by Andrew Lang
The bath-keeper thought it strange that the princess should be betrothed to a blind beggar, but he did as she bade him, and when she saw the prince she cried:
‘At last you have come! The year is over, and I thought you were dead. Now we will be married immediately.’ And she went home and told the king that he was to send an escort to bring her betrothed to the palace. Naturally the king was rather surprised at the sudden arrival of the prince; but when he heard that he was blind he was very much annoyed.
‘I cannot have a blind person to succeed me,’ he said. ‘It is perfectly absurd!’
But the princess had had her own way all her life, and in the end the king gave way as he had always done. The prince was taken to the palace with much ceremony and splendour; but in spite of this the king was not contented. Still, it could not be helped, and really it was time the princess was married, though she looked as young as ever. There had been hundreds of knights and princes who had begged her to bestow her hand upon them, but she would have nothing to do with anyone; and now she had taken it into her head to marry this blind prince, and nobody else would she have.
One evening, as it was fine, the prince and princess went into the garden, and sat down under a tree.
Two ravens were perched on a bush near by, and the prince, who could understand bird language, heard one of them say: ‘Do you know that it is Midsummer-eve to-night?’
‘Yes,’ said the other.
‘And do you know that part of the garden which is known as the Queen’s Bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, perhaps you don’t know this, that whoever has bad eyes, or no eyes at all, should bathe his eye-sockets in the dew that falls there to-night, because then he will get his sight back. Only he must do it between twelve and one o’clock.’
That was good news for the prince and princess to hear, and the young man begged the princess to lead him to the place called the Queen’s Bed, which was the little plot of grass where the queen used often to lie down and take her midday nap. Then, between twelve and one o’clock, he bathed his eyes with the dew that was falling there, and found he could see again as well as ever.
‘I can see you!’ he said to the princess, gazing at her as if he had never seen anything before.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she answered.
‘Well, go and hang your handkerchief on a bush, and if I find it at once you must believe me,’ he said.
And so she did, and he went straight up to the handkerchief.
‘Yes, indeed, you can see,’ cried the princess. ‘To think that my mother’s bed has really given back your sight!’ and she went to the bank and sat down again; and by-and-by, as the day was hot, the princess fell asleep. As the prince watched her he suddenly saw something shining on her neck. It was a little golden lamp that gave out a bright light, and it hung from a golden chain. The prince thought he would like to examine it more closely, so he unfastened the chain, but as he did so the lamp fell to the ground. Before he could pick it up a hawk flew in, snatched up the little lamp and flew away again with it. The prince set off in pursuit, and ran on and on without being able to catch the bird, until at length he had lost his way. Trying to find it, he wandered on, up and down, until he came to the forest where he had found the princess.
Meantime, the princess woke up, and finding herself alone she set out to look for him. In the end she also lost her way, and as she was walking about, not knowing what to do, the robbers captured her and took her back to the cave from which the prince had rescued her. So there they were after all their trouble-no better off than before!
The prince wandered on, trying to find his way back to Arabia, until he chanced one day to meet twelve youths, walking gaily through the forest, singing and laughing. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked. And they told him they were looking for work.
‘I’ll join you, if I may,’ said the prince. And they answered: ‘The more the merrier.’
Then the prince went with them, and they all journeyed on until they met an old troll.
‘Where are you going, my masters?’ asked the troll.
‘To seek service,’ they told him.
‘Then come and serve me,’ he said; ‘there will be plenty to eat and drink, and not much work to do, and if, at the end of a year, you can answer three questions, I’ll give you each a sack of gold. Otherwise you must be turned into beasts.’
The youths thought this sounded easy enough, so they went home with the troll to his castle.
‘You will find all that you want here,’ he said; ‘and all you need do is to take care of the house, for I am going away, and shall only return when the year is over.’
Then he went away, and the young men, left to themselves, had a fine time of it; for they did no work, and only amused themselves with singing and drinking. Every day they found the table laid with good things to eat and drink, and when they had finished, the plates and dishes were cleared away by invisible hands. Only the prince, who was sad for his lost princess, ate and drank sparingly, and worked hard keeping the house in order.
One day, as he sat in his own room, he heard the voice of the old troll beneath his window talking to another troll.
‘To-morrow,’ said he, ‘the year is up.’
‘And what questions will you ask?’ inquired the other.
‘First I shall ask how long they have been here-they don’t know, the young fools! Secondly I shall ask what shines on the roof of the castle.’
‘And what is that?’
‘The lamp that was stolen by me from the princess as she slept in the garden.’
‘And what is the third question?’
‘I shall ask where the food and drink they consume every day come from. I steal it from the king’s table; but they don’t know that.’
The day after, the troll entered.
‘Now I shall ask my questions,’ said he. ‘To begin with: How long have you been here?’
The young men had been so busy drinking and making merry that they had forgotten all about the agreement, so they remained silent.
‘One week,’ said one, at last.
‘Two months,’ guessed another. But the prince answered, ‘One year.’
‘Right,’ replied the troll. But the second question was more difficult.
‘What is it that shines on the roof?’
The young men guessed and guessed. ‘The sun-the moon.’ But none of them really knew.
‘May I answer?’ asked the prince.
‘Yes, certainly,’ replied the troll; and the prince spoke.
‘The lamp that you stole from the princess whilst she was asleep in the garden.’ And again the troll nodded.
The third question was harder still.
‘Where does the meat and drink you have had here come from?’
None of the young men could guess.
‘May I say?’ asked the prince.
‘Yes, if you can,’ replied the troll.
‘It comes from the king’s table,’ said the prince.
And that was all. Now they might take the sacks of gold and go, and the young men went off in such a hurry that the prince was left behind. Presently, they met an old man who asked for money.
‘No, we haven’t any,’ they answered.
So they hurried on, and by-and-by up came the prince.
‘Has your lordship a piece of money for a poor man?’ asked the old fellow.
‘Yes,’ said the prince, and gave him his whole sackful.
‘I don’t want it,’ said the old man, who was really the troll they had just left in disguise. ‘But since you’re so generous, here is the princess’s lamp, and the princess herself is in the cave where you found her; but how you’re going to save her again without the magic sword I don’t know.’
When he heard that, the prince knew where she was; and that was the beginning of her rescue. So he disguised himself to look like a peddler and travelled on until he reached his own city, where his mother, the queen, and the
robber-chief were living. Then he went in to a goldsmith’s shop and ordered a great number of kitchen pots to be made out of pure gold. That was not an order the goldsmith had every day, but the things were ready at last, saucepans and kettles and gridirons all of pure gold. Then the prince put them in his basket and went up to the palace, and asked to see the queen.
Directly she heard about the wonderful gold pots and pans she came out at once, and began unpacking the basket and admiring the things. She was so absorbed in them that the prince soon found an opportunity to steal into the bedroom and take the sword and shirt which were hung there, and go back again without his mother having noticed his absence.
‘The things are all beautiful!’ she said. ‘How much would you take for them?’
‘Name your own price, your majesty,’ answered the prince.
‘I really don’t know what to say,’ said the queen. ‘Wait till my husband comes back-men understand such things better; and then, as you are a stranger, he would like to chat with you a little.’ The prince bowed, and waited silently in a corner.
Soon after the robber returned.
‘Come and see all these lovely gold saucepans!’ cried the queen.
But, as the robber entered the room, the prince touched him with the magic sword, and he fell to the ground.
‘Perhaps, now you know me, mother,’ the prince said, taking off his disguise, ‘you had better repent for all the wrong you have done me, or your life will be short.’
‘Oh, have mercy!’ she cried, ‘I could not help it. I was so frightened.’
The prince had mercy. He ordered the wicked king to be stripped of his fine clothes, and to be driven into the forest, where the wild beasts tore him to pieces. The queen he sent to her own country. Then he set off for the cave where the princess was sitting chained as before, and with the help of the magic sword he rescued her again without any difficulty. They soon reached the port and set sail for Arabia, where they were married; and till they died, a long while after, they reigned happily over both countries.
(From Eventyr fra Gylbauck samlede og optegnede af Evald Tang Kristensen . Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen.)
THE CLEVER WEAVER
Once upon a time the king of a far country was sitting on his throne, listening to the complaints of his people, and judging between them. That morning there had been fewer cases than usual to deal with, and the king was about to rise and go into his gardens, when a sudden stir was heard outside, and the lord high chamberlain entered, and inquired if his majesty would be graciously pleased to receive the ambassador of a powerful emperor who lived in the east, and was greatly feared by the neighbouring sovereigns. The king, who stood as much in dread of him as the rest, gave orders that the envoy should be admitted at once, and that a banquet should be prepared in his honour. Then he settled himself again on his throne, wondering what the envoy had to say.
The envoy said nothing. He advanced to the throne where the king was awaiting him, and stooping down, traced on the floor with a rod which he held in his hand a black circle all round it. Then he sat down on a seat that was near, and took no further notice of anyone.
The king and his courtiers were equally mystified and enraged at this strange behaviour, but the envoy sat as calm and still as an image, and it soon became plain that they would get no explanation from him. The ministers were hastily summoned to a council, but not one of them could throw any light upon the subject. This made the king more angry than ever, and he told them that unless before sunset they could find someone capable of solving the mystery he would hang them all.
The king was, as the ministers knew, a man of his word; and they quickly mapped out the city into districts, so that they might visit house by house, and question the occupants as to whether they could fathom the action of the ambassador. Most of them received no reply except a puzzled stare; but, luckily, one of them was more observant than the rest, and on entering an empty cottage where a swing was swinging of itself, he began to think it might be worth while for him to see the owner. Opening a door leading into another room, he found a second swing, swinging gently like the first, and from the window he beheld a patch of corn, and a willow which moved perpetually without any wind, in order to frighten away the sparrows. Feeling more and more curious, he descended the stairs and found himself in a large light workshop in which was seated a weaver at his loom. But all the weaver did was to guide his threads, for the machine that he had invented to set in motion the swings and the willow pole made the loom work.
When he saw the great wheel standing in the corner, and had guessed the use of it, the merchant heaved a sigh of relief. At any rate, if the weaver could not guess the riddle, he at least might put the minister on the right track. So without more ado he told the story of the circle, and ended by declaring that the person who could explain its meaning should be handsomely rewarded.
‘Come with me at once,’ he said. ‘The sun is low in the heavens, and there is no time to lose.’
The weaver stood thinking for a moment and then walked across to a window, outside of which was a hen-coop with two knuckle-bones lying beside it. These he picked up, and taking the hen from the coop, he tucked it under his arm.
‘I am ready,’ he answered, turning to the minister.
In the hall the king still sat on his throne, and the envoy on his seat. Signing to the minister to remain where he was, the weaver advanced to the envoy, and placed the knuckle-bones on the floor beside him. For answer, the envoy took a handful of millet seed out of his pocket and scattered it round; upon which the weaver set down the hen, who ate it up in a moment. At that the envoy rose without a word, and took his departure.
As soon as he had left the hall, the king beckoned to the weaver.
‘You alone seem to have guessed the riddle,’ said he, ‘and great shall be your reward. But tell me, I pray you, what it all means?’
‘The meaning, O king,’ replied the weaver, ‘is this: The circle drawn by the envoy round your throne is the message of the emperor, and signifies, “If I send an army and surround your capital, will you lay down your arms?” The knuckle-bones which I placed before him told him, “You are but children in comparison with us. Toys like these are the only playthings you are fit for.” The millet that he scattered was an emblem of the number of soldiers that his master can bring into the field; but by the hen which ate up the seed he understood that one of our men could destroy a host of theirs.’
‘I do not think,’ he added, ‘that the emperor will declare war.’
‘You have saved me and my honour,’ cried the king, ‘and wealth and glory shall be heaped upon you. Name your reward, and you shall have it even to the half of my kingdom.’
‘The small farm outside the city gates, as a marriage portion for my daughter, is all I ask,’ answered the weaver, and it was all he would accept. ‘Only, O king,’ were his parting words, ‘I would beg of you to remember that weavers also are of value to a state, and that they are sometimes cleverer even than ministers!’
(From Contes Arméniens . Par Frédéric Macler.)
THE BOY WHO FOUND FEAR AT LAST
Once upon a time there lived a woman who had one son whom she loved dearly. The little cottage in which they dwelt was built on the outskirts of a forest, and as they had no neighbours, the place was very lonely, and the boy was kept at home by his mother to bear her company.
They were sitting together on a winter’s evening, when a storm suddenly sprang up, and the wind blew the door open. The woman started and shivered, and glanced over her shoulder as if she half expected to see some horrible thing behind her. ‘Go and shut the door,’ she said hastily to her son, ‘I feel frightened.’
‘Frightened?’ repeated the boy. ‘What does it feel like to be frightened?’
‘Well-just frightened,’ answered the mother. ‘A fear of something, you hardly know what, takes hold of you.’
‘It must be very odd to feel like that,’ replied the boy.
‘I will go through the world and seek fear till I find it.’ And the next morning, before his mother was out of bed, he had left the forest behind him.
After walking for some hours he reached a mountain, which he began to climb. Near the top, in a wild and rocky spot, he came upon a band of fierce robbers, sitting round a fire. The boy, who was cold and tired, was delighted to see the bright flames, so he went up to them and said, ‘Good greeting to you, sirs,’ and wriggled himself in between the men, till his feet almost touched the burning logs.
The robbers stopped drinking and eyed him curiously, and at last the captain spoke.
‘No caravan of armed men would dare to come here, even the very birds shun our camp, and who are you to venture in so boldly?’
‘Oh, I have left my mother’s house in search of fear. Perhaps you can show it to me?’
‘Fear is wherever we are,’ answered the captain.
‘But where?’ asked the boy, looking round. ‘I see nothing.’
‘Take this pot and some flour and butter and sugar over to the churchyard which lies down there, and bake us a cake for supper,’ replied the robber. And the boy, who was by this time quite warm, jumped up cheerfully, and slinging the pot over his arm, ran down the hill.
When he got to the churchyard he collected some sticks and made a fire; then he filled the pot with water from a little stream close by, and mixing the flour and butter and sugar together, he set the cake on to cook. It was not long before it grew crisp and brown, and then the boy lifted it from the pot and placed it on a stone, while he put out the fire. At that moment a hand was stretched from a grave, and a voice said:
‘Is that cake for me?’
‘Do you think I am going to give to the dead the food of the living?’ replied the boy, with a laugh. And giving the hand a tap with his spoon, and picking up the cake, he went up the mountain side, whistling merrily.
