F
ighting sparrows fear not man," as the old proverb says. Yet it was not a sparrow but a crane that fell down out of the air. Near the feet of Musai, the farmer's boy, it lay, as he waded in the ooze of his rice field, working from daybreak to sundown.
[1]From "The Fire-fly's Lovers," by William Elliot Griffis, copyright, 1008, by T. Y. Crowell & Co.
[1]From "The Fire-fly's Lovers," by William Elliot Griffis, copyright, 1008, by T. Y. Crowell & Co.
The farmer's boy was used to cranes, for in the plough's furrow on the dry land these long-legged birds walked close behind, not the least afraid in the Mikado's dominions. For who would hurt the white-breasted creature, that every one called the Honourable Lord Crane? The graceful birds seemed to love to be near man, when he worked in the wet or paddy fields, where under four inches of water the seeds were planted and the rice plants grew. So graceful in all its movements is the crane that many a dainty little maid who acts politely hears herself spoken of as the "bird that rises from the water without muddying the stream."
Musai hurried to the grassy bank at the edge of the paddy field as fast as he could wade through the liquid mud, to see what was the matter with the crane. Throwing down his hoe, and looking in the grass, he saw that an arrow was sticking in the crane's back, and that red drops of blood dappled its white plumage. Instead of seeming frightened when the man came near, the bird bent down its neck, as if to submit to whatever the farmer's boy should do.
Gently Musai plucked out the arrow and helped the bird to rise, pushing back the undergrowth so that its broad white pinions could have free play. After a few feeble attempts to fly it spread its wings, rose up from the earth, and after circlingseveral times round its benefactor as though to thank him, it flew off to the mountain.
Musai went back to his work, hoping that in season his labor would yield a good crop. He had his widowed mother to support and must needs toil every day. His one delight was to come home, weary after the long hours of labour in the muddy rice field, and have a hot bath. This his mother always had ready for him. Then, clean and with a fresh kimono, and a little rest before supper-time, he was ready for a quiet evening with the neighbours.
So in routine the days passed by until autumn was near at hand. One day, returning before the sun was fully set, he found seated beside his mother a lovely girl. In spite of his contemptible appearance after a day's toil, working barelegged in the mire, she welcomed him with the grace of a princess.
Not thinking of returning the salute in his unwashed condition, he took off his head-kerchief, drew in his breath, and bowing to his mother asked.
"Who is the honourable That Side, and how comes she into this miserable hut?"
"My son," replied his mother, "though you are a man, you have as yet no wife. Your virtues of obedience, filial reverence, fidelity, and politeness have made you well known. Hence this fair damsel is not unwilling to become your wife. But, without your consent, I could not answer her proposal. What do you think about it?"
The young farmer, though highly complimented, at first said little, but he thought hard. "Daintily reared, and perhaps of noble birth is she, but should I gratify her desire, how can she bear the poverty to which we are accustomed? Will she be patient, when she has to suffer hunger? Or, shall we be separated, and that which promises love and happiness last only a little while, to pass away, leaving gloom and sorrow behind?"
But as the days slipped along, and when he saw how kind she was to her new mother, ever patient and self-denying in loving reverence, all his fears were driven away like clouds before the wind. So the young man and woman were married.
But when the full autumn-time came for the rice ears to fill and round out, nothing was found but husk and shell. The crop was a total failure. With heavy taxes unpaid and no food in the house, starvation loomed before them. By winter, all were in dire distress.
Then the patient wife revealed new powers and cheered her husband, saying,
"I can spin such cloth as was never made in this province, if you will build me a separate room. I cannot weave here, or make the fine pattern of red and white except when alone and in perfect silence. Build me a room, and the money you need will flow in."
The old mother was doubtful as to her daughter-in-law's project and even Musai was but half-hearted. Yet he went to work diligently. With beam, and wattle, and thatch, floor of mats and window of latticed paper, with walls made tight because well daubed with clay, he built the room apart. There alone, day by day, secluded from all, the sweet wife toiled unseen. The mother and husband patiently waited, until after a week, the little woman rejoined the family circle. In her hands she bore a roll of woven stuff, white and shining, as lustrous and pure as fresh fallen snow. Yet here and there, a crimson thread in the stuff did but intensify the purity of the otherwise unflecked whiteness. Pure red and pure white were the only colours of this wonderful fabric.
"What shall we call it?" inquired the amazed husband.
"It has no name, for there is none other in the world like it," said the fair weaver.
"But I must have a name. I shall take it to the Daimio. He will not buy, if he does not know how it is called."
"Then," said the wife, "tell him its name is 'White Crane's-down cloth.'"
Quickly passed the snowy fabric into the hands of the lord of the castle, who sent it as a present to the Empress in Kioto. All were amazed by it, and the Empress commanded the donor to be richly rewarded. The farmer husband, bearing a thousand pieces of coin in his bag, hastened home to spread the shining silver at his mother's feet and to thank the wife who had brought him fortune. A feast followed, and for many weeks the family lived easily on the money thus gained. Then, when again on the edge of need, Musai asked his wife if she were willing to weave another web of the wonderful Crane's-down cloth.
Cheerfully she agreed, cautioning him to leave her in privacy, and not to look upon her until she came forth with the cloth.
But alas for the spirit of prying impertinence and wicked curiosity! Not satisfied with having been delivered from starvation by a wife that served him like a slave, Musai stealthily crept up to the paper partition, touched his tongue to the latticed pane, and poked his finger noiselessly through, thus making a round hole to which he glued his eye and looked in.
What a sight! There was no woman at work, but a noble white crane—the same that he had seen in the field, and from whose back he had extracted the hunter's arrow. Bending over the spinning wheel, the bird pulled from her own breast the silky down, and by twining and twisting made it into the finest thread which mortals ever beheld. From time to time, she pressed from her heart's blood red drops with which to dye some strands, and thus the weaving went on. The web of the cloth was nearly finished.
Musai astounded looked on without moving, until suddenly called by his mother, he cried out in response, "Yes, I'm coming."
The startled crane turned and saw the eye in the wall. Throwing down thread and web she moved angrily to the door, gave a shrill scream and flew out under the sky. Like a white speck against the blue hills, she appeared for a little while and then was lost to sight.
Son and mother once more faced poverty and loneliness, and Musai again splashed barelegged in the rice field.
A
poor Milkwoman was once going into the town with cans full of milk to sell. She took with her her little daughter (a baby of about a year old), having no one in whose charge to leave her at home. Being tired, she sat down by the roadside, placing the child and the cans full of milk beside her; when, on a sudden, two large eagles flew overhead; and one, swooping down, seized the child, and flew away with her out of the mother's sight.
Very far, far away the eagles carried the little baby, even beyond the borders of her native land, until they reached their home in a lofty tree. There the old eagles had built a great nest; it was made of iron and wood, and was as big as a little house; there was iron all round, and to get in and out you had to go through seven iron doors.
In this stronghold they placed the little baby, and because she was like a young eaglet they called her Surya Bai (the Sun Lady). The eagles both loved the child; and daily they flew into distant countries to bring her rich and precious things—clothes that had been made for princesses, precious jewels, wonderful playthings, all that was most costly and rare.
One day, when Surya Bai was twelve years old, the old husband Eagle said to his wife, "Wife, our daughter has no diamond ring on her little finger, such as princesses wear; let us go and fetch her one." "Yes," said the other old Eagle; "but to fetch it we must go very far." "True," rejoined he, "such a ring is not to be got nearer than the Red Sea, and that is a twelve-month's journey from here; nevertheless we will go." So the Eagles started off, leaving Surya Bai in the strong nest, with twelve months' provisions (that she might not be hungry whilst they were away), and a little dog and cat to take care of her.
Not long after they were gone, one day the naughty little cat stole some food from the store, for doing which Surya Bai punished her. The cat did not like being whipped, and she was still more annoyed at having been caught stealing; so, in revenge, she ran to the fireplace (they were obliged to keep a fire always burning in the Eagle's nest, as Surya never went down from the tree, and would not otherwise have been able to cook her dinner), and put out the fire. When the little girl saw this she was much vexed, for the cat had eaten their last cooked provisions, and she did not know what they were to do for food. For three whole days Surya Bai puzzled over the difficulty, and for three whole days she and the dog and the cat had nothing to eat. At last she thought she would climb to the edge of the nest, and see if she could see any fire in the country below; and, if so, she would go down and ask the people who lighted it to give her a little with which to cook her dinner. So she climbed to the edge of the nest. Then, very far away on the horizon, she saw a thin curl of blue smoke. So she let herself down from the tree, and all day long she walked in the direction whence the smoke came. Toward evening she reached the place, and found it rose from a small hut in which sat an old woman warming her hands over a fire. Now, though Surya Bai did not know it, she had reached the Rakshas's country, and this old woman was none other than a wicked old Rakshas, who lived with her son in the little hut. The young Rakshas, however, had gone out for the day. When the old Rakshas saw Surya Bai, she was much astonished, for the girl was beautiful as the sun, and her rich dress resplendent with jewels; and she said to herself, "How lovely this child is; what a dainty morsel she would be! Oh, if my son were only here we would kill her, and boil her, and eat her. I will try and detain her till his return."
Then, turning to Surya Bai, she said, "Who are you, and what do you want?"
Surya Bai answered, "I am the daughter of the great Eagles, but they have gone a far journey, to fetch me a diamond ring, and the fire has died out in the nest. Give me, I pray you, a little from your hearth."
The Rakshas replied, "You shall certainly have some, only first pound this rice for me, for I am old, and have no daughter to help me."
Then Surya Bai pounded the rice, but the young Rakshas had not returned by the time she had finished; so the old Rakshas said to her, "If you are kind, grind this corn for me, for it is hard work for my old hands."
Then she ground the corn, but still the young Rakshas came not; and the old Rakshas said to her, "Sweep the house for me first, and then I will give you the fire."
So Surya Bai swept the house; but still the young Rakshas did not come.
Then his mother said to Surya Bai, "Why should you be in such a hurry to go home? Fetch me some water from the well, and then you shall have the fire."
And she fetched the water. When she had done so, Surya Bai said, "I have done all your bidding, now give me the fire, or I will go elsewhere and seek it."
The old Rakshas was grieved because her son had not returned home; but she saw she could detain Surya Bai no longer, so she said, "Take the fire and go in peace; take also some parched corn, and scatter it along the road as you go, so as to make a pretty little pathway from our house to yours"—and so saying, she gave Surya Bai several handfuls of parched corn. The girl took them, fearing no evil, and as she went she scattered the grains on the road. Then she climbed back into the nest and shut the seven iron doors, and lighted the fire, and cooked the food, and gave the dog and the cat some dinner, and took some herself, and went to sleep.
No sooner had Surya Bai left the Rakshas's hut, than the young Rakshas returned, and his mother said to him, "Alas, alas, my son, why did not you come sooner? Such a sweet little lamb has been here, and now we have lost her." Then she told him all about Surya Bai.
"Which way did she go?" asked the young Rakshas; "only tell me that, and I'll have her before morning."
His mother told him how she had given Surya Bai the parchedcorn to scatter on the road; and when he heard that, he followed up the track, and ran, and ran, and ran, till he came to the foot of the tree.
There, looking up, he saw the nest high in the branches above them.
Quick as thought, up he climbed, and reached the great outer door; and he shook it, and shook it, but he could not get in, for Surya Bai had bolted it. Then he said, "Let me in, my child, let me in; I'm the great Eagle, and I have come from very far, and brought you many beautiful jewels; and here is a splendid diamond ring to fit your little finger." But Surya Bai did not hear him—she was fast asleep.
He next tried to force open the door again, but it was too strong for him. In his efforts, however, he had broken off one of his finger nails (now the nail of a Rakshas is most poisonous), which he left sticking in the crack of the door when he went away.
Next morning Surya Bai opened all the doors, in order to look down on the world below; but when she came to the seventh door a sharp thing, which was sticking in it, ran into her hand, and immediately she fell down dead.
At that same moment the two poor Eagles returned from their long, wearisome journey, bringing a beautiful diamond ring, which they had fetched for their little favourite from the Red Sea.
There she lay on the threshold of the nest, beautiful as ever but cold and dead.
The Eagles could not bear the sight; so they placed the ring on her finger, and then, with loud cries, flew off to return no more.
But a little while after there chanced to come by a great Rajah, who was out on a hunting expedition. He came with hawks, and hounds, and attendants, and horses, and pitched his camp under the tree in which the Eagles' nest was built. Then looking up, he saw, amongst the topmost branches, what appeared like a queer little house; and he sent some of his attendants to see what it was. They soon returned, and told theRajah that up in the tree was a curious thing like a cage, having seven iron doors, and that on the threshold of the first door lay a fair maiden, richly dressed; that she was dead, and that beside her stood a little dog and a little cat.
At this the Rajah commanded that they should be fetched down, and when he saw Surya Bai he felt very sad to think that she was dead. And he took her hand to feel if it were already stiff; but all her limbs were supple, nor had she become cold, as the dead are cold; and, looking again at her hand, the Rajah saw that a sharp thing, like a long thorn, had run into the tender palm, almost far enough to pierce through to the back of her hand.
He pulled it out, and no sooner had he done so than Surya Bai opened her eyes, and stood up, crying, "Where am I? and who are you? Is it a dream, or true?"
The Rajah answered, "It is all true, beautiful lady. I am the Rajah of a neighbouring land; pray tell me who are you."
She replied, "I am the Eagles' child."
But he laughed. "Nay," he said, "that cannot be; you are some great Princess."
"No," she answered, "I am no royal lady; what I say is true. I have lived all my life in this tree. I am only the Eagles' child."
Then the Rajah said, "If you are not a Princess born, I will make you one; say only you will be my Queen."
Surya Bai consented, and the Rajah took her to his kingdom and made her his Queen. But Surya Bai was not his only wife, and the first Ranee, his other wife, was both envious and jealous of her.
The Rajah gave Surya Bai many trustworthy attendants to guard her and be with her; and one old woman loved Surya Bai more than all the rest, and used to say to her, "Don't be too intimate with the first Ranee, dear lady, for she wishes you no good, and she has power to do you harm. Some day she may poison or otherwise injure you." But Surya Bai would answer her, "Nonsense! what is there to be alarmed about? Why cannot we both live happily together like two sisters?" Then the old woman would rejoin, "Ah, dear lady, may younever live to rue your confidence! I pray my fears may prove folly." So Surya Bai went often to see the first Ranee, and the first Ranee also came often to see her.
One day they were standing in the palace courtyard, near a tank, where the Rajah's people used to bathe, and the first Ranee said to Surya Bai, "What pretty jewels you have, sister; let me try them on for a minute, and see how I look in them."
The old woman was standing beside Surya Bai, and she whispered to her, "Do not lend her your jewels."
"Hush, you silly old woman," answered she. "What harm will it do?" and she gave the Ranee her jewels.
Then the Ranee said, "How pretty all your things are! Do you not think they look well even on me! Let us come down to the tank; it is as clear as glass, and we can see ourselves reflected in it, and how these jewels will shine in the clear water!"
The old woman, hearing this, was much alarmed, and begged Surya Bai not to venture near the tank, but she said, "I bid you be silent; I will not distrust my sister." And she went down to the tank. Then, when no one was near, and they were both leaning over, looking at their reflections in the water, the first Ranee pushed Surya Bai into the tank, who, sinking under the water, was drowned; and from the place where her body fell there sprang up a bright golden sunflower.
The Rajah shortly afterward inquired where Surya Bai was, but nowhere could she be found. Then, very angry, he came to the first Ranee and said, "Tell me where the child is. You have made away with her."
But she answered, "You do me wrong; I know nothing of her. Doubtless that old woman whom you allowed to be always with her, has done her some harm." So the Rajah ordered the poor old woman to be thrown into prison.
He tried to forget Surya Bai and all her pretty ways, but it was no good. Wherever he went he saw her face. Whatever he heard, he still listened for her voice. Every day he grew more miserable; he would not eat or drink; and as for the other Ranee, he could not bear to speak to her. All his people said, "He will surely die."
When matters were in this state, the Rajah one day wandered to the edge of the tank, and bending over the parapet, looked into the water. Then he was surprised to see, growing out of the tank close beside him a stately golden flower; and as he watched it, the sunflower gently bent its head and leaned down toward him. The Rajah's heart was softened, and he kissed its leaves and murmured, "This flower reminds me of my lost wife. I love it, it is fair and gentle as she used to be." And every day he would go down to the tank and sit and watch the flower. When the Ranee heard this, she ordered her servants to go and dig the sunflower up, and to take it far into the jungle and burn it. Next time the Rajah went to the tank he found his flower gone, and he was much grieved, but none dared say who had done it.
Then, in the jungle, from the place where the ashes of the sunflower had been thrown, there sprang up a young mango tree, tall and straight, that grew so quickly, and became such a beautiful tree, that it was the wonder of all the country round. At last, on its topmost bough, came one fair blossom; and the blossom fell, and the little mango grew rosier and rosier, and larger and larger, till so wonderful was it both for size and shape that people flocked from far and near only to look at it.
But none ventured to gather it, for it was to be kept for the Rajah himself.
Now one day, the poor Milkwoman, Surya Bai's mother, was returning homeward after her day's work with the empty milk cans, and being very tired with her long walk to the bazaar, she lay down under the mango tree and fell asleep. Then, right into her largest milk can, fell the wonderful mango! When the poor woman awoke and saw what had happened, she was dreadfully frightened, and thought to herself, "If any one sees me with this wonderful fruit, that all the Rajah's people have been watching for so many, many weeks, they will never believe that I did not steal it, and I shall be put in prison. Yet it is no good leaving it here; besides, it fell off of itself into my milk can. I will therefore take it home as secretly as possible, and share it with my children."
So the Milkwoman covered up the can in which the mango was, and took it quickly to her home, where she placed it in the corner of the room, and put over it a dozen other milk cans, piled one above another. Then, as soon as it was dark, she called her husband and eldest son (for she had six or seven children), and said to them, "What good fortune do you think has befallen me to-day?"
"We cannot guess," they said. "Nothing less," she went on, "than the wonderful, wonderful mango falling into one of my milk cans while I slept! I have brought it home with me; it is in that lowest can. Go, husband, call all the children to have a slice; and you, my son, take down that pile of cans and fetch me the mango." "Mother," he said, when he got to the lowest can, "you were joking, I suppose, when you told us there was a mango here."
"No, not at all," she answered; "there is a mango there. I put it there myself an hour ago."
"Well, there's something quite different now," replied the son. "Come and see."
The Milkwoman ran to the place, and there, in the lowest can, she saw, not the mango, but a little tiny wee lady, richly dressed in red and gold, and no bigger than a mango! On her head shone a bright jewel like a little sun.
"This is very odd," said the mother. "I never heard of such a thing in my life! But since she has been sent to us, I will take care of her, as if she were my own child."
Every day the little lady grew taller and taller, until she was the size of an ordinary woman; she was gentle and lovable, but always sad and quiet, and she said her name was "Surya Bai."
The children were all very curious to know her history, but the Milkwoman and her husband would not let her be teased to tell who she was, and said to the children, "Let us wait. By and by, when she knows us better, she will most likely tell us her story of her own accord."
Now it came to pass that once, when Surya Bai was taking water from the well for the old Milkwoman, the Rajah rode by, and as he saw her walking along, he cried, "That is my wife,"and rode after her as fast as possible. Surya Bai hearing a great clatter of horses' hoofs, was frightened, and ran home as fast as possible, and hid herself; and when the Rajah reached the place there was only the old Milkwoman to be seen standing at the door of her hut.
Then the Rajah said to her, "Give her up, old woman, you have no right to keep her; she is mine, she is mine!"
But the old woman answered, "Are you mad? I don't know what you mean."
The Rajah replied, "Do not attempt to deceive me. I saw my wife go in at your door; she must be in the house."
"Your wife?" screamed the old woman—"your wife? you mean my daughter, who lately returned from the well! Do you think I am going to give my child up at your command? You are Rajah in your palace, but I am Rajah in my own house; and I won't give up my little daughter for any bidding of yours. Be off with you, or I'll pull out your beard." And so saying, she seized a long stick and attacked the Rajah, calling out loudly to her husband and sons, who came running to her aid.
The Rajah, seeing matters were against him, and having outridden his attendants (and not being quite certain moreover whether he had seen Surya Bai, or whether she might not have been really the poor Milkwoman's daughter), rode off and returned to his palace.
However, he determined to sift the matter. As a first step he went to see Surya Bai's old attendant, who was still in prison. From her he learned enough to make him believe she was not only entirely innocent of Surya Bai's death, but gravely to suspect the first Ranee of having caused it. He therefore ordered the old woman to be set at liberty, still keeping a watchful eye on her, and bade her prove her devotion to her long-lost mistress by going to the Milkwoman's house, and bringing him as much information as possible about the family, and more particularly about the girl he had seen returning from the well.
So the attendant went to the Milkwoman's house, and made friends with her, and bought some milk, and afterward she stayed and talked to her.
After a few days the Milkwoman ceased to be suspicious of her, and became quite cordial.
Surya Bai's attendant then told how she had been the late Ranee's waiting-woman, and how the Rajah had thrown her into prison on her mistress's death; in return for which intelligence the old Milkwoman imparted to her how the wonderful mango had tumbled into her can as she slept under the tree, and how it had miraculously changed in the course of an hour into a beautiful little lady. "I wonder why she should have chosen my poor house to live in, instead of any one else's," said the old woman.
Then Surya Bai's attendant said, "Have you ever asked her her history? Perhaps she would not mind telling it to you now."
So the Milkwoman called the girl, and as soon as the old attendant saw her, she knew it was none other than Surya Bai, and her heart jumped for joy; but she remained silent, wondering much, for she knew her mistress had been drowned in the tank.
The old Milkwoman turned to Surya Bai and said, "My child, you have lived long with us, and been a good daughter to me; but I have never asked you your history, because I thought it must be a sad one; but if you do not fear to tell it to me now, I should like to hear it."
Surya Bai answered, "Mother, you speak true; my story is sad. I believe my real mother was a poor Milkwoman like you, and that she took me with her one day when I was quite a little baby, as she was going to sell milk in the bazaar. But being tired with the long walk, she sat down to rest, and placed me also on the ground, when suddenly a great Eagle flew down and carried me away. But all the father and mother I ever knew were the two great Eagles."
"Ah, my child! my child!" cried the Milkwoman, "I was that poor woman; the Eagles flew away with my eldest girl when she was only a year old. Have I found you after these many years?"
And she ran and called all her children, and her husband, to tell them the wonderful news.
And there was great rejoicing among them all.
When they were a little calmer, her mother said to Surya Bai, "Tell us, dear daughter, how your life has been spent since first we lost you." And Surya Bai went on:
"The old Eagles took me away to their home, and there I lived happily many years. They loved to bring me all the beautiful things they could find, and at last one day they both went to fetch me a diamond ring from the Red Sea; but while they were gone the fire went out in the nest: so I went to an old woman's hut, and got her to give me some fire; and next day (I don't know how it was), as I was opening the outer door of the cage, a sharp thing, that was sticking in it, ran into my hand and I fell down senseless.
"I don't know how long I lay there, but when I came to myself, I found the Eagles must have come back, and thought me dead, and gone away, for the diamond ring was on my little finger; a great many people were watching over me, and amongst them was a Rajah, who asked me to go home with him and be his wife, and he brought me to this place, and I was his Ranee.
"But his other wife, the first Ranee, hated me (for she was jealous), and desired to kill me; and one day she accomplished her purpose by pushing me into the tank, for I was young and foolish, and disregarded the warnings of my faithful old attendant, who begged me not to go near the place. Ah! if I had only listened to her words I might have been happy still."
At these words the old attendant, who had been sitting in the background, rushed forward and kissed Surya Bai's feet, crying; "Ah, my lady! my lady! have I found you at last!" and, without staying to hear more, she ran back to the palace to tell the Rajah the glad news.
Then Surya Bai told her parents how she had not wholly died in the tank, but become a sunflower; and how the first Ranee; seeing how fond the Rajah was of the plant, had caused it to be thrown away; and then how she had risen from the ashes of the sunflower, in the form of a mango tree; and how when the tree blossomed all her spirit went into the little mango flower, and she ended by saying: "And when the flower became fruit,I know not by what irresistible impulse I was induced to throw myself into your milk can. Mother—it was my destiny, and as soon as you took me into your house, I began to recover my human form."
"Why, then," asked her brothers and sisters, "why do you not tell the Rajah that you are living, and that you are the Ranee Surya Bai?"
"Alas," she answered, "I could not do that. Who knows but that he may be influenced by the first Ranee, and also desire my death. Let me rather be poor like you, but safe from danger."
Then her mother cried, "Oh, what a stupid woman I am! The Rajah one day came seeking you here, but I and your father and brothers drove him away, for we did not know you were indeed the lost Ranee."
As she spoke these words a sound of horses' hoofs was heard in the distance, and the Rajah himself appeared, having heard the good news of Surya Bai's return from her old attendant.
It is impossible to tell the joy of the Rajah at finding his long-lost wife, but it was not greater than Surya Bai's at being restored to her husband.
Then the Rajah turned to the old Milkwoman, and said "Old woman, you did not tell me true, for it was indeed my wife who was in your hut."
"Yes, Protector of the Poor," answered the old Milkwoman, "but it was also my daughter." Then they told him how Surya Bai was the Milkwoman's child.
At hearing this the Rajah commanded them all to return with him to the palace. He gave Surya Bai's father a village and, ennobled the family; and he said to Surya Bai's old attendant, "For the good service you have done you shall be palace housekeeper," and he gave her great riches; adding, "I can never repay the debt I owe you, nor make you sufficient recompense for having caused you to be unjustly cast into prison." But she replied, "Sire, even in your anger you were temperate; if you had caused me to be put to death, as some would have done,none of this good might have come upon you; it is yourself you have to thank."
The wicked first Ranee was cast, for the rest of her life, into the prison in which the old attendant had been thrown; but Surya Bai lived happily with her husband the rest of her days; and in memory of her adventures, he planted round their palace a hedge of sunflowers and a grove of mango trees.
C
hasid, Caliph of Bagdad, which, by the way, is on the river Tigris, and was long, long ago the capital of the ancient Saracen Empire, was comfortably seated upon his sofa one beautiful afternoon. He had slept a little, for it was a very hot day, and he seemed cheerful after his nap.
He smoked from a long pipe made of rosewood; sipped now and then a little coffee, which a slave poured out for him, and stroked his beard very contentedly. So it was very plain that the Caliph was in a good humour. This was generally the case at this hour, as it was the custom of his Grand Vizier Manzor to visit him every day about this time. He came this afternoon, but he seemed very thoughtful. The Caliph looked at him, and said: "Grand Vizier, why is thy countenance so sad?"
The Grand Vizier crossed his arms over his breast, bowed himself before his lord, and said: "My lord, I am sad because in the court below there is a merchant who has such fine wares that I am troubled because I have so little money to spare to purchase them."
The Caliph, who had for a long time past desired to confer a favour upon his Grand Vizier, sent his black slave to bring up the merchant. The slave soon returned with him. The merchant was a short stout man, with a dark brown face, and in ragged attire. He carried a chest, in which he had various kinds of wares, pearls and rings, richly inlaid pistols, goblets and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier looked at them, and the former purchased some beautiful pistols for himself and Manzor. As the merchant was about to pack up his chest the Caliph saw a small drawer, and asked what it contained. The merchant drew out the drawer, and showed therein a box filled with blackish powder and a paper with strange writing upon it, whichneither the Caliph nor Manzor could read. "I received these things from a merchant who found them in the streets of Mecca," said he. "I know not what they contain. They are at your service for a trifling price, for I can do nothing with them."
The Caliph, who was a great collector of old manuscripts for his library, even if he could not read them, purchased box and writings, and dismissed the merchant. But it occurred to the Caliph that he would like to know the meaning of the writing, and he asked the Vizier whether he knew anyone who could read it.
"Most worthy lord and master," replied the Vizier, "near the great Mosque there dwells a man who understands all languages; he is called 'Selim the Wise.' Send for him; perhaps he may be able to interpret the writing."
The learned Selim was soon brought. "Selim," said the Caliph, "they say thou art very learned; peep now into this writing, and see if thou canst read it. If thou canst, thou shalt have a rich new garment; if thou canst not, thou shalt be beaten with five-and-twenty strokes upon the soles of thy feet, for in that case thou art without the right to be called 'Selim the Wise.'"
Selim bowed himself and said: "Thy will be done, my lord." For a long time he examined the writing, then suddenly exclaimed, "This is Latin, my lord."
"Say what it means," commanded the Caliph, "if it be Latin."
Selim commenced to translate the documents. "Oh man, thou who findest this, praise Allah for His great goodness to thee. Whoever snuffs of the powder contained in this box, and says thereupon 'Mutabor,' will have the power to change himself into any animal he may choose, and will be able to understand the language of that animal and all others. Should he wish to return to his human form he must bow himself three times to the East, and in the direction of our holy Mecca, and repeat the same word. But beware, when thou art transformed that thou laughest not, otherwise the magic word will disappear completely from thy memory and thou wilt remain a beast."
When Selim the Wise had read this, the Caliph was delightedbeyond measure. He bound over the sage that he would disclose the secret to no one, presented him with the promised rich garment, and dismissed him. But to his Grand Vizier he said: "That I call a good purchase, Manzor. I can scarcely restrain my delight until I am a beast. Early to-morrow morning come thou hither; we will go together into the field, snuff a little out of the box, and then listen to what is said in the air, and in the water, in the wood, and in the field."
On the following morning the Caliph had scarcely breakfasted when the Grand Vizier appeared to accompany him upon his walk, as he had commanded him. The Caliph placed the box with the magic powder in his girdle, and, having directed his train to remain behind, he set out alone with his Grand Vizier. They went through the spacious gardens of the Caliph, and looked around, but in vain, for some living thing, that they might try their trick. The Vizier at length proposed that they should go further on, to a pond where he had often seen many of those beautiful creatures called Storks, which, by their grave appearance and their continual clacking, had always excited his attention.
The Caliph approved the proposal of the Vizier, and they went together to the pond. When they had arrived they saw a stork walking gravely up and down looking for frogs, and now and then clacking something to himself. At the same time they saw also, far above in the air, another stork hovering over the pond.
"I am pretty sure," said the Grand Vizier, "that these two long-legged fellows are carrying on a fine conversation with each other. What if we should become storks?"
"Well said!" replied the Caliph. "But first let us consider, once more, how we are to become men again. True! three times must we bend toward the East and in the direction of Mecca, and say 'Mutabor,' then I am Caliph again and thou Vizier. But we must take care whatever we do, not to laugh, or we are lost."
While the Caliph was thus speaking he saw the other stork hover over their heads and slowly descend toward the earth.He drew the box quickly from his girdle, took a good pinch, offered it to the Grand Vizier, who also snuffed it, and both cried out "Mutabor!"
At once their legs began to shrivel up, and soon became thin and red. The beautiful yellow slippers of the Caliph and of his companion were changed into the strange-shaped feet of the stork; their arms were changed to wings; their necks were lengthened out from their shoulders and became a yard long; their beards had disappeared, and their bodies were covered with feathers which were soft, fine and graceful.
"You have a beautiful beak," said the Caliph after a long pause of astonishment. "By the beard of the Prophet, I have never seen anything like it in my life."
"I thank you most humbly," replied the Grand Vizier, while he made his obeisance. "But if it were permitted I might say that your Highness looks even more handsome as a stork than as a Caliph. But come, if it please you, let us listen to our comrades yonder, and find out whether we really understand the language of the storks."
In the meanwhile the other stork had reached the ground. He trimmed his feet with his beak, put his feathers in order, and advanced to his companion. The two new storks hastened to get near them, and to their great surprise heard the following conversation:—
"Good morning, Lady Longlegs, already so early in the meadow."
"Thank you, dear Clatterbeak, I have had only a slight breakfast."
"Would you like, perhaps, a piece of a duck or the leg of a frog?"
"Much obliged, but I have no appetite to-day. I have come into the meadow for a very different purpose. I am to dance to-day before some guests of my father's, and I wish to practise here a little quietly by myself."
The young stork immediately jumped about the field with singular motions. The Caliph and Manzor looked on with wonder; but as she stood in a picturesque attitude upon onefoot, and fluttered her wings gracefully, they could no longer contain themselves—an irresistible laughter burst forth from their beaks, from which they could not recover themselves for a long time. The Caliph first collected himself. "That was a joke now," he exclaimed, "that is not to be purchased with gold. Pity that the foolish creatures have been frightened away by our laughter, otherwise perhaps they might even have sung!"
But it now occurred to the Grand Vizier that laughter had been specially forbidden them during their transformation. He told his anxiety to the Caliph. "Dear me, dear me, it would indeed be a sorrowful joke if I must remain a stork. Pray bethink thyself of the magic word. For the life of me I can't remember it."
"Three times must we bow to the East and to Mecca, and then say, 'Mu, mu, mu.'"
They turned toward the East, and bowed and bowed, so that their beaks almost touched the earth. But alas! alas! the magic word would not come. However often the Caliph bowed himself and however anxiously the Vizier called out "Mu, mu," all recollection of it had vanished, and the poor Caliph and Vizier remained storks.
Very mournfully did the enchanted ones wander through the fields. They knew not what to do in their great distress. They could not rid themselves of their storks' skin and feathers; they could not return to the city to make themselves known, for who would have believed a stork, if he had said he was the Caliph? And even if they should believe it, the inhabitants of Bagdad would not have a stork for their Caliph. Thus they wandered about for several days, and nourished themselves with the fruits of the field, which they could not eat very conveniently on account of their long beaks. For ducks and frogs they had no appetite; they were afraid that with such food they might fatally disorder their stomachs. It was their only pleasure in this sad condition that they could fly, and so they often flew upon the roofs of Bagdad to see what passed in the city.
During the first days they observed great disorder and mourning in the streets, but about the fourth day after their transformation, as they stood upon the Caliph's palace, they saw in the street a splendid procession. Drums and fifes sounded; a man in a scarlet mantle, embroidered with gold, rode a richly caparisoned steed, surrounded by a brilliant train of attendants.
Half Bagdad leaped to meet him, and all cried: "Hail, Mirza, Lord of Bagdad!" The two storks upon the roof of the palace looked at each other, and the Caliph said: "Canst thou now divine, Grand Vizier, why I am enchanted? This Mirza is the son of my deadly enemy, the mighty magician Cachnur, who, in an evil hour, swore revenge upon me. But still I will not give up hope. Come with me, thou true companion of my misfortune! We will wander to the grave of the Prophet. Perhaps on that holy spot this spell will vanish;" and they at once soared from the roof of the palace and flew toward Mecca.
But flying was no easy matter to them, for the two storks had as yet but little practice. "Oh, my lord," sighed the Grand Vizier, after a few hours, "with your permission I must stop, for I can bear it no longer; you fly altogether too fast. Besides it is now evening, and we should do well to seek a shelter for the night." Chasid at once yielded to the prayer of the Vizier, and, as they at this moment perceived a ruin in the valley below, they flew thither. The place in which they had taken refuge for the night seemed formerly to have been a castle. Beautiful columns overtopped the ruins, and several chambers, which were still in a fair state of preservation, gave evidence of the former splendour of the building. Chasid and his companion wandered through the passages to find a dry spot for themselves. Suddenly the stork Manzor stopped. "My Lord and master," he whispered softly, "if it were not folly in a Grand Vizier, and still more in a stork, to be afraid of spirits, I should feel much alarmed, for something near by us sighed and groaned very plainly."
The Caliph also stood still, and heard very distinctly a low weeping that seemed rather to come from a human being than from an animal.
Full of expectation, he was about to advance toward theplace from whence came the sounds of weeping and sighing, when the Vizier seized him by the wing with his beak and begged him very earnestly not to plunge into new and unknown dangers But in vain! The Caliph, who bore a brave heart under his stork's wing, tore himself loose, with the loss of some of his feathers, and hastened into a dark passage-way. He soon arrived at a door which seemed to be partly open, and through which he overheard distinct sighs, with a slight moaning. In the ruined chamber, which was but dimly lighted by a small grated window, he saw a large night owl upon the floor. Big tears rolled from her large round eyes, and with a hoarse voice she sent forth her cries from her curved beak. As soon, however, as she saw the Caliph and Vizier she gave a loud scream of joy. Gracefully she wiped the tears from her eyes with her brown-spotted wing, and to the great astonishment of both she exclaimed, in good plain Arabic, "Welcome, ye storks! Ye are a good sign of my rescue, for it has been told me that by a stork I shall attain to great happiness."
When the Caliph had recovered from his astonishment he bowed with his long neck, brought his thin feet into a handsome position, and said:
"Night owl, from thy words I think that thou art a companion in suffering. But alas! the hope that thou wilt be rescued by us is vain. Thou wilt see our helplessness when we have told thee our history."
The night owl begged him to relate it. The Caliph commenced, and repeated what we already know.
When the Caliph had told the owl his history she thanked him and said:
"Hear also my story, and you will see that I am not less unhappy than you. My father is King of India; I, his only daughter, am called Lusa. That magician Cachnur, who has enchanted you, has also plunged me into this misery. He came one day to my father, and desired me for a wife to his son. But my father, who is a quick-tempered man, ordered him to be pushed down the stairs. The bad man contrived to meet me under another form; and once, when taking refreshments inmy garden, he brought me, in the person of a slave, a draught in a cup, which changed me into this frightful shape. Powerless from fright, he brought me hither and cried in my ear: 'Here shalt thou remain, hated and despised, even by the beasts, until thy death, or until someone, with free will, shall desire thee for his wife, even in this horrible shape. In this way I revenge myself upon thee and thy proud father!'
"Since then many months have passed. Solitary and disconsolate, I dwell within these walls, scorned by the world, a horror even to the beasts. Beautiful nature is locked up from me, for, like all owls, I am blind by day, and only when the moon pours her pale light over these ruins does the veil fall from my eyes."
The owl stopped speaking and wiped the tears again from her eyes, for the telling of her sorrows had drawn them forth anew.
During the story of the Princess, the Caliph appeared deep in thought. "If everything does not deceive me," he said, "there is a secret connection between our fates; but where can I find the key to this riddle?"
The owl replied: "Oh, my lord, I also have such a thought, for it was once told me when I was a very little girl that a stork would one day bring me great happiness, and I may know perhaps how we may be rescued."
The Caliph was much astonished, and asked her in what way she meant.
"The magician who has made us both miserable," said she, "comes once in every month to these ruins. Not far from this chamber is a hall. There he is accustomed to feast with many of his companions. I have often listened there already. They tell one another their histories, and what they have been doing since last they met. Perhaps on the next occasion they may talk over your story, and let fall the magic word that you have forgotten."
"Oh, dearest Princess," exclaimed the Caliph, "tell me when does he come and where is the hall?"
The owl was silent for a moment and then spoke. "Take itnot ungraciously, but only upon one condition can your wish be granted."
"Speak out! speak out!" cried the Caliph. "Command, and whatever it is I will obey?"
"It is this: I also would gladly be free, and this can only happen if one of you offer me his hand." The storks seemed somewhat confused at this proposition, and the Caliph made a sign to his follower to withdraw for a moment with him.
They talked together for a long time, the Caliph urging the Vizier to consent; but he said it was not possible, as he was already an old man, "whilst you, my lord and master, are but young in years." The Caliph at last saw that the Vizier would rather remain a stork than accept the owl, so he resolved to fulfil the condition himself. The owl was overjoyed, and she said they could not have come at a better time, for the magicians would most likely meet that very night.
She then left the chamber in company with the storks, in order to lead them to the hall. They walked for a long time through a dark passage-way, when at last a bright light shone upon them from an opening in a ruined wall. When they had arrived thither the owl advised them to keep perfectly quiet. From the opening near where they stood they had a good view of the hall. It had many pillars, and the whole apartment was richly decorated. In the middle was a round table covered with rich food of various kinds; round the table were placed seats, upon which sat eight men. In one of these men the storks recognized the merchant who had sold them the magic powder. The one who sat next him desired him to relate his history and what had been done during the last few days. He did so, and among the other things he told the story of his visit to the Caliph and Grand Vizier of Bagdad.
"What kind of a word hast thou given them," asked the other magician.
"A very hard Latin one; it is Mutabor."
As the storks heard this from their place of concealment they became almost beside themselves for joy. They ran so quickly with their long legs to the door of the ruin that the owl couldscarcely follow them. There, the Caliph addressed the owl with much emotion.
"Saviour of my life, and the life of my friend, as an eternal thanks for what thou hast done for us, accept me as thy husband"; then he turned himself toward the east and toward Mecca. Three times the storks bent their long necks toward the sun, which, by this time, was rising above the distant hills: "Mutabor!" they exclaimed. In a twinkling they were changed, and in the delight of newly restored life, master and servant were laughing and weeping in each other's arms. But who can describe their astonishment as they looked about them?
A beautiful maiden in a splendid dress stood before them. She held out her hand to the Caliph saying: "Do you no longer recognize your night owl?"
Yes, it was indeed that bird. The Caliph looked with wonder at her beauty and grace, and said: "It is my greatest happiness that I have been a stork."
The three now started to travel together for the city of Bagdad. The Caliph found in his clothes not only the box with the magic powder, but also his purse of gold. By this means he purchased at the nearest village all that was necessary for their journey, so that they very soon arrived at the gates of Bagdad. The arrival of the Caliph excited the greatest wonder. They had supposed him dead, but the people were overjoyed to have their beloved lord again.
Their hatred was intense against the deceiver Mirza. They entered the palace and took the old magician and his son prisoners. The Caliph took the old man to that same chamber in which the Princess had lived so long as an owl, and ordered him to be hung up there. But to the son, who did not understand the wicked arts of his father, he offered the choice of either to die or take snuff.
He chose the latter when the Grand Vizier offered the box. A good pinch, and the magic word of the Caliph changed him into a stork. The Caliph then directed that he should be put into a cage and placed in his garden.
Long and happily the Caliph Chasid lived with his wife, thePrincess. His happiest hours were when the Grand Vizier visited him in the afternoon. They never tired of talking about their storks' adventure, and when the Caliph was more than usually merry he would imitate the Grand Vizier, and show how he looked when he was a stork. He walked gravely up and down the chamber with slow and solemn steps, made a clacking noise, flapped his arms like wings, and showed how he, to no purpose, bowed himself to the east and called out: "Mu—Mu—Mu." This was always a great delight to the Princess and the children, which were afterward born to her, until they also took delight in calling out to one another: "Mu—Mu—Mu."
So for very many years happiness reigned in the palace, and not only in the palace, but throughout the city of Bagdad, the capital of the ancient Saracen Empire.