This all happened very, very long ago, in the time so far away that even the oldest grandmother cannot remember the Holy Night when Hilda gave precious gifts to the miners; but the story has come down from the fathers and the fathers’ fathers, and that is why, even to this day, the mountain folk of Bohemia still deck their Christmas trees with silvered cones.
THE FORGET-ME-NOT
Adapted from Version by Hoffman von Fallersleben
(Thuringian Folk Tale—Helpful in Nature Study)
In the beginning of things, when God the Father created every beast of the forest and every bird and tree and blossom, he gave each one a name, and the snowdrop, the lily, the pansy, the violet, and all the other flower sisterhood rejoiced and were glad, for each thought its own name the loveliest in the world. Everywhere in field and woodland there was happiness, and the blossoms lifted their faces toward heaven in gratitude, thanking the Gracious Giver.
But suddenly there was a sound of weeping. Somewhere in the meadow a flower had raised its voice in sorrow, and all the other flowers looked to see. At first they could not tell whence the sound came, then they beheld a tiny blossom, with petals the color of heaven and a heart the color of gold. It was sobbing bitterly, and the lily, looking down in pity, asked, “Why weepest thou?”
“Alas,” came the reply, “I have forgotten my name.” Then—wonderful sound—the primrose and the violet and the pansy heard the voice of God the Father, for although the blossom was very tiny and half hidden by the grasses of the field, He heard and saw and knew.
“Forgotten your name?” He spake in tones that were sweet and tender. “Then shalt thou be called ‘Forget-me-not,’ for that thou canst always remember.”
“Forget-me-not,” repeated the gorgeous rose and the modest violet, and the tiny one smiled through its tears and said, “Forget-me-not.”
And ever since that day at creation time, when God the Father named every beast of the forest and every bird and flower and tree, the wee blossom whose petals are the color of heaven and whose heart is the color of gold, has been called “Forget-me-not.”
THE LITTLE STEPMOTHER
(Thuringian Folk Tale—Nature Study)
Once upon a time, say the peasants of the Rhineland, a woodman lived with his wife and two daughters in a little hut in the forest. They were very poor, but what mattered that, since they were very happy?
They had five chairs,—one apiece, and one for company,—clean, sweet feather beds to keep them warm at night, a bit of soup to eat with their black bread, and once each year they went to the fair.
But after a time the mother died, and things were different. The father took another wife, who had two children of her own, and she was very unkind to her husband’s little daughters. She forced them to do all the work, and if the poor woodman so much as opened his mouth to object, she beat him with her slipper. You will know how greedy she was when I tell you that she took two of the fine wood chairs for her own children and kept two for herself, and you remember there were only five in the hut. That left one for the husband and his daughters, and as the father was kind and good, he let them have it all to themselves and patiently stood while he ate his meals.
For a long time that greedy little stepmother ruled her husband and his children with an iron hand, while her own daughters acted like spoiled princesses, until one night something happened. The hut and the family disappeared. Just how it came to pass, nobody knows, but the next morning the other woodmen found a little flower growing where the house had stood, and they knew that a fairy or witch or something had turned the family into the blossom which you may see almost any summer day. The greedy stepmother still sits on her two chairs, with her children on each side of her holding a chair apiece. The woodman’s little daughters are crowded together on one, just as they were in the hut. And what of the poor henpecked husband, who did not dare to object to anything his spouse chose to do? Look in the center, right under her slipper, and you will find what most people say is the pistil. But the peasants of the Rhineland know better. It is the woodman, who once upon a time lived in the hut in the forest, and the flower you call the pansy is to them “The Little Stepmother.”
THE RABBIT AND THE EASTER EGGS
(Bavarian Folk Tale)
Once, in the German land of Bavaria, there was a mother who was very poor. She was sad as Easter time drew near, for it was the custom in that land to give presents then just as we do at Christmas, and she had nothing for her children. She grieved about it day and night, and one day was so unhappy over it that she wept.
“Never fear,” the old grandmother said, “the hens are laying well, and I know how to make beautiful dyes from moss and leaves. We can color some eggs for Hans and Annchen, and they will be happy.”
This was a lovely thought to the poor mother, and she went to work. Soon she had beautiful red, blue, yellow, purple, and orange eggs, and when Easter morning came she and the grandmother hid them in a nest in the woods. It was a lovely spot, with a thick carpet of moss underfoot and the snowy blossoms of the wild plum overhead.
Then they all went to the tiny chapel that stood at the other side of the village, to listen to the music and hear the good pastor tell the story of Easter day, after which they walked home by the woodland path.
Little Hans and Annchen were running ahead of the others, and all at once they called, “Oh, Mother, Grandmother, come!”
The good mother said, “They must have found the eggs,” and hurried to see.
Yes, there the children knelt, bending over the nest of eggs lovelier than they had ever seen.
“They are beautiful, Mother!” exclaimed Hans. “See, they look like hen’s eggs, yet they are every color, like the rainbow. How did they get here in the woods?”
“I know,” cried little Annchen. “A fairy bird laid them.”
Just then a rabbit leaped out of some tall grass behind the nest, and hopped away into the forest.
The children screamed with delight. “The rabbit laid the eggs! The rabbit laid the eggs!” they shouted.
And ever since that time Bavarian children have played that rabbits lay Easter eggs.
THE EASTER EGGS
Adapted from Story by Canon Schmidt
(Ethics)
During the days of the Crusades a little village stood in the heart of a little valley. The people living there were very poor, but so good and gentle that despite their poverty they were happier than many of the great folk of the realm. They had none of the cares that trouble the rich. Their rude black huts, each with its tiny garden plot and bit of meadow land where they pastured the cow or goats, satisfied them because they knew nothing else, and they lived so simply and healthfully that there were men over a hundred years of age among them. Sometimes they burned charcoal for the iron works in the mountains and earned a few pennies, when they felt rich indeed, but if there was no money they did not complain. They ate their vegetables and black bread and drank their goat’s milk in contentment.
One day, when the corn ears were yellowing, a little girl hurried down the mountain side where she had been tending goats. She ran to her home at the edge of the village, and called to her mother in the garden, “Oh, mamma, come quickly! A beautiful woman with two pretty children is waiting for me on the mountain. They are very tired and hungry, and she asked me for some bread and milk.”
Kind hearts beat in the breasts of those village folk, and although they had little themselves, they were always ready to share their small store. Quickly the mother filled a jar with goat’s milk and took some bread, butter, and cheese, and she and her husband followed the little daughter up the mountain side. After a while they came to a turn in the path, and saw a woman, very young and very beautiful, sitting on a rock under a beech tree. She was holding a little girl who was as lovely as herself, and beside them, on the ground, a tiny dark-eyed boy played with a bunch of thistles. Not far away an old man was unloading a mule and opening bundles as if preparing to camp for the night. Their clothing was of the costly kind that is worn only by the very rich, and it seemed strange that they should be asking food of the poor.
The village wife offered the bread, butter, and cheese she had brought with her, which the woman received with smiles and words of thanks. She kept nothing herself, but gave all to the old man and children, who ate the coarse peasant fare as if it tasted very good, and as she watched them tears streamed down her cheeks. She asked many questions about the valley, and finding that no one but charcoal burners lived there, and that strangers almost never came by, exclaimed, “I think God must have sent me here. I have been driven from home and am seeking a spot where we may rest in peace.”
They went down to the valley together, and the peasant and his wife led the way to a vacant house, which the woman rented for her home. It was a very humble cottage, but she said it suited her, for it was new and clean, and from its little windows one could see out over the cabins and the garden plots to the tall, dark fir trees on the mountain slopes. She took one of the village girls for a servant, and the worn, unhappy look began to leave her face.
Early the next morning she called the maid Marie, gave her a silver piece, and said, “Go and get some eggs for breakfast.”
The girl looked at her in surprise.
“Oh, madame!” she asked sorrowfully, “do you mean that I must take the eggs of the dear little birds that sing in the forest?”
“Of course not,” her mistress replied, thinking her very silly, “I want hen’s eggs, not bird’s eggs.”
But Marie looked more amazed than before.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘hens,’” she said. “We have none of them here.”
“You have no hens!” the woman exclaimed. “How can that be?”
Then she remembered that this was a village of poor peasants and that only the rich had chickens, because they had just been brought to Europe from Asia, and were very costly. So she bade the old man Kuno go to the city across the mountains and bring her everything she needed.
“And be sure not to forget the cock and hens,” she called after him as he rode away.
Late that afternoon the man returned, and the woman met him at the door. “Have you brought the chickens?” she asked.
Nodding in reply, he set the cage on the ground.
By this time the village children had gathered around, and were greatly excited about the strange-looking birds. They laughed and clapped their hands, for they never had seen anything like them, and when Kuno turned them out of the cage and they walked around picking up the grain he threw to them, their joy knew no bounds. Then the cock flapped his wings and crowed and some of the hens cackled, and the children danced and screamed in delight. They stayed until it was dark, and early the next morning came again and brought their fathers and mothers to see the wonderful birds that sang such curious songs.
Summer passed and autumn came. The last apples fell from the trees, nuts dropped in the frost-painted forest, and the sharp winds of November blew down from the peaks, yet still the lovely stranger and her children stayed in the village. That was very strange, for the valley was entirely surrounded by rugged mountains, and was a rough, wild country in winter, when the tiny houses were almost buried in the snow. But they seemed happy there, and the people wondered much about it. They talked of it as they herded the goats on the slopes, as they burned charcoal in the shadow of the fir trees, and always would end by saying, “She is some great lady, for she speaks the language of court, and she and her children have costly clothes and many gold pieces.”
But they found out nothing, for when they asked the children who their mother was they said, “She is mamma, and we are Blanche and Edmund.”
So still they wondered and still they did not know. But they were glad she lived among them, because they had grown to love her very much. She was kind and charitable toward every one in the village. She gave food to the poor and took care of the sick, and the peasants repaid her with many kindnesses. They gave her game they killed in the forest, and when spring came and the snow melted, the village children roamed the woods for the earliest violets and cowslips, and brought them to her door.
These acts of kindness touched her, and the morning before Easter she thought, “I must do something to make them happy.” But what could it be? She couldn’t give them a feast, because, although she had plenty of money, it was impossible to get any meat in the village; and she couldn’t give them presents, because there was no place to buy them. She had nothing but eggs, which she thought would be no treat at all. Then an idea came to her. Calling Marie, the maid, she told her of it and they merrily went to work.
They went into the woods and gathered roots, moss, and berries such as were used for dyeing in those days. They made cakes and custards. They colored eggs red, blue, green, orange, and lilac, and planned to give the people a grand surprise. Late in the afternoon little Blanche and Edmund went out through the village and stopped at every house, saying, “Mamma invites you, you and all your family, great and small, to a feast at our house tomorrow. Come after the mass.”
Everybody accepted the invitation. They had never been to a real feast, and to go to one at the house of the lovely stranger would be fine indeed. They took out their best holiday attire, polished their shoe buckles until they shone, and made ready for a gala time, and on Easter morning a line of men, women, and children went from the chapel to the cottage of the lady.
She met them at the door and led them into the garden, where two long tables were spread. The parents were told to sit down, but she said to the children, “It is not time for you to eat yet. Go into the woods with Edmund and Blanche, and make little nests of moss. Put them under the trees, and be sure to remember where you left them.”
They ran out laughing, and the parents sat down to the feast, and a splendid feast it seemed to them! There were eggs in the shell, fried eggs, eggs in milk, omelets, and sweet, yellow custards, and as they never had tasted eggs before, they thought them wonderfully delicious.
After a while the children came back for their share in the good things, and as soon as they had finished eating, the woman said, “Go out and look for your pretty nests.”
A rush and a scramble and they were in the woods, and a moment later cries of delight and wonder were heard, for in each nest they found five lovely eggs of red, blue, green, purple, and orange. They came pell-mell to show them to their fathers and mothers, who discovered something written upon them.
It was a motto, and the villagers, who were too unlettered to read it, asked the lady to tell them what it meant. They smiled as they listened, as if believing in the truth of the words they heard:
The afternoon passed joyously, and when the chapel bell rang out the Angelus, the villagers departed, and the woman stood in the doorway with a smile upon her face, watching them go to their homes. While she watched, a youth carrying a bundle came walking down the mountain path. He seemed very tired and sad, and tears came into his eyes as she called to him. He told her he was on his way to a village beyond to see his mother, who was old and sick, and that he had walked a long way without food.
“I have a little money,” he said, “but must not spend it for myself, because it is needed at home.”
Touched by his story, the woman took him into the house, where a good meal was set before him; and as he was about to start away, she gave him a gold piece and some eggs for his little brother and sister.
Refreshed by rest and food he strode on his way through the village, took the path that led to the other side of the mountains, and after a while came to the edge of a ravine. From that point the trail was narrow and dangerous, and he walked rapidly because he wanted to reach home before night.
But suddenly he stopped. Looking down to where a tiny stream wound through the gulch, he saw a horse. It was saddled and bridled, which seemed very strange to him.
“I wonder if some one has fallen and needs help,” he murmured.
So, although he wanted to be on his way, he climbed down over the crags.
It was as he feared. A man was lying there, motionless as if dead. He was dressed in heavy armor, by which the lad knew he was some one rich and great.
Pulling off the helmet to use as a dipper, he ran to the river for water, and poured it over the drawn, white face.
The rider opened his eyes slowly, and when he saw the youth kneeling beside him said, “Thank God for sending you! I fell down over the cliffs, and thought I was to lie here and die. Oh, I am so weak and faint!” he sighed.
The peasant boy remembered the pretty eggs in his bundle that were intended for his little brother and sister at home. “But they would want me to give them to this poor fellow,” he thought. So he shelled one and held it to the trembling lips.
The man ate it as if nearly starved, and another and another. Then, seeing the motto on the one that was still unbroken, he opened his eyes wide.
“Stop,” he said as the boy was about to break it. “Let me have it as it is and I will give you a gold piece for it.”
Then the peasant youth, who was stalwart and strong, helped him on to his horse, and led him to his own village, where the doctor said he must lie still for six weeks. He groaned as he heard those words, and exclaimed, “Six weeks, and my master waiting for word of her!”
But he was a soldier, and knew how to wait. He stayed patiently, and at the end of the time went on his way.
Meanwhile, back in the village in the valley, the beautiful stranger lived on with her children. She seemed very happy until one day the man Kuno went to the city across the mountain, and returned looking pale and worried.
“Madame,” he said as she met him at the door, “I have bad news for you.”
She turned white, as if some terrible thing had happened, took him into the house, and they talked together for a long time. Then Kuno left the cottage and hurried through the village to the house of the miller, who was also the mayor.
“My mistress wishes to speak to you,” he said.
The man went back with him, and when they reached the house, the woman told a strange story.
“I am Rosalinde, daughter of the Duke of Burgundy,” she said. “In my father’s court were two knights, Hanno of Schraffeneck and Arno of Lindenburg, who were suitors for my hand. I chose Arno, and Hanno was furiously angry. He vowed he would have revenge, but I was happy with my husband, and did not fear him.
“All went well for a long time. Then the emperor summoned my husband to go on the Holy Wars to Palestine, and he rode away with the Crusaders, leaving me alone with the children. Hanno, too, was summoned to fight the Moslems, but he stayed behind, vowing that now he would have his revenge, and unless I married him he would put me into prison and kill my children.
“The castle of my lord was strong, but there was no one to defend it after he and his train went away, and Hanno brought many men and began a siege. My good Kuno, who knew a secret passage, aided me to escape and brought me across the mountains to your village, where I have felt safe. But today he saw Hanno in the city, asking people if a lady with two children and an old domestic had passed that way.”
She stopped a moment as if she could not speak for tears, then went on sadly, “Kuno hid and was not seen, but I fear that when Hanno comes through the valley, the people will tell him I am here, and then he will put me in prison and kill my children.”
The miller shook his head and spoke words of comfort.
“Have no fear, madame,” he said. “The villagers will not tell that you are here, and if Hanno comes and tries to take you, we will defend you with our lives.”
Then he went from house to house, telling the story of the Lady Rosalinde. Soon every one in the village knew it and the people swore to protect her at any cost, and the next day when Hanno came, they pretended to be so stupid that they didn’t know what he was talking about.
“She has not been here,” he said to his men. And they went away.
After that all was peaceful in the village, and the Lady Rosalinde was no longer afraid. Her children played with the charcoal burners’ children, and every evening they went to the little chapel at the edge of the forest to pray for the safe return of the husband and father from Palestine.
One lovely evening in the month of May, they went to the church as usual, and when they came out, sat down on some rocks to watch the sun sink behind the mountain. A pilgrim came by, bending low over a staff, his long white hair reaching his shoulders and his beard flowing down over his breast. He noticed the children and spoke to them, and little Edmund said, “We have just been to church to pray for our dear papa.”
The Lady Rosalinde was terribly frightened, for she thought he might be some one who would carry word to Hanno, but a moment later her fear turned to joy, for the pilgrim snatched off his beard and white hair, and a young, handsome knight stood before them. Little Blanche and Edmund screamed in delight, for they knew it was their father.
“How did you find us?” Lady Rosalinde asked.
“I found you, my dear Rosalinde, because you were good and charitable.”
Then he told how he had returned from the Crusades to a ruined castle.
“I questioned the peasants around, who said Hanno had besieged it, and that you and the children had escaped. Then I led my train against him and took him prisoner, and sent out horsemen to find word of you. It seemed they would never come back, and when they did my heart almost broke, for although they had scoured the land they had no news. There was one, however, who did not return, and thinking he had been killed, I gave up hope. But six weeks later he came with a strange story, and gave me a colored egg, and imagine my joy, to find upon it in your own handwriting, the motto of my house:
Then, continuing the story, Lord Arno told how he had gone in the guise of a pilgrim to the home of the peasant from whom the cavalier received the egg, and learning that his wife and children were in the valley, had come seeking them.
Word that the lovely woman had been found by her husband soon traveled throughout the village, and the people, young and old, came to welcome him.
He was a true and valiant knight and thanked them for their kindness to his loved ones, for the Lady Rosalinde had told him of her stay in the valley, and of how good and gentle the peasants were.
“And now, my dear friends,” he said, “to show you how grateful I am, I promise to give a fine, big cow to every family in the village. And every year at Easter time, my wife and I will send colored eggs to the children, not only to those of this valley, but to every boy and girl in the realm.”
Then Lord Arno and his family departed, rebuilt their ruined castle, and lived happily there. But they never forgot the charcoal burners in the valley, and every year sent quantities of gay eggs to the children. As years passed the custom spread from country to country, until now colored eggs are given at Easter time to children in every Christian land.
PRINCE UNEXPECTED
From the Polish of Glinski
(Slavic Wonder Tale)
There were a king and a queen who had been married for three years, but had no children, at which they were both much distressed. Once upon a time the king found himself obliged to make a visit of inspection round his dominions; he took leave of his queen, set off, and was not at home for eight months.
Towards the end of the ninth month the king returned from his progress through his country, and was already hard by his capital city, when, as he journeyed over an uninhabited plain during the most scorching heat of summer, he felt such excessive thirst that he sent his servants round about to see if they could find water anywhere and let him know of it at once. The servants dispersed in various directions, sought in vain for a whole hour, and returned without success to the king.
The thirst-tormented king proceeded to traverse the whole plain far and wide himself, not believing that there was not a spring somewhere or other; on he rode, and on a level spot, on which there had not previously been any water, he espied a well with a new wooden fence round it, full to the brim with spring water, in the midst of which floated a silver cup with a golden handle. The king sprang from his horse and reached after the cup with his right hand; but the cup, just as if it were alive and had eyes, darted quickly on one side and floated again by itself. The king knelt down and began to try to catch it, now with his right hand, now with his left, but it moved and dodged away in such a manner that, not being able to seize it with one hand, he tried to catch it with both. But scarcely had he reached out with both hands when the cup dived like a fish, and floated again on the surface.
“Hang it!” thought the king, “I can’t help myself with the cup, I’ll manage without it.” He then bent down to the water, which was as clear as crystal and as cold as ice, and began in his thirst to drink. Meanwhile his long beard, which reached down to his girdle, dipped into the water. When he had quenched his thirst and wished to get up again, something was holding his beard and would not let it go. He pulled once and again, but it was of no use; he cried out therefore in anger, “Who’s there? Let go!”
“It’s I, the subterranean king, immortal Bony, and I shall not let go till you give me that which you left unknowingly at home, and which you do not expect to find on your return.”
The king looked into the depth of the well, and there was a huge head like a tub, with green eyes and a mouth from ear to ear; the creature was holding the king by the beard with extended claws like those of a crab, and was laughing mischievously.
The king thought that a thing of which he had not known before starting, and which he did not expect on his return, could not be of great value; so he said to the apparition, “I give it.”
The apparition burst with laughter and vanished with a flash of fire, and with it vanished also the well, the water, the wooden fence, and the cup; and the king was again on a hillock by a little wood kneeling on dry sand, and there was nothing more. The king got up, crossed himself, sprang on his horse, hastened to his attendants, and rode on.
In a week or maybe a fortnight the king arrived at his capital; the people came out in crowds to meet him; he went in procession to the great court of the palace and entered the corridor. In the corridor stood the queen awaiting him, and holding close to her bosom a cushion, on which lay a child, beautiful as the moon, kicking in swaddling clothes. The king recollected himself, sighed painfully, and said within himself: “This is what I left without knowing and found without expecting!” And bitterly, bitterly did he weep. All marveled, but nobody dared to ask the cause. The king, without saying a word, took his son in his arms, gazed long on his innocent face, carried him into the palace himself, laid him in the cradle, and, suppressing his sorrow, devoted himself to the government of his realm; but he was never again cheerful as formerly, since he was perpetually tormented by the thought that some day Bony would claim his son.
Meanwhile weeks, months, and years flowed on, and no one came for his son. The prince, named “Unexpected,” grew and developed, and eventually became a handsome youth. The king also in course of time regained his usual cheerfulness, and forgot what had taken place; but alas! everybody did not forget so easily.
Once the prince, while hunting in a forest, became separated from his suite and found himself in a savage wilderness. Suddenly there appeared before him a hideous old man with green eyes, who said, “How do you do, Prince Unexpected? You have made me wait for you a long time.”
“Who are you?”
“That you will find out hereafter, but now, when you return to your father, greet him from me, and tell him that I should be glad if he would close accounts with me, for if he doesn’t soon get out of my debt of himself, he will repent it bitterly.” After saying this the hideous old man disappeared, and the prince in amazement turned his horse, rode home, and told the king his adventure.
The king turned as pale as a sheet, and revealed the frightful secret to his son. “Do not weep, father!” replied the prince, “it is no great misfortune! I shall manage to force Bony to renounce the right over me, which he tricked you out of in so underhand a manner, but if in the course of a year I do not return, it will be a token that we shall see each other no more.”
The prince prepared for his journey; the king gave him a suit of steel armor, a sword, and a horse, and the queen hung round his neck a cross of pure gold. At leave-taking they embraced affectionately, wept heartily, and the prince rode off.
On he rode one day, two days, three days, and at the end of the fourth day at the setting of the sun he came to the shore of the sea; and in the selfsame bay he espied twelve dresses, white as snow, though in the water, as far as the eye could reach, there was no living soul to be seen—only twelve white geese were swimming at a distance from the shore. Curious to know to whom they belonged, he took one of the dresses, let his horse loose in a meadow, concealed himself in a neighboring thicket, and waited to see what would come to pass. Thereupon the geese, after disporting themselves on the sea, swam to the shore. Eleven of them went to the dresses, each threw herself on the ground and became a beautiful damsel, dressed herself with speed, and flew away into the plain.
The twelfth goose, the last and prettiest of all, did not venture to come out on the shore, but only wistfully stretched out her neck, looking on all sides. On seeing the prince she called out with a human voice: “Prince Unexpected, give me my dress; I will be grateful to you in return.” The prince hearkened to her, placed the dress on the grass, and modestly turned away in another direction.
The goose came out on the grass, changed herself into a damsel, dressed herself hastily, and stood before the prince; she was young and more beautiful than eye had seen or ear heard of. Blushing, she gave him her white hand, and, casting her eyes down, said with a pleasing voice: “I thank you, good prince, for hearkening to me. I am the youngest daughter of immortal Bony. He has twelve young daughters, and rules in the subterranean realm. My father, prince, has long been expecting you and is very angry. However, don’t grieve, and don’t be frightened, but do as I tell you. As soon as you see King Bony, fall at once on your knees, and paying no regard to his outcry, upbraiding, and threats, approach him boldly. What will happen afterwards you will learn, but now we must part.”
On saying this the princess stamped on the ground with her little foot; the ground sprang open at once, and they descended into the subterranean realm, right into Bony’s palace, which shone all underground brighter than our sun. The prince stepped boldly into the reception room. Bony was sitting on a golden throne with a glittering crown on his head; his eyes gleamed like two saucers of green glass and his hands were like the nippers of a crab. As soon as the prince espied him at a distance, he fell on his knees, and Bony yelled so horribly that the vaults of the subterranean dominion quaked; but the prince boldly moved on his knees towards the throne, and when he was only a few paces from it, the king smiled and said: “Thou hast marvelous luck in succeeding in making me smile; remain in our subterranean realm, but before thou becomest a true citizen thereof thou art bound to execute three commands of mine; but because it is late today, we will begin tomorrow; meanwhile go to thy room.”
The prince slept comfortably in the room assigned to him, and early on the morrow Bony summoned him and said: “We will see, prince, what thou canst do. In the course of the following night build me a palace of pure marble; let the windows be of crystal, the roof of gold, an elegant garden round about it, and in the garden seats and fountains; if thou buildest it, thou wilt gain thyself my love; if not, I shall command thy head to be cut off.”
The prince heard the command, returned to his apartment, and was sitting mournfully thinking of the death that threatened him, when outside at the window a bee came buzzing and said, “Let me in!” He opened the lattice, in flew the bee, and the princess, Bony’s youngest daughter, appeared before the wondering prince.
“What are you thus thinking about, Prince Unexpected?”
“Alas! I am thinking that your father wishes to deprive me of life.”
“Don’t be afraid! Lie down to sleep, and when you get up tomorrow morning your palace will be ready.”
So, too, it came to pass. At dawn the prince came out of his room and espied a more beautiful palace than he had ever seen, and Bony, when he saw it, wondered, and would not believe his own eyes.
“Well! thou hast won this time, and now thou hast my second command. I shall place my twelve daughters before thee tomorrow; if thou dost not guess which of them is the youngest, thou wilt place thy head beneath the ax.”
“I unable to recognize the youngest princess!” said the prince in his room. “What difficulty can there be in that?”
“This,” answered the princess, flying into the room in the shape of a bee, “that if I don’t help you, you won’t recognize me, for we are all so alike that even our father distinguishes us only by our dress.”
“What am I to do?”
“What, indeed! That will be the youngest over whose right eye you espy a ladycow. Only look well. Adieu!”
On the morrow King Bony again summoned Prince Unexpected. The princesses stood in a row side by side, all dressed alike and with eyes cast down. The prince looked and marveled how alike all the princesses were; he went past them once, twice—he did not find the appointed token; the third time he saw a ladycow over the eyebrow of one, and cried out: “This is the youngest princess!”
“How the deuce have you guessed it?” said Bony angrily. “There must be some trickery here. I must deal with your lordship differently. In three hours you will come here again, and will show your cleverness in my presence. I shall light a straw, and you will stitch a pair of boots before it goes out, and if you don’t do it you will perish.”
The prince returned desponding and found the bee already in his apartment. “Why pensive again, prince?”
“How shouldn’t I be pensive, when your father wants me to stitch him a pair of boots, for what sort of cobbler am I?”
“What else will you do?”
“What am I to do? I shan’t stitch the boots, and I’m not afraid of death—one can die but once!”
“No, prince, you shall not die! I will endeavor to rescue you, and we will either escape together or perish together! We must flee—there’s nothing else to be done.”
Saying this, the princess spat on one of the window panes, and the spittle immediately froze. She then went out of the room with the prince, locked the door after her, and threw the key far away. Then, taking each other by the hands, they ascended rapidly, and in a moment found themselves on the very spot whence they had descended into the subterranean realm; there was the selfsame sea, the selfsame fresh meadow, and in the meadow cantered the prince’s well-fed horse, who, as soon as he descried his rider, came galloping straight to him. The prince didn’t stop long to think, but sprang on his horse, the princess seated herself behind him, and off they set as swift as an arrow.
King Bony at the appointed hour did not wait for Prince Unexpected, but sent to ask him why he did not appear. Finding the door locked, the servants knocked at it vigorously, and the spittle answered them from the middle of the room in the prince’s voice, “Anon.” The servants carried this answer to the king; he waited, waited, no prince; he therefore again sent the same servants, who heard the same answer: “Anon!” and carried what they had heard to the king.
“What’s this? Does he mean to make fun of me?” shouted the king in wrath. “Go at once, break the door open, and conduct him to me!”
The servants hurried off, broke open the door, and rushed in. What, indeed? There was nobody there, and the spittle on the pane of glass was splitting with laughter at them. Bony all but burst with rage, and ordered them all to start off in pursuit of the prince, threatening them with death if they returned empty-handed. They sprang on horseback and hastened away after the prince and princess.
Meanwhile Prince Unexpected and the princess, Bony’s daughter, were hurrying away on their spirited horse, and amidst their rapid flight heard “Tramp, tramp,” behind them. The prince sprang from the horse, put his ear to the ground, and said, “They are pursuing us.”
“Then,” said the princess, “we have no time to lose.” Instantly she transformed herself into a river, changed the prince into a bridge and the horse into a raven, and divided the grand highway beyond the bridge into three roads. Swiftly on the fresh track hastened the pursuers, came to the bridge, and stood stupefied; they saw the track up to the bridge, but beyond it disappeared, and the highway divided into three roads. There was nothing to be done but to return, and they came with naught. Bony shouted with rage, and cried out: “A bridge and a river! It was they. How was it that ye did not guess it? Back, and don’t return without them!” The pursuers recommenced the pursuit.
“I hear ‘Tramp, tramp!’” whispered the princess, Bony’s daughter, affrightedly to Prince Unexpected, who sprang from the saddle, put his ear to the ground, and replied: “They are making haste, and are not far off.”
That instant the princess and prince, and with them also their horse, became a gloomy forest, in which there were roads, byroads, and footpaths without number, and on one of them it seemed that two riders were hastening on a horse. Following the fresh track, the pursuers came up to the forest, and when they espied the fugitives in it, they hastened speedily after them. On and on hurried the pursuers, seeing continually before them a thick forest, a wide road, and the fugitives on it; now, now they thought to overtake them, when the fugitives and the thick forest suddenly vanished, and they found themselves at the selfsame place whence they had started in pursuit. They returned, therefore, again to Bony empty-handed.
“A horse, a horse! I’ll go myself! they won’t escape out of my hands!” yelled Bony, foaming at the mouth, and started in pursuit.
Again the princess said to Prince Unexpected: “Methinks they are pursuing us, and this time it is Bony, my father, himself, but the first church is the boundary of his dominion, and he cannot pursue us farther. Give me your golden cross.”
The prince took off his affectionate mother’s gift and gave it to the princess, and in a moment she was transformed into a church, he into the priest, and the horse into the bell; and that instant up came Bony.
“Monk!” Bony asked the priest, “hast thou not seen some travelers on horseback?”
“Only just now Prince Unexpected rode this way with the princess, Bony’s daughter. They came into the church, performed their devotions, gave money for a mass for your good health, and ordered me to present their respects to you if you should ride this way.”
Bony, too, returned empty-handed. But Prince Unexpected rode on with the princess, Bony’s daughter, in no further fear of pursuit.
They rode gently on, when they saw before them a beautiful town, into which the prince felt an irresistible longing to go.
“Prince,” said the princess, “don’t go; my heart forebodes misfortune there.”
“I’ll ride there for only a short time, and look round the town, and we’ll then proceed on our journey.”
“It’s easy enough to ride thither, but will it be as easy to return? Nevertheless, as you absolutely desire it, go, and I will remain here in the form of a white stone till you return; be circumspect, my beloved; the king, the queen, and the princess, their daughter, will come out to meet you, and with them will be a beautiful little boy—don’t kiss him, for, if you do, you will forget me at once, and will never set eyes on me more in the world—I shall die of despair. I will wait for you here on the road for three days, and if on the third day you don’t return, remember that I perish, and perish all through you.” The prince took leave and rode to the town, and the princess transformed herself into a white stone and remained on the road.
One day passed, a second passed, the third also passed, and nothing was seen of the prince. Poor princess! He had not obeyed her counsel; in the town, the king, the queen, and the princess their daughter had come out to meet him, and with them walked a little boy, a curly-headed chatterbox, with eyes as bright as stars. The child rushed straight into the prince’s arms, who was so captivated by the beauty of the lad that he forgot everything and kissed the child affectionately. That moment his memory was darkened, and he utterly forgot the princess, Bony’s daughter.
The princess lay as a white stone by the wayside, one day, two days, and when the third day passed and the prince did not return from the town, she transformed herself into a cornflower, and sprang in among the rye by the roadside. “Here I shall stay by the roadside; maybe some passer-by will pull me up or trample me into the ground,” said she, and tears like dewdrops glittered on the azure petals.
Just then an old man came along the road, espied the cornflower in the rye by the wayside, was captivated by its beauty, extracted it carefully from the ground, carried it into his dwelling, set it in a flowerpot, watered it, and began to tend it attentively. But—O marvel!—ever since the time that the cornflower was brought into his dwelling, all kinds of wonders began to happen in it. Scarcely was the old man awake, when everything in the house was already set in order, nowhere was the least atom of dust remaining. At noon he came home—dinner was all ready, the table set; he had but to sit down and eat as much as he wanted. The old man wondered and wondered, till at last terror took possession of him, and he betook himself for advice to an old witch of his acquaintance in the neighborhood.
“Do this,” the witch advised him: “get up before the first morning dawn, before the cocks crow to announce daylight, and notice diligently what begins to stir first in the house, and that which does stir, cover with this napkin: what will happen further, you will see.”
The old man did not close his eyes the whole night, and as soon as the first gleam appeared and things began to be visible in the house, he saw how the cornflower suddenly moved in the flowerpot, sprang out, and began to stir about the room; when simultaneously everything began to put itself in its place; the dust began to sweep itself clean away, and the fire kindled itself in the stove. The old man sprang cleverly out of his bed and placed the cloth on the flower as it endeavored to escape, when lo! the flower became a beautiful damsel—the princess, Bony’s daughter.
“What have you done?” cried the princess. “Why have you brought life back to me? My betrothed, Prince Unexpected, has forgotten me, and therefore life has become distasteful to me.”
“Your betrothed, Prince Unexpected, is going to be married today; the wedding feast is ready, and the guests are beginning to assemble.”
The princess wept, but after a while dried her tears, dressed herself in frieze, and went into the town like a village girl. She came to the royal kitchen, where there was great noise and bustle. She went up to the clerk of the kitchen with humble and attractive grace, and said in a sweet voice: “Dear sir, do me one favor: allow me to make a wedding cake for Prince Unexpected.”
Occupied with work, the first impulse of the clerk of the kitchen was to give the girl a rebuff; but when he looked at her, the words died on his lips and he answered kindly: “Ah, my beauty of beauties! do what you will; I will hand the prince your cake myself.”
The cake was soon baked, and all the invited guests, were sitting at table. The clerk of the kitchen himself placed a huge cake on a silver dish before the prince; but scarce had the prince made a cut in the side of it, when lo! an unheard-of marvel displayed itself in the presence of all. A gray tom-pigeon and a white hen-pigeon came out of the cake; the tom-pigeon walked along the table, and the hen-pigeon walked after him, cooing: