Bold Tales of Brave-Hearted Boys
Page 3
AND SO HANSEL was locked in the spell-bound cage, and Gretel was forced to work for the witch, chopping wood in the wood room, stirring the large vat of gingerbread batter, and feeding her brother plate after plate of sweet food. What once Hansel had dreamt of, now he dreaded: cakes laden with cream, bowls of candy, and iced gingerbread.
“Getting fatter, soon to batter,” the witch repeated each morning as she inspected Hansel to see how his plumping had progressed. Unable to see properly, she’d pull out his finger and feel it. “Too skinny! More food!” she’d cackle. “Once you’re fat enough, I’ll batter you up and bake you into a gingerbread boy for my dinner.”
“No!” cried Gretel this particular morning.
“Disobey me and your brother will die sooner,” hissed the witch. “Do as I say and you’ll have more time together.”
“Time,” said Hansel to himself, furrowing his brow.
“Gretel,” he whispered that night as she fed him cream cakes, “when you’re in the wood room, fetch me the thinnest stick you can find.”
“Yes, brother,” said Gretel, realizing her brother had a plan. And the children smiled at each other, put their thumbs together, and nodded.
Gretel slipped Hansel a thin stick, and the next morning he presented that to the witch rather than his finger, which indeed was getting plumper.
“You’re taking a long time to fatten up, little wretch!” shrieked the witch. Now Hansel had more thinking time, and over that week he watched carefully as each morning, after checking his finger, the witch ordered Gretel to stir the gingerbread batter and hobbled to the large baking oven. She took an oven mitt, turned the hot handle, and leaned in slightly to stoke the coals. It was exactly the same every morning.
The next week, while Gretel fed Hansel pancakes coated in maple syrup, he told her his plan. “When she leans into the oven,” he whispered, “you’ll rush over, use all your strength to push her in, and slam the oven door. If the witch is gone, I think the spell over the cottage will be broken.”
“But she’ll surely smell me, Hansel!”
“Yes,” said Hansel, “I’ve thought of that. While you’re stirring the batter, coat your arms and face with it. Then the witch will smell only gingerbread, not Gretel!”
“Good thinking,” said Gretel, getting that gleam in her eye.
“But, Gretel,” said Hansel, “you will have to be quick.”
“I can do that,” said Gretel.
“And you will have to be strong.”
“I can do that, too,” said Gretel.
“And you will have to be brave.”
Hansel saw his sister’s lip quiver.
“You can do that, Gretel,” he said.
Gretel smiled, and they put their thumbs together and nodded.
The next morning, it happened just as Hansel had foretold. The witch checked Hansel’s finger and crossly ordered Gretel to stir the batter. She then hobbled to the fire, leaned into the oven, and began stoking the coals.
Gretel moved like lightning. The witch’s nose didn’t even twitch; she never knew Gretel was coming. Gretel pushed the evil witch into the oven and, although the handle was scalding hot on her hand, slammed the door shut behind her.
The moment the door locked shut, the bars of Hansel’s cage fell to the ground. The witch’s spell had been broken.
“You did it, Gretel!” cried Hansel.
“We did it, Hansel!” cried Gretel.
The children hugged.
“What shall we do now, brother?” asked Gretel.
“I think I have a plan,” said Hansel.
“Of course you do,” said Gretel, hugging her dear brother again. “Tell me all about it.”
5.
THE DEATH OF the witch had also broken the famine that blighted the land. The ground was softened by cleansing rains, and by spring, crops flourished and food was plentiful.
Hansel and Gretel lived in the cottage, no longer made of gingerbread but a strong and sturdy brick. They’d strung a large banner above the door: H&G SWEET THINGS EMPORIUM AND INVENTIONS WORKSHOP.
The emporium sold all sort of candy and gingerbreads and a few other things Hansel had created in his workshop—including his first invention, the Gingerbread Batter Burn Balm, a soothing cream that had healed Gretel’s hand.
The vegetable patch now burst with an abundance of strawberries and grapes, pumpkins, corn, beans, and broccoli, and Hansel, who had rather lost his sweet tooth, would crunch on cucumbers morning to night.
People came from all over to try the mouthwatering sweets and salads, paying as little or as much as they could afford. Everyone lived happily ever after—and nobody’s stomach ever grumbled again.
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES
1.
ONCE UPON A TIME, in a faraway land, lived a young man called Christian, who served in the palace of a wealthy emperor, enjoying the privileges of court life. Christian valued his place at court, for he’d once been very poor and knew the terrible feeling of cold when one didn’t have enough clothes, and hunger when there wasn’t enough food.
Some years earlier, when Christian had been a young boy, he and his shepherd father had been tending their flock in the hills outside the palace walls when they’d come across a boy, around the same age as Christian, encircled by wolves.
Unbeknown to them, this boy was the emperor’s son, and he’d disobediently left the palace without his guard, chasing a beautiful peacock. Enchanted by the colorful plumage, the boy was deaf to the hungry wolves’ howls. Christian watched in awe as his father approached the snarling wolves, enduring their savage scratches as he beat them away from the boy, lunging at them with his crook.
“No!” yelled the father with a final lunge at the last wolf. As the wolf retreated, the young boy looked up as if awoken from a trance, only at that moment seeing the danger he’d been in.
“Thank you,” he said.
Christian asked, “Why did you risk your life, Father? You don’t know that boy.”
“We are shepherds, my son—protectors,” replied his father. “We should do what’s right, even if it’s dangerous.”
The emperor was so grateful for the safe return of his son that he rewarded Christian’s father, who became the young prince’s royal protector. Christian became his royal companion. The two boys grew up together, playing as friends, although Christian knew his place with this boy who would become emperor. As they got older, Christian became very good at entertaining, and the prince became very good at being entertained.
When both their fathers died, the prince became the emperor and Christian became the royal protector. Secretly, both young men worried that they wouldn’t fill their fathers’ shoes. Christian worked hard to become strong and fit, so he’d be ready should there be an attack on the emperor. Meanwhile, the emperor worked hard to ensure he looked like an emperor—for sadly, too easily enchanted by beautiful gifts and the flattery of the courtiers, he’d grown into a vain young man. He loved clothes and would spend hours dressing to impress, in suits made from only the finest, the rarest, the most exquisitely colored fabrics the royal suit-makers could find.
The emperor had suits made for every occasion and every imperial task. He had suits for eating breakfast, suits for riding, suits for playing croquet, suits for listening to amusing stories (which Christian was very good at telling), suits for feeding the imperial peacocks, even suits for inspecting the royal suit collection. Indeed, the young emperor spent much time planning his next suit and little time planning for the care of his subjects and kingdom. Christian attended to the emperor during all his activities. A gifted sportsman and a charming and good-humored companion, he was a much-liked member of the court. “That Christian,” the other courtiers would say, “you can count on him to brighten things up. Always ready with a story, guaranteed to put a smile on the emperor’s face!”
One day Christian and the emperor were out riding in the hills (the emperor wearing a jaunty golden suit with small horsesh
oe motifs embroidered in fine silken thread at the cuffs) when they rode past some villagers collecting juniper berries. The emperor, who had little contact with life outside the palace walls, was taken aback by their appearance.
“Why are their clothes so dirty?” he exclaimed. “And why such drab colors?”
“They only have one set of clothes each,” explained Christian, who sometimes wished his emperor would spend a little more time out in his kingdom.
“Well, that’s ridiculous!” declared the emperor.
“Perhaps if the Royal Treasury helped the villagers more, Your Highness…,” offered Christian.
“Oh, don’t bore me. You’re supposed to protect me from such things. Come, Christian, let’s away. I need to change into my luncheon suit.”
Christian sighed as he turned his horse back toward the palace. But it wasn’t his place to instruct the emperor, and he didn’t want to upset anyone—he loved his life at the palace, and he wanted to keep things that way. He knew the emperor was a little vain, but, Christian reasoned, he was still growing into his job. Christian wanted to protect the emperor, just like his father had—but he had yet to learn that wolves didn’t always look like wolves.
2.
ONE DAY, as the emperor sat on his throne wearing his throne-sitting suit, the prime minister suggested an imperial tour of the villages beyond the palace. The villagers were starting to grumble that the new emperor cared only for palace life and not for them. The visit would show them the emperor was a caring leader.
The emperor leaped at the idea—sadly for the wrong reasons. “Indeed!” he cried, clapping his hands. “I must have a kingdom-touring suit made! Call for the finest fabrics!”
The royal call went out and was heard by two swindlers passing through the kingdom. They came to the court and were presented to the emperor.
Christian watched them bow a little too low before the throne.
“Your Royal Highness,” they said together, “we offer our services as weavers and tailors, of the finest of cloths, in the most exquisite of colors… and with an extra, special quality—a divining quality, if you will.”
That got the emperor’s attention. “What kind of divining quality?” he asked, leaning closer.
“The best sort, sire,” said one of the swindlers. “Our fabrics are able to be seen only by people of wisdom. Anyone stupid and unfit to hold their office will be unable to see the cloth, and the suit from which it is made. An invaluable thing for an emperor, don’t you agree?”
The emperor did agree, as the swindlers knew he would. Their plan was devious but quite ingenious: they knew everyone would claim they could see the cloth, to protect their reputations and positions. The swindlers could collect a rich payment in gold by simply pretending to weave a cloth and make a suit that never existed.
“Imagine, sire!” said the other swindler. “Not only will you look magnificent, but you’ll know who is stupid and who is wise. And no one in the world but you will have such a suit.”
Christian wondered how such a thing could be possible, but the emperor was, again, enchanted. “I must have this suit!” he declared.
“It will not come cheap, though, sire,” warned the swindlers. “It will take much gold and many reels of fine silks.”
“Pay these weavers what they ask,” the emperor instructed the royal treasurer. “Give them whatever they request, and have them start immediately.”
The treasurer looked hesitant but gave the devious weavers a loom, a sewing machine, and reels of precious threads, and they set upon their task with zeal.
They hid the threads, yet dashed around the loom with their arms stretched out, as if pulling silks and threading yarn. Their knees wobbled as if buckling from carrying heavy bolts of fabric, and they worked day and night, very busily doing nothing at all.
The emperor was impressed with the weavers’ dedication but grew impatient to see their work.
“I will inspect their progress,” he said. But then he remembered the weavers saying anyone unfit for their office wouldn’t see the cloth, and he felt unsure. What if he, the emperor himself, couldn’t see it? He was still new as emperor and sometimes worried he wouldn’t live up to the standard his father had set.
I’ll send my prime minister, he decided. He is the wisest of men and will certainly be able to see my cloth.
And so the prime minister was summoned. “Visit the weavers,” the emperor instructed. “I should like to know how they’re getting on.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said the prime minister, although he too was a little fearful he might not see anything. And, indeed, when he walked into the room, he saw the two weavers busily rushing around but couldn’t see a thread of cloth. It was as if the swindlers were working on a completely empty loom—which, indeed, they were. Oh my, he thought to himself, I cannot see a thing.
The swindlers, sensing the prime minister’s reluctance, approached him, bowing low.
“What do you think, Prime Minister?” one asked. “Will the emperor appreciate this exquisite pattern? Do you not think the colors will match his royal complexion perfectly?”
The prime minister cocked his head one way, then the other. He squinted and strained his eyes, but he could see nothing.
“Tell us, prime minister,” said the other swindler. “For surely you can see it? Surely you, the emperor’s most trusted minister, can see our work?”
But the prime minister could not.
Am I stupid? he thought. I wouldn’t have thought it so. This mustn’t be known—I cannot lose my position.
And so he cleared his throat and declared the cloth the most beautiful and intricately woven he’d ever seen.
“What do you think will please the emperor about it most?” pressed the swindlers.
The prime minister coughed. “The brilliant gold trim,” he declared, looking out the window.
“Oh, yes, an excellent choice. What taste and discrimination you have,” they replied. “And please, wise prime minister, order us more silk and gold thread so we can make it even more beautiful.”
The prime minister had no choice but to comply. He left the room and reported to the emperor that the weavers were making a cloth of unimaginable beauty.
A few days later, the emperor sent his royal treasurer to ask when the suit would be ready. Like the prime minister, the treasurer could see nothing on the swindlers’ loom, but was too afraid to say so.
The prime minister could see it, she thought, yet I cannot. I must be unfit for office, but I have six children to feed and mustn’t lose my position at court.
And so the royal treasurer also declared the cloth the finest she’d seen. “The prime minister didn’t adequately convey the beauty!” she exclaimed. “The vibrancy, the richness!”
“We’re so pleased you like it,” said one of the swindlers, barely able to conceal a smirk. “Which aspect do you think will most enchant His Royal Highness?”
“Ah, well… I’d say the intricate images—the ah, er…”
“Yes, royal treasurer, which image?”
“Do you mean the peacock?” asked the other swindler, gesturing to the empty space in the middle of the loom.
“Ah, yes! The peacock, the emperor’s favorite bird! And with such detailing. Exquisite!”
The royal treasurer reported that the cloth was indeed magnificent, and soon everyone at court was talking about how grand the emperor’s new clothes were going to be.
The emperor could think of nothing else. “Tell me again, prime minister, about my new suit,” he said the next day in the throne room. He was wearing his black-and-white-checkered suit, as he and Christian were playing a game of chess.
“Oh, the silver—” began the prime minister.
“I thought you said it was gold,” said Christian.
“Did I say silver? I meant gold. The most luminous gold!” exclaimed the prime minister, a little too enthusiastically.
“And the eagle!” added the royal treasurer.
“Yes, quite right,” said the royal treasurer quickly. “A magnificent peacock.”
“Christian,” said the emperor, feeling a little impatient with his ministers, “will you please go and inspect my suit?”
“Of course, sire,” replied Christian. He bowed to the emperor and left for the weaving room.
When he arrived, as had happened with the prime minister and royal treasurer before him, Christian saw nothing on the loom. He watched as the two devious weavers rushed around, gesturing frantically at thin air.
Panicking a little, Christian went closer. Is there something I can’t see? he asked himself. Could the fabric truly have powers to tell the wise from the stupid? He stepped closer still.
“No farther, please,” cried one of the weavers. “The fabric is quite fragile.”
But Christian ignored her, waving his arms up and down in the center of the loom. He felt nothing.
There is nothing here, Christian thought. I’m sure of it. No gold or silver, no peacock or eagle. He looked and looked again, until he could look no more, for indeed there was nothing to look at!
“What do you think?” asked one of the weavers, her voice wavering. “What part of the emperor’s new cloth do you admire the most?”
Christian said nothing.
“You can see it, can’t you?” said the other swindler. “It is true, of course, that the cloth cannot be seen by stupid people, but surely you, sir, the emperor’s royal protector, can see it?”
Christian left the room without a word.
These people are tricksters, he said to himself. But why did the prime minister and royal treasurer say they saw something? Then Christian had a terrible thought. What will happen if the emperor falls for this trick too? What if he goes out into the villages wearing only his underwear?