THE DOVECOTE
Ina wide stretch of pasture, in the middle of a lonely field, with its back to the bleak north blast which swept over the shuddering grasses, making them hum and sing like complaining voices, stood a Dovecote. The solid masonry of its walls, in the crevices of which tufts of stone-crop and shepherd’s purse had sown themselves, and the irregular outlines of the crow-steps which ran up either side of its slanting roof had been familiar to the sight of so many generations that, as it had remained unused within the memory of the oldest, no one thought more of it than if it had been a stone-heap in the road, nor noticed the curious fact of its never falling into disrepair. At each end of the roof, above the crow-steps, two large stone balls stood out against the sky, and on these the rooks, going home in the red sunsets to a neighbouring rookery, perched from year’s end to year’s end, and no one but themselves, or a few inquisitive sheep, who might rub their woolly heads against the walls, seemed to remember the existence of the solitary building. At some little distance behind it the land rose in a steep slope, rolling upwards to where a fringe of fir-trees looked down upon the Dovecote, the fields, and the scattered habitations below.
small building in a hilly field
Anyone standing beside them might see over a vast area of land. Looking to the west, the hills rose in bold relief, and towards them ran a white road which lost itself now and then, only to reappear in patches till it faded into the distance; looking eastward, there lay spread a long stretch of wooded country, over which the lights and shadows floated and the clouds sailed before the west wind on their way to the sea, which could be seen on a sunny day lying like a blue sapphire upon the horizon. Looking straight southward towards the pastures, the sloping ground at the foot of the trees was all one fertile cornfield, as yet uncut, and, half way up it, where the hill was steepest, stood three elms, growing close together and making a dark spot of shade in the middle of the yellow grain. These were called “Maddy Norey’s trees.” What Maddy Norey’s history had been no one alive knew, but tradition said that she had lived in a small cottage under the shadow of the elms, and men ploughing the field in the late November days had run their ploughshares against deeply-embedded stones at their roots, and told each other that they had struck the foundations of Maddy Norey’s house. They did not know that the witch, Maddy Norey, was alive still, and living hardly out of the sound of their voices in the Dovecote.
But in spite of the lonely quiet of the old place, and the peace which seemed to brood over the standing corn, there was war and strife in the land. The young King, with his Queen, had been forced to fly from his palace, a fugitive and wanderer, not knowing where to seek shelter for his head; his step-brother, a wicked and unscrupulous man, having, with his plots and cunning and his smooth, lying tongue, stirred up the people in revolt against their sovereign. Through the treachery of some of the soldiery the palace gates had been broken down, the King’s capital was in the hands of the mob, and he and the Queen had made their escape, trying to reach the distant sea-board, and from it to take ship across the Northern Sea to a neighbouring land ruled by one of their closest allies.
Under cover of night they fled through the streets of the capital, passing unnoticed in the confusion, and slipping through the city gates deserted by the treacherous guards. Once in the open country, they hid themselves in the woods by day, and travelled forward on foot by night, hoping against hope to elude the pursuers sent out after their flight had become known, and to reach the nearest point of coast from which they might set sail for the friendly land opposite.
At last, after many days, they came to a place only a few dozen miles inland, and the King, who knew the country well, encouraged the weary Queen, telling her how short a space lay between them and the sea. They were on the borders of a birch-wood through which they had travelled all night, and, as they came out and saw the wide pasture stretched before them in the early light (for it was dawning) the Queen sank down on the ground, worn out, declaring that she could go no further.
At this the King was in despair, for day was breaking and there seemed to be no place of safety in which they could conceal themselves until night should come round again and cover the two lonely wanderers with her dark curtain.
“Lie still and rest,” said he, as he drew off his cloak and spread it over his wife, “I will go a little way forward and find some place in which we can shelter for to-day. Do not move until I come back. I shall not be long away.” And he wandered off into the field towards a strange pile of building which he saw rising like a watch-tower from the level plain.
When he reached it he found it to be a deserted Dovecote, and he walked round it, wondering why such a solid structure had been built for the harbouring of a few doves and pigeons.
As he passed round the north side he came upon a wooden door, so low that a man entering would be obliged to bend himself almost double, and he cleared away the nettles and tufts of ragwort which grew by the threshold, pushing with his shoulder against the half-rotten wood. The door opened easily.
The Dovecote was quite dark inside, and only the light from the open door behind him enabled the King to see a crazy staircase running up the side of the wall to what was apparently a room overhead. As he stood irresolute whether or not to venture up, another little door opened at the top of the flight and the bent form of an old woman peered out, illuminated by the sky-light in the ceiling of the room she had just left. The King stood amazed.
“And so you have come at last,” she said, in a voice which seemed far too soft to proceed from such a crooked body, “and why have you not brought the Queen? Do not be afraid,” she added, seeing the look of consternation on his face, “I have expected you for some time. I am Maddy Norey, and I have lived here for more years than you and the Queen put together could count if your ages were doubled twice over. Go at once and bring her back with you, for here she can find a safe hiding-place.”
The astonished King could only lean against the wall, and stare up at the strange figure above him.
“Go!” cried the old woman, stamping on the floor.
He turned to obey her, and began groping for the little door by which he had entered; but the more he went from wall to wall, the more amazed was he, for there was no sign nor vestige of such a thing.
Maddy Norey laughed softly.
“Now,” she said, “do you see how safe a castle mine is? If I had not chosen that you should see my door you might still be wandering round the walls among the briars outside. Is not this a safe retreat for the Queen?”
“Let me go, Maddy Norey, and bring her to you.” And as the King said this he perceived the open door close to him, with the sun’s early beams shooting through like golden lances and striking the cobwebs which hung from the lintel.
A short time later saw him standing in the birch-wood by the side of the Queen, who had fallen asleep from exhaustion among the silver stems. The leaves quivered in the breath of sunrise as they emerged together from the wood and took their way to the Dovecote. The wooden door was open to receive them, and Maddy Norey was at the top of her stair, peering down upon the Queen as she ascended, weary and faint, with her beautiful dark hair, which had slipped from its golden comb, falling in masses over her cloak.
“Now,” said the old woman, when they had reached her attic, “look round at my house and tell me what you think of it.”
The King and Queen were silent, for they knew not what to say. They saw nothing but a small bare room with a sky-light in the roof. The light was struggling in among the cobwebs and a cold air blew through the little row of holes among the tiles, by which bygone flocks of pigeons had entered to roost, or emerged to plume themselves in artless vanity on the slanting roof and the crow-steps outside. An oaken three-legged stool stood in one corner with an old-fashioned spinning-wheel beside it, and this was the only furniture or sign of a human inhabitant visible in the little attic.
Maddy Norey smiled.
“I can see your thoughts,” she said, turning to the King. “But you must not think that I have made no better preparation for the Queen than this. I know a great deal. I know that she will spend much time with me here, and I have arranged all that I can to help you in the time that is coming. Now look into that dark spot in the wall and tell me whether I have not prepared my house well for you.”
queen and a witch with roses
As she said this she raised her bent figure and spread out her arms widely. A thin blue mist drove across their vision like a smoke-cloud, and through it broke a glow as of burning coals. It rolled past them, leaving only a faint vapour, behind which they could see a thick hedge of fiery-hearted roses that seemed to burn like living embers. Through a division in the midst of this radiant tangle the light from the glowing flowers shone upon a floor and walls of black oak which could be seen behind it, reflecting itself in the polished darkness beyond, as stars reflect themselves in deep water; and, at the further end of the room, in an angle where the dark walls met, stood a bed carved with designs which could be only dimly seen, and hung with curtains of a rich deep colour that might have been either green or blue.
Then Maddy Norey took the Queen by the hand and led her through the roses into the soft darkness. She combed out her long hair, took from her her travel-stained garments, and made her lie down in the carved bed. Then her weary head sank back upon the pillows, her tired eyes closed, and she drifted away into a dreamless sleep under the blue hangings.
The King and Maddy Norey sat talking in the little dusty attic all that day and far into the evening. His gratitude knew no bounds when she said that he might leave his wife in her charge while he pursued his journey.
“When you arrive at the sea-shore,” she told him, “you will find a boat lying on the sand; you must manage so that you get there in two days from now, and during the night-time, when the fisherman to whom it belongs has gone home from fishing, and you must take the oars and row straight out to sea. You will find food and water for three days stored in the boat, for the owner is going a journey in it to an island some way off.”
“Maddy Norey,” said the young man, “promise me that you will care for the Queen.”
“I will,” answered the old woman, holding out her wrinkled hand. “But be advised, O King, and spare her the parting, for it may be a long parting, and even I do not know the end of it. She will never consent to let you go alone, which, by reason of the hardships you may have to undergo, is necessary. I might have to prevent her from going with you by not allowing her to find the door. Surely you will spare her this? Look,” and she pointed to the darkening sky-light, “it will soon be night, and there is no moon. Gonow—at once. By to-morrow morning you will be many miles on your way, and if you conceal yourself during the day, another night’s travelling will bring you to the shore. Go; it is best.”
The King stood up.
“I may go in and look at her?” he said.
Maddy Norey nodded. “I will not wake her,” said he, “it would be too cruel.”
There was silence in the Dovecote for a few minutes before the King re-appeared. He made a sign of farewell to Maddy Norey and went down the rickety stairs, through the wooden door and out into the night alone.
When the Queen awoke next morning and found that he had gone, her heart seemed broken, and she lay weeping quietly in her carved bed.
“Why did I not awake when he came to say good-bye?” she sobbed in despair to Maddy Norey, who was sitting by her.
“My dear,” said the old woman, who did not tell her that she had caused her to sleep so soundly on purpose, “it was better it should be so, for it helped the King through it. And he hoped that you would be strong and keep a brave heart. You must summon all your courage and be helpful to him when he returns, for we do not know how soon that may be.”
With such words did Maddy Norey comfort the Queen. And she, when the first freshness of her grief was over, tried with all her strength to be cheerful and affectionate to the old woman who had done so much for them both. But every evening she used to steal away to a dark corner to weep a little and think of the King, perhaps still in hiding near the bleak coast, perhaps tossing alone on the sea.
When several days had gone by the Queen began to feel the monotony of her life very much, and to long with a great longing for the fresh air, as she dwelt in the cramped seclusion of the Dovecote. It was impossible that she should venture out alone, even for the smallest distance, in the rebellious state of the country, more especially as the search for the fugitive pair was still going on. But her strength and spirits were declining daily, and Maddy Norey began to fear that the confinement was telling upon her. One evening as they sat within the windowless walls which surrounded them, the Queen laid her hand on the witch’s knee.
“If I could only have one breath of air,” she sighed, “and one look at the fields and the sky. May I go to the door and out for just a short, short way into the pasture?”
“No,” she answered, “you must not do that. I have to remember my promise to the King to keep you in safety. But I can do this. To-morrow I will work a spell upon you. I will turn you into a white pigeon, whose presence, were it noticed about the old place, would seem but natural. So long as you remain standing on your feet or touch the ground in any way, you will be a woman; but, if you make ever so small a spring upwards, the moment your feet leave the earth you will become a white bird, and you may fly for a little distance round the Dovecote, though I do not wish you to go far away. There is a clump of elm-trees in the cornfield which runs up the hill-side, and to them you may go, hiding yourself among the branches, and returning here should you find yourself noticed by even the most insignificant passer-by.”
On the following day, accordingly, Maddy Norey took from a recess behind the blue-green bed hangings a strangely-shaped goblet which had two crystal wings springing from either side; into this she shook a powder which smelt aromatically; then she cut off the head of one of the burning roses and threw it upon the top. A subtle perfumed smoke rose and filled the room, blinding the eyes of the Queen. She felt her senses going from her, and clung to the witch’s protecting arm. She heard her repeating to herself a slow, monotonous rhyme:—
“Sun-spells and moon-spells,(Silver wings and red roses)Voice that in the wind dwells(Golden wings and white roses).“Sun-power and moon-power,(Wild wings and pale roses)Love for life or love an hour(Witch-wind and dead roses).”
“Sun-spells and moon-spells,(Silver wings and red roses)Voice that in the wind dwells(Golden wings and white roses).“Sun-power and moon-power,(Wild wings and pale roses)Love for life or love an hour(Witch-wind and dead roses).”
“Sun-spells and moon-spells,(Silver wings and red roses)Voice that in the wind dwells(Golden wings and white roses).
“Sun-spells and moon-spells,
(Silver wings and red roses)
Voice that in the wind dwells
(Golden wings and white roses).
“Sun-power and moon-power,(Wild wings and pale roses)Love for life or love an hour(Witch-wind and dead roses).”
“Sun-power and moon-power,
(Wild wings and pale roses)
Love for life or love an hour
(Witch-wind and dead roses).”
As the words ceased she swooned away, and when she came to herself, she was lying upon the attic floor with the air from the open sky-light blowing in, and Maddy Norey bending over her. She rose, rubbing her eyes.
“Now,” said the old woman, “spring from the ground.”
The Queen obeyed, and in an instant was standing on the window-sill in the flashing sunbeams, a pure white pigeon. She looked at the cornfield sloping away northward, and at the green clump of elms standing rich and heavy in the still heat, then spread out her new-found pinions and sailed away towards them.
Now, one day, as the white pigeon sat among the elm-boughs, her eyes wandered over the slope of golden grain to where the fir-trees stood on the top of the hill; for she knew that from that place could be seen a far wider view, and one that stretched away to the coast and the ocean. What would she not give to have but one glance at the distant leagues of water, one possible chance of seeing some sign of hope on the horizon! She thought of how Maddy Norey, the witch, had commanded her to go no further than the three elms; but she thought also of the aching, unsatisfied heart she would carry back to the Dovecote if she obeyed her. The temptation was too strong for her, and she finally looked out from her shelter, and, seeing nothing living but a few sheep grazing in the mid-day sun, flew upwards over the corn and alighted on one of the topmost branches of the firs. Then she turned her eyes eastward and almost fell from her resting-place.
For the blue sea was all alive with white sails—the sails of a great fleet advancing in a double line to the land.
Prudence, her promise to Maddy Norey and her own safety were alike forgotten; all that she could think of was those approaching vessels which would so soon be landing, and, without fear or hesitation, she spread her wings, and in a moment was flying madly seawards. Over the woods she sped, over the plains and marshes, only now and then passing above a solitary dwelling in the thinly-populated country she crossed. Sometimes she saw a little knot of soldiers encamped in secluded places, and guessed that they were the scouts posted about by the rebels to watch for and capture their sovereign. With a thankful heart she observed that, being stationed in low-lying parts of the country and among the woods, they could not see the sight which she saw from the height at which she flew. It was evident that none suspected the King of having left the country. She hastened forward with redoubled speed as the space between the fleet and the sea-shore lessened. Just before sunset she had almost reached the coast on which the ships were already landing, and could plainly see boats rowing to the shore to empty upon it their loads of armed warriors and going back again to return with more. The sands were black with hurrying figures.
All at once, below her there rose a shout from a watchman who had been climbing to a greater eminence than the others, and, realising that in an hour the country might be up in arms, she strained every nerve to reach her husband in time to prepare him for an attack.
Scarcely a mile lay between her and the invading army; she was thinking how, in another few moments, she would be once more with the King, when a man, loitering about on the waste land with his crossbow saw the bird passing over his head, took an arrow from the quiver and fitted it to the string. He was a good marksman.
Suddenly a shock of pain passed through the white pigeon and the earth seemed to rise up to meet her; then a giddiness, a drop, and a heavy blow, and she was lying on the wet ground, no longer a bird, but a terrified and wounded woman with an arrow sticking in her arm. Her wing had been broken.
She raised herself a little and saw that her persecutor was rushing forward, and, as the remembrance of her mission came back, she staggered to her feet and tore the arrow from her arm. She was so near safety and succour—so near—shemustmake one more effort; gathering all her strength together, she bounded on, half faint from loss of blood.
As the King stood on a green mound giving orders for the encampment of his army, he heard a sound of rushing footsteps and turned round. A woman with flying hair and outstretched hands was dashing towards him, through the sea-grass, through the stones and driftwood, and, as she fell fainting at his feet, he recognised the Queen.
The King and his wife sat in the royal tent together. Her arm was stiff and painful and the King was uneasy, for he longed to place her under more skilful care than any which could be got in their present position. They sat at the tent door under the stars; just before morning, when all was beginning to be astir with preparations for the march, a star dropped from its place and fell across the Northern heavens. It travelled slowly along, leaving in its wake a little train of blue sparks.
“That is a good omen,” the Queen said.
Soon the rebels got news that the King had landed, and they came with their troops to meet him. There was a great battle that lasted from noon until the evening, and all day the King rode unharmed through the fray with a white pigeon on his shoulder—a white pigeon with a broken wing. The enemy looked upon this strange sight with superstitious awe, and many an arrow tried to find its way to the mysterious bird’s heart. But none succeeded, and when, at the end of that hard day, the King stood victorious on the field, the only signs of blood to be seen upon him were the drops that dripped upon his shoulder from the wing of the white pigeon.
At last he was able to go to his tent and lay aside sword and armour, and he placed the bird tenderly upon the ground. The Queen at once returned to her own shape, half dead with pain and fatigue and scarcely able to stand.
A great fear took hold upon the King. How if he were even now, in the hour of his success, to lose her?
It took him but one moment to make up his mind. He would take her to Maddy Norey, for, if there were help to be found under heaven, he knew that the witch would give it to him.
Commanding a fresh horse should be brought, he mounted as the moon rose and rode out into the night, holding the bird in the folds of his cloak. The people, when they heard of the advance of the troops and the great defeat from some fugitives who had escaped from the battle, had abandoned their houses and fled in all directions, so it was through a desolate country that the King spurred his good horse. He rode grimly on with his sword drawn in his hand, ready to cut down the first obstacle that might present itself, his eyes fixed steadily in front of him, looking neither to the right nor the left. In the early dawn he stood, as he had stood not so long since, at the foot of the Dovecote. There was the little door in front of him, with its rusty latch and hanging cobwebs. He threw himself from the saddle and rushed into the building and up the crazy stair. Maddy Norey’s voice came from inside the attic.
“Be quick, be quick,” she said, holding out her hands for the bird, “you have not come a moment too soon. Give her to me.”
They laid the fluttering creature on the ground, and, when her natural shape had returned, the Queen was carried to the carved bed where the witch dressed her wound, and, with charms and spells, charmed back her sinking life; and, having been assured by the old woman that all danger was past, the King left her with hope in his heart, and returned to meet his troops.
From that day everything went well; the march to the capital was but a triumphal progress, and the victors were soon joined by bands of those who had remained loyal during the rebellion, but who had not been able to gain the day for their sovereign by reason of the tremendous odds against which they fought.
The cornfield below Maddy Norey’s trees had been cut, the stooks were standing on the hill-side, and the elm-trees were beginning to be faintly touched with autumn, when, one blue, misty morning, the King rode through the pastures to fetch the Queen. He came alone, leading a grey horse by the bridle; and he tied the two animals to an iron ring in the Dovecote wall while he went up to the witch’s attic.
He found the old woman at her spinning-wheel with the young one beside her.
“When he comes to fetch me,” the Queen was saying, “you will leave the Dovecote, will you not, dear Maddy Norey, and come with us? For our home shall be yours. You have been so good to us that we cannot bear to part from you. Say that you will come.”
“No,” said the witch, “it is impossible. I have lived in this room for such countless years that I can never leave it now. When you have gone no one will ever find the little door again.”
And nothing that they could say would make her consent.
So they went down the wooden stair together, and Maddy Norey came to the top to bid them farewell. For one moment she laid her hand on the King’s curling hair as he bent over her wrinkled figure, and she kissed the Queen, who threw her arms around her crooked neck; then she stood a little space at the head of the stair, looking at the two bright figures as they went out from her into the light.
At the threshold they turned and saw that she was holding up her hands as if in blessing.
Very silently they rode out of the pasture, and, as they were about to turn the corner of the birch-wood, they reined in their horses to take a last look at the curious old building as it stood solitary in the morning mist.
There were tears in the Queen’s eyes.
THE PEACOCK’S TAIL
Therewas once a widow of respectable family who lived in a house in a retired part of the country. Her only companion was her daughter, Ella, who was exceedingly beautiful, and continually on the look-out to see whether a wandering prince would come by and marry her.
woman wearing a dress with a peacock feather train walking under a tree
There was also an old witch called Mother Grindle, who lived up a tree in the orchard. A deep pool was at the foot of this orchard, but in spring the sight of the water was almost shut out by the mass of blossom which covered the apple-trees. There was a peacock, too, who strutted about all day; he was not a bad fellow really, but intolerably vain. Only one thing in the place was vainer than himself, and that was Ella, the widow’s daughter. Mother Grindle and the peacock got on very well together, though the witch would sometimes laugh and rock about till the tree shook, which annoyed him very much. It was most odd.
One day he was walking along the grass; he took very high steps, and sometimes he dragged his wings on the ground. Then he would stop and set up his tail like a fan behind him, arching and twisting his neck in the sun. The apple-tree shook till the petals fell in showers.
He looked up and saw Mother Grindle sitting in the branches.
“Really!” he exclaimed. “A stranger might almost think you were laughing atme!”
“What an idea!” said the witch, “you must be mad.”
So he went on trailing and prancing. The tree shook again, and he could see Mother Grindle rocking from side to side.
“What are you laughing at?” he cried. “It can’t be me, because there is nothing about me to be amused at. Now, ifIwere to start laughing at that pointed hat you wear there would be some sense in it.”
At this moment Ella came out wearing her best gown, for it was Sunday; she was not, as a rule, very civil to Mother Grindle, for she also did not admire the pointed hat. But she did admire the peacock. She looked over her shoulder at her own train and was forced to admit that, for colour and design, the peacock’s tail far outdid it.
“Ah!” she sighed, “how I wish I had that tail.”
“You may have one wish—two wishes—three wishes,” sang out Mother Grindle from the apple-tree.
And before you could say “Jack!” the beautiful tail became fixed to Ella’s waist—eyes, moons, quills, fringes and all.
“Now I am simply perfect,” said she; and she ran to the hedge and looked over to see if a Prince were coming down the road. But there was no one. As for the peacock, he was furious, naturally.
Ella knew there was no mirror in the widow’s house large enough to reflect her and all her glory, and she went down to the pool and looked in at herself; she stood on the edge and leaned over, putting up her tail behind her head. All at once there came a gust and caught it like the wind catching a sail; over she went, straight in. It was very deep.
“Help! Help!” she cried. But there was no one close by but the peacock, andhewasn’t going to put himself out. He was delighted, and walked stiffly away to the yard at the back of the house; he was much consoled, and he knew very well that he would grow a new tail next year.
“La! husband, how paltry you look!” cried the peahens. They had long thought it rather hard that he should be so much better dressed than themselves.
Ella screamed and shrieked. She caught hold of some rushes, but the tail was so heavy that she could not drag herself out.
“You shall have one wish—two wishes!” sang out Mother Grindle from the tree.
“Oh! if I were only on shore!” cried Ella. And sure enough she found herself standing on the brink, dripping with water, but safe. She ran into the house as fast as ever she could go.
She was put to bed at once in hot blankets. “How you are to lie with that tail on, I can’t imagine,” said her mother. However, in she got, arranging it as best she might, and so tired was she after all she had gone through, that she fell asleep and never woke till the next morning.
She got up and dressed, but alas! alas! she had rolled about in the night, and the beautiful feathers were all broken and torn and matted together; they hung like so many limp rags, and, do what she would, she could not make them hang properly. She went into the orchard, hoping that the sun and wind might freshen them up; but though she spent some time in taking out the tangles, the effect was horrid, and she looked more draggle-tailed than words can say. The peahens peeped over the fence and tittered.
At this moment a Prince came riding by, and saw her walking in the orchard.
“Heavens! What an absurd sight!” he exclaimed, as he rode on.
Ella sat down on the grass and cried bitterly.
“You may have one wish—one wish!” sang out the witch from the tree.
“Oh! take away this dreadful thing,” sobbed Ella.
And before you could turn round it was gone. Then Mother Grindle began to sing again very cheerfully. But Ella was not cheerful—far from it.
“You may have one wish more—one wish more,” sang the witch.
But Ella has not made up her mind what to ask for yet. One cannot be too careful.
THE PELICAN
Inthe land of Egypt, where the Nile runs and the palm-trees grow and the great Sphynx sits alone in the Desert, there lived a young man who kept a jeweller’s shop in a crowded street. He was tall and grave, and he wore a yellow kaftan which clothed him from head to heel.
In the afternoon, when the street was full, he would sit in front of his shop looking at the people, and sometimes exchanging a word with the passers-by.
It chanced that, as he sat in his accustomed place one day, there passed a countryman carrying under his arm a young Pelican, which he had caught on the river. He held it very roughly, and a crowd of boys followed behind jeering at the strange, half-fledged creature, and sometimes pulling its tail or its legs and laughing when it opened its mouth in terror. Now the young man was angry that the bird should be so used, for he had read many books and thought many thoughts, and he knew that birds and beasts had feelings like other people. He pitied the poor frightened Pelican, and as one of the boys passed, he gave him a great cuff which nearly knocked him over.
“Good man,” said he to the countryman, “where are you going with that Pelican?”
“To the other side of the city,” replied the countryman, “where I know a man who will buy him and cut his throat when he grows older for the sake of his skin and feathers.”
“You need not go so far,” said the young man in yellow, “for I myself will give you what price you name for him.”
At this the countryman was glad enough, for he was tired of carrying the bird, and the young man paid him and took the poor Pelican into the court behind his shop, where he put him down near a small fountain in the middle of it.
As time went on, the Pelican grew so big that there was scarce room for him in the little tank, and the young man took him to sit in front of the shop.
man watching a woman who has a basket on her head
One day, as they were there together, there passed before them a girl carrying a basket of melons on her head. She was slender, and her naked feet and ankles were as fine as though she had been a great lady; she had long, dark eyes, and the plait of her hair hung down behind her, below the edge of her veil. With one hand she drew the black folds over her mouth.
The young man in yellow was so much struck that he could not refrain from speaking his thoughts aloud. “That is the most charming girl I have ever seen,” he said. “I wonder where she lives.”
“On the banks of the Nile some way down stream,” said the Pelican, who was standing behind him.
At this, his master was so exceedingly astonished that he nearly fell off his seat, for he never suspected that the bird could talk.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“There is a patch of brown Nile mud upon the border of her garment,” replied the Pelican.
“That is very well,” said the other, “but how can you tell what distance she comes from?”
“Her face is unveiled,” was the reply, “like those of the women in the remoter country places.”
“And how do you know that her home is down stream?” asked the young man again.
“Sir, I observed that the stems of the melons were freshly cut, and must have been gathered this morning. Those who bring melons to the town embark early, as soon as their load is ready. Had the owner of these lived up the river he would have arrived with his merchandise before noon, being carried by the current. But it is now afternoon.”
“You are a great reasoner,” exclaimed the young man, “but how do you know that the girl has not been in the city since morning?”
“Her basket is full,” answered the bird.
“Since you are so clever,” continued he, “perhaps you will inform me if she often comes this way. I have never seen her before.”
“Neither have I,” rejoined the Pelican, “but I can answer, for all that. She draws the end of her veil over her mouth as she goes; this is because she has seen much of the ways of city women who veil themselves. You may also have noticed that she turned under the gateway by the mosque. Now that gateway is small and mean, and only those acquainted with this street know that there is a passage through it to the thoroughfare where the cloth-merchants live; where every man is rich and keeps a pile of melons behind his wares for the entertainment of visitors. Doubtless she has been there many a time.”
The young man was still more astonished. “I perceive,” said he, “that one of the jewels in my shop is the rare jewel of wisdom.”
At this the Pelican rejoiced in his heart. “Wisdom is like other wildfowl, and roosts with its kind,” he replied.
“I perceive also that you have learnt to speak with great civility,” continued the young man.
“Sir,” said the bird again, “while sitting here I have observed the manners of the grave and reverend persons who pass by, and of the aged sheikhs who come on their donkeys to drink coffee with the merchant opposite.”
After this the two lived together in great content till, one day, the young man in yellow spoke his mind.
“Friend,” said he, “we have now been companions for some time; but I must tell you I think this no suitable life for a bird of your talents. You see nothing of your own kind here, nor anything outside my shop. It is time we began to think of your future. You should marry and rear a family instead of sitting here. Wisdom is good, but it is also portable, so you can carry it away when you go. I have been thinking this over, and I have found a good opening for you; my uncle’s brother-in-law is keeper of the garden at Prince Hassan’s palace outside the city. There, there are great trees, lakes, islands, fruits, and a very high family of Pelicans has been settled there for many years. At my request you would be well received, and you could then marry and live respectably. I shall be grieved beyond measure at parting from you, but, having your welfare at heart, I shall make up my mind to it. Besides, I will go to see you regularly every Friday.”
At first the bird was very unwilling to agree to this plan, for he was much attached to his friend, but at last he consented: and the young man hired an ass and rode to Prince Hassan’s garden with the Pelican sitting before him on the saddle. His uncle’s brother-in-law received them warmly, and installed the Pelican on a fine lake where there were islands covered with long grass, and, at one side, a mass of tall scarlet flowers standing by the banks with their roots in the water.
The Pelican was attracted by these beautiful plants and made his home in their midst, having an eye for colour; the life suited him but for one thing, and that was the dull company which he found among the other birds. He hardly cared to speak to them, for, though they were civil and pleasant enough, he had been so long accustomed to the talk of the young man in yellow that all other seemed dull in comparison. As for marrying, he gave up the idea, for he could not find one hen-pelican whose silly chatter did not drive him mad. In spite of the luxury in which he lived, he counted the days of each week till Friday should come round and bring his friend to sit with him for an hour or two among the scarlet flowers.
Now it happened that the girl who sold melons, and whom the young man in yellow had never seen since the day on which the Pelican first spoke, was sitting one afternoon by the Nile. The reason he had not seen her was that her father, a cross old man, had begun to sell his fruit on the bank of the river, and now made her sit by it from morning till night.
One day it was very hot, and the sun was so fierce that she grew sleepy and laid herself down under a palm tree to rest. While she slept a string of camels came by, and one of them knocked its foot against the pile of fruit; with a great splash all the melons rolled, one over the other, like round balls, down the bank, and were carried away by the running water. The girl jumped up, wringing her hands, and calling to the camel-drivers to save them, but they only laughed and passed on. “Who sleeps long at noon weeps long at night!” they shouted.
The poor girl did not wait till night, but sat down at once in the dust and cried. When she looked up she saw her father coming along on his donkey, for he had been to admire his melon beds on the river-bank some way off. She was so frightened that she began running away as fast as she could.
She ran and ran till she came to a great wall in which a door was standing open. Through it she went and found herself in a fine garden full of jessamine and orange trees. She was so tired that she looked about for water to bathe her hot face, and a shady place where she might rest and hide from the burning sun. Not far off she could see the shine of a lake, and a scarlet patch of high water plants in which a white Pelican dozed, half asleep.
“By the beard of the Prophet!” exclaimed the bird, “this is none other than the melon girl! O Master! Master! Would I could see your yellow kaftan approaching through the trees!”
But it was only Thursday, and there was no chance of the young man coming till the morrow.
When the girl had bathed her face and drunk some water he came forward, and, with much politeness, invited her to rest among the tall cannas, as the scarlet flowers were called. When he had heard her story his face grew subtle.
“If you are wise,” said he, “you will remain with me till to-morrow afternoon. To-day your father’s anger will not have cooled; in the morning he will go to the mosque (for it is Friday) and, when he has prayed, his heart will be softened. Then you can return in the afternoon and ask his forgiveness for losing the melons.”
This the Pelican said because he knew that the young man in yellow would come on the following day.
“But I have no food,” said the girl; “I shall be half-famished by to-morrow.”
“Are there not fruits in the garden?” asked the Pelican, “and have I not a bill a yard long? Lie down and rest and I will see that you do not starve.”
He gazed at her as she slept and saw that she was very beautiful. Her eyelashes were longer than a finger’s breadth, and her mouth scarlet like the canna-flowers over her head. When the evening was come, he went out and took as much fruit as he could get and brought it back in his pouch, washing it and giving it to the girl, who ate thankfully. Then the stars came out and they slept side by side among the cannas.
Next day, at the hour when he expected his friend, the bird went to the gate and stood watching. When he saw him approaching he went forward crying, “See what I have done for you! I have here got the melon girl for whom you spend your life in searching. Come in, and I will bring you to her.”
At this the young man was overjoyed and embraced the Pelican, and the two hurried into the garden.
At sight of the girl he fell more deeply in love than ever, and all the time he had meant to spend with his friend he sat with her by the water. The Pelican stood by. “See,” said he, “he has forgotten my very existence, though he has come all the way from the city for my company.”
But he understood too much to be angry, for he knew such things had been since the foundation of the world.
When the young man found that the girl was afraid to go back to her father, he saw a way by which he need not part with her. “Return with me,” said he, “my mother is old and lives with me; you shall wait upon her and cook the food for my house.”
So he took her back with him and presented her to his mother.
Now the young man’s mother was a jealous woman, and, though she liked the girl and was well pleased to have her work done for her, she soon began to do everything she could think of to make her miserable, because she saw that her son loved her. So unhappy did she make the household that the young man said, “I must go immediately and consult the Pelican, or there is no knowing what may happen.”
And, although it was not Friday, he went off to Prince Hassan’s garden and laid his difficulties before the bird.
“There is only one thing to be done,” said the Pelican; “I must come back to keep the peace.”
Now, wise as he was, he did not know that, where there is a jealous woman, not the Prophet himself and all the Khalifas can save a household. All the difference his coming made was that the old woman was jealous of two people instead of one, and there was no peace from morning till night.
It chanced, one day, that the young man had gone out and the Pelican was near the fountain. In a top room the girl sat at a window, looking down on the street where the merchants were lighting their lamps. The afterglow spread high over the roofs, and, in a patch of sky, she saw the evening star rising behind the mosque. She could hear the old woman’s voice talking to a butcher in front of the shop. “At noon my son will be out,” she was saying. “You must then come with your knife and slay the Pelican who lives in the courtyard. I will afterwards wash the blood from the stones and tell him that the impious and deceitful bird has flown away.”
Next morning the girl rose before anyone was stirring and hired an ass. “Come,” she said to the Pelican, “if you want to save your life, come with me. The old woman has hired the butcher, and, when the lord of this house has gone out, he is to come and kill you. Mount quickly in front of me and I will carry you through the town under my veil. When we get to the river you shall fly to Prince Hassan’s garden, and I will return before any one awakes and tell her that you have died in the night, and that I have buried you near the fountain. I will make a little mound beside it.”
“Alack! Alack! I shall never see my master again!” cried the Pelican.
“I will tell him the truth privately,” said she, “and on Friday he will go to see you as before.”
So the two fled before the cocks crowed.
When they reached the banks of the Nile the Pelican flew away across the bridge to the garden, and the girl turned about and set her face to the city.
But, before she had gone ten yards, a hand was laid on her, for her father had seen her ride by from his boat. He dragged her on board, beating her, and took her away to his melon beds on the river-bank where he set her to drive the ox that worked the well.
When the young man in yellow rose and found that his friend and the melon girl had both disappeared, he made a great to-do and caused the bazaar to be searched from end to end. Criers went about describing them and calling on all who might have seen them to bring news to the jeweller’s shop, where they would be rewarded handsomely. But no one had seen them pass. The mother was as much astonished as anybody.
“Son,” she said, “no doubt the Pelican, in his wonderful wisdom, will return, and certainly, no one will run away with that ugly slut of a girl. She will come back fast enough.”
But the young man would not be comforted. He bethought him of Prince Hassan’s garden, and, next day, he set out to see if haply the bird had gone back to the scarlet cannas and the fresh grass growing by the lakes. He had no sooner entered than he saw him in his accustomed place.
“Friend!” he cried, “this is a sorry trick you have played me! My heart has despaired, and the voice of the crier, searching the bazaar with beat of drum, has not ceased since yesterday morning!”
“One day longer and he would have found my skin in the butcher’s shop,” replied the Pelican. And he related everything that had happened.
The young man was so enraged at what he heard that he beat the grass with his staff till the sods flew. “When I get home,” said he, “I will hire a house in a different street for my mother, and she shall abide there; and when I meet the butcher, I will make every bone in his body ache.”
“That is right,” said the Pelican, enjoying the thought.
“It is; and I will do it,” said the young man; “but oh! where is the beautiful one? Her eyes were like stars shining on the Nile, and her mouth like the canna-flowers. When she walked, her passing was as the wind in the lebbek-tree, and when she drew her veil across her face, it was as though a trail of river-mist crossed the moon.”
And he wept bitterly, making many holy vows that, when he had found her, he would marry her, taking none other to wife. The Pelican was much moved.
“Through silence everything is heard,” said he, “and by waiting everything is attained. May the young Pelicans laugh at my pouch if I do not find her for you yet again.”
Now it chanced, very soon, that Prince Hassan, with all the beauties of his harem, returned to the palace which had stood empty more than a year. Among the ladies was one who surpassed all the others, and with whom Prince Hassan was deeply in love. One day, while walking in the garden, she fell into conversation with the Pelican, becoming so much charmed with his polite manners and sentiments that she would spend some time daily in his company.
“My lord,” she said to Prince Hassan, “I beg of you to come with me into the garden and divert yourself with the conversation of the Pelican who lives there. He is the most wonderful bird, and he assures me that he knows the whole of the Koran by heart.”
When the Prince was made acquainted with the bird he commended the lady’s wit in discovering such a companion, and he gave orders that nothing he desired should be denied him. But, in spite of the honour paid him, the Pelican never ceased to think of the young man in yellow and the melon girl, and to wonder how he could bring them together.
“Lady,” he said one day, “it is long since I looked upon the world. When you are carried abroad in your litter by the banks of the Nile I have a desire to go with you. While you remain inside, veiled, I can put my head through the curtains and see something of the river-life I once knew. If you will allow this my gratitude will not die while I breathe.”
The lady laughed heartily at the strange request, but she did not refuse it, thinking of the Prince’s orders; and, one evening, when the sun was low behind the Pyramids, she set forth in her gilded litter with the Pelican beside her.
While they went along the Nile bank they passed many places where melons were sold, and at last he saw the girl he sought beside a cloth spread on the ground and full of fruit. As the litter passed he stretched out his neck and cried: “The Sheikh’s tomb by the Nile! The Sheikh’s tomb by the Nile!”
She jumped up and would have approached the litter, but the slaves surrounding it pushed her away.
“Full moon!” cried the Pelican. “The Sheikh’s tomb by the Nile at full moon!”
Next day, when the lady came out to talk to the Pelican, he made a new request.
“Lady,” said he, “if you will make me your debtor once more, you will grant me another wish. Send a slave to the young man in the yellow kaftan who keeps a jeweller’s shop in the street of Selim Baba’s Mosque to tell him to go to the Sheikh’s tomb by the Nile at full moon.”
The lady marvelled, for she had fallen asleep in the litter, and had not heard the words he had cried to the girl.
“I will do what you please,” she said, “but, first, tell me who is the young man in the yellow kaftan?”
Then the Pelican began to describe his friend in such terms that the lady was filled with admiration, and calling a black slave, sent him immediately to the city. All that night she could not sleep for thinking of the young man in yellow, and, on the evening of full moon, she determined to see him for herself. So she bribed a servant to bring her the blue gown and black veil of a peasant woman, and, having dressed herself in them, she hid her own clothes in the jessamine-arbour in the garden and slipped out by a little hidden gate in the wall.
Now the black slave whom she had sent with the message was full of greed and cunning, so he went straight to the Prince on his return and said, “My lord, give me money, for I have discovered an infamous plot.”
And he told him how the lady had summoned a young man from the bazaar to meet her, at full moon, at the Sheikh’s tomb by the Nile. Prince Hassan was filled with rage, for in Egypt it is not the custom that ladies go alone to meet strange young men; and he also dressed himself and mounted his horse to ride to the tomb, having wrapped himself in a cloak that none might know him. The only person who was not on the road, journeying to the spot, was the Pelican.
The first to arrive at the tomb was the young man in yellow; his heart glowed, for he knew that the Pelican had sent the message and guessed that the wise bird had made this plan that he might meet his love. So he sat down to wait under the palm-trees and listened to the creak of the well-wheels in the fields. Presently he heard a footstep and saw a woman come gliding between the stems, but as he rushed forward to embrace her, he perceived that it was not the melon girl but a stranger.