“‘How now?’ cried a reassuring voice.”“‘How now?’ cried a reassuring voice.”
Chapter X The Wild Huntsman.
The forest paths were dappled withsunlight as Father and I strolled down its winding glades, and all the wood things were chirping and chattering with joy. Now and then something brown and furry scuttled across our path, and once I all but trod on a tiny mouse, who had hidden herself under last year’s leaves.
“You clumsy boy!” said a tiny voice, and I turned in time to catch sight of a wee pink Elf as she sprang from the flower Father wore in his button hole upon a bright blue butterfly which had been hovering above her for some time, and now darted swiftly away.
After a while we came to an open space where the woodmen had been felling timber. Several great trees still lay on the ground; one was particularly straight and round, and I noticed three wide crosses cut deep into the bark. I thought I would like to carve my name there too, for my knife had been most beautifully sharp since theNain Rougetouched it, so when Father sat down soon afterward to read his letters, I went straight back to the spot. As I reached it I heard the distant baying of hounds; the sound came nearer andnearer, and mingling with it were shouts in a strange deep voice, which almost frightened me. As I looked up, my knife was jerked out of my hand by a little woman dressed in green, who pushed me breathlessly aside and sat down, sobbing bitterly, on the middle cross. I was still staring at her when there flashed through the air a huntsman on a fiery horse, followed by many hounds. Their hurrying feet knocked off my cap and rumpled all my hair. They had passed in a second, and next moment I heard their baying far away.
The little woman in green sobbed still, but she seemed to be growing calmer. Her hair and eyes were a soft light grey, and her frock was most prettily trimmed with tufts of moss.
“Aha!” I thought when I noticed this, “you are one of the Moss-women, I’ve no doubt.” For I knew that these were supposed to haunt the forests of Southern Germany.
“That was the Wild Huntsman,” said the little thing, looking at me trustfully. “But for the kindness of the woodcutters who make these marks in the trees they fell, I shouldhave fallen to his bow and spear. When we can find three crosses we are safe, for he dare not touch us then.”
I waited to hear what else she would say, for I thought of the Kobold’s “Why? Why? Why?”and did not like to ask her questions. In a little while her lips were smiling, and swaying to and fro, as a tree sways in the wind, she began to sing. I knew I had heard that song before, but I could not think where until I remembered that the pines which rustled against the windows of my night nursery had often sung it when I was small.
“It’s the song of the wind,” she told me, “and the very first sound we hear. We are born in the roots of the tree which is to be our home, and when this dies, we must die too. So long as the sap runs through its branches, and the bark is not cut or injured, we are safe and sound in our snug recess, but at certain times we are bound to leave it, to seek for food, or to attend our lords. It is then that we are in such grave danger—and all because Elfrida tried her witcheries on a stranger.”
“What did she do?” I could not help asking.
“I will tell you,” said the Moss-woman sadly, “and then you will understand why even the youngest of us has now grey hair.”
The Wild Huntsman.
“Elfrida was the fairest of our race,” she sighed, “and her palace the tallestand straightest pine that ever raised its boughs to Heaven. When she left its shelter at early dawn to bathe in some sparkling stream, or seek for sweet berries in the thickets, the Flower-Elves flocked to greet her; wild roses gave her their bloom for her oval cheeks, and the violets scented her sunny hair. Wherever she passed, the moss grew a brighter green, and she had but to breathe on a gnarled old trunk, and the softest feathery fronds came to hide its ugliness. The creatures of the forest were all her friends, and took pride, as we did, in her loveliness.
‘Have a care, Elfrida—a stranger comes!’ cried a squirrel one summer morning, staying his dancing feet to warn her. His up-cocked ears had caught the thud of some well-shod charger’s swift approach, and he guessed he would not be riderless.
‘Go back to thy palace, dear child!’ cooed a motherly pigeon who had reared many broods of snowy fledglings, and misdoubted the sparkle in Elfrida’s pale green eyes.
‘Haste thee home, Elfrida!’ cried the streamas it gurgled over the stones; ‘haste thee home, and hide thy face from the sunlight.’ But Elfrida pretended not to hear as she shook out the crystal drops from her gorgeous hair.
The horse and his rider were close to her now; the huntsman blew his golden horn, and in the excitement of the chase might have passed her by, unseeing, but for his hounds. In a moment they had surrounded her, baying like hungry wolves, and Elfrida sprang to a branch that overhung the water, where her white limbs gleamed against its green. The huntsman sent the dogs to heel, and dismounting from his horse, entreated the maiden to come down to him. Nothing loth, Elfrida coyly descended, and the huntsman was amazed anew at her perfect form. He sat at her feet through the hush of noonday, and at even he was there still. When the moon turned the glades to silver, Elfrida left him, but she promised to meet him again next day, and he could not sleep for thinking of her.
But although she smiled on him sweetlyas she lay on the banks of the stream, and listened with languid pleasure to his fond fierce wooing, which passed for her many an idle hour, she would not consent to be his wife.
‘I like best the gems that I find on the lilies at daybreak,’ she said, when he vowed that the richest jewels that the earth could give should deck her fair white arms. ‘You must offer me something rarer than these if I am to forsake my kindred to go with you.’
Then the huntsman swore that he would give her all he had; only his honour would he hold back, for he was sick with love and longing.
Now behind Elfrida’s loveliness dwelt a spirit of malice and wanton cruelty, and though she loved not this wild Huntsman, and had no intention of being his bride, she wished to see how far her power over him could go. So she asked of him these three things: the crest of his House cut in the stone over his castle gates, where it had stood for centuries; the leaf from his dead mother’s Bible, whereon she had written thedate of her marriage day, with the names of the children born to her; and his father’s sword.
He entreated the Maiden to come down.
Elfrida
‘Nay, Sweetheart!’ cried the Huntsman. ‘Ask me for aught else in the world, but not for these things, since they touch my honour!’
‘These will I have, and nothing less,’ said Elfrida wilfully, looking at him through her long gold lashes until his soul went out from him. His face was white as milk as he rode away, and the creatures of the forest cringed with shame. For they knew she had asked what was unseemly; and they ceased to attend her when she went to the stream at dawn.
When the moon was at her full the Huntsman returned with the three gifts, and now he thought to take Elfrida in his arms. But she thrust him from her with bitter words, tearing the leaf from the sacred Book into a thousand shreds, and tossing the crest and sword into the running stream.
‘What!’ she cried, and her scornful laugh rang through the woodland, ‘shall I, Elfrida, be the sport of a man who holds the honour of his house as something less than a maiden’swhim? I will have none of you—get you gone!’ And she flung out her arms to the strong North Wind, who caught her to him and bore her off. But not to her high pine palace did he take her, for he was angry because of her cruelty; and far away at the grim North Pole, she shivers yet under the thickest ice. Her green eyes shine through the frost-bound floes, and light the depths of the Northern seas.”
“And the Huntsman?” I questioned.
“He died in his rage, where Elfrida left him!” said the Moss-woman mournfully, “and his spirit seeks still to avenge his wrongs. To the last of our race it will pursue us, until none of our kindred lives.”
“Chris! Chris! where are you?”
It was Father’s voice, and the Moss-woman vanished. Father wanted to read me a funny letter from the Locust, who complained a lot of being called up at night by patients who had no money, and wouldn’t have paid him even if they had. This was the way they often treated Father, but he said “Poor beggars!”and then forgot it, while the Locust was very cross.
Next day I went back to the forest, hoping to find the Moss-woman again, but she was not there. I found instead an Elf who was almost too small to be seen. She told me that she and her sisters lived in the cells which make leaves so green, and mixed things they drew in from the air and sunlight with the water that came through the roots, turning these into sugar to feed the tree. It sounded like magic, and I was so much interested that I almost forgot to ask about the Moss-women.
“Poor little things!” said the Leaf-Elf kindly, when I said I had seen one. “It is well that the woodcutters are their friends, or they would fare badly. Many a meal did they have from them in past times, and even Hans the Unlucky never grudged them what he gave. They paid him back for it, never fear, for they do not forget a kindness.”
“Who was he?” I asked. And this is what she told me.
The Luck of Hans.
“Of all the unlucky mortals, Hans was surely the most to be pitied, for though he was honest and frugal, nothing he touched seemed to prosper. The farm had done well in his father’s lifetime, but after he died there was not one good season forthree bad ones. Far from being idle, Hans was up before dawn, and still hard at work at sundown. His mother sent away her maids, since she could not pay them their wages, and kept the house straight herself; where could you find a worthier pair? But Hans’ affairs went from bad to worse, and when (at the busiest time of the year) his mother lost her sight and became quite blind it was clear he was born to be unlucky.
The farm went to rack and ruin, and there came a time when Hans was forced to go off to the forest to fell a tree that his poor old mother might have fuel to warm her. When the sun was high, he drew out his lunch, and a poor little Moss-woman stole out from the undergrowth to beg a few crumbs for her hungry children.
‘Take it all!’ he cried, thrusting his bread into her tiny hands. ‘It is waste of good food for a man to eat who is as unlucky as I.’
‘I cannot repay you in kind, friend Hans,’ said the Moss-woman, ‘but I will give you some good advice. In the house by the milllives a sweet young girl, with a face tinged with pink like a daisy’s. She has loved you long, for you are her mate. Take her to wife, and your luck will turn.’
Hans flushed deep crimson beneath his tan, and the veins on his forehead grew tense and hard.
‘You—you—’ he stammered; ‘you must mean Elsa? And Elsa, you say, Elsa cares forme?It can’t—it can’t—be true.’
‘A woman’s heart goes where it will,’ answered the Moss-woman. ‘Try your luck, friend Hans, and lose no time. Life is short, and the days are flying.’
Hans went at once to the house by the mill, for had he not gazed at it time and again as the casket which held his treasure?
When Elsa saw him coming with that look upon his face, she twisted a ribbon, blue as her eyes, in the pale gold plait that crowned her head, and went shyly down to meet him.
“Went shyly down to meet him”“Went shyly down to meet him”
Hans said not a word, but he found a way to make her understand, and his eyes spoke, though his lips were dumb.
They were betrothed and married within the month, and little cared sweet Elsa that her friends marvelled at her choice. She comforted the sad blind dame, whose son was now her husband, as a happy woman comforts one who fears she has lost all, and behold! the old woman smiled again. As to Hans, the neighbours scarcely recognised him when they met him in the markets; she trimmed his beard, did Elsa, with her own hands, and mothered him as if he were a child of seven. His fields grew green, and then golden with harvest; his scanty flocks increased and multiplied.
‘Hans’ luck has changed!’ the neighbours said, and they scoffed at him no more.
But good luck itself does not last for ever, and after three years of plenty came a bad one for all in those parts. There was a long and unusual drought, followed by so much rain that the roots rotted in the ground, and sickness spread amongst sheep and oxen. Hans lost all that he had re-gained, and to add to his misfortunes, he chopped his handinstead of a log of wood, and could do no work for weeks. He was in despair, and the old blind woman beside his hearth wept and wailed from morn till eve.
‘I would I were dead,’ she moaned. ‘I am a useless burden, for I cannot even knit. My store of wool is exhausted, and we have no money to buy more.’
‘Dear Mother,’ said Elsa tenderly, ‘who has a greater right than you to the last penny that Hans possesses? You carried him on your breast when he was small and helpless, and have loved him faithfully all these years!’
But the mother turned her face to the wall and wrung her idle hands.
Then Elsa sold the ring that had been her lover’s gift in order to buy for her soft white bread and warming cordials, and wool wherewith to ply her needles. As she returned home with her basket, grieving to think of the pain of those she loved, a Moss-woman accosted her in the forest.
‘I have nought for my children to eat,’she said. And Elsa, pitying her the more that she herself was hungry, gave her a share of what she had, even to a skein of the wool, that she might weave a coat for her crying babe.
‘Wait for me here!’ cried the Moss-woman earnestly, and Elsa leaned sadly against a tree, too weary to be surprised. In a moment or two the Moss-woman returned, carrying a grey ball of wool and some chips of wood.
‘Give the wool to the old crone who weeps by your hearth,’ said the little thing, ‘and the chips to Hans. He is lucky in his wife, if in nought else!’
So saying, she disappeared, and Elsa went quickly home. Thinking to win a laugh from her husband, she opened her apron to show him the Moss-woman’s gifts, and, to her amazement, found that the chips had turned to yellow gold, and the little grey ball of wool into a large one of fleecy whiteness, so soft and thick that it felt like velvet! The golden chips stocked the farm again, for they were of pure metal, and weighty, and the ball ofwhite wool was never exhausted during the old woman’s life time. She knitted away until her hundredth year, and when, long afterward, the summons came also for Hans and Elsa, in their turn, their children had good cause to bless the name of the Moss-woman.”
She knitted away until her hundredth year
Chapter XI The White Princess.
It was to Italy we travelled next,to stay with the Signor, who had lived in England once, and was a patient of Father’s.
It was fearfully hot when we arrived, and most English people had gone away; but Father and I could bear a lot of sunshine, and we did not go out in the middle of the day.
In the early mornings I went off to explore while Father was still asleep. Sometimes I made for the hills, but often I chose the city, for I liked to wander through the streets and make friends with the chattering children. They were jolly little beggars, with bare brown feet and thick dark hair that fell over their faces. My favourites were Giovanni and Mariannina; their mother worked for a grand Contessa who lived not far from the Signor. Giovanni was thin as a reed, but Mariannina, whose curly head did not reach her brother’s shoulders, was as plump as a partridge, and her cheeks were red instead of brown. Adelina, the Signor’s housekeeper, told me their names, and that Mariannina was the pride and torment of Giovanni’s life.
“He adores her,” she said, “but she issurely bewitched. She runs from him like a squirrel, and is an imp for mischief. Ah, the poor Giovanni—he has his hands full!”
After this I often met them, and if Mariannina were in a good humour she would smile at me through her lashes, while if she were cross she would frown like a Witch, and even shake her tiny fist. At this, Giovanni would look quite shocked, and would beg me in broken English not to be hurt at ‘la sorellina’s’ unkindness.
“She so ver’ small!” he pleaded wistfully, and this was always his excuse for her.
One day she took it into her head to run away from him, and darted into the middle of the road, almost under the heels of some prancing horses. I happened to be close by, and seized her red skirt just in time to drag her back. Panting with terror, Giovanni took her from me, and when he found she was not hurt, for the first time in his life he shook her. And then he tried to kiss my hands; I almost wished I had left Mariannina to be run over. Before I could get away from him, he hadthrust upon me the small gilt cage he always carried about with him, and had but just now tossed on the ground. It held his cherished ‘grillo,’ or cricket, a curious pet of which all his playmates seemed very fond.
“It is yours, it is yours!” he cried, and seemed so grieved when I tried to give it back to him that I was obliged to keep it.
The cricket was a merry little creature, with a very loud voice for his size. “Cree-cree-cree!”he chirped, as I carried him to the villa, and he never once stopped all day. I believe that he sang the whole night through, for I heard him in my dreams; and when I woke I determined to set him free.
I carried the little gilt cage up the slope of a hill before I opened the door. No sooner had he hopped on the grass, when his “Cree-cree-cree” was taken up by hundreds of other crickets, who gathered round him in great excitement, chirping with all their might. As I put my fingers into my ears, a little old woman appeared from nowhere, and with a wave of her hand sent them all away.
“Many mouths make a small noise great,” she said, “and you are not the first to be wearied by the crickets’ song. The Sorcerer of the Seven Heads[2]liked it as little as you did, and the White Princess owes her happiness to this. I say what I know, for I am her Fairy Godmother.”
“Why, they told me there were no Fairies in Italy!” I cried. And then I was sorry that I had spoken, for the little old woman grew pale with rage.
“No Fairies?” she exclaimed. “Ah, foolish ones, worse than blind! Had you not believed them you had seen countless Witches and Fays ere this, for Ascension Day has come and gone, and they are all set free. Besides these, there are Goblins and Spirits, and fearsome Incubas, and shadowy Fates who sway men’s destinies. All these abound in our sunny Italy for those who have eyes to see; and there are also Fairy Godmothers, such as I. The maidens for whom I stand sponsor comb jewels out of their hair; diamonds and pearls, rubies, and shiningturquoise. But the White Princess’ were always pearls; and pearls often turn to tears.”
Then, drawing close to me, as I sat in the long grass, she told me of
The White Princess.
“The fates had dowered Queen Catherine with gifts; but though her husband wasdevoted to her, and the kingdom was blessed by a long spell of peace, she sighed unceasingly. One boon alone had been denied her, and without this she did not care to live.
‘Let her have her way!’ cried the Fates at last, weary of her complainings. So one summer dawn a babe was found in the bed of lilies beneath her window, and now her mourning was turned into joy. For a daughter had been her heart’s desire.
The little Princess was christened Fiorita, but from the day of her birth she was known as the White Princess. Her skin was as purely pale as the petals of her guardian flowers, and the yellow gold of their stamens was the colour of her hair. But out of her eyes looked a spirit that boded sorrow—the spirit that would fain know all.
The White Princess grew lovelier day by day, smiling but seldom, and staring for hours at the distant line of the far horizon, where the hills kept watch for ever over the land Beyond. The Queen looked on with delight at the unfolding of this tender blossom,but her happiness did not bring strength, and when in due time the sweet coral lips lisped the soft word ‘Mother,’ her soul broke the bonds which held it, and sped away.
Fiorita was now twice orphaned, for her father, the King, would scarcely look at her, since he connected her coming with the death of his beloved wife. In order that the sight of her might not continually remind him of his sorrow, he built a fine tower of gold and crystal, and here, surrounded by all her ladies, the White Princess grew into womanhood. Lovely as snow crystals, and cold as the arctic wastes, Fiorita made few friends, and spoke to none of her inmost thoughts. The Kings of the Earth who came to woo her were abashed by her strange white beauty, and only the Prince Fiola remained to ask her hand.
He was brave as a lion, and gentle as a woman, as true knights are to this very day. The sound of his voice as he spake of his love stirred the Princess’ heart to a secret joy; but him, too, she sent away with but a glance from her blue-grey eyes. And though I, her FairyGodmother, scolded her well and entreated her to say him yea, she would not be persuaded.
“Lowered herself from her window by means of a rope of pearls”“Lowered herself from her window by means of a rope of pearls”
‘First I must see what lies hid in the land Beyond,’ she said, and that very night, when the Crystal Tower shone wanly in the moon-light, and all her ladies were sleeping, the Princess covered her snow-white robe with a gossamer cloak of clouded grey, and lowered herself from her window by means of a rope of pearls, passing through her gardens and into the forest, which lay between her and the land Beyond. All fearless in her virgin purity, she listened neither to the Goblins who eyed her hungrily from the shapeless trees and besought her to show them favour, nor to the warnings of compassionate Fays who bade her return to the Crystal Tower.
‘I seek the land Beyond,’ she cried, not knowing that she could never reach it except on spirit wings.
Now the Prince Fiola could not sleep for love of her, and this night he stayed his restless wanderings in the Palace grounds by the waters of a placid lake, for the fancy cameto him that therein dwelt some kindly Sprite who, perchance, would give him counsel and further his suit. Clear shone the moon above, making the smooth surface into a fairy mirror which reflected the swaying trees and the mysteries of forest depths; and as he looked, the Prince descried the shape of a slim white form which seemed to be hurrying onward amidst a forest. The poise of the head was Fiorita’s; hers, too, was the queenly gait. But thinking her to be safely sleeping, the Prince believed that his eyes were cheating him, and moodily resumed his walk. When morning came, however, he hastened to the Crystal Tower. He found it in great commotion. Doors were opened and shut in rapid succession, and scared attendants ran in and out like ants.
‘The Princess is not in her chamber!’ her ladies told him, wringing their hands. ‘Her bed has not been slept on, and her silken wrapper is still in its broidered case.’
As the Prince stood bewildered, the King came up. The remembrance of his lack oflove was heavy upon him, and he strove to stifle his remorse by loud threatenings of dire punishment to all if his daughter were not speedily recovered.
As he stood quietly aside in the midst of the commotion, Prince Fiola remembered the vision of the lake, and bidding a groom go fetch him a horse, he mounted and rode straightway to the forest. Two paths stretched out before him; his horse would have taken that on the right, but the Prince urged it along the other, for he thought that he caught a glimpse of his love’s white gown at the end of a woodland glade.
It was only the feather of a dove, however, and he pressed on, barely slackening his pace for hours. Darkness fell, but there was still no sign of Fiorita, and when he reached the borders of the forest, and yet had found no trace of her, his heart was sick at the thought of her peril. He could not stop, so with only the stars to guide him, he essayed to cross the waste that lay beyond, and at dawn was still riding wearily on. By thefollowing noon both horse and rider were exhausted. The burning sun blazed down on their heads, smiting them as a sword, and though the Prince had no pity on himself, he grieved that his horse should suffer. Dismounting, he led it on until he came to a great rock, down the side of which flowed a stream of water. When he and his dumb companion had quenched their thirst, he took off its bridle and set it free, for he knew that the faithful creature could carry him no further.
‘Make your way home, good friend,’ he said, as he patted its glossy mane. ‘I cannot return without my Princess, though I fear me ’twill be many a day before I find her.’
And now began the most toilsome part of his journey. With the land Beyond always before him, he trudged on and on, turning aside for nothing; and so passed another day and night. Now the long road wound uphill; stones blocked his way, and thorns tore his hands and face; still he pressed on, for his love was stronger than hunger and thirst, and pain had no terrors for him. Nevertheless,he had lost all hope, when a turn in the path disclosed a sight which made him for the moment forget his trouble.
A bent old woman, crooked and frail, staggered beneath a load of sticks, and dancing along at either side of her, were two rough boys, who mocked at her lameness, calling her a Witch. The Prince overtook them with rapid strides, and knowing that the power of gentleness is more lasting than that of anger, he suppressed his wrath as he spoke to them, though withal he reproved them sternly.
‘Know you not,’ he said, ‘that only cowards persecute those who are weaker than themselves? ’Tis a woman whom you call ‘mother,’ and if only for this, you should hold all women in reverence. Now go—and remember what I have said. Here is something to purchase a gift for your parents. See that you are more worthy of their care.’ And with other words to the same effect, he gave each a silver coin.
Won alike by his kindness and the justice of his rebuke, the boys asked pardon fortheir rudeness, and scampered off with glowing faces, while the old woman blessed the Prince for thus befriending her. Disclaiming her thanks, he lifted her load to his own shoulders, when it immediately became as light as air. The next moment it fell from him altogether; and he turned in great astonishment to meet her serious gaze.
‘Bel giavone!’ she exclaimed, ‘I pray you think me not intrusive, but I know by your voice that your heart is heavy as the load I carried awhile ago. Tell me your grief, that if the Fates so will, I may in my turn help you.’
‘In truth, good mother,’ said the Prince, ‘no mortal can aid me now except by telling me where I may find the White Princess, whom I seek day and night in anguish, since she is my dear love.’
‘Even that can I do!’ cried the old woman, straightening her bent figure until she stood before him tall and queenly, her squalid rags changing into flowing robes of purple velvet. ‘I am the Witch Lucretia, and my spells are a match for those of the Sorcerer with theSeven Heads. You have travelled far from your White Princess, for the Sorcerer lurks in the forest through which you passed, and Fiorita is his prisoner. No man yet has entered his castle to leave it alive, but I will show you how this may be done, if you are willing to change your shape and become one of Earth’s humblest creatures.’
The Prince feared nothing so that he might once reach the side of Fiorita, and gladly submitted himself to the enchantments of the Witch. Lucretia lifted the silver wand that was hid in the fold of her gown, and at its touch the Prince became a cricket, just such another as the one which you lately restored to liberty.
‘You will find no difficulty now,’ she said, ‘in entering the Sorcerer’s castle, for the pitfalls he has prepared for man are as nought to they who traverse the air. And that you may be one of many, and so a match for his spells, I will summon my Witches and Fairies to protect you.’
Having muttered an incantation, she blewthrice on an opalescent shell which dangled from her waist upon a ruby chain; and troops of Fays and Witches came hurrying down the road. Some were slender and stately, with faces as fair as dreamland; some were twisted and bent, and some so small that a dozen could hide in the cup of a flower. With a second wave of her silver wand, Lucretia transformed them into a myriad crickets. Hailing Fiola as their king, she placed him at their head, and reminding him solemnly that persistence conquers where force must fail, bade him lead them back to the forest.
In an incredibly short time this aerial army arrived at the castle of the Sorcerer with the Seven heads. It stood in the midst of a dense thicket, surrounded by a moat, the lurking place of demons with long forked tongues, and eyes that shot evil fires. Undaunted by their snarls, the crickets flew over the draw-bridge, and finding a way into the castle through the close-barred windows, swarmed round the Sorcerer’s head. A cauldron swung from the domed ceiling, over a quenchlessfire, and in this the wretch was even then concocting a potion by which he should overcome Fiorita. Her purity had hitherto protected her, and though he had bound her body with chains, he could not fetter her spirit.
He tickled the Monster’s Nose.
Fiorita
‘How dare you disturb me?’ he roared, lunging at the crickets vainly with a long and glittering knife.
Fiola would fain have slain him where he stood, but when, forgetting his impotence, he hurled himself forward at the monster, he only tickled his nose.
‘Leave him to us!’ cried his cricket friends; and then they began their witch-song of ‘Cree-cree-cree.’
Now the Sorcerer having seven heads—Greed, Envy, Spite, Malice, Passion, Jealousy, and Despair, each of which would have instantly sprung forth again had Fiola been able to chop it off—he had naturally fourteen ears, and these were so extraordinarily sensitive to noise that he had destroyed all the woodpeckers in the forest that he might nothear their tap-tap on the trees as they searched the bark for insects. You can judge, then, of his disgust when on his refusal to obey Lucretia’s command, and break the bonds which held Fiorita, this host of crickets swarmed round his head, and filled the air with discord. Each pitched his voice in a different key, and the din of battle was as nothing to that which now pervaded the castle.
These were the words of the witch-song:
‘Cree-cree-cree-creeSet Fiola’s Princess free.Sorcerer thou, but Witches we—Cricket-Witches, from grass and ditches.Cree-cree-cree-cree!Peace thine ears no more shall knowTill thou bidst the lady go.Cree-cree-cree-cree!Sorcerer, set the lady free!’[3]
‘Cree-cree-cree-creeSet Fiola’s Princess free.Sorcerer thou, but Witches we—Cricket-Witches, from grass and ditches.Cree-cree-cree-cree!Peace thine ears no more shall knowTill thou bidst the lady go.Cree-cree-cree-cree!Sorcerer, set the lady free!’[3]
‘Cree-cree-cree-creeSet Fiola’s Princess free.Sorcerer thou, but Witches we—Cricket-Witches, from grass and ditches.Cree-cree-cree-cree!Peace thine ears no more shall knowTill thou bidst the lady go.Cree-cree-cree-cree!Sorcerer, set the lady free!’[3]
Over and over again they chanted this lay, and every cricket, far and near, joined in the maddening chorus. They sang until the Sorcerer with the Seven Heads felt that his senses were leaving him; pallid with rage, he severed the White Princess’s chains. Bythe power of Lucretia, who had clearly foreseen his discomforture, the moment that the chains fell from her Fiorita immediately became a cricket also, and gladly did she fly to the side of the Prince, who greeted her with rapture.
All would now have been well had they straightway left the castle, for Lucretia waited outside to restore to them their human form. As Fiorita passed the great cauldron which still swung over the lamp, she could not resist the temptation to lean over and peep inside, and the fumes from the potion being very strong, she straightway fainted, falling into the midst of the blood-red liquid. Before it could wholly cover her, the Cricket King seized her wings in his mouth; he carried her thus into the open air, where she speedily revived. Great was Lucretia’s concern, however, when she heard from Fiola what had happened.
‘Alas,’ she sighed, ‘not even I, who am mistress of spells and enchantments, can avert from Fiorita the consequences of herdelay. Since the Sorcerer’s potion touched her, for six months each year she must be a cricket, even as now; for the rest, she will be the White Princess, to dwell with you where you will.’
Then Fiorita was sad indeed, for she had lost her longing to see the land Beyond, and desired nothing better than to wed the Prince. But now that he knew she loved him, no spell could dampen Fiola’s joy.
‘While you are a cricket,’ he said, ‘I will be one too, for so long as you are beside me—what matters else?’ And the Fays and Witches, who reverence all true love, elected to share their banishment.
And so it was, and is to this present time. For half the year Fiola is the Cricket King, and Fiorita, more than content, his Queen. But as Ascension day comes round, the spell is broken, and they take their accustomed places at the Court. It is hard to say when they are the happier; for love is as much at home in the humblest corner of Mother Earth as it is in a lordly Palace.”
Chapter XII The Favourite of the Fates.
One night there was not a breath ofair, and I could not sleep. I tossed this way and that for hours, and directly the birds began to twitter, I put on my things and slipped back the bolt of the grand hall door. Once outside, it was beautifully fresh and cool, and the clouds in the sky were like wreaths of pink flowers on a turquoise sea, arched over with gleaming gold. They changed every moment, and while I watched them I forgot to look where I was going. When I stopped at last I found myself in the middle of the market place, where I had been with Father the day before.
It was empty now, for no one was yet awake but me.
Among the quaint old wooden houses I noticed one that I had not seen before; at first it seemed to be indistinct, but the longer I stared at it, the clearer it grew. Over the door of the tiny shop was the figure of a hen cut into the stone, and while I was wondering who had carved it, the wings fluttered gently toward me. The bird moved its head, and its wings were lifted; it flew to the ground, and a lovely white hen was at my feet. It looked at me wistfully,and flew away; when I turned to the little house once again, it was not there. But beside me stood the Fairy Godmother.
“Come and sit in the shade,” she said, when I asked her what had become of the hen, “and I will tell you all about her. She is seeking Furicchia, whom she served so well, not knowing that she is a shadow too.”
Furicchia and her hen
The Enchanted Hen
“Furicchia,” said the Fairy Godmother, “was a very poor woman who owned a hen which an innkeeper greatly coveted. The shape of the bird was perfect; it had a most melodious voice, and its feathers were glossy and white as snow.
‘Come now, good dame,’ the man cried, persuasively, ‘I will give you double the market value of your little hen, for I wish to make a present of her to the widow Ursula, whom I intend to espouse.’
‘But the widow might kill and eat her!’ said Furicchia, looking lovingly at the little hen, which she had brought up by hand from a tiny chick. It had slept beneath her best silk ’kerchief, and taken its food from her lips.
‘That is as may be,’ he replied. ‘Come, Furicchia, I make you a handsome offer. Give me the hen, and you shall fare well next feast day.’
But Furicchia would not listen, in spite of the sad fact that her cupboard was as empty as her netted purse. The little hen was dear to her, though as yet it had lain no eggs, and she would not sacrifice her to her needs.
Ere evening came, Coccodé was clucking gaily under the kitchen table, and Furicchia found, not one egg, but three, all a rich coffee brown, and polished like porcelain. Having joyfully exchanged one with a neighbour fora dish of broth, she broke the second into it, and prudently saving the third for next day, thankfully made a good meal. When morning came, she found eggs to the number of a round dozen strewn about her tiny room, and from being almost on the verge of starvation, she had plenty now and to spare. For Coccodé, the grateful creature, laid eggs by the score, and not only were they of exquisite flavour and very large, but it was noticed that if sick folk ate them, they straightway returned to health.
Furicchia was now a famous egg-wife, and the more eggs she sold, the more eggs Coccodé laid. The little hen was both willing and industrious, and loved her kind mistress so dearly that she was never so happy as when helping to make her fortune. Her pride in Furicchia’s first silk gown was comical to witness; she rustled her wings against its handsome folds, and clucked so loudly that the neighbours heard, and came to see what was the matter.
This silken gown it was that roused theanger of the Signora, a wealthy woman who had much, and knew no better than to want more. Hearing of the prodigious number of eggs which Furicchia supplied, though no one had ever seen her with other than a single hen, she set afoot much scandal concerning her, ending by declaring her to be an evil Witch. At this, Furicchia’s neighbours began to look askance at her; but the eggs were so good, and so moderate in price, that on second thoughts they decided to treat the Signora’s hints with the contempt which they deserved.
This made the lady still more angry; she resolved to find out Furicchia’s secret, and ruin her if she could, so that she might obtain her customers for her own eggs. Coccodé was quite aware of what was going on, and before her mistress went out one morning she bade her fetch certain herbs that grew on a corner of barren land, and put these on the fire in a pot of wine.
‘And now, dear mistress,’ she continued, when all had been done as she said, ‘do you go out and trust your luck to Coccodé.’
Furicchia had not long been gone, when the Signora’s crafty face peeped slyly round the door. Finding the room apparently empty, she hurried in, delighted at such an opportunity for prying. First she peered here, and then she peered there, ransacking Furicchia’s chests, and even turning over the leaves of her holy books, that she might see if an incantation to Witches had been written therein. Finally, she raised the latch of the inner chamber, where she had heard Coccodé clucking.
‘I have found out Furicchia’s secret now,’ she thought with glee. ‘Her little white hen is under a spell, and she and it shall be burnt as Witches.’
Coccodé was sitting on a pile of eggs that reached almost up to the ceiling, and even as she clucked she was laying more. The Signora drew close to her, and listened with all her ears, for she had distinguished words amidst her cluckings, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that Coccodé believed herself to be addressing her mistress. This is what she heard: