Come lawyer, come tailor, come miller, come singer.
'For myself,' he added, with a laugh, 'I only ask for the half of your wealth.'
'You can have it, if you will, Houarn,' answered the fairy.
'What do you mean?' cried he.
'My husband, Korandon, is dead,' she replied, 'and if you wish it, I will marry you.'
The young man gazed at her in surprise. Could any one so rich and so beautiful really wish to be his wife? He looked at her again, and Bellah was forgotten as he answered:
'A man would be mad indeed to refuse such an offer. I can only accept it with joy.'
'Then the sooner it is done the better,' said the Groac'h, and gave orders to her servants. After that was finished, she begged Houarn to accompany her to a fish-pond at the bottom of the garden.
'Come lawyer, come miller, come tailor, come singer!' cried she, holding out a net of steel; and at each summons a fish appeared and jumped into the net. When it was full she went into a large kitchen and threw them all into a golden pot; but above the bubbling of the water Houarn seemed to hear the whispering of little voices.
'Who is it whispering in the golden pot, Groac'h?' he inquired at last.
'It is nothing but the noise of the wood sparkling,' she answered; but it did not sound the least like that to Houarn.
'There it is again,' he said, after a short pause.
'The water is getting hot, and it makes the fish jump,' she replied; but soon the noise grew louder and like cries.
'Whatisit?' asked Houarn, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
'Just the crickets on the hearth,' said she, and broke into a song which drowned the cries from the pot.
But though Houarn held his peace, he was not as happy as before. Something seemed to have gone wrong, and then he suddenly remembered Bellah.
'Is it possible I can have forgotten her so soon? What a wretch I am!' he thought to himself; and he remained apart and watched the Groac'h while she emptied the fish into a plate, and bade him eat his dinner while she fetched wine from her cellar in a cave.
Houarn sat down and took out the knife which Bellah had given him, but as soon as the blade touched the fish the enchantment ceased, and four men stood before him.
'Houarn, save us, we entreat you, and save yourself too!' murmured they, not daring to raise their voices.
'Why, it must have beenyouwho were crying out in the pot just now!' exclaimed Houarn.
'Yes, it was us,' they answered. 'Like you, we came to the isle of Lok to seek our fortunes, and like you we consented to marry the Groac'h, and no sooner was the ceremony over than she turned us into fishes, as she had done to all our forerunners, who are in the fish-pond still, where you will shortly join them.'
On hearing this Houarn leaped into the air, as if he already felt himself frizzling in the golden pot. He rushed to the door, hoping to escape that way; but the Groac'h, who had heard everything, met him on the threshold. Instantly she threw the steel net over his head, and the eyes of a little green frog peeped through the meshes.
'You shall go and play with the rest,' she said, carrying him off to the fish-pond.
It was at this very moment that Bellah, who was skimming the milk in the farm dairy, heard the fairy bell tinkle violently.
At the sound she grew pale, for she knew it meant that Houarn was in danger; and, hastily changing the rough dress she wore for her work, she left the farm with the magic stick in her hand.
Her knees were trembling under her, but she ran asfast as she could to the cross roads, where she drove her stick into the ground, murmuring as she did so a verse her mother had taught her:
Little staff of apple-tree,Over the earth and over the sea,Up in the air be guide to me,Everywhere to wander free,
Little staff of apple-tree,Over the earth and over the sea,Up in the air be guide to me,Everywhere to wander free,
and immediately the stick became a smart little horse, with a rosette at each ear and a feather on his forehead. He stood quite still while Bellah scrambled up, then he started off, his pace growing quicker and quicker, till at length the girl could hardly see the trees and houses as they flashed past. But, rapid as the pace was, it was not rapid enough for Bellah, who stooped and said:
'The swallow is less swift than the wind, the wind is less swift than the lightning. But you, my horse, if you love me, must be swifter than them all, for there is a part of my heart that suffers—the best part of my heart that is in danger.'
And the horse heard her, and galloped like a straw carried along by a tempest till they reached the foot of a rock called the Leap of the Deer. There he stopped, for no horse or mule that ever was born could climb that rock, and Bellah knew it, so she began to sing again:
Horse of Léon, given to me,Over the earth and over the sea,Up in the air be guide to me,Everywhere to wander free,
Horse of Léon, given to me,Over the earth and over the sea,Up in the air be guide to me,Everywhere to wander free,
and when she had finished, the horse's fore legs grew shorter and spread into wings, his hind legs became claws, feathers sprouted all over his body, and she sat on the back of a great bird, which bore her to the summit of the rock. Here she found a nest made of clay and lined with dried moss, and in the centre a tiny man, black and wrinkled, who gave a cry of surprise at the sight of Bellah.
'Ah! you are the pretty girl who was to come and save me!'
'To save you!' repeated Bellah. 'But who are you, my little friend?'
'I am the husband of the Groac'h of the isle of Lok, and it is owing to her that I am here.'
'But what are you doing in this nest?'
How Bellah found Korandon.
'I am sitting on six eggs of stone, and I shall not be set free till they are hatched.'
On hearing this Bellah began to laugh.
'Poor little cock!' she said, 'and how am I to deliver you?'
'By delivering Houarn, who is in the power of the Groac'h.'
'Ah! tell me how I can manage that, and if I haveto walk round the whole of Brittany on my bended knees I will do it!'
'Well, first you must dress yourself as a young man, and then go and seek the Groac'h. When you have found her you must contrive to get hold of the net of steel that hangs from her waist, and shut her up in it for ever.'
'But where am I to find a young man's clothes?' asked she.
'I will show you,' he replied, and as he spoke he pulled out three of his red hairs and blew them away muttering something the while. In the twinkling of an eye the four hairs changed into four tailors, of whom the first carried a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the third a needle, and the fourth an iron. Without waiting for orders, they sat down in the nest and, crossing their legs comfortably, began to prepare the suit of clothes for Bellah.
With one of the leaves of the cabbage they made her a coat, and another served for a waistcoat; but it took two for the wide breeches which were then in fashion. The hat was cut from the heart of the cabbage, and a pair of shoes from the thick stem. And when Bellah had put them all on you would have taken her for a gentleman dressed in green velvet, lined with white satin.
She thanked the little men gratefully, and after a few more instructions, jumped on the back of her great bird and was borne away to the isle of Lok. Once there, she bade him transform himself back into a stick, and with it in her hand she stepped into the blue boat, which conducted her to the palace of shells.
The Groac'h seemed overjoyed to see her, and told her that never before had she beheld such a handsome young man. Very soon she led her visitor into the great hall, where wine and fruit were always waiting, and on the table lay the magic knife, left there by Houarn.Unseen by the Groac'h, Bellah hid it in a pocket of her green coat, and then followed her hostess into the garden, and to the pond which contained the fish, their sides shining with a thousand different colours.
'Oh! what beautiful, beautiful creatures!' said she. 'I'm sure I should never be tired of watching them.' And she sat down on the bank, with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes fixed on the fishes as they flashed past.
'Would you not like to stay here always?' asked the Groac'h; and Bellah answered that she desired nothing better.
'Then you have only to marry me,' said the Groac'h. 'Oh! don't say no, for I have fallen deeply in love with you.'
'Well, I won't say "No,"' replied Bellah, with a laugh, 'but you must promise first to let me catch one of those lovely fish in your net.'
'It is not so easy as it looks,' rejoined the Groac'h, smiling, 'but take it, and try your luck.'
Bellah took the net which the Groac'h held out, and, turning rapidly, flung it over the witch's head.
'Become in body what you are in soul!' cried she, and in an instant the lovely fairy of the sea was a toad, horrible to look upon. She struggled hard to tear the net asunder, but it was no use. Bellah only drew it the tighter, and, flinging the sorceress into a pit, she rolled a great stone across the mouth, and left her.
As she drew near the pond she saw a great procession of fishes advancing to meet her, crying in hoarse tones:
'This is our lord and master, who has saved us from the net of steel and the pot of gold!'
'And who will restore you to your proper shapes,' said Bellah, drawing the knife from her pocket. But just as she was going to touch the foremost fish, her eyes fell on a green frog on his knees beside her, his little paws crossed over his little heart. Bellah felt as iffingers were tightening round her throat, but she managed to cry:
'Is this you, my Houarn? Is this you?'
'It is I,' croaked the little frog; and as the knife touched him he was a man again, and, springing up, he clasped her in his arms.
'But we must not forget the others,' she said at last, and began to transform the fishes to their proper shapes. There were so many of them that it took quite a long time. Just as she had finished there arrived the little dwarf from the Deer's Leap in a car drawn by six cockchafers, which once had been the six stone eggs.
'Here I am!' he exclaimed. 'You have broken the spell that held me, and now come and get your reward,' and, dismounting from his chariot, he led them down into the caves filled with gold and jewels, and bade Bellah and Houarn take as much as they wanted.
When their pockets were full, Bellah ordered her stick to become a winged carriage, large enough to bear them and the men they had rescued back to Lanillis.
There they were married the next day, but instead of setting up housekeeping with the little cow and pig to fatten that they had so long wished for, they were able to buy lands for miles round for themselves, and gave each man who had been delivered from the Groac'h a small farm, where he lived happily to the end of his days.
From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.
Manawyddanthe prince and his friend Pryderi were wanderers, for the brother of Manawyddan had been slain, and his throne taken from him. Very sorrowful was Manawyddan, but Pryderi was stout of heart, and bade him be of good cheer, as he knew a way out of his trouble.
'And what may that be?' asked Manawyddan.
'It is that thou marry my mother Rhiannon and become lord of the fair lands that I will give her for dowry. Never did any lady have more wit than she, and in her youth none was more lovely; even yet she is good to look upon.'
'Thou art the best friend that ever a man had,' said Manawyddan. 'Let us go now to seek Rhiannon, and the lands where she dwells.'
Then they set forth, but the news of their coming ran swifter still, and Rhiannon and Kicva, wife of Pryderi, made haste to prepare a feast for them. And Manawyddan found that Pryderi had spoken the truth concerning his mother, and asked if she would take him for her husband. Right gladly did she consent, and without delay they were married, and rode away to the hunt, Rhiannon and Manawyddan, Kicva and Pryderi, and they would not be parted from each other by night or by day, so great was the love between them.
One day, when they were returned, they were sitting out in a green place, and suddenly the crash of thunder struck loudly on their ears, and a wall of mist fell betweenthem, so that they were hidden one from the other. Trembling they sat till the darkness fled and the light shone again upon them, but in the place where they were wont to see cattle, and herds, and dwellings, they beheld neither house nor beast, nor man nor smoke; neither was any one remaining in the green place save these four only.
'Whither have they gone, and my host also?' cried Manawyddan, and they searched the hall, and there was no man, and the castle, and there was none, and in the dwellings that were left was nothing save wild beasts. For a year these four fed on the meat that Manawyddan and Pryderi killed out hunting, and the honey of the bees that sucked the mountain heather. For a time they desired nothing more, but when the next year began they grew weary.
'We cannot spend our lives thus,' said Manawyddan at last, 'let us go into England and learn some trade by which we may live.' So they left Wales, and went to Hereford, and there they made saddles, while Manawyddan fashioned blue enamel ornaments to put on their trappings. And so greatly did the townsfolk love these saddles, that no others were bought throughout the whole of Hereford, till the saddlers banded together and resolved to slay Manawyddan and his companions.
When Pryderi heard of it, he was very wroth, and wished to stay and fight. But the counsels of Manawyddan prevailed, and they moved by night to another city.
'What craft shall we follow?' asked Pryderi.
'We will make shields,' answered Manawyddan.
'But do we know anything of that craft?' answered Pryderi.
'We will try it,' said Manawyddan, and they began to make shields, and fashioned them after the shape ofthe shields they had seen; and these likewise they enamelled. And so greatly did they prosper that no man in the town bought a shield except they had made it, till at length the shield-makers banded together as the saddlers had done, and resolved to slay them. But of this they had warning, and by night betook themselves to another town.
'Let us take to making shoes,' said Manawyddan, 'for there are not any among the shoemakers bold enough to fight us.'
'I know nothing of making shoes,' answered Pryderi, who in truth despised so peaceful a craft.
'But I know,' replied Manawyddan, 'and I will teach thee to stitch. We will buy the leather ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.'
Then straightway he sought the town for the best leather, and for a goldsmith to fashion the clasps, and he himself watched till it was done, so that he might learn for himself. Soon he became known as 'The Maker of Gold Shoes,' and prospered so greatly, that as long as one could be bought from him not a shoe was purchased from the shoemakers of the town. And the craftsmen were wroth, and banded together to slay them.
'Pryderi,' said Manawyddan, when he had received news of it, 'we will not remain in England any longer. Let us set forth to Dyved.'
So they journeyed until they came to their lands at Narberth. There they gathered their dogs round them, and hunted for a year as before.
After that a strange thing happened. One morning Pryderi and Manawyddan rose up to hunt, and loosened their dogs, which ran before them, till they came to a small bush. At the bush, the dogs shrank away as if frightened, and returned to their masters, their hair bristling on their backs.
'We must see what is in that bush,' said Pryderi, and what was in it was a boar, with a skin as white as thesnow on the mountains. And he came out, and made a stand as the dogs rushed on him, driven on by the men. Long he stood at bay; then at last he betook himself to flight, and fled to a castle which was newly built, in a place where no building had ever been known. Into the castle he ran, and the dogs after him, and long though their masters looked and listened, they neither saw nor heard aught concerning dogs or boar.
'I will go into the castle and get tidings of the dogs,' said Pryderi at last.
'Truly,' answered Manawyddan, 'thou wouldst do unwisely, for whosoever has cast a spell over this land has set this castle here.'
'I cannot give up my dogs,' replied Pryderi, and to the castle he went.
But within was neither man nor beast; neither boar nor dogs, but only a fountain with marble round it, and on the edge a golden bowl, richly wrought, which pleased Pryderi greatly. In a moment he forgot about his dogs, and went up to the bowl and took hold of it, and his hands stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the marble slab, and despair took possession of him.
Till the close of day Manawyddan waited for him, and when the sun was fast sinking, he went home, thinking that he had strayed far.
'Where are thy friend and thy dogs?' said Rhiannon, and he told her what had befallen Pryderi.
'A good friend hast thou lost,' answered Rhiannon, and she went up to the castle and through the gate, which was open. There, in the centre of the courtyard, she beheld Pryderi standing, and hastened towards him.
'What dost thou here?' she asked, laying her hand on the bowl, and as she spoke she too stuck fast, and was not able to utter a word. Then thunder was heard and a veil of darkness descended upon them, and the castle vanished and they with it.
When Kicva, the wife of Pryderi, found that neither her husband nor his mother returned to her, she was in such sorrow that she cared not whether she lived or died. Manawyddan was grieved also in his heart, and said to her:
'It is not fitting that we should stay here, for we have lost our dogs and cannot get food. Let us go into England—it is easier for us to live there.' So they set forth.
'What craft wilt thou follow?' asked Kicva as they went along.
'I shall make shoes as once I did,' replied he; and he got all the finest leather in the town and caused gilded clasps to be made for the shoes, till everyone flocked to buy, and all the shoemakers in the town were idle and banded together in anger to kill him. But luckily Manawyddan got word of it, and he and Kicva left the town one night and proceeded to Narberth, taking with him a sheaf of wheat, which he sowed in three plots of ground. And while the wheat was growing up, he hunted and fished, and they had food enough and to spare. Thus the months passed until the harvest; and one evening Manawyddan visited the furthest of his fields of wheat; and saw that it was ripe.
'To-morrow I will reap this,' said he; but on the morrow when he went to reap the wheat he found nothing but the bare straw.
Filled with dismay he hastened to the second field, and there the corn was ripe and golden.
'To-morrow I will reap this,' he said, but on the morrow the ears had gone, and there was nothing but the bare straw.
'Well, there is still one field left,' he said, and when he looked at it, it was still fairer than the other two. 'To-night I will watch here,' thought he, 'for whosoever carried off the other corn will in like manner take this, and I will know who it is.' So he hid himself and waited.
The hours slid by, and all was still, so still that Manawyddan well-nigh dropped asleep. But at midnight there arose the loudest tumult in the world, and peeping out he beheld a mighty host of mice, which could neither be numbered nor measured. Each mouse climbed up a straw till it bent down with its weight, and then it bit off one of the ears, and carried it away, and there was not one of the straws that had not got a mouse to it.
Full of wrath he rushed at the mice, but he could no more come up with them than if they had been gnats, or birds of the air, save one only which lingered behind the rest, and this mouse Manawyddan came up with. Stooping down he seized it by the tail, and put it in his glove, and tied a piece of string across the opening of the glove, so that the mouse could not escape. When he entered the hall where Kicva was sitting, he lighted a fire, and hung the glove up on a peg.
'What hast thou there?' asked she.
'A thief,' he answered, 'that I caught robbing me.'
'What kind of a thief may it be which thou couldst put in thy glove?' said Kicva.
'That I will tell thee,' he replied, and then he showed her how his fields of corn had been wasted, and how he had watched for the mice.
'And one was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove. To-morrow I will hang it, and I only wish I had them all.'
'It is a marvel, truly,' said she, 'yet it would be unseemly for a man of thy dignity to hang a reptile such as this. Do not meddle with it, but let it go.'
'Woe betide me,' he cried, 'if I would not hang them all if I could catch them, and such as I have I will hang.'
'Verily,' said she, 'there is no reason that I should succour this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee.'
'If I knew any cause that I should succour it, I would take thy counsel,' answered Manawyddan, 'but as I know of none, I am minded to destroy it.'
'Do so then,' said Kicva.
So he went up a hill and set up two forks on the top, and while he was doing this he saw a scholar coming towards him, whose clothes were tattered. Now it was seven years since Manawyddan had seen man or beast in that place, and the sight amazed him.
'Good day to thee, my lord,' said the scholar.
'Good greeting to thee, scholar. Whence dost thou come?'
'From singing in England; but wherefore dost thou ask?'
'Because for seven years no man hath visited this place.'
'I wander where I will,' answered the scholar. 'And what work artthouupon?'
'I am about to hang a thief that I caught robbing me!'
'What manner of thief is that?' inquired the scholar. 'I see a creature in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of thy rank to touch a reptile like this. Let it go free.'
'I will not let it go free,' cried Manawyddan. 'I caught it robbing me, and it shall suffer the doom of a thief.'
'Lord!' said the scholar, 'sooner than see a man like thee at such a work, I would give thee a pound which I have received as alms to let it go free.'
'I will not let it go free, neither will I sell it.'
'As thou wilt, lord,' answered the scholar, and he went his way.
Manawyddan was placing the cross-beam on the two forked sticks, where the mouse was to hang, when a priest rode past.
'Good-day to thee, lord; and what art thou doing?'
'I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'
'What manner of thief, lord?'
'A creature in the form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and it shall suffer the doom of a thief.'
'Lord,' said the priest, 'sooner than see thee touch this reptile, I would purchase its freedom.'
'I will neither sell it nor set it free.'
'It is true that a mouse is worth nothing, but rather than see thee defile thyself with touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee three pounds for it.'
'I will not take any price for it. It shall be hanged as it deserves.'
'Willingly, my lord, if it is thy pleasure.' And the priest went his way.
Then Manawyddan noosed the string about the mouse's neck, and was about to draw it tight when a bishop, with a great following and horses bearing huge packs, came by.
'What work art thou upon?' asked the bishop, drawing rein.
'Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'
'But is not that amousethat I see in thine hand?' asked the bishop.
'Yes; that is the thief,' answered Manawyddan.
'Well, since I have come at the doom of this reptile, I will ransom it of thee for seven pounds, rather than see a man of thy rank touch it. Loose it, and let it go!'
'I will not let it loose.'
'I will give thee four and twenty pounds to set it free,' said the bishop.
'I will not set it free for as much again.'
'If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses thou seest and the seven loads of baggage.'
'I will not set it free.'
'Then tell me at what price thou wilt loose it, and I will give it.'
'The spell must be taken off Rhiannon and Pryderi,' said Manawyddan.
'That shall be done.'
'But not yet will I loose the mouse. The charm that has been cast over all my lands must be taken off likewise.'
'This shall be done also.'
'But not yet will I loose the mouse till I know who she is.'
'She is my wife,' answered the bishop.
'And wherefore came she to me?' asked Manawyddan.
'To despoil thee,' replied the bishop, 'for it is I who cast the charm over thy lands, to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud my friend. And it was I who threw the spell upon Pryderi to avenge Gwawl for the trick that had been played on him in the game of Badger in the Bag. And not only was I wroth, but my people likewise, and when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, they besought me much to change them into mice, that they might eat thy corn. The first and the second nights it was the men of my own house that destroyed thy two fields, but on the third night my wife and her ladies came to me and begged me to change them also into the shape of mice, that they might take part in avenging Gwawl. Therefore I changed them. Yet had she not been ill and slow of foot, thou couldst not have overtaken her. Still, since she was caught, I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and will take the charm from off thy lands. I have told thee who she is; so now set her free.'
'I will not set her free,' answered Manawyddan, 'till thou swear that no vengeance shall be taken for this, either upon Pryderi, or upon Rhiannon, or on me.'
'I grant thee this boon; and thou hast done wisely to ask it, for on thy head would have lit all the trouble. Set now my wife free.'
'I will not set her free till Pryderi and Rhiannon are with me.'
'Behold, here they come,' said the bishop.
Then Manawyddan held out his hands and greeted Pryderi and Rhiannon, and they seated themselves joyfully on the grass.
'Ah, lord, hast thou not received all thou didst ask?' said the bishop. 'Set now my wife free!'
'That I will gladly,' answered Manawyddan, unloosing the cord from her neck, and as he did so the bishop struck her with his staff, and she turned into a young woman, the fairest that ever was seen.
'Look around upon thy land,' said he, 'and thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled, as it was long ago.' And Manawyddan looked, and saw corn growing in the fields, and cows and sheep grazing on the hill-side, and huts for the people to dwell in. And he was satisfied in his soul, but one more question he put to the bishop.
'What spell didst thou lay upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?'
'Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace hung about him, and Rhiannon has carried the collars of my asses around her neck,' said the bishop with a smile.
From the 'Mabinogion.'
Onceupon a time there dwelt in the land of Erin a young man who was seeking a wife, and of all the maidens round about none pleased him as well as the only daughter of a farmer. The girl was willing and the father was willing, and very soon they were married and went to live at the farm. By and bye the season came when they must cut the peats and pile them up to dry, so that they might have fires in the winter. So on a fine day the girl and her husband, and the father and his wife all went out upon the moor.
They worked hard for many hours, and at length grew hungry, so the young woman was sent home to bring them food, and also to give the horses their dinner. When she went into the stable, she suddenly saw the heavy pack-saddle of the speckled mare just over her head, and she jumped and said to herself:
'Suppose that pack-saddle were to fall and kill me, how dreadful it would be!' and she sat down just under the pack-saddle she was so much afraid of, and began to cry.
Now the others out on the moor grew hungrier and hungrier.
'Whatcanhave become of her?' asked they, and at length the mother declared that she would wait no longer, and must go and see what had happened.
As the bride was nowhere in the kitchen or the dairy,the old woman went into the stable, where she found her daughter weeping bitterly.
'What is the matter, my dove?' and the girl answered, between her sobs:
'When I came in and saw the pack-saddle over my head, I thought how dreadful it would be if it fell and killed me,' and she cried louder than before.
The old woman struck her hands together: 'Ah, to think of it! If that were to be, what should I do?' and she sat down by her daughter, and they both wrung their hands and let their tears flow.
'Something strange must have occurred,' exclaimed the old farmer on the moor, who by this time was not only hungry, but cross. 'I must go after them.' And he went and found them in the stable.
'What is the matter?' asked he.
'Oh!' replied his wife, 'when our daughter came home, did she not see the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to fall and kill her.'
'Ah, to think of it!' exclaimed he, striking his hands together, and he sat down beside them and wept too.
As soon as night fell the young man returned full of hunger, and there they were, all crying together in the stable.
'What is the matter?' asked he.
'When thy wife came home,' answered the farmer, 'she saw the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to fall and kill her.'
'Well, but it didn't fall,' replied the young man, and he went off to the kitchen to get some supper, leaving them to cry as long as they liked.
The next morning he got up with the sun, and said to the old man and to the old woman and to his wife:
'Farewell: my foot shall not return to the house tillI have found other three people as silly as you,' and he walked away till he came to the town, and seeing the door of a cottage standing open wide, he entered. No man was present, but only some women spinning at their wheels.
'You do not belong to this town,' said he.
'You speak truth,' they answered, 'nor you either?'
'I do not,' replied he, 'but is it a good place to live in?'
The women looked at each other.
'The men of the town are so silly that we can make them believe anything we please,' said they.
'Well, here is a gold ring,' replied he, 'and I will give it to the one amongst you who can make her husband believe the most impossible thing,' and he left them.
As soon as the first husband came home his wife said to him:
'Thou art sick!'
'Am I?' asked he.
'Yes, thou art,' she answered; 'take off thy clothes and lie down.'
So he did, and when he was in his bed his wife went to him and said:
'Thou art dead.'
'Oh, am I?' asked he.
'Thou art,' said she; 'shut thine eyes and stir neither hand nor foot.'
And dead he felt sure he was.
Soon the second man came home, and his wife said to him:
'You are not my husband!'
'Oh, am I not?' asked he.
'No, it is not you,' answered she, so he went away and slept in the wood.
When the third man arrived his wife gave him his supper, and after that he went to bed, just as usual. The next morning a boy knocked at the door, bidding him attend the burial of the man who was dead, and he was just going to get up when his wife stopped him.
'Time enough,' said she, and he lay still till he heard the funeral passing the window.
'Now rise, and be quick,' called the wife, and the man jumped out of bed in a great hurry, and began to look about him.
'Why, where are my clothes?' asked he.
'Silly that you are, they are on your back, of course,' answered the woman.
'Are they?' said he.
'They are,' said she, 'and make haste lest the burying be ended before you get there.'
Then off he went, running hard, and when the mourners saw a man coming towards them with nothing on but his nightshirt, they forgot in their fright what they were there for, and fled to hide themselves. And the naked man stood alone at the head of the coffin.
Very soon a man came out of the wood and spoke to him.
'Do you know me?'
'Not I,' answered the naked man. 'I do not know you.'
'But why are you naked?' asked the first man.
'Am I naked? My wife told me that I had all my clothes on,' answered he.
'Andmywife told me that I myself was dead,' said the man in the coffin.
But at the sound of his voice the two men were so terrified that they ran straight home, and the man in the coffin got up and followed them, and it washiswife that gained the gold ring, as he had been sillier than the other two.
From 'West Highland Tales.'
Oncethere lived a farmer who had three daughters, and good useful girls they were, up with the sun, and doing all the work of the house. One morning they all ran down to the river to wash their clothes, when a hoodie came round and sat on a tree close by.
'Wilt thou wed me, thou farmer's daughter?' he said to the eldest.
'Indeed I won't wed thee,' she answered, 'an ugly brute is the hoodie.' And the bird, much offended, spread his wings and flew away. But the following day he came back again, and said to the second girl:
'Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?'
'Indeed I will not,' answered she, 'an ugly brute is the hoodie.' And the hoodie was more angry than before, and went away in a rage. However, after a night's rest he was in a better temper, and thought that he might be more lucky the third time, so back he went to the old place.
'Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?' he said to the youngest.
'Indeed I will wed thee; a pretty creature is the hoodie,' answered she, and on the morrow they were married.
'I have something to ask thee,' said the hoodie when they were far away in his own house. 'Wouldst thou rather I should be a hoodie by day and a man by night, or a man by day and a hoodie by night?'
Indeed I will wed thee; a pretty creature is the Hoodie.
The girl was surprised at his words, for she did not know that he could be anything but a hoodie at all times.
Still she said nothing of this, and only replied, 'I would rather thou wert a man by day and a hoodie by night.' And so he was; and a handsomer man or a more beautiful hoodie never was seen. The girl loved them both, and never wished for things to be different.
By and bye they had a son, and very pleased they both were. But in the night soft music was heard stealing close towards the house, and every man slept, and the mother slept also. When they woke again it was morning, and the baby was gone. High and low they looked for it, but nowhere could they find it, and the farmer, who had come to see his daughter, was greatly grieved, as he feared it might be thought that he had stolen it, because he did not want the hoodie for a son-in-law.
The next year the hoodie's wife had another son, and this time a watch was set at every door. But it was no use. In vain they all determined that, come what might, they would not close their eyes; at the first note of music they all fell asleep, and when the farmer arrived in the morning to see his grandson, he found them all weeping, for while they had slept the baby had vanished.
Well, the next year it all happened again, and the hoodie's wife was so unhappy that her husband resolved to take her away to another house he had, and her sisters with her for company. So they set out in a coach which was big enough to hold them, and had not gone very far when the hoodie suddenly said:
'You are sure you have not forgotten anything?'
'I have forgotten my coarse comb,' answered the wife, feeling in her pocket, and as she spoke the coach changed into a withered faggot, and the man became a hoodie again, and flew away.
The two sisters returned home, but the wife followed the hoodie. Sometimes she would see him on a hilltop, and then would hasten after him, hoping to catch him. But by the time she had got to the top of the hill, he would be in the valley on the other side. When night came, and she was tired, she looked about for some place to rest, and glad she was to see a little house full of light straight in front of her, and she hurried towards it as fast as she could.
At the door stood a little boy, and the sight of him filled her heart with pleasure, she did not know why. A woman came out, and bade her welcome, and set before her food, and gave her a soft bed to lie on. And the hoodie's wife lay down, and so tired was she, that it seemed to her but a moment before the sun rose, and she awoke again. From hill to hill she went after the hoodie, and sometimes she saw him on the top; but when she got to the top, he had flown into the valley, and when she reached the valley he was on the top of another hill—and so it happened till night came round again. Then she looked round for some place to rest in, and she beheld a little house of light before her, and fast she hurried towards it. At the door stood a little boy, and her heart was filled with pleasure at the sight of him, she did not know why. After that a woman bade her enter, and set food before her, and gave her a soft bed to lie in. And when the sun rose she got up, and left the house, in search of the hoodie. This day everything befell as on the two other days, but when she reached the small house, the woman bade her keep awake, and if the hoodie flew into the room, to try to seize him.
But the wife had walked far, and was very tired, and strive as she would, she fell sound asleep.
Many hours she slept, and the hoodie entered through a window, and let fall a ring on her hand. The girl awoke with a start, and leant forward to grasp him,but he was already flying off, and she only seized a feather from his wing. And when dawn came, she got up and told the woman.
'He has gone over the hill of poison,' said she, 'and there you cannot follow him without horse-shoes on your hands and feet. But I will help you. Put on this suit of men's clothes, and go down this road till you come to the smithy, and there you can learn to make horse-shoes for yourself.'
The girl thanked her, and put on the clothes and went down the road to do her bidding. So hard did she work, that in a few days she was able to make the horse-shoes. Early one morning she set out for the hill of poison. On her hands and feet she went, but even with the horse-shoes on she had to be very careful not to stumble, lest some poisoned thorns should enter into her flesh, and she should die. But when at last she was over, it was only to hear that her husband was to be married that day to the daughter of a great lord.
Now there was to be a race in the town, and everyone meant to be there, except the stranger who had come over the hill of poison—everyone, that is, but the cook, who was to make the bridal supper. Greatly he loved races, and sore was his heart to think that one should be run without his seeing it, so when he beheld a woman whom he did not know coming along the street, hope sprang up in him.
'Will you cook the wedding feast in place of me?' he said, 'and I will pay you well when I return from the race.'
Gladly she agreed, and cooked the feast in a kitchen that looked into the great hall, where the company were to eat it. After that she watched the seat where the bridegroom was sitting, and taking a plateful of the broth, she dropped the ring and the feather into it, and set it herself before him.
With the first spoonful he took up the ring, and a thrill ran through him; in the second he beheld the feather and rose from his chair.
'Who has cooked this feast?' asked he, and the real cook, who had come back from the race, was brought before him.
'He may be the cook, but he did not cook this feast,' said the bridegroom, and then inquiry was made, and the girl was summoned to the great hall.
'That is my married wife,' he declared, 'and no one else will I have,' and at that very moment the spells fell off him, and never more would he be a hoodie. Happy indeed were they to be together again, and little did they mind that the hill of poison took long to cross, for she had to go some way forwards, and then throw the horse-shoes back for him to put on. Still, at last they were over, and they went back the way she had come, and stopped at the three houses in order to take their little sons to their own home.
But the story never says who had stolen them, nor what the coarse comb had to do with it.
From 'West Highland Tales.'
Onceupon a time there lived in France a man whose name was Jalm Riou. You might have walked a whole day without meeting any one happier or more contented, for he had a large farm, plenty of money, and, above all, a daughter called Barbaïk, the most graceful dancer and the best-dressed girl in the whole country side. When she appeared on holidays in her embroidered cap, five petticoats, each one a little shorter than the other, and shoes with silver buckles, the women were all filled with envy, but little cared Barbaïk what they might whisper behind her back as long as she knew that her clothes were finer than any one else's and that she had more partners than any other girl.
Now amongst all the young men who wanted to marry Barbaïk, the one whose heart was most set on her was her father's head man, but as his manners were rough and he was exceedingly ugly she would have nothing to say to him, and, what was worse, often made fun of him with the rest.
Jégu, for that was his name, of course heard of this, and it made him very unhappy. Still, he would not leave the farm, and look for work elsewhere, as he might have done, for then he would never see Barbaïk at all, and what was life worth to him without that?
One evening he was bringing back his horses from the fields, and stopped at a little lake on the way home to let them drink. He was tired with a long day's work,and stood with his hand on the mane of one of the animals, waiting till they had done, and thinking all the while of Barbaïk, when a voice came out of the gorse close by.
'What is the matter, Jégu? You mustn't despair yet.'
The young man glanced up in surprise, and asked who was there.
'It is I, the brownie of the lake,' replied the voice.
'But whereareyou?' inquired Jégu.
'Look close, and you will see me among the reeds in the form of a little green frog. I can take,' he added proudly, 'any shape I choose, and even, which is much harder, be invisible if I want to.'
'Then show yourself to me in the shape in which your family generally appear,' replied Jégu.
'Certainly, if you wish,' and the frog jumped on the back of one of the horses, and changed into a little dwarf, all dressed green.
This transformation rather frightened Jégu, but the brownie bade him have no fears, for he would not do him any harm; indeed, he hoped that Jégu might find him of some use.
'But why should you take all this interest in me?' asked the peasant suspiciously.
'Because of a service you did me last winter, which I have never forgotten,' answered the little fellow. 'You know, I am sure, that the korigans[3]who dwell in the White Corn country have declared war on my people, because they say that they are the friends of man. We were therefore obliged to take refuge in distant lands, and to hide ourselves at first under different animal shapes. Since that time, partly from habit and partly to amuse ourselves, we have continued to transform ourselves, and it was in this way that I got to know you.'
'How?' exclaimed Jégu, filled with astonishment.
'Do you remember when you were digging in the field near the river, three months ago, you found a robin redbreast caught in a net?'
'Yes,' answered Jégu, 'I remember it very well, and I opened the net and let him go.'
'Well, I was that robin redbreast, and ever since I have vowed to be your friend, and as you want to marry Barbaïk, I will prove the truth of what I say by helping you to do so.'
'Ah! my little brownie, if you can do that, there is nothing I won't give you, except my soul.'
'Then let me alone,' rejoined the dwarf, 'and I promise you that in a very few months you shall be master of the farm and of Barbaïk.'
'But how are you going to do it?' exclaimed Jégu wonderingly.
'That is my affair. Perhaps I may tell you later. Meanwhile you just eat and sleep, and don't worry yourself about anything.'
Jégu declared that nothing could be easier, and then taking off his hat, he thanked the dwarf heartily, and led his horses back to the farm.
Next morning was a holiday, and Barbaïk was awake earlier than usual, as she wished to get through her work as soon as possible, and be ready to start for a dance which was to be held some distance off. She went first to the cow-house, which it was her duty to keep clean, but to her amazement she found fresh straw put down, the racks filled with hay, the cows milked, and the pails standing neatly in a row.
'Of course, Jégu must have done this in the hope of my giving him a dance,' she thought to herself, and when she met him outside the door she stopped and thanked him for his help. To be sure, Jégu only replied roughly that he didn't know what she was talking about,but this answer made her feel all the more certain that it was he and nobody else.
The same thing took place every day, and never had the cow-house been so clean nor the cows so fat. Morning and evening Barbaïk found her earthen pots full of milk and a pound of butter freshly churned, ornamented with leaves. At the end of a few weeks she grew so used to this state of affairs that she only got up just in time to prepare breakfast.
Soon even this grew to be unnecessary, for a day arrived when, coming downstairs, she discovered that the house was swept, the furniture polished, the fire lit, and the food ready, so that she had nothing to do except to ring the great bell which summoned the labourers from the fields to come and eat it. This, also, she thought was the work of Jégu, and she could not help feeling that a husband of this sort would be very useful to a girl who liked to lie in bed and to amuse herself.
Indeed, Barbaïk had only to express a wish for it to be satisfied. If the wind was cold or the sun was hot and she was afraid to go out lest her complexion should be spoilt, she need only to run down to the spring close by and say softly, 'I should like my churns to be full, and my wet linen to be stretched on the hedge to dry,' and she need never give another thought to the matter.
If she found the rye bread too hard to bake, or the oven taking too long to heat, she just murmured, 'I should like to see my six loaves on the shelf above the bread box,' and two hours after there they were.
If she was too lazy to walk all the way to market along a dirty road, she would say out loud the night before, 'Why am I not already back from Morlaix with my milk pot empty, my butter bowl inside it, a pound of wild cherries on my wooden plate, and the money I have gained in my apron pocket?' and in the morning when she got up, lo and behold! there were standing at thefoot of her bed the empty milk pot with the butter bowl inside, the black cherries on the wooden plate, and six new pieces of silver in the pocket of her apron. And she believed that all this was owing to Jégu, and she could no longer do without him, even in her thoughts.
When things had reached this pass, the brownie told the young man that he had better ask Barbaïk to marry him, and this time the girl did not turn rudely away, but listened patiently to the end. In her eyes he was as ugly and awkward as ever, but he would certainly make a most useful husband, and she could sleep every morning till breakfast time, just like a young lady, and as for the rest of the day, it would not be half long enough for all she meant to do. She would wear the beautiful dresses that came when she wished for them, and visit her neighbours, who would be dying of envy all the while, and she would be able to dance as much as she wished. Jégu would always be there to work for her, and save for her, and watch over her. So, like a well-brought-up girl, Barbaïk answered that it should be as her father pleased, knowing quite well that old Riou had often said that after he was dead there was no one so capable of carrying on the farm.
The marriage took place the following month, and a few days later the old man died quite suddenly. Now Jégu had everything to see to himself, and somehow it did not seem so easy as when the farmer was alive. But once more the brownie stepped in, and was better than ten labourers. It was he who ploughed and sowed and reaped, and if, as happened occasionally, it was needful to get the work done quickly, the brownie called in some of his friends, and as soon as it was light a host of little dwarfs might have been seen in the fields, busy with hoe, fork or sickle. But by the time the people were about all was finished, and the little fellows had disappeared.
And all the payment the brownie ever asked for was a bowl of broth.
From the very day of her marriage Barbaïk had noted with surprise and rage that things ceased to be done for her as they had been done all the weeks and months before. She complained to Jégu of his laziness, and he only stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about. But the brownie, who was standing by, burst out laughing, and confessed that all the good offices she spoke of had been performed by him, for the sake of Jégu, but that now he had other business to do, and it was high time that she looked after her house herself.
Barbaïk was furious. Each morning when she was obliged to get up before dawn to milk the cows and go to market, and each evening when she had to sit up till midnight in order to churn the butter, her heart was filled with rage against the brownie who had caused her to expect a life of ease and pleasure. But when she looked at Jégu and beheld his red face, squinting eyes, and untidy hair, her anger was doubled.
'If it had not been foryou, you miserable dwarf!' she would say between her teeth, 'if it had not been foryouI should never have married that man, and I should still have been going to dances, where the young men would have brought me presents of nuts and cherries, and told me that I was the prettiest girl in the parish. WhilenowI can receive no presents except from my husband. I can never dance, except with my husband. Oh, you wretched dwarf, I will never, never forgive you!'
In spite of her fierce words, no one knew better than Barbaïk how to put her pride in her pocket when it suited her, and after receiving an invitation to a wedding, she begged the brownie to get her a horse to ride there.To her great joy he consented, bidding her set out for the city of the dwarfs and to tell them exactly what she wanted. Full of excitement, Barbaïk started on her journey. It was not long, and when she reached the town she went straight to the dwarfs, who were holding counsel in a wide green place, and said to them, 'Listen, my friends! I have come to beg you to lend me a black horse, with eyes, a mouth, ears, bridle and saddle.'
She had hardly spoken when the horse appeared, and mounting on his back she started for the village where the wedding was to be held.
At first she was so delighted with the chance of a holiday from the work which she hated, that she noticed nothing, but very soon it struck her as odd that as she passed along the roads full of people they all laughed as they looked at her horse. At length she caught some words uttered by one man to another, 'Why, the farmer's wife has sold her horse's tail!' and turned in her saddle. Yes; it was true. Her horse had no tail! She had forgotten to ask for one, and the wicked dwarfs had carried out her orders to the letter!
'Well, at any rate, I shall soon be there,' she thought, and shaking the reins, tried to urge the horse to a gallop. But it was of no use; he declined to move out of a walk; and she was forced to hear all the jokes that were made upon her.
In the evening she returned to the farm more angry than ever, and quite determined to revenge herself on the brownie whenever she had the chance, which happened to be very soon.
It was the spring, and just the time of year when the dwarfs held their fête, so one day the brownie asked Jégu if he might bring his friends to have supper in the great barn, and whether he would allow them to dance there. Of course, Jégu was only too pleased to be able to do anything for the brownie, and he ordered Barbaïkto spread her best table-cloths in the barn, and to make a quantity of little loaves and pancakes, and, besides, to keep all the milk given by the cows that morning. He expected she would refuse, as he knew she hated the dwarfs, but she said nothing, and prepared the supper as he had bidden her.
When all was ready, the dwarfs, in new green suits, came bustling in, very happy and merry, and took their seats at the table. But in a moment they all sprang up with a cry, and ran away screaming, for Barbaïk had placed pans of hot coals under their feet, and all their poor little toes were burnt.
'You won't forget that in a hurry,' she said, smiling grimly to herself, but in a moment they were back again with large pots of water, which they poured on the fire. Then they joined hands and danced round it, singing: