butter-merchant, and asked if he had good butter.
"Good, indeed,—and flavoury and fresh as the finest olive oil," was the answer.
"Mark this also,"—said the host to his guest; "oil is compared with the very best butter, and, therefore, by much ought to be preferred to the latter."
They next went to the oil vendor:—
"Have you good oil?"
"The very best quality,—white and transparent as water," was the reply.
"Mark that too," said the Miser of Bassora to the one of Kufa; "by this rule water is the very best. Now, at home I have a pail-full, and most hospitably therewith will I entertain you." And indeed on their return nothing but water did he place before his guest,—because they had learnt that water was better than oil, oil better than butter, butter better than bread.
"God be praised!" said the Miser of Kufa,—"I have not journeyed this long distance in vain!"
T
here was once a king and queen who ruled with the greatest kindness and simplicity imaginable; and their subjects were just such good folks as themselves, so that both parties agreed very well. As, however, there is no condition in the world which has not its cares and sorrows, so also this king and queen were not free from them; in fact, the peace of their lives was considerably disturbed by a fairy, who had patronised them from their earliest years. Fairy Grumble-do—that was her name—was incessantly finding fault, would repeat the same words a hundred times a day, and grumbled at every thing that was doing, and at all that had been done. Setting aside this little failing, she was in all other respects the best soul in the world,and it gave her the greatest satisfaction when she could oblige or serve anybody.
The union of the royal pair had hitherto proved childless, but whenever they besought Fairy Grumble-do to give them children, she invariably replied:—"Children! what do you want children for? To hear them squalling from morning till night, till you, as well as I, will be ready to jump out of our skins with the noise? What's the use of children? Nobody knows what to do with them; they only bring care and trouble!"
Some such remarks were all the king and queen got for their entreaties; and the fairy's ill-humour, and the snuffling tone in which she uttered these speeches made them quite unbearable. The good king and queen, however, never lost their patience, so that at last the fairy lost hers, and, in a pet, she all of a sudden gratified them with seven princes at a birth.
The queen remarked in her usual mild and quiet manner, that she had now a great many children, to which Fairy Grumble-do answered, snarlingly:—"Well, you wished for children, Madam queen, and now you have got them according to your wish, and in order that you may have enough of them, I shall just double the number."
No sooner said than done, and the queen brought into the world seven more princes at a birth. The royal pair were now quite in trouble; fourteen princes of the blood are, in fact, no joke; for however rich one may be, fourteen princes to nurse, educate, and establish handsomely, costs a good bit of money. Fairy Grumble-do was quite right there; fourteen princes do require a good deal of waiting on, and so she found plenty to do all day, with finding fault, and scolding first this attendant, then that nursemaid, then this servant, or that preceptor; and when she once got into the children's apartment, no one could hear himself speak, for the noise she made. Still at bottom she meant very kindly, and she promised the anxious queen that she would take good care of the princes, and one day provide for them all. Those old times were very good ones, and things were managed in royal residences with great simplicity. The young princes played all day with the children of the towns-people, because they went to the same school with them, and no one had a word to say against it, which would hardly be the case now-a-days, for kings and everybody else are grown much grander than they were then.
Quite close to the palace dwelt an honest charcoal-burner, who lived in his little cottage contentedly on what he earned by the sale of his charcoal. All his neighbours esteemed him as the worthiest man in the world, and the king himself had great confidence in his capacity, and would often ask his counsel in matters of government. He was called the coal-man throughout all the country, and no one within ten miles round would have any coals but from him, so that he had to serve every household, even those of the nobility and the fairies. Wherever he carried his coals, he was a favourite, and even little children were not afraid of him, and no one ever said to them, "Behave prettily, else the charcoal-burner will take you away." After working all day at his business, he went to his little cottage at night to rest, and to enjoy his freedom, for he was sole master in the house. His wife had been long dead, and had left him only one little daughter, called Gracious; for she was the prettiest creature in the world.
PRINCE CHAFFINCH.PRINCE CHAFFINCH.
He loved this child beyond all measure; and, indeed, not without reason, for a prettier little maiden could not be found on earth; in spite of the coal-smoke that enveloped her, and her poor clothing, she always appeared charming and agreeable, and no one couldhelp loving her on account of her wonderful amiability. The king's youngest son, little Prince Chaffinch, who was as sprightly as he was pretty, was extremely attached to Gracious, preferred her to all the other children of his acquaintance, and would play with no one but her, so that they were always seen together, and indeed, they could not live without one another. Meanwhile the worthy coal-man, who felt old age approaching, grew very anxious about the fate of Gracious, after he should have ceased to live; for the partiality of the king for him did not seem to him sufficient to put him at ease about her. "The king," he would say to himself, as he pondered on the subject, "has a large family of his own, and is obliged to ask so much of the fairy for his own necessities, that he surely will not have courage to put in a good word for my child. Even if he were to promise to do so, I should not depend on him. For"—thus he ever concluded his self-conferences, "the poor king, is in fact, worse off than I am; he has fourteen to provide for; I only one. His are princes; mine is only a poor burgher maid. Mine therefore will be easier to provide for. A poor girl like her can manage to get along in the world; she stands alone; but a poor prince never; hundreds hang about him, draininghim, and consuming all his substance." Now, after thinking it over and over, he grew quite unhappy at heart, and he knew not what to do. So he went one day, head and heart full of care, to a very beneficent fairy, who had always behaved very kindly to him. She was called Fairy Bonbon; she it was, who, in order to please epicures, both small and great, invented those sweets which now bear her name. When the good fairy saw the coal-man in such trouble, she asked him what ailed him; and after he had given her a highly sensible reply, she promised him in good earnest, that she would take Gracious under her own care, and desired him to bring the child to her the following Sunday.
The coal-man obeyed punctually, and when the time came he made little Gracious put on her best clothes, and the new coloured little shoes he had bought for her the day before, and set off with his dear little daughter. Gracious skipped before him, then ran back to him, and took hold of his hand, saying:—"We are going to the castle, we are going to the castle!" for her father had not told her anything further about it.
When they arrived, Fairy Bonbon received them very kindly, but notwithstanding all was so fine in thecastle, and that she had so many bonbons and other nice things, Gracious could not be happy when her father went away and left her behind. For the first time in her life she began to cry, and could scarcely leave off again. This touched the fairy extremely, so that she grew quite fond of Gracious, and all who were present said:—"My daughter would not cry so if she were obliged to part from me." But in time little Gracious became reconciled to her new residence, and was so obedient and docile that the good fairy Bonbon never had occasion to reprove her, nor even to tell her twice of the same thing, so that she took great delight in her.
When her father came to visit her, the pretty child always ran to meet him, and threw herself into his arms without fearing to soil the fine clothes which the fairy had given her. After kissing and caressing her dear papa to her heart's content, she always inquired after her friend, Prince Chaffinch, and sent him her best bonbons and toys. The coal-man always carried them very conscientiously to the prince, who never failed to send his thanks and a message to say how earnestly he longed to see her once again.
Thus Gracious lived till she was twelve years old, andthen Fairy Bonbon, who was extraordinarily fond of her, took her father one day into her boudoir, and desired him to be seated, as she did not like to see the old man standing up in her presence. The coal-man excused himself at first, but the fairy insisted, so that at last he was obliged to obey, although it seemed to him a very strange thing to sit down in his clothes all covered with coal-dust on a white taffeta arm-chair, and he could not think how he should manage to prevent his jacket from leaving marks on it.
At last, however, the fairy constrained him to be seated; and she then said to him, "Old friend, I love your daughter."
"Honoured madam," replied he, "you are very kind; but indeed you are much in the right, for she is a very dear child."
"I wish now to consult with you what I shall do," said the fairy; "for you must know I shall be obliged shortly to travel for a considerable time in another country."
"Ah, madam, then do have the goodness to take her along with you," rejoined the coal-man.
"That is not in my power," answered she. "I can, however, provide very well for her. Only tell me whatwould be most agreeable to you that I should do for her."
"Then I would most humbly beg," replied the coal-man, "that you would have the kindness to make her queen of a little kingdom, just such a one as may please your ladyship."
Though gratified by this request, the fairy represented to him, that the higher the station, the more cares and sorrows it has; but the coal-man assured her in return, that cares and sorrows are to be found everywhere, and that those of royalty are the easiest to bear.
"I do not ask of you, most gracious madam fairy," continued he, "to make me a king. I prefer remaining a charcoal-burner; that is my trade, which I understand, and as for the trade of royalty, I do not think that I understand that at all. But Gracious is still young, and she can learn it, I'll be bound for it; it cannot, after all, be so very difficult, for I see every day that people manage it one way or another."
"Well," answered Fairy Bonbon, as she dismissed him, "I will see what I can do. I must tell you beforehand, however, that Gracious will have much to suffer, and she will find it very bitter."
"Very possible, gracious Madam Bonbon," repliedhe. "I also have gone through many bitter things, and have not gained very much after all, so have the kindness still to make a queen of her; I ask nothing."
With these words he took leave.
Meanwhile Fairy Grumble-do had provided for almost all the fourteen princes. She had sent some of them out into the wide world to seek their fortunes, whereby they had at last succeeded in obtaining kingdoms, and the rest she had wedded to rich princesses, so that at least they were safe from want. For little Prince Chaffinch, as yet, however, she had done nothing; so she came one day to court in her usual agreeable humour, and found papa and mamma caressing and fondling their child.
"Ha," said she, "that is a properly spoiled young gentleman, who will never be good for anything all his days. I lay any wager he does not know A from B. Repeat me your yesterday's lesson, sir, at once, and if you miss a single word, you shall have a proper whipping."
Chaffinch immediately repeated his lesson, which, as usual, he had learnt perfectly, and went through his examination in a style which was quite wonderful for his age. The king and queen did not dare to lettheir gratification at this appear, for fear thereby of redoubling Madam Grumble-do's ill-humour, for she now maintained that the instruction given to the prince was not worth a farthing; that it was far too difficult and too learned for him.
She then turned to the king and queen: "Pray, what is the reason of your never having asked me to do anything for him yet? It is just your way. I have been worried into providing for all your other simpletons—they are the most stupid kings reigning; but that one, of whom something might perhaps be made, is to be spoilt by you, just because he is your nest-quackel. But I will not allow it any longer. He shall go out, and directly too. He is a fine youth, and it would be a shame to leave him any longer with you. I will not have to reproach myself with that; folks know that I am your friend, and they shall not have to say that I encourage you in your follies. Now, let us have no words about it; let us consider together what is best to be done, for I am not at all obstinate; I am always willing to listen to good advice."
The king and queen said very politely that she must decide on that, for she knew very well that her will was theirs.
"Well then," replied Fairy Grumble-do, "he must travel; travelling gives a young man a proper finish."
"Very true," said both king and queen with one voice. "But," continued the queen, "consider that the outfit of the other princes very much exhausted our coffers, and that just at present we have not the means wherewith to send out Chaffinch in a style befitting his rank. It would be very unpleasant for folks to say, 'That is the son of a king, and he travels like a poor student.'"
"So, that's your vanity, is it?" growled the fairy; "truly vanity is vastly becoming to people who have fourteen children. You say the other youths have cost you so much; then, I did nothing for them, I suppose; you leave all that out of your calculation. Pray, what did they cost you? Just their bits of meals when they were at home, and a couple of boxes full of clothes when they went on their travels. Who found all the rest? Not you, truly; it was I; but you are a pair of ungrateful creatures, so you are."
"Kind madam," answered the queen, "my husband has set down all the expenses in the account-book; you can convince yourself."
"A pretty thing, indeed," rejoined Fairy Grumble-do. "Pray, how long has it been in fashion for a king to keep a debtor-and-creditor ledger like a tailor? That sounds vastly regal, truly. What is the use of all the good counsels I have given you, if this is the way you conduct yourselves. Shame on you! However, I will not worry myself, but I will put an end to the thing at once. The youth is as giddy as a butterfly, and wherever he goes he will be telling everybody 'I am a prince and my father is a king,' Is it not so, eh?"
"Dearest madam godmamma," interposed Prince Chaffinch, "I will say nothing but what you desire me to say."
"Wait till you are asked, Master Pert!" rejoined she; "you shall say nothing at all, and I'll take care to prevent you from opening your self-sufficient beak. Only wait a moment!"
As she blustered out this, she touched him with her wand, and transformed him into the little bird which to this day bears his name. The king and queen wished to embrace him, but there was no doing that any longer now he had become so small; they could only set him on their fingers. They had scarcely time to kiss him even, for he flew off, in obedience to the fairy, who pronouncedthese terrible words: "Fly where thou canst; do what thou must."
The tears of the king and queen, it is true, did move Fairy Grumble-do a little, but she would not let that be seen, and merely said, "That is just like you; you are served quite rightly," and then she seated herself in her post-chaise, which was drawn by seven magpies and seven cocks, who made a shocking noise; and off she drove in a very ill-humour to the assembly of the fairies, which was held that very day.
By chance she was seated next to the kind fairy Bonbon, and as the mouth is prompt to speak about that of which the heart is full, she related to the latter all the trouble she had had in providing suitably for the fourteen princes; during which narration she did not fail to give it well to the king and queen, just as if they were present. At last she asked her colleague if she happened to have a kingdom or a princess to bestow on Prince Chaffinch.
Fairy Bonbon, notoriously the best-hearted creature in the world, who was quite averse to this incessant scolding, told her that she would willingly undertake to find one, but only on condition that Fairy Grumble-doshould not interfere in it, and permit her first to put the young prince to the proof.
"Do what you please," resumed the latter, speaking more through her nose than ever—"do what you please, so that I hear no more about the matter."
She then renounced all her fairy rights over Prince Chaffinch, and then drew up a formal contract, which they both signed with their own hands in presence of the lawyer and of competent witnesses.
Bonbon, who soon perceived that her two protegé's were well suited to each other, resolved to look still closer into the matter, in order to proceed the more securely, and to make Gracious truly happy. But she was much pressed for time as the day of her departure was irrevocably fixed, and was rapidly approaching. She had therefore to devise some means by which the two might have an opportunity of working out their own destiny by faith and truth. The first thing she did, therefore, was to catch Chaffinch, whose natural sprightliness caused him to delight greatly in flying about, to shut him up in a cage, and bring him to her castle.
As soon as the young enchanted prince beheld Gracious he was very joyful, flapped his wings, and triedwith all his strength to get out of the cage and fly to her. He was delighted, however, when she said to him, "Good morrow, my little bird; dear, how beautiful you are!" Yet he felt grieved at the same time that he could only answer her by his twittering, but he did that as agreeably as he could, and made every demonstration of tenderness that a bird could. This greatly touched Gracious, though she did not in the least suspect the truth; and she said, quite unreservedly to Bonbon, that she had always been particularly fond of chaffinches; at which the kind fairy smiled, and made her a present of the enchanted prince, on condition of her taking care of him as of the apple of her eye. This Gracious willingly promised, and did so too with the greatest satisfaction.
When the day came for the fairy to depart, she said to Gracious, "Take great care of the chaffinch, and never let him out of the cage; for were he to fly away, I should be extremely displeased."
She then entered her carriage, which was made of silver-paper. Her castle, her garden, her domestics and her horses, all went off through the air with her, and Gracious now remained alone and sorrowful in her little house of porcelain, which assuredly wasvery pretty; but what avails prettiness when one is sad? The garden was constantly full of cherries, gooseberries, oranges, and, in short, of all imaginable fruits, always ripe and well-flavoured; the oven, of biscuits, tea-cakes, and macaroons; the store-room, of sweetmeats and confectionery of all kinds: and all these good things might well have consoled her, but she could not enjoy them, for the little chaffinch slept unbrokenly in his cage. She visited him every five minutes, but still he did not wake, and she mentally reproached the fairy with having robbed her of such sweet consolation. At last, after trying vainly every means of awaking him, she resolved to examine him closer, to see if she could not discover the fairy's secret.
It is true she did not arrive at this resolution without that uneasiness and self-reproach which one always feels when acting contrary to an express command. She even opened the cage several times, and then shut it again suddenly; but at last she blamed herself for her timidity, summoned courage, and took the bird in her pretty little hand. No sooner was he out of the cage than he flew out and perched on the window-frame, which most unfortunately she had not closed, so littlehad she thought on what might occur to her. Embarrassed and alarmed, she endeavoured to catch him again.
The chaffinch flew into the garden, and she jumped out of the window, which fortunately was on the ground-floor; but such was her anxiety that she would have sprung out, had it been on the fourth story. Calling him by the prettiest and tenderest names, she sought to entice him, but whenever she fancied she would certainly catch him, off he flew, from the garden to the field, and on towards a great forest, which filled her with despair, for she knew perfectly well how useless it would be to hunt after a chaffinch in a forest; when suddenly, the bird, of which she had never lost sight, turned into the prince as she had seen him when she was a child.
"What! is it you, Prince Chaffinch," exclaimed she,—"and you fly me?"
"Yes, it is I, lovely Gracious," replied he; "but a supernatural force obliges me to keep far from thee; I desire to approach thee, and cannot."
They now indeed perceived that they were always at least four paces distant from each other. Gracious, enraptured at again seeing the prince, forgot how disobedient she had been to the fairy, and her fears grewcalm, in proportion as love took possession of her heart.
As neither of them dared return to the little dwelling which they had left, nor indeed did they know the way back, they went into the wood, gathered nuts, and asked each other a hundred questions as to what had occurred since they last met. They then rejoiced at their good fortune in being again together, and refreshed themselves with the hope of now remaining near each other. At last they saw a peasant's hut, and went to it to request shelter for the night, that they might resolve on what they should do the next day.
The prince, when they got very near to it, said to Gracious, "Wait here under this great tree, whilst I go and reconnoitre the house and its inhabitants."
When he got there, he found a woman who was sweeping before her door, and of her he inquired if she would receive him and Gracious for the night into her house.
The old woman answered: "You seem to me to be two disobedient children, who have run away from your parents, and do not deserve to meet with compassion."
Chaffinch was, to say the truth, a little embarrassed by this remark, but he said all sorts of flattering thingsto her, and offered to labour for her; in short, he spoke like a lover willing to make any sacrifice for his beloved, for he began to fear that Gracious would have to pass the night in the wood, exposed to the wolves, of which he had heard such terrible stories.
Whilst he was trying to persuade the hard-hearted old woman, it happened that the giant Koloquintius, the king, or to speak more accurately, the tyrant of the whole district, who was hunting in the wood, rode past the very spot where Gracious was waiting. He thought her surprisingly charming, and was a good deal astonished that she did not think him equally so, nor appear to be enchanted at seeing him. Without saying a word to her, he desired one of his suite to lift up the little maiden and place her under his arm, which being done, he set spurs to his horse, and galloped off to his capital city.
The cries and lamentations of Gracious did not move him in the least, and she now—when it was too late—repented of her disobedience. Her cries disturbed Prince Chaffinch and the old woman in their conversation; the former ran towards the spot where he had left Gracious; but who can describe his grief, when he saw her under the giant's arm! Had he been there atthe right moment, he would have endeavoured at the risk of his life to prevent that deed of violence, but now he had nothing to do but to follow her. But night overtook him, he lost sight of her, and quite exhausted, he sat down to give free course to his grief and tears.
As he sat, he perceived, close to him, a little light, like that of a glow-worm. At first he paid no attention to it, but the light grew larger and larger, and at last changed into a female clothed in a brown garment, who said to him: "Console thyself, Chaffinch, do not give way to despair; take this flask, which is made of a gourd, and this shepherd's pouch; thou wilt find them always filled with whatever thou desirest to eat and drink. Take also this hazel-rod, and when thou hast need of me, put it under thy left foot and call me; I will always come to thy assistance. This little dog is commanded never to leave thee, thou may'st want him. Farewell, Chaffinch. I am the kind Bonbon."
Chaffinch was already greatly moved by these gifts, but when he heard the name which Gracious had so often pronounced, he sank at the fairy's feet, embraced her knees, and cried: "Ah, beneficent lady, Gracious has been carried off, how is it possible that your Highness did not hasten to deliver her?"
"I know what has befallen her," replied Bonbon,—"but she was disobedient, I want not to know anything about her; thou alone must aid her."
At these words, the light and the fairy disappeared, and Chaffinch sat in such darkness that he could not see his hand when he held it before his eyes. He was however, much comforted by thinking that he could now be of assistance to Gracious, though fear and anxiety still tormented him greatly, and his new friend, the little dog, was unable by all its caresses to divert him.
At last, the longed-for day dawned, and he was now able to continue his wanderings. Towards evening he arrived at the chief city, where he found everybody talking only of Gracious' beauty, and of Koloquintius' passion for her. It was said that the giant was very shortly to marry her, and that he had already commenced building a palace for the new queen. This news cut little Chaffinch to the heart.
When the people with whom he was speaking, saw his shepherd's pouch, they said, "This is a handsome little shepherd, why should he not tend the king's sheep? His majesty is in want of a shepherd, and would no doubt confer that high office upon him."
The desire of being near Gracious determinedChaffinch to take this hint. He therefore presented himself before Koloquintius, who regarded him attentively: as he only asked for courteous treatment, and required no wages, the king appointed him to be his own private shepherd. His new office did not, however, bring him into the vicinity of Gracious, so that he did not gain much thereby. He only learned that Koloquintius was very melancholy because Gracious did not respond to his love, and this comforted him a little.
Some days after, as he was following his sheep, he saw a state carriage, attended by twelve negroes on horseback, with drawn swords, quit the palace, and in this carriage sat Gracious. Little Chaffinch heroically threw himself in the way of the horses, held his shepherd's staff before them, and thundered out with his feeble voice, "Wretches! whither go you?"
When Gracious saw her Chaffinch in such great peril, she fainted, and he also lost his senses. When he came to himself, he seized his hazel wand,—instantly the good Bonbon stood beside him.
"Ah, kind lady!" said he, "Gracious is lost, perhaps already dead!"
"No," replied the Fairy, "Koloquintius is only sending her to the tower because he is furious at hercoldness to him, and her fidelity to thee. Consider how thou may'st get thither also; think for thyself. I will assist thee; only I cannot change thee into a bird, because thou hast already been one; at all events Gracious will have much to suffer, for the tower is a terrible prison, but it serves her quite right,—why was she disobedient?"
Thereupon she vanished.
The prince, in great distress, conducted (that is, his little dog did it for him) the king's sheep along the road which the carriage that conveyed Gracious had taken, and he shortly came within sight of the terrible tower, which stood in the midst of a great plain, and had neither windows nor doors, only a small aperture at the top; it could only be entered by a subterranean passage, the entrance to which was concealed in a neighbouring mountain, which it was necessary to point out to those who were unacquainted with it. Prince Chaffinch was very glad that he had received such a clever little dog from the fairy, for it did all his business for him, whilst he kept his eyes constantly fixed on the tower. The more he considered, the more he was convinced of the impossibility of getting into it; but love, which conquers all difficulties, at last inspired him with a plan.
After he had lamented a thousand times that he could not again be a bird, he besought the good fairy Bonbon, to change him into a paper kite. She granted his request, and conferred on his little dog the power of effecting the transformation; he barked three times, took the hazel-rod in his mouth, and touched the prince with it, who now became a paper kite, with power to resume his own form as occasion might require. Then, by the aid of his faithful dog, the prince succeeded in first reaching the top of the tower, and then getting within it to Gracious.
It was no small delight to her to hear the assurances of his love, nor was it a less one to him to hear the same from her, and gratefully did he express his acknowledgments—for, in spite of his altered form, he still retained his speech. The pleasures of this conversation would have caused him to forget altogether that he could not remain for ever in the tower, and that he must feed his flock, if the little dog, more faithful to duty than he, had not pulled the string to which he was fastened, just at the right moment.
Chaffinch no sooner reached the ground, than he resumed his own figure, and drove the flock back again to the royal sheepfold; but his whole thought was onthe pleasure of flying to his dear Gracious, which caused him to be greatly vexed whenever the wind blew too strongly for him to be able to ascend, and Gracious shared in his grief.
Thus they went on for some time; but as there are always to be found people who interfere in what does not concern them, others who want to know everything, and still more, others who are always striving to show themselves very obliging to the great and rich; it was soon observed by some of these, that the kite very often descended from the dark tower. Koloquintius was informed of it; he instantly went thither, in order to punish the audacious persons who dared to convey letters in this manner to Gracious, for it never struck him that the kite could serve for any other purpose. Chaffinch and Gracious were just in the most interesting conversation, when they were disturbed from it by the vehemence with which the faithful dog pulled back the prince, for Koloquintius ran up to him, exclaiming vehemently: "Where is the shepherd, where is the shepherd? I must kill him, because he has not informed me of what is going on here."
The dog, fearing that Koloquintius might take the string out of his mouth, and so get the prince intohis own hands, let the kite fly, which was carried far away by the wind, which happened to be very high, and catching up the gourd flask, and the shepherd's pouch, ran off to his master, whom he loved very much, and who now had resumed his own figure. Favoured by the approaching night, they concealed themselves in the mountains, whilst Koloquintius, foaming with rage, was obliged to drive his sheep home himself. In order that no one should approach little Gracious, he caused his whole army to draw up on the plain, and commanded them to watch day and night, that no one whatsoever should approach the tower.
Prince Chaffinch beheld all this from the high mountain where he and the dog had placed themselves, and again appealed to Bonbon for assistance. She immediately appeared, but when he begged her to give him an army, wherewith to combat that of Koloquintius, she vanished without saying a word, and only left him a rod, and a great bag of sugar-plums. When one is sad, and one's heart is heavy, one is not much inclined to take a joke; and at first Chaffinch thought she meant to make a jest of him; but when he reflected how kindly she had always acted towards him, his confidence in her returned, and he took the bag of sugar-plums under his arm, and the rod in his right hand, and accompanied by his faithful dog, advanced valiantly to meet the foe. As he came nearer to them, he remarked that they grew gradually less and less, and that their lines contracted; and when he got so near that they could hear him speak, he perceived, to his no small astonishment, that all these formidable soldiers, and moustached grenadiers, had shrunk into children of four years old, so that he cried aloud to them:—"Yield this moment, or you shall all be whipped." Then the whole army began to cry, and ran away, pursued by the dog, who soon threw them into completedisorder. To as many as he could catch, Chaffinch gave sugar-plums, whereupon they immediately swore to obey him.
Encouraged by their example, the others soon returned, and they one and all submitted to Chaffinch; so that Koloquintius was now left without an army to defend him, whilst the prince had a formidable one; for as soon as they submitted voluntarily to him, they all recovered their former size and strength.
By this time Koloquintius arrived; but he no sooner saw Prince Chaffinch than he likewise lost his giant form and strength, and became not merely a little child like the others, but a very little dwarf, with crooked legs. The prince caused a dragoon's cap, and a gay-coloured garment, with hanging sleeves, to be made for him, and destined him to be train-bearer to Gracious, and to attend upon her in her apartments.
After this great victory the first care of Chaffinch was to hasten to the dark tower, in order to set his beloved free. After so many sufferings and sorrows, her joy at finding herself again free was indescribable. As they reached the city, Fairy Bonbon and Fairy Grumble-do also arrived there from opposite directions. The two lovers now expressed to them their warmest gratitude,and requested them to decide their fate. Fairy Grumble-do replied:—
"I assure you I have never troubled my head about you; I should have been a fool indeed to concern myself with such light ware. You are nothing to me, for the rest of your blessed family give me quite enough to do without you. Such a parcel of relations as belong to Prince Chaffinch, never did king's son, in all the wide world, possess before; a pretty brood truly."
"Dear madam and sister," interposed Fairy Bonbon, in the gentlest manner, "you know our agreement; only have the kindness to cause the king and queen, and the worthy coal-man, to come hither, and I will undertake the rest."
"So," rejoined Madam Grumble-do, "I am to be wedding coachman—am I?"
"Oh! not so, dear madam and sister," answered Bonbon; "you have only to say if it is not agreeable to you, and I will go myself."
"A pretty errand—a dog's errand," snarled Madam Grumble-do, who nevertheless ordered her car to turn into a coach, and to bring thither the desired guests. Whilst Bonbon, Gracious, and Chaffinch, were caressing each other, Fairy Grumble-do met the Court-dwarf, Koloquintius,who came in her way just at the right moment,—for every one was welcome to her so that she had some one to scold,—and she gave it him prettily on the text of his vanity and self-love.
"Now you are punished," said she, "and nobody pities you; but, on the contrary, you are the laughingstock of all your former subjects; that, however, you have always been, though formerly they ridiculed you secretly, and in whispers; now, however, they do it loudly, and in the market-place; it will do you a deal of good."
So she continued to abuse him till the arrival of the king and queen, when she let him go and turned to them.
"You need not trouble yourselves to thank me for anything; it was not I who sent for you, and indeed I am very sorry you are come, for now there will be no getting rid of you again. Good counsel would be thrown away upon you now, you irrational creatures."
She then perceived the old coal-man, and exclaimed:—"A pretty father-in-law that, for a prince."
The coal-man was not the sort of person to take such an address pleasantly, and would soon have given her a rough answer, but that the good Fairy Bonbon came up and begged the company to walk into the house. ButFairy Grumble-do did not like that neither; the general joy made her peevish.
Gracious embraced her dear father a thousand times, who all this while had not suffered any privation, for Bonbon had made him a present of the porcelain house in which she had often received the king and queen. These fondled their little Chaffinch, and willingly consented to his marriage with Gracious, when proposed to them by Bonbon. The subjects of Koloquintius were absolved from the oath they had sworn to him, and acknowledged Prince Chaffinch as their lawful monarch. Thus did the pretty prince obtain a fine kingdom and a charming wife.
Chaffinch and Gracious long governed in peace and happiness, and had a great many dear children, who also became kings and queens, for a good and pretty daughter makes not alone her own happiness, but also that of her parents, and her husband.
I
n ancient times, when matters went on in the world very differently from what they now do, there reigned a king in Scotland who had the loveliest queen that ever graced a throne. Her beauty and amiability were such, that her praise was sung by every minstrel and tale-teller, and they called her the Scottish phœnix. This fair queen bore to her husband two children, a son and a daughter, and then died in the prime of her youth.
The king mourned for her many years, and could not forget her; he even said that he would never marry again. But human resolutions are unstable, and can never be depended on; and after the lapse of years, when the children were already grown up, he took to himself a second wife. The new queen was an evil-disposed woman, and made indeed a step-mother to the king's children. Yet the prince and princess were mirrors of grace and loveliness, and this was the cause of their step-mother's hatred of them; for the people, who loved the memory of the former queen, were constantly praising the young people, but never said anything about her; and whenever she appeared in public with the young princess, they always applauded and welcomed the latter, exclaiming, "She is good and fair like her mother." This roused her jealousy; she was full of spite towards them, and pondered how she might play them some evil trick; but she concealed the malignity of her heart under the mask of friendliness, for she dared not let the king perceive that she was ill-disposed towards them, and the nation would have stoned her and torn her in pieces if she had done them any harm.
The princess, who was called Aurora, was now fifteen years of age, blooming as a rose, and the fairest princess far and near. Many kings' sons, princes and counts, courted her and sought her hand; but she replied to them all, "I prefer my merry and unfettered girlhood to any lover," and thereupon they had nothing to do but to return from whence they came.
At last, however, the right one came. He was a prince from the East, a handsome and majestic man, and to him she was betrothed with the consent and approbation of the king and of her step-mother. Already the bridal wreath was twined; musicians were hired for the dance, and the whole nation rejoiced at the approaching nuptials of the fair Princess Aurora. But far other thoughts were in the queen's heart, and with threatening gestures she said to herself, "I will hire musicians who shall play a very different tune, and those feet shall dance elsewhere than in the bridal chamber. For," continued she, "this throws me quite in the shade, and my sun must set before this Aurora; especially now that she is going to have such a stately man for her husband, and will give descendants to her father, for I am childless. The nation, too, delights in her, and receives her with acclamation, but takes no note of me. Yet I am the queen: yes, I am the queen, and soon all shall know that it is I who am queen, and not Aurora."
And she meditated day and night how she might ruin the princess and her brother; but not one of her wicked plans succeeded, for they were too well guarded by their attendants, who valued them like the apple of their eye,and never left them day nor night, because of the dear love they bore to their mother, the departed queen.
At length the bridal day arrived, and the queen having no more time to lose, bethought herself of the most wicked art she knew, and approaching the young people in the most friendly way possible, begged them to go with her into the rose-garden, where she would show them a wonderfully beauteous flower which had just opened. Willingly they went with her, for the garden was close to the palace, and no one suspected any evil, for it was only mid-day, and the king and the grandees of the land were all assembled in the great hall of the palace where the nuptials were to be solemnised.
The queen led her step-children to the furthermost corner of the garden where grew her flowers, till they came beneath a dark yew tree, where she pretended to have something particular to show to them. Then she murmured to herself some words in a low tone, broke off a branch from the tree, and with it gave some strokes on the backs of the prince and princess. Immediately they were transformed. The prince, in the shape of a raging wolf, sprang over the wall and ran into the forest; and the princess as a grey bird, called a nightingale, flew into a tree and sang a melancholy air.
So well did the queen play her part, that no one suspected anything. She ran shrieking to the castle, and with rent clothes and dishevelled hair sank on the steps of the hall, acting as if some great disaster had befallen her, and by the king's command her women carried her to her chamber. A full quarter of an hour passed ere she came to herself. Then she assumed an attitude of grief, wept, and exclaimed, "Ah, poor Aurora, what a bridal day for thee! Ah, unfortunate prince!"
After repeatedly exclaiming in this manner, she at length related that a band of robbers had suddenly burst into the garden, and had forcibly torn the royal children from her arms, and carried them off; that they had struck herself to the ground and left her half dead; and she then showed a swelling on her forehead, to produce which she had purposely hit her head against a tree. They all believed her words, and the king commanded all the great lords, and counts, and knights, and squires, to mount their horses and pursue the robbers. They traversed the forest in all directions, and visited every cave, and rock, and mountain, for at least three miles round the palace, but they could not find a trace of either the robbers or the prince and princess. The king, however, could not rest, andcaused further search and enquiries to be made, for weeks and months; and he sent messengers into all the countries he could think of; but all was in vain, and at length it was as if the prince and princess had never been in existence, so entirely had they disappeared.
The old king, however, thought that the robbers had been tempted by the fine jewels that the prince and princess wore on the wedding day, and that they had stripped them of those and then murdered them, and buried their bodies in some secret place: this so grieved him that he shortly after died. On his death-bed, as he had no children, he bestowed his kingdom on his wife, and besought his subjects to be true and obedient to her as they had been to him. They gave their promise, and acknowledged her as queen, more out of love for him than for her.
Thus four years passed away, when, in the second year after the king's death, the queen began to govern with great rigour; and with the treasures the king had left behind him, she hired foreign soldiers whom she brought over the sea to guard her and to keep watch over the palace; for she knew that she was not beloved by her subjects, and she said, "That they should now do out of fear what they would not do for love."
And so it came to pass, that from day to day she became more hated by every one, but nobody durst show his hate, for the slightest whisper against her was punished with death. Nevertheless, the murmurs and whispers still went on; and it was commonly said among the people, that the queen had a hand in the children's disappearance; for, in truth, there were plenty of persons who, on account of her sharp eyes and her affected love for the children, suspected her of evil practices against them. These murmurs, so far from dying away, went on increasing; but the queen cared not for them, and thought "they will remain the brutes into which I have transformed them, and no one will deprive me of the crown." However, things turned out otherwise than she expected.
Meanwhile the poor royal children led a sorry life. The prince had fled to the forest as a grey wolf, and was obliged to conduct himself like a wolf, and howl like one too, and by day to wander about in desolate places, and to prowl about at night like a thief; for wolfish fear had also sprung up in his heart. And also, he was obliged to live like other wolves, on all sorts of prey—on wild animals and birds, and in the dreary winter-time he was often obliged to content himself witha mouse, and live on very short commons, and with chattering teeth, to make his bed amongst the hard cold stones. And this certainly was very different from the princely mode of life to which he had been accustomed previous to his being driven into this wild savage misery.
He had, however, one peculiarity, which was, that he only destroyed and devoured animals, and never desired to take human blood. Yet there was one after whose blood he did thirst, and that was the wicked woman who had transformed him; but she took very good care never to go where she might be within reach of that wolf's teeth. It must not, however, be supposed that the prince, who was now a wolf, still preserved human reason. No; all had grown dark within him, and under the form of the beast as which he was condemned to scour the forest, he had also very little more than brute understanding. It is true, a dim instinct often drew him towards the royal residence and its gardens, as though he had cause to expect that he should find prey there; but he had no clear remembrance of the past: how indeed should it have lasted under a wolf's skin? At those moments when he felt the impulse, he was always also seized with unusual fierceness;but as soon as he came within a thousand paces of the spot, a cold shudder passed through him and compelled him to retire. This was the effect of the queen's magic art, which enabled her to keep him banished from her to just that distance, and no further.
She, however, did all in her power to destroy him, and caused her attendants to hunt very frequently in the forest which surrounded the castle, thinking that it was most probable that he was still there. On this account, twice in almost every week, she caused noisy hunts and battues after wolves and foxes to be held there; and, as a pretext for these, she kept a great many pretty deer there, of which our royal wolf did not fail to devour as many as he could catch. He, however, always contrived to escape the danger, although the dogs often had their claws in the hair of his back, and the hunters aimed many a shot at him. He concealed himself for the moment, and when the noise ceased and the bugles no longer resounded, he returned to the thicket, which was close to the castle, and lay in the sunny spots where, as a boy and youth, he had often played. Still he knew nothing of the past, but it was a mysterious love that drew him thither.
The Princess Aurora as we have said had flown upinto a tree, being transformed into a nightingale. But her soul had not become dark beneath its light feathery garb, like the prince's within the wolf's hide; and she knew much more than he, both of her own self and of men, only she was deprived of the power of speech. But she sang all the more sweetly in her solitude, and often so beautifully, that the beasts skipped and leaped with delight, and the birds gathered round her, and the trees and flowers rustled and bent their heads. I think the very stones might have danced had they but had the power to love, but their hearts were too cold. Men would soon have remarked the little bird, and much talk would have arisen about her, but some secret power withheld them from entering the wood, so that they never heard the nightingale sing.
I have already related how the queen persecuted the poor royal wolf with hunts and battues, so that he was the innocent cause of great trouble and inconvenience to the whole wolvine family. As great evil too befel the little birds, and in those days of tyranny, it was a great misfortune to be born either a thrush, a linnet, or a nightingale, in the neighbourhood of the castle. For the queen, after the death of the king had thrown all the power into her own hands, suddenly pretended tohave an illness of so peculiar a kind, that not only were the cries, cawing, and chattering of birds of prey insupportable to her, but even the sweetest twittering and warbling of the merry little birds affected her unpleasantly; and in order to make people believe this, she fainted on two occasions when she heard them sing.
This, however, was only a deception; her wicked aim was to kill the little nightingale, if by chance it should still frequent those groves and gardens. She knew full well that the little bird could not approach within a hundred paces of the castle, for she had cast her witch-spell upon her, as well as upon her brother. Under the pretext of this nervous sensibility to tender and delicate sounds, war was waged, not only against the pretty little royal nightingale, but against all the warblers in the vicinity. They were all proscribed and outlawed, and the queen's foresters and gamekeepers received the strictest orders to wage war against every feathered creature, and not to spare even the robin: no, nor the wren, at whom no sportsman ever before fired shot.
This terrible hatred of the queen's was a misfortune for the whole feathered race, not only for those which lived at large in the woods and groves, but even for those which were kept in the court-yards and houses. No featheredcreature was to be found in the capital city, nor in the vicinity of the royal residence; for the people thought to pay court to the queen, and to win her favour, by imitating her caprices. There was a destruction of the feathered tribe, like another slaughter of the innocents. How many thousand canaries, goldfinches, linnets, and nightingales; nay, even how many parrots and cockatoos, from the East and West Indies, had their necks wrung! Discordant, or melodious throats, the chattering, and the silent, were all menaced with one fate; it became a crime to be born either a goose, or a turkey, or a hen; and the common domestic fowls grew as scarce as Chinese golden pheasants. If the queen had waged such war against the feathered race for another ten years, they would have quite died out of the country. Indeed, not only were all the birds murdered, but scarcely did a human being now take a walk in the wood, for fear of being suspected of going thither in hopes to hear the song of a bird.
And thus it was, that no one ever heard the wondrous song of the little nightingale, except here and there a solitary sportsman, and these never spoke of it, lest they should be punished by the queen for not having shot it. And indeed, to the honour of the foresters it must besaid, that most of them followed their own good disposition, and seldom shot any little bird, but they were obliged to fire through the forest till it rang again. And this prevented any singing, and indeed many birds withdrew from it altogether, on account of the incessant noise, and never returned. The little nightingale, however, whom heaven especially protected, so that she escaped all the plots against her life, could not forsake the green forest behind the castle, where, in her childhood, she had played, and skipped about, so that although she flew away as soon as the bugles sounded, and the halloos and hurrahs echoed through the wood, she always returned again. And although her little songs, as coming from a sad heart, were, for the most part, melancholy and plaintive, still it was pleasing to her to live so amongst the green trees, and gay flowers, and to sing something sweet to the moon and stars; and she was unhappy only during a few months in the year. This was the season when autumn approached, and she was obliged to go with the other nightingales into foreign climes until the return of spring.
The little feathered princess confined herself then mostly to the trees and meadows where she had sported as a child; or in later years, with companions of herown age, had twined wreaths and garlands; or in the happiest days of her life, had wandered in those solitudes with her beloved. Her favourite haunt was a spot where grew a thick green oak, which spread over a murmuring rivulet, and which served as a covert for the soft whispers of their love. In this place she often saw the wolf, who was also led thither by a dim feeling of the past, but she knew not that it was her unfortunate brother. Yet she grew attached to him, because he so often lay down and listened to her song as though he understood it; and she often pitied him for being a harsh and wild wolf, that could not flutter from bough to bough, like herself and other little birds. But now I must also tell of a man, who, in that solitary forest, was often a listener to the little nightingale. This man was the eastern prince, her destined bridegroom when she was yet a princess.
Whilst the old king yet lived, he loved this prince beyond all other men, because of his virtues and valour, and on his death-bed had recommended him to the queen as her counsellor and helper in all difficulties and dangers, and especially as a brave and experienced warrior. On this account, after the king's death, he had remained about the queen, solely for love of the departed. But he soon perceived that the queen hatedhim, and was even plotting against his life, so he suddenly withdrew from her court, and left the country. She, however, caused him to be pursued as a traitor and a fugitive, and sent forth a decree, proclaiming him an outlaw, by which every one was empowered to slay him, and bring his head, on which a high price was set, to the royal castle. But he escaped to his father's land, which lay many hundred miles to the east of the queen's palace, and there dwelt with him. Still in his heart, he found no rest, and his grief for his vanished princess never subsided. A wonderful thing also came upon him, for once every year he disappeared, without any one being able to discover whither he went. He then saddled his horse, clad himself in obscure-looking armour, and rode off so that no one could trace his path. He felt himself impelled to enter the country of the queen who had outlawed him, and to visit that forest wherein the princess had disappeared. This powerful impulse seized him annually, just before the time when the princess had vanished, and he rode through wild, desolate, and remote places, until he reached the well-known spots, where he had once wandered with his betrothed. The green oak by the rivulet, was also his favourite place. There he passed fourteen nights intears, and prayers, and lamentations for his beloved; by day, however, he concealed himself in the neighbouring thicket. There he had often seen and heard the little nightingale, and taken delight in her wonderful, and almost bird-surpassing song.