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A little later they came upon a bird struggling vainly to escape from a net in which it was caught.
“Cut the net and set that poor bird free,” said the wise mare.
Upon N’Oun Doare doing so the bird paused before it flew away and said:
“I am the King of the Birds, N’Oun Doare. I will never forget the service you have rendered me, and if ever you are in trouble and need my aid you have only to call me and I shall fly swiftly to help you.”
As they went on their way N’Oun Doare’s wonderful mare crossed mountains, forests, vast seas, and streams with a swiftness and ease that was amazing. Soon they beheld the walls of the Château of the Golden Bell rising before them, and as they drew near they could hear a most confused and terrible noise coming from it, which shook N’Oun Doare’s courage and made him rather fearful of entering it. Near the door a being of the most curious aspect was hung to a tree by a chain, and this peculiar individual had as many horns on his body as there are days in the year.
“Cut that unfortunate man down,” said the mare. “Will you not give him his freedom?”
“I am too much afraid to approach him,” said N’Oun Doare, alarmed at the man’s appearance.
“Do not fear,” said the sagacious animal; “he will not harm you in any manner.”
N’Oun Doare did so, and the stranger thanked him most gratefully, bidding him, as the others whom he had rescued had done, if he ever required help to call upon Grifescorne, King of the Demons, for that was his name, and he would be with him immediately.
“Enter the château boldly and without fear,” said the112mare, “and I will await you in the wood yonder. After the Princess Golden Bell has welcomed you she will show you all the curiosities and marvels of her dwelling. Tell her you have a horse without an equal, which can dance most beautifully the dances of every land. Say that your steed will perform them for her diversion if she will come and behold it in the forest.”
Everything fell out as the mare had said, and the Princess was delighted and amused by the mare’s dancing.
“If you were to mount her,” said N’Oun Doare, “I vow she would dance even more wonderfully than before!”
The Princess after a moment’s hesitation did so. In an instant the adventurous youth was by her side, and the horse sped through the air, so that in a short space they found themselves flying over the sea.
“You have tricked me!” cried the infuriated damsel. “But do not imagine that you are at the end of your troubles; and,” she added viciously, “you will have cause to lament more than once ere I wed the old King of France.”
They arrived promptly at Paris, where N’Oun Doare presented the lovely Princess to the monarch, saying:
“Sire, I have brought to you the Princess Golden Bell, whom you desire to make your wife.”
N’OUN DOARE AND THE PRINCESS GOLDEN BELL
N’OUN DOARE AND THE PRINCESS GOLDEN BELL
The King was dazed by the wondrous beauty of the Princess, and was eager for the marriage to take place immediately, but this the royal maiden would not hear of, and declared petulantly that she would not be wed until she had a ring which she had left behind her at her château, in a cabinet of which she had lost the key.
Summoning N’Oun Doare, the King charged him with113the task of finding the ring. The unfortunate youth returned to his wise mare, feeling much cast down.
“Why,” said the mare, “foolish one! do you not remember the King of the Birds whom you rescued? Call upon him, and mayhap he will aid you as he promised to do.”
With a return of hope N’Oun Doare did as he was bid, and immediately the royal bird was with him, and asked him in what way he could help him. Upon N’Oun Doare explaining his difficulty, the Bird-King summoned all his subjects, calling each one by name. They came, but none of them appeared to be small enough to enter the cabinet by way of the keyhole, which was the only means of entrance. The wren was decided to be the only bird with any chance of success, and he set out for the château.
Eventually, with much difficulty and the loss of the greater part of his feathers, the bird procured the ring, and flew back with it to Paris. N’Oun Doare hastened to present the ring to the Princess.
“Now, fair one,” said the impatient King, “why delay our wedding longer?”
“Nay,” said she, pouting discontentedly, “there is one thing that I wish, and without it I will do nothing.”
“What do you desire? You have only to speak and it shall bebrought.”
“Well, transport my château with all it contains opposite to yours.”
“What!” cried the King, aghast. “Impossible!”
“Well, then, it is just as impossible that I should marry you, for without my château I shall not consent.”
For a second time the King gave N’Oun Doare what seemed an insurmountable task.
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“Now indeed I am as good as lost!” lamented the youth as they came to the château and he saw its massive walls towering above him.
“Call Grifescorne, King of the Demons, to your assistance,” suggested the wise mare.
With the aid of the Demon-King and his subjects N’Oun Doare’s task was again accomplished, and he and his mare followed the demon army to Paris, where they arrived as soon as it did.
In the morning the people of Paris were struck dumb to see a wonderful palace, its golden towers flashing in the sun, rising opposite to the royal residence.
“We shall be married at last, shall we not?” asked the King.
“Yes,” replied the Princess, “but how shall I enter my château and show you its wonders without a key, for I dropped it in the sea when N’Oun Doare and his horse carried me over it.”
Once more was the youth charged with the task, and through the aid of the Fish-King was able to procure the key, which was cut from a single diamond. None of the fishes had seen it, but at last the oldest fish, who had not appeared when his name was pronounced, came forward and produced it from his mouth.
With a glad heart the successful N’Oun Doare returned to Paris, and as the Princess had now no more excuses to make the day of the wedding was fixed and the ceremony was celebrated with much splendour. To the astonishment of all, when the King and his betrothed entered the church N’Oun Doare followed behind with his mare. At the conclusion of the ceremony the mare’s skin suddenly fell to the ground, disclosing a maiden of the most wonderful beauty.
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Smiling upon the bewildered N’Oun Doare, the damsel gave him her hand and said: “Come with me to Tartary, for the king of that land is my father, and there we shall be wed amid great rejoicing.”
Leaving the amazed King and wedding guests, the pair quitted the church together. More might have been told of them, but Tartary is a far land and no news of them has of late years reached Brittany.
There was once an old charcoal-burner who had twenty-six grandchildren. For twenty-five of them he had no great difficulty in procuring godparents, but for the twenty-sixth—that, alas! was a different story. Godmothers, indeed, were to be found in plenty, but he could not find anyone to act as godfather.
As he wandered disconsolately along the high road, dwelling on his bad luck, he saw a fine carriage coming toward him, its occupant no less a personage than the King himself. The old man made an obeisance so low that the King was amused, and threw him a handful of silver.
“My good man,” he said, “here are alms for you.”
“Your Majesty,” replied the charcoal-burner, “I do not desire alms. I am unhappy because I cannot find a godfather for my twenty-sixth grandchild.”
The King considered the matter.
“I myself will be godfather to the child,” he said at length. “Tell me when it is to be baptized and I will meet you at the church.”
The old man was delighted beyond measure, and in due time he and his relatives brought the child to be baptized. When they reached the church, sure enough,116there was the King waiting to take part in the ceremony, and in his honour the child was named Charles. Before taking leave the King gave to the charcoal-burner the half of a coin which he had broken in two. This Charles on reaching his eighteenth birthday was to convey to the Court at Paris, as a token whereby his godfather should know him. His Majesty also left a thousand crowns, which were to be utilized in the education and general upbringing of the child.
Time passed and Charles attained his eighteenth birthday. Taking the King’s token, he set out for the royal abode. As he went he encountered an old man, who warned him on no account to drink from a certain well which he would pass on his way. The lad promised to regard the warning, but ere he reached the well he had forgotten it.
A man sat by the side of the well.
“You are hot and tired,” he said, feigning courtesy, “will you not stop to drink?”
The water was cool and inviting. Charles bent his head and drank thirstily. And while he drank the stranger robbed him of his token; but this he did not know till afterward.
Gaily Charles resumed his way, while the thief went to Paris by a quicker route and got there before him.
Boldly the thief demanded audience of the King, and produced the token so wickedly come by. The sovereign ordered the other half of the coin to be brought out, and lo! they fitted exactly. And because the thief had a plausible face the good King did not doubt that he was indeed his godson. He therefore had him treated with all honour and respect, and bestowed gifts upon him lavishly.
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Meanwhile Charles had arrived in Paris, and, finding that he had been deprived of his only means of proving his identity to the King, he accepted the situation philosophically and set about earning his living. He succeeded in obtaining a post as herdsman on the royal estates.
One day the robber was greatly disconcerted to find the real Charles at the very gates of the palace. He determined to be rid of him once for all, so he straightway approached the King.
“Your Majesty, there is a man among your retainers who has said that he will demand of the sun why it is so red at sunrise.”
“He is indeed a foolish fellow,” said the King. “Our decree is that he shall carry out his rash boast to-morrow ere sunset, or, if it be but idle folly, lose his head on the following morning.”
The thief was delighted with the success of his plot. Poor Charles was summoned before the King and bidden to ask the sun why he was so red at sunrise. In vain he denied having uttered the speech. Had not the King the word of his godson?
Next morning Charles set out on his journey. Ere he had gone very far he met an old man who asked him his errand, and afterward gave him a wooden horse on which to ride to the sun. Charles thought this but a sorry joke. However, no sooner had he mounted his wooden steed than it rose into the air and flew with him to where the sun’s castle towered on the peak of a lofty mountain.
To the sun, a resplendent warrior, Charles addressed his query.
“In the morning,” said the sun, “I pass the castle of the118Princess of Tronkolaine, and she is so lovely that I must needs look my best.”
Charles, mounted on his wooden horse, flew with this answer to Paris. The King was satisfied, but the thief gnashed his teeth in secret rage, and plotted yet further against the youth.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “this herdsman who tends your herds has said that he will lead hither the Princess of Tronkolaine to be your bride.”
“If he has said so,” replied the King, “he shall lead her hither or forfeit his life.”
“Alas!” thought Charles, when he learned of the plot, “I must bid farewell to my life—there is no hope for me!”
All the same he set out boldly enough, and by and by encountered the old man who had helped him on his previous mission. To him Charles confided his troubles, begging for advice and assistance.
The old man pondered.
“Return to the Court,” he said, “and ask the King to give you three ships, one laden with oatmeal, another with bacon, and the third with salt meat. Then sail on till you come to an island covered with ants. To their monarch, the Ant-King, make a present of the cargo of oatmeal. He will direct you to a second island, whereon dwell fierce lions. Fear them not. Present your cargo of bacon to their King and he will become your friend. Yet a third island you will touch, inhabited only by sparrow-hawks. Give to their King your cargo of salt meat and he will show you the abode of the Princess.”
Charles thanked the sage for his advice, which he promptly proceeded to follow. The King granted him119the three ships, and he sailed away in search of the Princess.
When he came to the first island, which was swarming with ants, he gave up his cargo of grain, and so won the friendship of the little creatures. At the second island he unloaded the bacon, which he presented to the King of the Lions; while at the third he gave up the salt beef to the King of the Sparrow-hawks, who directed him how to come at the object of his quest. Each monarch bade Charles summon him instantly if he had need of assistance.
Setting sail from the island of the sparrow-hawks, the youth arrived at length at the abode of the Princess.
She was seated under an orange-tree, and as Charles gazed upon her he thought her the most beautiful woman in the world, as indeed she was.
The Princess, looking up, beheld a comely youth, beneath whose ardent gaze her eyes fell. Smiling graciously, she invited him into her castle, and he, nothing loath, followed her into the great hall, where tempting viands were spread before him.
When he had supped he made known his errand to the Princess, and begged her to accompany him to Paris. She agreed only on condition that he would perform three tasks set him, and when Charles was curious to know what was required of him she led him into another room where was a large heap of every kind of seed—corn, barley, clover, flax—all mixed up anyhow.
“This is the first task,” said the Princess: “you must put each kind of seed into a different heap, so that no single seed shall be out of its place. This you must accomplish ere to-morrow at sunrise.” With that she left the room.
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Charles was in despair, until he bethought him of his friend the King of the Ants, whom he begged to help him. Scarcely had he uttered the words when ants began to fill the room, coming from he knew not where. In less time than it takes to tell they had arranged the seeds into separate heaps, so that no single seed was out of its place.
When the Princess arrived in the morning she was astonished to find the hero fast asleep and the work accomplished. All day she entertained him hospitably in her castle, and at nightfall she showed him the second task. An avenue of great oaks led down from the castle. Giving him a wooden axe and a wooden saw, the Princess bade him cut down all the trees ere morning.
When she had left him Charles called upon the King of the Lions. Instantly a number of lions bounded upon the scene, and with teeth and claws soon performed the task.
In the morning the Princess, finding Charles asleep and all the trees cut down, was more astonished than ever.
The third task was the most difficult of all. A high mountain had to be levelled to the plain in a single night. Without the help of the sparrow-hawks, Charles would certainly have failed, but these faithful creatures worked with a will, and soon had the great mountain carried away piece by piece and dropped into the sea.
When the Princess came for the third time and found the hero asleep by the finished task she fell in love with him straightway, and kissed him softly on the brow.
There was now nothing further to hinder his return, and he begged the Princess to accompany him to Paris. In due time they arrived in that city, to be welcomed121with great warmth by the people. The beauty of the lady won all hearts. But great was the general astonishment when she declared that she would marry, not the King, but the youth who had brought her to Paris! Charles thereupon declared himself the true godson of the King, and the monarch, far from being angry, gave the couple his blessing and great estates; and when in course of time he died they reigned in his stead.
As for the thief, he was ordered to execution forthwith, and was roasted to death in a large oven.
This is another tale which introduces the search for the sun-princess in a peculiar setting.
In the long ago there lived near the Lake of Léguer a jolly miller who found recreation after his work in shooting the wild swans and ducks which frequented that stretch of water. One December day, when it was freezing hard and the earth was covered with snow, he observed a solitary duck near the edge of the lake. He shot at it, and went forward to pick it up, when he saw to his amazement that it had changed into a beautiful princess. He was ready to drop into the snow with fright, but the lady came graciously forward to him, saying:
“Fear not, my brave fellow, for know that I have been enchanted these many years under the form of a wild duck, because of the enmity of three malicious demons. You can restore me permanently to my human shape if you choose to show only alittleperseverance and courage.”
“Why, what do you desire me to do, madam?”122stammered the miller, abashed by the lady’s beauty and condescension.
“What only a brave man could accomplish, my friend,” she replied; “all that you have to do is to pass three consecutive nights in the old manor which you can see over there.”
The miller shuddered, for he had heard the most terrible stories in connexion with the ruined manor, which had an evil name in the district.
“Alas! madam,” he said, “whom might I not encounter there! Even the devil himself——”
“My good friend,” said the Princess, sadly, “if you do as I ask you will have to encounter not one but a dozen devils, who will torment you in every possible way. But fear nothing, for I can provide you with a magic ointment which will preserve you entirely from all the injuries they would attempt to inflict upon you. Even if you were dead I could resuscitate you. I assure you that if you will do as I ask you will never regret it. Beneath the hearthstone in the hall of the manor are three casks of gold and three of silver, and all these will belong to you and to me if you assist me; so put your courage to the proof, I pray you.”
The miller squared his shoulders. “Lady,” he said, “I will obey you, even if I have to face a hundred devils instead of twelve.”
The Princess smiled encouragingly and disappeared. On the following night the miller set out for the old manor, carrying a bundle of faggots to make a fire, and some cider and tobacco to refresh him during his vigil. When he arrived in the dismal old place he sat himself down by the hearth, where he had built a good fire, and lit his pipe. But he had scarcely done so when he123heard a most tremendous commotion in the chimney. Somewhat scared, he hid himself under an old bed which stood opposite the hearth, and, gazing anxiously from his place of concealment, beheld eleven grisly fiends descend from the flue. They seemed astonished to find a fire on the hearth, and did not appear to be in the best of tempers.
“Where is Boiteux?” cried one. “Oh,” growled another, who appeared to be the chief of the band, “he is always late.”
“Ah, behold him,” said a third, as Boiteux arrived by the same road as his companions.
“Well, comrades,” cried Boiteux, “have you heard the news?” The others shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads sulkily.
“Well,” said Boiteux, “I am convinced that the miller of Léguer is here, and that he is trying to free the Princess from the enchantment which we have placed upon her.”
A hurried search at once took place, the demons scrambling from one part of the room to the other, tearing down the curtains and making every effort to discover the hiding-place of the intruder. At last Boiteux, peering under the bed, saw the miller crouching there, and cried out: “Here is the rogue beneath the bed.”
The unlucky miller was then seized by the foot and dragged into the shrieking and leaping circle. With a gesture of command the chief demon subdued the antics of his followers.
“So, my jolly miller,” said he, “our friend the Princess has found a champion in you, has she? Well, we are going to have some sport with you, which I fear will124not be quite to your taste, but I can assure you that you will not again have the opportunity of assisting a princess in distress.”
With this he seized the miller and thrust him from him with great force. As he flew like a stone from a sling, another of the fiends seized him, and the unhappy man was thrown violently about from one to the other. At last they threw him out of the window into the courtyard, and as he did not move they thought that he was dead. But in the midst of their laughter and rejoicing at the easy manner in which they had got rid of him, cockcrow sounded, and the diabolic company swiftly disappeared. They had scarcely taken their departure when the Princess arrived. She tenderly anointed the miller’s hurts from the little pot of magic ointment she had brought with her, and, nothing daunted, now that he was thoroughly revived, the bold fellow announced his intention of seeing the matter through and remaining in the manor for the two following nights.
He had scarcely ensconced himself in his seat by the chimney-side on the second night when the twelve fiends came tumbling down the chimney as before. At one end of the room was a large heap of wood, behind which the miller quickly took refuge.
“I smell the smell of a Christian!” cried Boiteux. A search followed, and once more the adventurous miller was dragged forth.
“Oho!” cried the leader, “so you are not dead after all! Well, I can assure you that we shall not botch our work on this occasion.”
One of the grisly company placed a large cauldron of oil upon the fire, and when this was boiling they seized their victim and thrust him into it. The most dreadful125agony seized the miller as the liquid seethed around his body, and he was just about to faint under the intensity of the torture when once again the cock crew and the fiendish band took themselves off. The Princess quickly appeared, and, drawing the miller from the cauldron, smeared him from head to foot with the ointment.
On the third night the devils once more found the miller in the apartment. In dismay Boiteux suggested that he should be roasted on a spit and eaten, but unluckily for them they took a long time to come to this conclusion, and when they were about to impale their victim on the spit, the cock crew and they were forced to withdraw, howling in baffled rage. The Princess arrived as before, and was delighted to see that this time her champion did not require any assistance.
“All is well now,” she said. “You have freed me from my enchantment and the treasure is ours.”
They raised the hearthstone from its place, and, as she had said, the three casks of gold and the three casks of silver were found resting beneath it.
“Take what you wish for yourself,” said the Princess. “As for me, I cannot stay here; I must at once make a journey which will last a year and a day, after which we shall never part again.”
With these words she disappeared. The miller was grieved at her departure, but, consoling himself with the treasure, made over his mill to his apprentice and, apprising one of his companions of his good luck, resolved to go upon a journey with him, until such time as the Princess should return. He visited the neighbouring countries, and, with plenty of money at his disposal, found existence very pleasant indeed. After126some eight months of this kind of life, he and his friend resolved to return to Brittany, and set out on their journey. One day they encountered on the road an old woman selling apples. She asked them to buy, but the miller was advised by his friend not to pay any heed to her. Ignoring the well-meant advice, the miller laughed and bought three apples. He had scarcely eaten one when he became unwell. Recalling how the fruit had disagreed with him, he did not touch the other apples until the day on which the Princess had declared she would return. When on the way to the manor to meet her, he ate the second apple. He began to feel sleepy, and, lying down at the foot of a tree, fell into a deep slumber.
Soon after the Princess arrived in a beautiful star-coloured chariot drawn by ten horses. When she saw the miller lying sleeping she inquired of his friend what had chanced to him. The man acquainted her with the adventure of the apples, and the Princess told him that the old woman from whom he had purchased them was a sorceress.
“Alas!” she said, “I am unable to take him with me in this condition, but I will come to this place to-morrow and again on the following day, and if he be awake I will transport him hence in my chariot. Here are a golden pear and a handkerchief; give him these and tell him that I will come again.”
She disappeared in her star-coloured equipage. Shortly afterward the miller wakened, and his friend told him what had occurred and gave him the pear and the kerchief. The next day the friends once more repaired to the spot where the Princess had vanished, but in thoughtlessness the miller had eaten of the third apple,127and once more the Princess found him asleep. In sorrow she promised to return next day for the last time, once more leaving a golden pear and a handkerchief with his friend, to whom she said:
“If he is not awake when I come to-morrow he will have to cross three powers and three seas in order to find me.”
Unluckily, however, the miller was still asleep when the Princess appeared on the following day. She repeated what she had said to his friend concerning the ordeal that the unfortunate miller would have to face before he might see her again, and ere she took her departure left a third pear and a third handkerchief behind her. When the miller awoke and found that she had gone he went nearly crazy with grief, but nevertheless he declared his unalterable intention of regaining the Princess, even if he should have to travel to the ends of the earth in search of her. Accordingly he set out to find her abode. He walked and walked innumerable miles, until at last he came to a great forest. As he arrived at its gloomy borders night fell, and he considered it safest to climb a tree, from which, to his great satisfaction, he beheld a light shining in the distance. Descending, he walked in the direction of the light, and found a tiny hut made of the branches of trees, in which sat a little old man with a long white beard.
“Good evening, grandfather,” said the miller.
“Good evening, my child,” replied the old man. “I behold you with pleasure, for it is eighty years since I have seen any human being.”
The miller entered the hut and sat down beside the old man, and after some conversation told him the object of his journey.
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“I will help you, my son,” said the ancient. “Do you see these enchanted gaiters? Well, I wore them at your age. When you buckle them over your legs you will be able to travel seven leagues at a single step, and you will arrive without any difficulty at the castle of the Princess you desire so much to see again.”
The miller passed the night in the hut with the old hermit, and on the following morning, with the rising of the sun, buckled on the magic gaiters and stepped out briskly. All went well to begin with, nothing arrested his progress, and he sped over rivers, forests, and mountains. As the sun was setting he came to the borders of a second forest, where he observed a second hut, precisely similar to that in which he had passed the previous night. Going toward it, he found it occupied by an aged woman, of whom he demanded supper and lodging.
“Alas! my son,” said the old woman, “you do ill to come here, for I have three sons, terrible fellows, who will be here presently, and I am certain that if you remain they will devour you.”
The miller asked the names of the sons, and was informed by the old woman that they were January, February, and March. From this he concluded that the crone he was addressing was none other than the mother of the winds, and on asking her if this was so she admitted that he had judged correctly. While they were talking there was a terrible commotion in the chimney, from which descended an enormous giant with white hair and beard, breathing out clouds of frost.
“Aha!” he cried, “I see, mother, that you have not neglected to provide for my supper!”
“Softly, softly, good son,” said the old dame; “this is129little Yves, my nephew and your cousin; you must not eat him.” The giant, who seemed greatly annoyed, retired into a corner, growling. Shortly afterward his brothers, February and March, arrived, and were told the same tale regarding the miller’s relationship to them.
Our hero, resolved to profit by the acquaintanceship, asked the gigantic February if he would carry him to the palace of the Princess, whom he described.
“Ah,” said February, “without doubt you speak of the Princess Starbright. If you wish I will give you a lift on my back part of the way.”
The miller gratefully accepted the offer, and in the morning mounted on the back of the mighty wind-giant, who carried him over a great sea. Then, after traversing much land and a second ocean, and while crossing a third spacious water, February expressed himself as quite fatigued and said that he could not carry his new cousin any farther. The miller glanced beneath him at the great waste of waters and begged him to make an effort to reach the land on the other side. Giving vent to a deep-throated grumble, February obeyed, and at last set him down outside the walls of the town where the castle of the Princess Starbright was situated. The miller entered the town and came to an inn, and, having dined, entered into conversation with the hostess, asking her the news of the place.
“Why,” said the woman, amazed, “where do you come from that you don’t know that the Princess Starbright is to be married to-day, and to a husband that she does not love? The wedding procession will pass the door in a few moments on its way to the church.”
The miller was greatly downcast at these words, but130plucking up courage he placed on a little table before the inn the first of the pears and handkerchiefs that the Princess had left with his friend. Shortly afterward the wedding procession passed, and the Princess immediately remarked the pear and the kerchief, and also recognized the miller standing close by. She halted, and, feigning illness, begged that the ceremony might be postponed until the morrow. Having returned to the palace, she sent one of her women to purchase the fruit and the handkerchief, and these the miller gave the maiden without question. On the following day the same thing happened, and on the third occasion of the Princess’s passing the same series of events occurred. This time the Princess sent for the miller, and the pair embraced tenderly and wept with joy at having recovered each other.
Now the Princess was as clever as she was beautiful, and she had a stratagem by which she hoped to marry the miller without undue opposition on the part of her friends. So she procured the marriage garments of the prince, herfiancé, and attiring the miller in them, took him to the marriage feast, which had been prepared for the fourth time at a late hour; but she hid her lover in a secluded corner from the public gaze. After a while she pretended to be looking for something, and upon being asked what she had lost, replied:
“I have a beautiful coffer, but, alas! I have lost the key of it. I have found a new key, but it does not fit the casket; should I not search until I have recovered the old one?”
“Without doubt!” cried every one. Then the Princess, going to the place where the miller was concealed, led him forth by the hand.
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“My lords and gentles,” she said, “the coffer I spoke of is my heart; here is the one key that can fit it, the key that I had lost and have found again.”
The Princess and the miller were married amid universal rejoicings; and some time after the ceremony they did not fail to revisit the Lake of Léguer, the scene of their first meeting, the legend of which still clings like the mists of evening to its shores.
This quaint and curious tale, in which the native folk-lore and French elements are so strangely mingled, deals, like its predecessor, with the theme of the search for the fairy princess. We turn now to another tale of quest with somewhat similar incidents, where the solar nature of one of the characters is perhaps more obvious—the quest for the mortal maiden who has been carried off by the sun-hero. We refrain in this place from indicating the mythological basis which underlies such a tale as this, as such a phenomenon is already amply illustrated in other works in this series.
There once lived a peasant who had seven children, six of them boys and the seventh a girl. They were very poor and all had to work hard for a living, but the drudges of the family were the youngest son, Yvon, and his sister, Yvonne. Because they were gentler and more delicate than the others, they were looked upon as poor, witless creatures, and all the hardest work was given them to do. But the children comforted each other, and became but the better favoured as they grew up.
One day when Yvonne was taking the cattle to pasture she encountered a handsome youth, so splendidly garbed132that her simple heart was filled with awe and admiration. To her astonishment he addressed her and courteously begged her hand in marriage. “To-morrow,” he said, “I shall meet you here at this hour, and you shall give me an answer.”
Troubled, yet secretly happy, Yvonne made her way home, and told her parents all that had chanced. At first they laughed her to scorn, and refused to believe her story of the handsome prince, but when at length they were convinced they told her she was free to marry whom she would.
On the following day Yvonne betook herself to the trysting-place, where her lover awaited her, even more gloriously resplendent than on the occasion of his first coming. The very trappings of his horse were of gleaming gold. At Yvonne’s request he accompanied her to her home, and made arrangements with her kindred for the marriage. To all inquiries regarding his name and place of abode he returned that these should be made known on the wedding morning.
Time passed, and on the day appointed the glittering stranger came to claim his wife. The ceremony over, he swept her into a carriage and was about to drive away, when her brothers reminded him of his promise to reveal his identity.
“Where must we go to visit our sister?” they asked.
“Eastward,” he replied, “to a palace built of crystal, beyond the Sea of Darkness.”
And with that the pair were gone.
A year elapsed, and the brothers neither saw nor heard anything of their sister, so that at length they decided to go in search of her. Yvon would have accompanied them, but they bade him stay at home.
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“You are so stupid,” they said, “you would be of no use to us.”
Eastward they rode, and ever eastward, till at length they found themselves in the heart of a great forest. Then night came on and they lost the path. Twice a great noise, like the riot of a tempest, swept over their heads, leaving them trembling and stricken with panic.
By and by they came upon an old woman tending a great fire, and of her they inquired how they might reach the abode of their brother-in-law.
“I cannot tell,” said the old woman, “but my son may be able to direct you.”
For the third time they heard the noise as of a great wind racing over the tree-tops.
“Hush!” said the old woman, “it is my son approaching.”
He was a huge giant, this son of hers, and when he drew near the fire he said loudly:
“Oh ho! I smell the blood of a Christian!”
“What!” cried his mother sharply. “Would you eat your pretty cousins, who have come so far to visit us?”
At that the giant became quite friendly toward his ‘cousins,’ and when he learned of their mission even offered to conduct them part of the way.
Notwithstanding his amiability, however, the brothers spent an anxious night, and were up betimes on the following morning.
The giant made ready for departure. First of all he bade the old woman pile fresh fuel on the fire. Then he spread a great black cloth, on which he made the brothers stand. Finally he strode into the fire, and when his clothes were consumed the black cloth rose134into the air, bearing the brothers with it. Its going was marked by the sound of rushing wind which had terrified them on the preceding day. At length they alighted on a vast plain, half of which was rich and fertile, while the other half was bleak and arid as a desert. The plain was dotted with horses, and, curiously enough, those on the arid side were in splendid condition, whereas those on the fertile part were thin and miserable.
The brothers had not the faintest idea of which direction they ought to take, and after a vain attempt to mount the horses on the plain they decided to return home. After many wanderings they arrived at their native place once more.
When Yvon learned of the ill-success which had attended their mission he decided to go himself in search of his sister, and though his brothers laughed at him they gave him an old horse and bade him go.
Eastward and eastward he rode, till at length he reached the forest where the old woman still tended the fire. Seeing that he was strong and fearless, she directed him by a difficult and dangerous road, which, however, he must pursue if he wished to see his sister.
It was indeed a place of terrors. Poisonous serpents lay across his track; ugly thorns and briers sprang underfoot; at one point a lake barred his way.
Finally a subterranean passage led him into his sister’s country, where everything was of crystal, shining with the splendour of the sun itself. At the end of a gleaming pathway rose a castle built entirely of crystal, its innumerable domes and turrets reflecting the light in a thousand prismatic hues.
Having gained access to the castle through a cave, Yvon wandered through its many beautiful chambers,135till in one of these he came upon his sister asleep on a silken couch.
Entranced with her beauty, and not daring to wake her, he slipped behind a curtain and watched her in silence; but as time went on he marvelled that she did not wake.
At eventide a handsome youth—Yvon’s brother-in-law—entered the chamber, struck Yvonne sharply three times, then flung himself down by her side and went to sleep. All night Yvon waited in his place of concealment. In the morning the young man rose from his couch, gave his wife three resounding blows, and went away. Only then did Yvon emerge and wake his sister.
Brother and sister exchanged a tender greeting, and found much to talk of after their long separation. Yvon learned that the country to which he had come was a peculiar place, where meat and drink could be entirely dispensed with, while even sleep was not a necessity.
“Tell me, Yvonne,” he said, remembering what he had seen of his brother-in-law, “does your husband treat you well?”
Yvonne assured him that her husband was all she could wish—that she was perfectly happy.
“Is he always absent during the day?” he asked anxiously.
“Always.”
“Do you know where he goes?”
“I do not, my brother.”
“I have a mind,” said Yvon, “to ask him to let me accompany him on his journey. What say you, sister?”
“It is a very good plan,” said Yvonne.
At sundown her husband returned home. He and Yvon became very good friends, and the latter begged136to be allowed to accompany him on his journey the following day.
“You may do so,” was the response, “but only on one condition: if you touch or address anyone save me you must return home.”
Yvon readily agreed to accept the condition, and early next morning the two set off. Ere long they came to a wide plain, one half of which was green and fruitful, while the other half was barren and dry. On this plain cattle were feeding, and those on the arid part were fat and well-conditioned, while the others were mean and shrivelled to a degree. Yvon learned from his companion that the fat cattle represented those who were contented with their meagre lot, while the lean animals were those who, with a plentiful supply of worldly goods, were yet miserable and discontented.
Many other strange things they saw as they went, but that which seemed strangest of all to Yvon was the sight of two trees lashing each other angrily with their branches, as though each would beat the other to the ground.
Laying his hands on them, he forbade them to fight, and lo! in a moment they became two human beings, a man and wife, who thanked Yvon for releasing them from an enchantment under which they had been laid as a punishment for their perpetual bickering.
Anon they reached a great cavern from which weird noises proceeded, and Yvon would fain have advanced farther; but his companion forbade him, reminding him that in disenchanting the trees he had failed to observe the one essential condition, and must return to the palace where his sister dwelt.
There Yvon remained for a few days longer, after which137his brother-in-law directed him by a speedy route to his home.
“Go,” said the prince, “but ere long you will return, and then it will be to remain with us for ever.”
On reaching his native village Yvon found all trace of his dwelling gone. Greatly bewildered, he inquired for his father by name. An old greybeard replied.
“I have heard of him,” he said. “He lived in the days when my grandfather’s grandfather was but a boy, and now he sleeps in the churchyard yonder.”
Only then did Yvon realize that his visit to his sister had been one, not of days, but of generations!
Famous among all peoples is the tale of the husband surrounded by mystery—bespelled in animal form, like the Prince in the story of Beauty and the Beast, nameless, as in that of Lohengrin, or unbeheld of his spouse, as in the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Among uncivilized peoples it is frequently forbidden to the wife to see her husband’s face until some time after marriage, and the belief that ill-luck will befall one or both should this law be disregarded runs through primitive story, being perhaps reminiscent of a time when the man of an alien or unfriendly tribe crept to his wife’s lodge or hut under cover of darkness and returned ere yet the first glimmer of dawn might betray him to the men of her people. The story which follows, however, deals with the theme of the enchanted husband whose wife must not speak to anyone until her first child receives the sacrament of baptism, and is, perhaps, unique of its kind.
There lived at one time in the old château of Kerouez, in the commune of Loguivy-Plougras, a rich and138powerful seigneur, whose only sorrow was the dreadful deformity of his son, who had come into the world with a horse’s head. He was naturally kept out of sight as much as possible, but when he had attained the age of eighteen years he told his mother one day that he desired to marry, and requested her to interview a farmer in the vicinity who had three pretty young daughters, in order that she might arrange a match with one of them.
The good lady did as she was requested, not without much embarrassment and many qualms of conscience, and after conversing upon every imaginable subject, at length gently broke the object of her visit to the astonished farmer. The poor man was at first horrified, but little by little the lady worked him into a good humour, so that at last he consented to ask his daughters if any one of them would agree to marry the afflicted young lord. The two elder girls indignantly refused the offer, but when it was made plain to them that she who espoused the seigneur would one day be châtelaine of the castle and become a fine lady, the eldest daughter somewhat reluctantly consented and the match was agreed upon.
Some days afterward the bride-to-be happened to pass the castle and saw the servants washing the linen, when one cried to her:
“How in the world can a fine girl like you be such a fool as to throw herself away on a man with a horse’s head?”
“Bah!” she replied, “he is rich, and, let me tell you, we won’t be married for long, for on the bridal night I shall cut his throat.”
Just at that moment a gay cavalier passed and smiled at the farmer’s daughter.