The Olive Fairy Book

by Andrew Lang

  'You did that for me?' she whispered. 'Ah, Little King Loc—-!'

  *

  So, loaded with presents, and followed by regrets, Abeille went home. In a few days the marriage took place; but however happy she was, and however busy she might be, never a month passed by without a visit from Abeille to her friends in the kingdom of the gnomes.

  (Adapted and shortened from the story of Abeille, by M. Anatole France.)

  'A Long-Bow Story'

  *

  One day a bunniah,[1] or banker, was walking along a country road when he overtook a farmer going in the same direction. Now the bunniah was very grasping, like most of his class, and was lamenting that he had had no chance of making any money that day; but at the sight of the man in front he brightened up wonderfully.

  'That is a piece of luck,' he said to himself. 'Let me see if this farmer is not good for something'; and he hastened his steps.

  After they had bid one another good day very politely, the bunniah said to the farmer:

  'I was just thinking how dull I felt, when I beheld you, but since we are going the same way, I shall find the road quite short in such agreeable company.'

  'With all my heart,' replied the farmer; 'but what shall we talk about? A city man like you will not care to hear about cattle and crops.'

  'Oh,' said the bunniah, 'I'll tell you what we will do. We will each tell the other the wildest tale we can imagine, and he who first throws doubt on the other's story shall pay him a hundred rupees.'

  To this the farmer agreed, and begged the bunniah to begin, as he was the bigger man of the two; and privately he made up his mind that, however improbable it might be, nothing should induce him to hint that he did not believe in the bunniah's tale. Thus politely pressed the great man started:

  'I was going along this road one day, when I met a merchant travelling with a great train of camels laden with merchandise—-'

  'Very likely,' murmured the farmer; 'I've seen that kind of thing myself.'

  'No less than one hundred and one camels,' continued the bunniah, 'all tied together by their nose strings—nose to tail—and stretching along the road for almost half a mile—-'

  'Well?' said the farmer.

  'Well, a kite swooped down on the foremost camel and bore him off, struggling, into the air, and by reason of them all being tied together the other hundred camels had to follow—-'

  'Amazing, the strength of that kite!' said the farmer. 'But—well—yes, doubtless; yes—well—one hundred and one camels—and what did he do with them?'

  'You doubt it?' demanded the bunniah.

  'Not a bit!' said the farmer heartily.

  'Well,' continued the bunniah, 'it happened that the princess of a neighbouring kingdom was sitting in her private garden, having her hair combed by her maid, and she was looking upward, with her head thrown back, whilst the maid tugged away at the comb, when that wretched kite, with its prey, went soaring overhead; and, as luck would have it, the camels gave an extra kick just then, the kite lost his hold, and the whole hundred and one camels dropped right into the princess's left eye!'

  'Poor thing!' said the farmer; 'it's so painful having anything in one's eye.'

  'Well,' said the bunniah, who was now warming to his task, 'the princess shook her head, and sprang up, clapping her hand on her eye. "Oh dear!" she cried, "I've got something in my eye, and how it does smart!"'

  'It always does,' observed the farmer, 'perfectly true. Well, what did the poor thing do?'

  'At the sound of her cries, the maid came running to her assistance. "Let me look," said she; and with that she gave the princess's eyelid a twitch, and out came a camel, which the maid put in her pocket—' ('Ah!' grunted the farmer)—'and then she just twisted up the corner of her headcloth and fished a hundred more of them out of the princess's eye, and popped them all into her pocket with the other.'

  Here the bunniah gasped as one who is out of breath, but the farmer looked at him slowly. 'Well?' said he.

  'I can't think of anything more now,' replied the bunniah. 'Besides, that is the end; what do you say to it?'

  'Wonderful,' replied the farmer, 'and no doubt perfectly true!'

  'Well, it is your turn,' said the bunniah. 'I am so anxious to hear your story. I am sure it will be very interesting.'

  'Yes, I think it will,' answered the farmer, and he began:

  'My father was a very prosperous man. Five cows he had, and three yoke of oxen, and half a dozen buffaloes, and goats in abundance; but of all his possessions the thing he loved best was a mare. A well bred mare she was—oh, a very fine mare!'

  'Yes, yes,' interrupted the bunniah, 'get on!'

  'I'm getting on,' said the farmer, 'don't you hurry me! Well, one day, as ill-luck would have it, he rode that mare to market with a torn saddle, which galled her so, that when they got home she had a sore on her back as big as the palm of your hand.'

  'Yes,' said the bunniah impatiently, 'what next?'

  'It was June,' said the farmer, 'and you know how, in June, the air is full of dust-storms with rain at times? Well, the poor beast got dust in that wound, and what's more, with the dust some grains of wheat, and, what with the dust and the heat and the wet, that wheat sprouted and began to grow!'

  'Wheat does when it gets a fair chance,' said the bunniah.

  'Yes; and the next thing we knew was that there was a crop of wheat on that horse's back as big as anything you ever saw in a hundred-acre field, and we had to hire twenty men to reap it!'

  'One generally has to hire extra hands for reaping,' said the bunniah.

  'And we got four hundred maunds of wheat off that mare's back!' continued the farmer.

  'A good crop!' murmured the bunniah.

  'And your father,' said the farmer, 'a poor wretch, with hardly enough to keep body and soul together—(the bunniah snorted, but was silent)—came to my father, and he said, putting his hands together as humble as could be—-'

  The bunniah here flashed a furious glance at his companion, but bit his lips and held his peace.

  '"I haven't tasted food for a week. Oh! great master, let me have the loan of sixteen maunds of wheat from your store, and I will repay you."'

  '"Certainly, neighbour," answered my father; "take what you need, and repay it as you can."'

  'Well?' demanded the bunniah with fury in his eye.

  'Well, he took the wheat away with him,' replied the farmer; 'but he never repaid it, and it's a debt to this day. Sometimes I wonder whether I shall not go to law about it.'

  Then the bunniah began running his thumb quickly up and down the fingers of his right hand, and his lips moved in quick calculation.

  'What is the matter?' asked the farmer.

  'The wheat is the cheaper; I'll pay you for the wheat,' said the bunniah, with the calmness of despair, as he remembered that by his own arrangement he was bound to give the farmer a hundred rupees.

  And to this day they say in those parts, when a man owes a debt: 'Give me the money; or, if not that, give me at least the wheat.'

  (This is from oral tradition.)

  Jackal or Tiger?

  *

  One hot night, in Hindustan, a king and queen lay awake in the palace in the midst of the city. Every now and then a faint air blew through the lattice, and they hoped they were going to sleep, but they never did. Presently they became more broad awake than ever at the sound of a howl outside the palace.

  'Listen to that tiger!' remarked the king.

  'Tiger?' replied the queen. 'How should there be a tiger inside the city? It was only a jackal.'

  'I tell you it was a tiger,' said the king.

  'And I tell you that you were dreaming if you thought it was anything but a jackal,' answered the queen.

  'I say it was a tiger,' cried the king; 'don't contradict me.'

  'Nonsense!' snapped the queen. 'It was a jackal.' And the dispute waxed so warm that the king said at last:

  'Very well, we'll call the guard and ask; and if it
was a jackal I'll leave this kingdom to you and go away; and if it was a tiger then you shall go, and I will marry a new wife.'

  'As you like,' answered the queen, 'there isn't any doubt which it was.'

  So the king called the two soldiers who were on guard outside and put the question to them. But, whilst the dispute was going on, the king and queen had got so excited and talked so loud that the guards had heard nearly all they said, and one man observed to the other:

  'Mind you declare that the king is right. It certainly was a jackal, but, if we say so, the king will probably not keep his word about going away, and we shall get into trouble, so we had better take his side.'

  To this the other agreed; therefore, when the king asked them what animal they had seen, both the guards said it was certainly a tiger, and that the king was right of course, as he always was. The king made no remark, but sent for a palanquin, and ordered the queen to be placed in it, bidding the four bearers of the palanquin to take her a long way off into the forest and there leave her. In spite of her tears, she was forced to obey, and away the bearers went for three days and three nights until they came to a dense wood. There they set down the palanquin with the queen in it, and started home again.

  Now the queen thought to herself that the king could not mean to send her away for good, and that as soon as he had got over his fit of temper he would summon her back; so she stayed quite still for a long time, listening with all her ears for approaching footsteps, but heard none. After a while she grew nervous, for she was all alone, and put her head out of the palanquin and looked about her. Day was just breaking, and birds and insects were beginning to stir; the leaves rustled in a warm breeze; but, although the queen's eyes wandered in all directions, there was no sign of any human being. Then her spirit gave way, and she began to cry.

  It so happened that close to the spot where the queen's palanquin had been set down, there dwelt a man who had a tiny farm in the midst of the forest, where he and his wife lived alone far from any neighbours. As it was hot weather the farmer had been sleeping on the flat roof of his house, but was awakened by the sound of weeping. He jumped up and ran downstairs as fast as he could, and into the forest towards the place the sound came from, and there he found the palanquin.

  'Oh, poor soul that weeps,' cried the farmer, standing a little way off, 'who are you?' At this salutation from a stranger the queen grew silent, dreading she knew not what.

  'Oh, you that weep,' repeated the farmer, 'fear not to speak to me, for you are to me as a daughter. Tell me, who are you?'

  His voice was so kind that the queen gathered up her courage and spoke. And when she had told her story, the farmer called his wife, who led her to their house, and gave her food to eat, and a bed to lie on. And in the farm, a few days later, a little prince was born, and by his mother's wish named Ameer Ali.

  Years passed without a sign from the king. His wife might have been dead for all he seemed to care, though the queen still lived with the farmer, and the little prince had by this time grown up into a strong, handsome, and healthy youth. Out in the forest they seemed far from the world; very few ever came near them, and the prince was continually begging his mother and the farmer to be allowed to go away and seek adventures and to make his own living. But she and the wise farmer always counselled him to wait, until, at last, when he was eighteen years of age, they had not the heart to forbid him any longer. So he started off one early morning, with a sword by his side, a big brass pot to hold water, a few pieces of silver, and a galail[2] or two-stringed bow in his hand, with which to shoot birds as he travelled.

  Many a weary mile he tramped day after day, until, one morning, he saw before him just such a forest as that in which he had been born and bred, and he stepped joyfully into it, like one who goes to meet an old friend. Presently, as he made his way through a thicket, he saw a pigeon which he thought would make a good dinner, so he fired a pellet at it from his galail, but missed the pigeon which fluttered away with a startled clatter. At the same instant he heard a great clamour from beyond the thicket, and, on reaching the spot, he found an ugly old woman streaming wet and crying loudly as she lifted from her head an earthen vessel with a hole in it from which the water was pouring. When she saw the prince with his galail in his hand, she called out:

  'Oh, wretched one! why must you choose an old woman like me to play your pranks upon? Where am I to get a fresh pitcher instead of this one that you have broken with your foolish tricks? And how am I to go so far for water twice when one journey wearies me?'

  'But, mother,' replied the prince, 'I played no trick upon you! I did but shoot at a pigeon that should have served me for dinner, and as my pellet missed it, it must have broken your pitcher. But, in exchange, you shall have my brass pot, and that will not break easily; and as for getting water, tell me where to find it, and I'll fetch it while you dry your garments in the sun, and carry it whither you will.'

  At this the old woman's face brightened. She showed him where to seek the water, and when he returned a few minutes later with his pot filled to the brim, she led the way without a word, and he followed. In a short while they came to a hut in the forest, and as they drew near it Ameer Ali beheld in the doorway the loveliest damsel his eyes had ever looked on. At the sight of a stranger she drew her veil about her and stepped into the hut, and much as he wished to see her again Ameer Ali could think of no excuse by which to bring her back, and so, with a heavy heart, he made his salutation, and bade the old woman farewell. But when he had gone a little way she called after him:

  'If ever you are in trouble or danger, come to where you now stand and cry: "Fairy of the Forest! Fairy of the forest, help me now!" And I will listen to you.'

  The prince thanked her and continued his journey, but he thought little of the old woman's saying, and much of the lovely damsel. Shortly afterwards he arrived at a city; and, as he was now in great straits, having come to the end of his money, he walked straight to the palace of the king and asked for employment. The king said he had plenty of servants and wanted no more; but the young man pleaded so hard that at last the rajah was sorry for him, and promised that he should enter his bodyguard on the condition that he would undertake any service which was especially difficult or dangerous. This was just what Ameer Ali wanted, and he agreed to do whatever the king might wish.

  Soon after this, on a dark and stormy night, when the river roared beneath the palace walls, the sound of a woman weeping and wailing was heard above the storm. The king ordered a servant to go and see what was the matter; but the servant, falling on his knees in terror, begged that he might not be sent on such an errand, particularly on a night so wild, when evil spirits and witches were sure to be abroad. Indeed, so frightened was he, that the king, who was very kind-hearted, bade another to go in his stead, but each one showed the same strange fear. Then Ameer Ali stepped forward:

  'This is my duty, your majesty,' he said, 'I will go.'

  The king nodded, and off he went. The night was as dark as pitch, and the wind blew furiously and drove the rain in sheets into his face; but he made his way down to the ford under the palace walls and stepped into the flooded water. Inch by inch, and foot by foot he fought his way across, now nearly swept off his feet by some sudden swirl or eddy, now narrowly escaping being caught in the branches of some floating tree that came tossing and swinging down the stream. At length he emerged, panting and dripping wet, on the other side. Close by the bank stood a gallows, and on the gallows hung the body of some evildoer, whilst from the foot of it came the sound of sobbing that the king had heard.

  Ameer Ali was so grieved for the one who wept there that he thought nothing of the wildness of the night or of the roaring river. As for ghosts and witches, they had never troubled him, so he walked up towards the gallows where crouched the figure of the woman.

  'What ails you?' he said.

  Now the woman was not really a woman at all, but a horrid kind of witch who really lived in Witchland, and had no business o
n earth. If ever a man strayed into Witchland the ogresses used to eat him up, and this old witch thought she would like to catch a man for supper, and that is why she had been sobbing and crying in hopes that someone out of pity might come to her rescue.

  So when Ameer Ali questioned her, she replied:

  'Ah, kind sir, it is my poor son who hangs upon that gallows; help me to get him down and I will bless you for ever.'

  Ameer Ali thought that her voice sounded rather eager than sorrowful, and he suspected that she was not telling the truth, so he determined to be very cautious.

  'That will be rather difficult,' he said, 'for the gallows is high, and we have no ladder.'

  'Ah, but if you will just stoop down and let me climb upon your shoulders,' answered the old witch, 'I think I could reach him.' And her voice now sounded so cruel that Ameer Ali was sure that she intended some evil. But he only said:

  'Very well, we will try.' With that he drew his sword, pretending that he needed it to lean upon, and bent so that the old woman could clamber on to his back, which she did very nimbly. Then, suddenly, he felt a noose slipped over his neck, and the old witch sprang from his shoulders on to the gallows, crying:

  'Now, foolish one, I have got you, and will kill you for my supper.'

  But Ameer Ali gave a sweep upwards with his sharp sword to cut the rope that she had slipped round his neck, and not only cut the cord but cut also the old woman's foot as it dangled above him; and with a yell of pain and anger she vanished into the darkness.

  *

  Ameer Ali then sat down to collect himself a little, and felt upon the ground by his side an anklet that had evidently fallen off the old witch's foot. This he put into his pocket, and as the storm had by this time passed over he made his way back to the palace. When he had finished his story, he took the anklet out of his pocket and handed it to the king, who, like everyone else, was amazed at the glory of the jewels which composed it. Indeed, Ameer Ali himself was astonished, for he had slipped the anklet into his pocket in the dark and had not looked at it since. The king was delighted at its beauty, and having praised and rewarded Ameer Ali, he gave the anklet to his daughter, a proud and spoiled princess.