ASH-IE-PAT-TLE'S PRINCESS.
ASH-IE-PAT-TLE'S PRINCESS.
"But what's the meaning of all this foolery?" asked the giant.
"Well, you know how fond I am of you," said the princess, "I couldn't help doing it, when I knew your heart was there."
"How can you be so foolish to believe it?" said the giant.—"Well, how can I help believing it when you say so?" answered the princess.—"Oh, you are a foolish creature," said the giant, "you can never go where my heart is!"
"Ah, well," said the princess.—"but I should like to know for all that where it is."—So the giant could not refuse to tell her any longer, and he said: "Far, far away in a lake lies an island,—on that island stands a church,—in that church there is a well,—in that well swims a duck,—in that duck there is an egg,—and in the egg—well, there is my heart."
Early next morning, almost before the dawn of day, the giant set out for the wood again. "Well, I suppose I had better start as well," said Ash-ie-pat-tle; "I wish I only knew the way!"
He said farewell to the princess for a time, and when he came outside the castle there was the wolf still waiting for him. He told the wolf what had happened inside, and that he was now going to set out for thewell in the church, if he only knew the way. The wolf asked him to jump on his back,—he would try and find the way, sure enough, he said, and away they went over hills and mountains, over fields and valleys, while the wind whistled about them.
When they had traveled many, many days, they came at last to the lake. The prince did not know how he should get across it; but the wolf asked him only not to be afraid, and then he plunged into the water with the prince on his back and swam across to the island.
When they came to the church, they found the key for the church-door hanging high, high up on the steeple, and at first the young prince did not know how to get hold of it. "You will have to call the raven," said the wolf, which the prince did. The raven came at once, and flew up for the key, and so the prince got inside the church.
When he came to the well, the duck was there sure enough. It was swimming about just as the giant had said. He commenced calling and calling, and at last he lured her up to him and caught her. But just as he was lifting her out of the water, the duck let the egg fall in the well; and Ash-ie-pat-tle didn't know how to get it up again. "You had better call the salmon," said the wolf, which the prince did. Thesalmon came and fetched the egg from the bottom of the well.
The wolf then told him to squeeze the egg, and as soon as Ash-ie-pat-tle squeezed it, they heard the giant screaming. "Squeeze it once more," said the wolf, and when the prince did so, the giant screamed still more piteously, and prayed so nicely and gently for himself; he would do all the prince wished, if he only wouldn't squeeze his heart to pieces.
"Tell him, that if he will give you back again alive your six brothers and their brides, which he turned into stone, you will spare his life," said the wolf, and Ash-ie-pat-tle did so.
Yes, the giant would do that at once, and he restored the six princes and the six princesses to life.—"Now, squeeze the egg to pieces," said the wolf. Ash-ie-pat-tle squeezed it flat between his hands, and the giant burst.
So when Ash-ie-pat-tle had got rid of the giant, he rode back again on his friend, the wolf, to the giant's castle, and there stood all his six brothers and their brides, all alive, and then Ash-ie-pat-tle went into the mountain for his own bride, and they all set out for their home, the royal palace. The old king was pleased, I can tell you, when all his seven sons came back, each with his bride. "But the loveliestof all the princesses is Ash-ie-pat-tle's bride after all," said the king, "and he shall sit at the top of the table with her."
And then the wedding came off, and the king gave a grand feast which lasted for many a day, and if they have not done feasting by this, why they are still at it.
Footnote[1]The favorite hero of most Norwegian fairy tales is called "Askeladen," a sort of male "Cinderella" and is always the youngest son of the family.
Footnote[1]The favorite hero of most Norwegian fairy tales is called "Askeladen," a sort of male "Cinderella" and is always the youngest son of the family.
Footnote
[1]The favorite hero of most Norwegian fairy tales is called "Askeladen," a sort of male "Cinderella" and is always the youngest son of the family.
[1]The favorite hero of most Norwegian fairy tales is called "Askeladen," a sort of male "Cinderella" and is always the youngest son of the family.
Thereis beauty in the forest,When the trees are green and fair;There is beauty in the meadow,Where wild flowers scent the air;There is beauty in the sunlight,And the soft, blue beam above:Oh, the world is full of beautyWhen the heart is full of love!W. L. SMITH.
Thereis beauty in the forest,When the trees are green and fair;There is beauty in the meadow,Where wild flowers scent the air;There is beauty in the sunlight,And the soft, blue beam above:Oh, the world is full of beautyWhen the heart is full of love!W. L. SMITH.
Thereis beauty in the forest,When the trees are green and fair;There is beauty in the meadow,Where wild flowers scent the air;There is beauty in the sunlight,And the soft, blue beam above:Oh, the world is full of beautyWhen the heart is full of love!W. L. SMITH.
W. L. SMITH.
GEORGE L. CATLIN.
MMister," the little fellow said,"Pleasegive me a dime to buy some bread."I turned to look at the ragged form,That, in the midst of the pitiless storm,Pinched, and haggard, and old with care,In accents pleading, was standing there.'Twas a little boy not twelve years old;He shivered and shook in the bitter cold,His eyes were red—with weeping, I fear—And adown his cheeks there rolled a tearE'en then.His misery struck me dumb;'Twas a street in a crowded city slum,Where an errand of duty led my feetThat day, through the storm and blinding sleet."Poor little fellow!" at last I said,"Have you no father?""No, he's dead!"The answer came; "You've a mother, then?""Yes, sir," he said, with a sob; "She's beenSick for a year, and the doctor saidShe'd never again get up from bed.""You are hungry, too!" I asked in pain,As I looked at his poor, wan face again."Hungry," he said, with a bitter groanThat would melt to pity a heart of stone;"I am starved; we are all starving," he said,"We haven't had a crust of bread—Me, nor mother, nor baby Kate—Since yesterday morning."I did not waitTo ask him more. "Come, come!" I cried,"You shall not hunger;" and at my sideHis poor little pattering footsteps fellOn my ear with a sadness I cannot tell;But his eyes beamed bright when he saw me stopBefore the door of a baker's shop,And we entered."Now eat away, my boy,As much as you like," I said. With joy,And a soft expression of childish grace,He looked up into my friendly face,And sobbed, as he strove to hide a tear:"Oh, if mother and baby Kate were here!""But eat," said I, "never mind them now,"A thoughtful look stole over his brow,And lo! from his face the joy had fled."What! while they're at home!" he said;"Oh, no, sir! I'm hungry, indeed, 'tis true.But I cannot eat till they've had some too."The tears came rushing—I can't tell why—To my eyes, as he spoke these words. Said I:"God bless you! here, you brave little man,Here, carry home all the bread you can."Then I loaded him down with loaves, untilHe could carry no more. I paid the bill;And before he could quite understandJust what I was doing, into his handI slipped a bright, new dollar; then said,"Good-bye," and away on my journey sped.'Twas four years ago. But one day last May,As I wandered by chance through East Broadway,A cheery voice accosted me. Lo!'Twas the self-same lad of years ago,Though larger grown—and his looks, in truth,Bespoke a sober, industrious youth."Mister," he said, "I'll never forgetThe kindness you showed when last we met.I work at a trade, and mother is well,So is baby Kate; and I want to tellYou this—that we owe it all to you.'Twas you—don't blush, sir—that helped us throughIn our darkest hour; and we always sayOur luck has been better since that dayWhen you sent me home with bread to feedThose starving ones in their hour of need."
MMister," the little fellow said,"Pleasegive me a dime to buy some bread."I turned to look at the ragged form,That, in the midst of the pitiless storm,Pinched, and haggard, and old with care,In accents pleading, was standing there.'Twas a little boy not twelve years old;He shivered and shook in the bitter cold,His eyes were red—with weeping, I fear—And adown his cheeks there rolled a tearE'en then.His misery struck me dumb;'Twas a street in a crowded city slum,Where an errand of duty led my feetThat day, through the storm and blinding sleet."Poor little fellow!" at last I said,"Have you no father?""No, he's dead!"The answer came; "You've a mother, then?""Yes, sir," he said, with a sob; "She's beenSick for a year, and the doctor saidShe'd never again get up from bed.""You are hungry, too!" I asked in pain,As I looked at his poor, wan face again."Hungry," he said, with a bitter groanThat would melt to pity a heart of stone;"I am starved; we are all starving," he said,"We haven't had a crust of bread—Me, nor mother, nor baby Kate—Since yesterday morning."I did not waitTo ask him more. "Come, come!" I cried,"You shall not hunger;" and at my sideHis poor little pattering footsteps fellOn my ear with a sadness I cannot tell;But his eyes beamed bright when he saw me stopBefore the door of a baker's shop,And we entered."Now eat away, my boy,As much as you like," I said. With joy,And a soft expression of childish grace,He looked up into my friendly face,And sobbed, as he strove to hide a tear:"Oh, if mother and baby Kate were here!""But eat," said I, "never mind them now,"A thoughtful look stole over his brow,And lo! from his face the joy had fled."What! while they're at home!" he said;"Oh, no, sir! I'm hungry, indeed, 'tis true.But I cannot eat till they've had some too."The tears came rushing—I can't tell why—To my eyes, as he spoke these words. Said I:"God bless you! here, you brave little man,Here, carry home all the bread you can."Then I loaded him down with loaves, untilHe could carry no more. I paid the bill;And before he could quite understandJust what I was doing, into his handI slipped a bright, new dollar; then said,"Good-bye," and away on my journey sped.'Twas four years ago. But one day last May,As I wandered by chance through East Broadway,A cheery voice accosted me. Lo!'Twas the self-same lad of years ago,Though larger grown—and his looks, in truth,Bespoke a sober, industrious youth."Mister," he said, "I'll never forgetThe kindness you showed when last we met.I work at a trade, and mother is well,So is baby Kate; and I want to tellYou this—that we owe it all to you.'Twas you—don't blush, sir—that helped us throughIn our darkest hour; and we always sayOur luck has been better since that dayWhen you sent me home with bread to feedThose starving ones in their hour of need."
MMister," the little fellow said,"Pleasegive me a dime to buy some bread."I turned to look at the ragged form,That, in the midst of the pitiless storm,Pinched, and haggard, and old with care,In accents pleading, was standing there.'Twas a little boy not twelve years old;He shivered and shook in the bitter cold,His eyes were red—with weeping, I fear—And adown his cheeks there rolled a tearE'en then.His misery struck me dumb;'Twas a street in a crowded city slum,Where an errand of duty led my feetThat day, through the storm and blinding sleet."Poor little fellow!" at last I said,"Have you no father?""No, he's dead!"The answer came; "You've a mother, then?""Yes, sir," he said, with a sob; "She's beenSick for a year, and the doctor saidShe'd never again get up from bed.""You are hungry, too!" I asked in pain,As I looked at his poor, wan face again."Hungry," he said, with a bitter groanThat would melt to pity a heart of stone;"I am starved; we are all starving," he said,"We haven't had a crust of bread—Me, nor mother, nor baby Kate—Since yesterday morning."I did not waitTo ask him more. "Come, come!" I cried,"You shall not hunger;" and at my sideHis poor little pattering footsteps fellOn my ear with a sadness I cannot tell;But his eyes beamed bright when he saw me stopBefore the door of a baker's shop,And we entered."Now eat away, my boy,As much as you like," I said. With joy,And a soft expression of childish grace,He looked up into my friendly face,And sobbed, as he strove to hide a tear:"Oh, if mother and baby Kate were here!""But eat," said I, "never mind them now,"A thoughtful look stole over his brow,And lo! from his face the joy had fled."What! while they're at home!" he said;"Oh, no, sir! I'm hungry, indeed, 'tis true.But I cannot eat till they've had some too."The tears came rushing—I can't tell why—To my eyes, as he spoke these words. Said I:"God bless you! here, you brave little man,Here, carry home all the bread you can."Then I loaded him down with loaves, untilHe could carry no more. I paid the bill;And before he could quite understandJust what I was doing, into his handI slipped a bright, new dollar; then said,"Good-bye," and away on my journey sped.'Twas four years ago. But one day last May,As I wandered by chance through East Broadway,A cheery voice accosted me. Lo!'Twas the self-same lad of years ago,Though larger grown—and his looks, in truth,Bespoke a sober, industrious youth."Mister," he said, "I'll never forgetThe kindness you showed when last we met.I work at a trade, and mother is well,So is baby Kate; and I want to tellYou this—that we owe it all to you.'Twas you—don't blush, sir—that helped us throughIn our darkest hour; and we always sayOur luck has been better since that dayWhen you sent me home with bread to feedThose starving ones in their hour of need."
M
Mister," the little fellow said,"Pleasegive me a dime to buy some bread."I turned to look at the ragged form,That, in the midst of the pitiless storm,Pinched, and haggard, and old with care,In accents pleading, was standing there.'Twas a little boy not twelve years old;He shivered and shook in the bitter cold,His eyes were red—with weeping, I fear—And adown his cheeks there rolled a tearE'en then.
We should make the same use of books that thebee does of a flower: he gathers sweets from it, butdoes not injure it.
A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern; A passing stranger scooped a well, Where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care, A ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that toil might drink. He passed again, and lo! the well, By summers never dried, Had cooled a thousand parched tongues, And saved a life beside.--ANON.
AND oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,A boon, an offering heaven holds dear,'Tis the last libation Liberty drawsFrom the heart that bleeds, and breaks in her cause!THOMAS MOORE: "LALLA ROOKH."
AND oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,A boon, an offering heaven holds dear,'Tis the last libation Liberty drawsFrom the heart that bleeds, and breaks in her cause!THOMAS MOORE: "LALLA ROOKH."
AND oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,A boon, an offering heaven holds dear,'Tis the last libation Liberty drawsFrom the heart that bleeds, and breaks in her cause!THOMAS MOORE: "LALLA ROOKH."
THOMAS MOORE: "LALLA ROOKH."
I
Itwas a hot summer day and Bayard was tired of playing horse with Ethel, or of swinging in the hammock; so he thought he would take a stroll in the fields back of the house, and, perhaps, go down as far as the creek. So he took his gun and started off.
Why he took the gun, Bayard himself could hardly have told; yet it was lucky he did take it, as we shall presently see.
The sun's rays were so scorching, and he got so warm walking, that when he arrived at the creek he thought he would lie down and rest. How cool it was under the trees, and how still it seemed! Not a sound was heard save the twittering of the birds, the babbling of the water over the stones, and the sound of the cow-bells in the neighboring pasture.
LOST
"LOST."
How Bayard wished he could see something to shoot. To be sure therewere the birds; but they looked so happy and sang so sweetly, that it seemed a pity to kill them, and then—they were so common! Anyone could shoot a bird, a squirrel, or a rabbit. Bayard wanted game of a larger kind. He would never waste powder on a bird. No, indeed!
Oh! if he were only in a country where there were plenty of lions and tigers! But then, he wasn't; yet he had heard his father tell about seeing bears in that neighborhood, and might be there was one roaming around even then.
What if one should come out of the woods! Wouldn't he kill it, though! The bear would be dead in less time than it takes to tell it. To doubt that would be rank heresy.
Halloa! What was that! Only a twig snapping. There it is again! Twig snaps some more,—heavy body. Bushes move! See there! See that brown thing! What's that, that gleams so,—eyes?
It—it's—a bear!
Sure enough,—just what Bayard has been wanting to see. Old Bruin comes out from the bushes and sniffs around.
Bayard's heart beats fast, and he trembles; but not from fear. Oh, no! Perish the man who would suggest such a thing.
Bruin sees Bayard and shows his teeth.
Bayard picks up his gun. Bear growls, and stands upon his hind legs.
Bayard raises his gun to his shoulder, his finger on the trigger. Bear comes nearer.
Bayard aims. Bang!
Has he killed it? Smoke clears away. No, the bear is still there; and he is thoroughly angry, too. Perhaps some of the shot has lodged in his side.
Bear utters a loud growl, and springs forward. Bayard now thoroughly frightened; but too much excited to run.
Bang! bang! Another shot.
Bear nearer; and now he has Bayard in his claws. Tight,—tighter, the bear hugs him,—Oh, dear!
Bayard can't get away! Can't breathe! Almost dead! Oh! Oh! Help! Help!
"Bayard!" "Bayard!"
What was that?
Bayard starts up; rubs his eyes, yawns; stretches; yawns again.
What! Has he been asleep? Yes, for there he is, safe and sound, hisgun on the grass, no bear in sight; and his mother is calling him to dinner.
And that is how Bayard shot the bear!
Indeed, he couldn't have shot it otherwise with his gun, for, don't you see, it was only a toy gun which Cousin Guy had given him as a birthday present.
Welive in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;In feelings, not in figures on a dial.We should count time by heart-throbs. He most livesWho thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.PHILIP JAMES BAILEY: "FESTUS."
Welive in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;In feelings, not in figures on a dial.We should count time by heart-throbs. He most livesWho thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.PHILIP JAMES BAILEY: "FESTUS."
Welive in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;In feelings, not in figures on a dial.We should count time by heart-throbs. He most livesWho thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.PHILIP JAMES BAILEY: "FESTUS."
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY: "FESTUS."
CAROL SINGERS
ALFRED TENNYSON.
RRingout, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night;Ring out wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new;Ring, happy bells, across the snow;The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring out the grief that saps the mind,For those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind.Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws.Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good.Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of oldRing in the thousand years of peace.Ring in the valiant man and free,The larger heart, the kindlier hand;Ring out the darkness of the land;Ring in the Christ that is to be.
RRingout, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night;Ring out wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new;Ring, happy bells, across the snow;The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring out the grief that saps the mind,For those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind.Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws.Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good.Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of oldRing in the thousand years of peace.Ring in the valiant man and free,The larger heart, the kindlier hand;Ring out the darkness of the land;Ring in the Christ that is to be.
RRingout, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night;Ring out wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new;Ring, happy bells, across the snow;The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring out the grief that saps the mind,For those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind.Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws.Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good.Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of oldRing in the thousand years of peace.Ring in the valiant man and free,The larger heart, the kindlier hand;Ring out the darkness of the land;Ring in the Christ that is to be.
R
Ringout, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night;Ring out wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new;Ring, happy bells, across the snow;The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring out the grief that saps the mind,For those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind.Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws.Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good.Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of oldRing in the thousand years of peace.Ring in the valiant man and free,The larger heart, the kindlier hand;Ring out the darkness of the land;Ring in the Christ that is to be.
EAST OF THE SUN AND WEST OF THE MOON.
P. C. ASBJORNSEN.
T
Therewas once a poor tenant who had many children, but very little food or clothes to give them; they were all pretty children, but the prettiest was the youngest daughter, who was so lovely that there was almost too much of her loveliness.
So one Thursday evening, late in the autumn, when there was terrible weather and it was dreadfully dark out of doors, and it rained and blew as well till the wall creaked, they were all sitting by the hearth busy with something or other. All at once some one knocked three times on the window-pane. The good-man went out to see what was the matter; when he came outside he saw a great big white bear.
"Good evening!" said the white bear.
"Good evening!" said the man.
"Will you give me your youngest daughter, and I will make you as rich as you now are poor," said the bear.
Yes; the man thought it would be very nice to be so rich, but he must speak with his daughter first; so he went in and told her that a great white bear was outside, who promised that he would make them all rich if he could only get her. She said "No," and would not agree to any such arrangement; so the man went out and arranged with the white bear that he should come again next Thursday evening for an answer.
In the meantime they talked her round, and told her of all the riches they would come in possession of, and how fine she herself would have it in her new home; so at last she gave in to their entreaties andbegan washing and mending her few rags and made herself look as well as she could, and was at last ready for the journey. Her baggage of course, was not much to speak of.
Next Thursday evening the white bear came to fetch her; she got up on his back with her bundle, and away they went. When they had gone some distance the white bear said: "Are you afraid?"—No, she wasn't afraid.—"Well, only hold tight by my coat and there's no danger," said the bear.
And so she rode far, far away, and came at last to a big mountain. The white bear knocked at it and a gate was opened, and they came into a castle where there were a great many rooms all lit up and gleaming with silver and gold, and amongst these was a great hall, where a table stood ready laid; in fact, all was so grand and splendid that you would not believe it unless you saw it. So the white bear gave her a silver bell, which she was to ring whenever there was anything she wanted, and her wishes would be attended to at once.
Well, when she had eaten, it was getting late in the evening, and she became sleepy after the journey so she thought she would like to go to bed. She rang the bell, and had scarcely touched it, before she was in a room, where she found such a beautiful bed as anyone could wish for,with silken pillows and curtains, and gold fringes; everything else in the room was made of gold and silver. But when she had gone to bed and put out the light, she heard someone coming into the room and sitting down in the big arm-chair near the bed. It was the white bear, who at night could throw off his shape, and she could hear by his snoring as he sat in the chair that he was now in the shape of a man; but she never saw him, because he always came after she had put out the light, and in the morning before the day dawned he was gone.
Well, for awhile everything went on happily, but then she began to be silent and sorrowful, for she went about all day alone, and no wonder she longed to be home with her parents and her sisters and brothers again. When the white bear asked what ailed her, she said she was so lonely there, she walked about all alone, and longed for her home and her parents and brothers and sisters, and that was the reason she was so sad.
"But you may visit them, if you like," said the white bear, "if you will only promise me one thing. You must never talk alone with your mother, but only when there are others in the room. She will take you by the hand and try to lead you into a room to speak with you all byyourself; but you must not do this by any means, or you will make us both unhappy, and bring misfortune over us."
One Sunday the white bear came and told her that they were now going to see her parents. Away they went, she sitting on his back, and they traveled far and long; at last they came to a grand white farm-house, where her sisters and brothers were running about. Everything was so pretty that it was a pleasure to see it.
"Your parents are living there," said the bear; "but mind you don't forget what I have said, or you will make us both unhappy." No, she would not forget it. When they came to the farm, the bear turned around and went away.
There was such a joy when she came in to her parents that there was no end to it. They said they did not know how to thank her fully for what she had done for them. They had everything they wanted, and everybody asked after her and wanted to know how she was getting on, and where she was living. She said that she was very comfortable and had everything she wished for; but what she otherwise answered I don't know, but I believe they did not get much out of her.
But one day after dinner it happened exactly as the white bear had said; her mother wanted to speak with her alone in her chamber. But she recollected what the bear had told her, and would not go with her. "What we have got to talk about, we can do at some other time," she said.
But somehow or other her mother talked her round at last, and so she had to tell her everything. She told her how a man came into her room every night as soon as she had put out the light, and how she never saw him, for he was always gone before the day dawned. She was sorrowful at this, for she thought she would so like to see him; and in the day-time she walked about there all alone and felt very lonely and sad.
"Oh, dear me!" said her mother, "it may be a troll for all we know! But I will tell you how you can get a sight of him. You shall have a piece of candle from me, and this you must take with you home in your bosom. When he is asleep, light that candle, but take care not to drop any of the tallow on him."—Yes, she took the candle and hid it in her bosom, and in the evening the white bear came and fetched her.
When they had gone some distance of the way the bear asked her if everything hadn't happened as he had said. Yes, she couldn't denythat.—Well, if you have listened to your mother's advice you will make us both unhappy and all will be over between us," said the bear.—No, that she hadn't!
When she came home and had gone to bed, the same thing occurred as before. Some one came into the room and sat in the arm-chair by her bedside, but in the middle of the night when she heard that he was asleep, she got up and struck a light, lit the candle, and let the light fall on him. She then saw that he was the loveliest prince anyone could wish to see, and she fell at once in love with him; she thought that if she could not kiss him there and then she would not be able to live. And so she did, but she dropped three hot drops of tallow on him and he woke up.
"What have you done?" he said, "you have now made us both unhappy for ever, for if you had only held out one year I should have been saved. I have a stepmother who has bewitched me, and I am now a white bear by day and a man by night. But now all is over between us, and I must leave you and go back to her; she lives in a castle which lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and in the same castle there is a princess with a nose two yards long, and now I must marry her."
She wept and cried, but there was no help for it; he must go and leave her. So she asked him if she might not go with him. No, that was impossible!—"But if you will tell me the way, I will try and find you," she said. "I suppose I may have leave to do that!"—Yes, she could do that, he said, but there was no road to that place; it lay east of the sun and west of the moon, and she could never find her way there.
Next morning when she awoke, both the prince and the castle were gone; she lay on a little green field far in the middle of the dark, thick forest, and by her side lay the same bundle with her old rags, which she had brought with her from home. When she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and wept till she was tired, she set out on her way and walked for many, many a day, till she at last came to a big mountain.
Close to it an old woman sat and played with a golden apple. She asked her if she knew the way to the prince who lived with his stepmother in a castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon, and who was going to marry a princess with a nose two yards long.
"How do you know him?" asked the old woman, "perhaps it was you who should have had him?"
Yes, it was she. "Ah, indeed! is that you?" said the woman; "well, all I know is that he lives in that castle which lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and thither you will come late or never; but I will lend you my horse and on him you can ride to my neighbor, an old friend of mine; perhaps she can tell you. When you have got there, just give my horse a blow with your whip under the left ear and ask him to go home again;—and you had better take this golden apple with you."
So she got up on the horse and rode a long, long time till she at last came to a mountain, where an old woman was sitting with a golden carding-comb. She asked her if she knew the way to the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon. She answered like the first old woman, that she didn't know anything about it, but it was sure to be east of the sun and west of the moon, "and thither you will come, early or late, but I will lend you my horse as far as my neighbor; perhaps she can tell you. When you have got there, just give my horse a blow under the left ear and ask him to go home again." And the old woman gave her the golden carding-comb, which might come in useful for her.
The young girl got up on the horse and rode for a long, long, weary time, and came at last to a large mountain, where an old woman wassitting and spinning on a golden spinning-wheel. She asked her if she knew the way to the prince, and where the castle was that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. And so came the same question: "Perhaps it is you who should have had the prince?"—Yes, it was! But the old woman knew the way no better than the other two. It was east of the sun and west of the moon,—She knew that,—"and thither you will come, early or late," she said, "but I will lend you my horse, and I think you had better ride to the east wind and ask him. Perhaps he is known about those parts and can blow you there. When you have got there, just touch the horse under the ear and he'll go home again." And so she gave her the golden spinning-wheel. "You might find use for it," said the old woman.
She rode on many days for a long, weary time before she got to the east wind, but after a long time she did reach it, and so she asked him if he could tell her the way to the prince, who lived east of the sun and west of the moon. Yes, he had heard tell of that prince, said the east wind, and of the castle too, but he didn't know the way thither, for he had never blown so far. "But if you like, I'll go with you to my brother, the west wind. Perhaps he may know it, for he is muchstronger. Just get up on my back and I'll carry you thither."
Yes, she did so, and away they went at a great speed. When they got to the west wind, they went in to him, and the east wind told him that his companion was the one who should have had the prince who lived in the castle, which lay east of the sun and west of the moon; she was now on her way to find him again, and so he had gone with her to hear if the west wind knew where that castle was.
"No, I have never blown so far," said the west wind, "but if you like I'll go with you to the south wind, for he is much stronger than any of us, and he has been far and wide; perhaps he may tell you. You had better sit up on my back and I'll carry you thither."
Well, she got on his back, and off they started for the south wind; they weren't long on the way, I can tell you! When they got there, the west wind asked his brother if he could tell him the way to that castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon. His companion was the one who should have had the prince who lived there.
"Oh, indeed!" said the south wind, "is that she? Well, I have been to many a nook and corner in my time, but so far I have never blown. But if you like, I'll go with you to my brother, the north wind; he is theoldest and strongest of all of us, and if he doesn't know where it is you will never be able to find any one who can tell you. Just get up on my back and I'll carry you thither."
Yes, she sat up on his back, and away they went at such a rate, that the way didn't seem to be very long.
When they got to where the north wind lived he was so wild and unruly that cold gusts were felt a long way off. "What do you want?" he shouted from far away, but still it made them shiver all over.
"Oh, you needn't be so very harsh," said the south wind, "it's I, your own brother; and then I have got her with me who should have had the prince who lives in that castle which lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and she wants to ask you if you have ever been there and if you can tell her the way. She is very anxious to find him again."
"Well, yes, I do know where it is," said the north wind; I once blew an aspen leaf thither, but I was so tired that I wasn't able to blow for many days after. But if you really intend going there and you are not afraid to come with me, I will take you on my back and try if I can blow you so far."—Yes, she was willing; she must go thither, if it were possible, one way or another, and she wasn't a bit afraid, go howit would.
"Very well!" said the north wind, "you must stop here to-night then, for we must have a whole day before us and perhaps more, if we are to reach it."
Early next morning the north wind called her, and then he blew himself out and made himself so big and strong that he was terrible to look at. Away they went, high up through the air at such a fearful speed, as if they were going to the end of the world. There was such a hurricane on land that trees and houses were blown down, and when they came out on the big sea, ships were wrecked by hundreds. And onwards they swept, so far, far, that no one would believe how far they went, and still farther and farther out to sea, till the north wind got more and more tired and so used up that he was scarcely able to give another blow, and was sinking and going down more and more; and at last they were so low that the tops of the billows touched their heels.
"Are you afraid?" said the north wind.—"No," she said, she wasn't a bit afraid. But they were not so very far from land either, and the north wind had just sufficient strength left to reach the shore and put her off just under the windows of the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon; but he was then so tired and worn out that hehad to rest for many days before he could start on his way home again.
Next morning she sat down under the castle windows, and began playing with the golden apple, and the first one she saw was the princess with the long nose, whom the prince was going to marry.
"What do you want for that golden apple of yours?" she asked, and opened the casement.—"It is not for sale, neither for gold nor money," said the girl.—"If it isn't for sale for gold or money, what do you want for it then?" said the princess; "I'll give you what you ask!"—"Well, if I to-night may sit in the arm-chair by the bedside of the prince who lives here, you shall have it," said the girl who came with the north wind.—Yes, she might do that, there would be no difficulty about that.
So the princess got the golden apple; but when the girl came up into the prince's bedroom in the evening, he was fast asleep; she called him and shook him, and now and then she cried and wept; but no, she could not wake him up so that she might speak to him. Next morning, as soon as the day dawned, the princess with the long nose came and turned her out of the room.
Later in the day she sat down under the castle windows and began carding with her golden carding-comb, and then the same thing happened again. The princess asked her what she wanted for the carding-comb, and she told her that it wasn't for sale, neither for gold nor money, but if she might get leave to sit in the arm-chair by the prince's bedside that night, she should have it. But when she came up into the bedroom she found him fast asleep again, and for all she cried and shook him, for all she wept, he slept so soundly that she could not get life into him; and when the day dawned in the early morning, in came the princess with the long nose and turned her out of the room again.
So as the day wore on, she sat down under the castle windows and began spinning on the spinning-wheel, and that the princess with the long nose wanted also to have. She opened the casement and asked the girl what she wanted for it. The girl told her, as she had done twice before, that it was not for sale, either for gold or money, but if she might sit in the arm-chair by the prince's bedside that night, she should have it. Yes, she might do that. But there were some Christian people who had been carried off and were imprisoned in the room next to the prince's, and they had heard that some woman had been in his roomand wept and cried and called his name two nights running, and this they told the prince.
In the evening, when the princess came and brought him his drink, he made appear as if he drank, but he threw it over his shoulder, for he felt sure she had put a sleeping draught in his drink.
So when the girl came into his room that night she found the prince wide awake, and then she told him how she had come there. "You have just come in time," said the prince, "for to-morrow I was to be married to the princess; but I won't have that Long-nose, and you are the only one that can save me. I will say that I want to see what my bride can do, and if she is fit to be my wife; then I will ask her to wash the shirt with the three tallow stains on it. She will try, for she does not know that it is you who dropped the tallow on the shirt; but that can only be done by Christian folks, and not by a pack of trolls like we have in this place; and so I will say that I will not have anybody else for a bride except the one who can wash the shirt clean, and I know you can do that." And they felt very glad and happy, and they went on talking all night about the joyful time in store for them.
The next day, when the wedding was to take place, the prince said: "I think I must see first what my bride can do!"—"Yes, quite so!" said the stepmother.
"I have got a very fine shirt, which I am going to use for my wedding shirt; but there are three tallow stains on it which I want washed out; and I have made a vow that I will not take any other woman for a wife than the one who is able to do that; if she cannot do that, she is not worth having," said the prince.
"Well, that was easy enough," said the stepmother and agreed to this trial. Well, the princess with the long nose set to washing the best she could, but the more she washed the bigger grew the stains. "Why, you cannot wash," said the old witch, her stepmother; "let me try!"—but no sooner did she take the shirt than it got still worse, and the more she washed and rubbed the bigger and blacker the stains grew.
So did the other trolls try their hands at washing, but the longer they worked at it the dirtier the shirt grew, till at last it looked as if it had been up the chimney. "Ah, you are not worth anything, the whole lot of you!" said the prince; "there's a poor girl under the window just outside here, and I am sure she can wash much better than any ofyou. Come in, my girl!" he shouted out to her.—Yes, she would come in.—"Can you wash this shirt clean?" asked the prince.—"Well, I don't know," she said, "but I will try."
And no sooner had she taken the shirt and dipped it in the water, than it was as white as the driven snow, if not whiter. "Yes, you shall be my wife," said the prince. But the old witch flew into such a rage that she burst; and the princess with the long nose and all the trolls must have burst also, for I never heard of them since. The prince and his bride then set free all the people who had been carried off and imprisoned there, and so they took as much gold and silver with them as they could carry, and moved far away from the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon.