Fairy Tales From All Nations

The clangor of trumpets and horns at length announced the arrival of the knight. Ten thousand corsletted warriors rode with uplifted lances before him, and drew up in two lines before the gate. After them, on a richly caparisoned charger, rode the knight in his shining armour, bearing in his hand the precious sword of Sesostris. The people welcomed him with a cry of joy, and the warriors clashed their arms as he appeared before the gate. With noble bearing and knightly aspect he turned his horse and saluted the monarch by thrice lowering his sword. "Great ruler of Russia," he began, "at thy command I go forth to fight the sorcerer and giant Tugarin, who has presumed to challenge thee to combat." "Go forth," replied Vladimir, "go forth, valiant youth, and fight in my name the vile sorcerer: may the Gods give thee victory!" Dobrünä then dashed at full speed through the lines of warriors to the white tent, followed by the acclamations and the blessings of the spectators.

The giant, who had been awakened by the unusual noise of the trumpets and horns, and the joyful cries of the people, had already mounted his horse, and was in the act of riding towards the city to ascertain the cause, when he beheld the knight approaching. When he recognised in him the dreaded keeper of the Bulgarian monarch's armoury, who was in possession of the wonderful sword, he set up a fearful yell. Foaming with rage he rushed with out-spread arms against the knight to grasp him; but Dobrünä laughed at his impotent fury, and in order better to overcome him, he first touched with his sword the enchanted horse, which immediately crumbled into dust. He then caused the magic-destroying weapon of the wise Sesostris to gleam over the head of the sorcerer, who, by the sudden crumbling of his horse, had fallen to the earth. Tugarin's destruction seemed inevitable, and the beholders from the walls already shouted forth their plaudits to the victor, when at once all the powers of hell broke forth to aid their beloved son. A stream of fire crackled between the combatants, fiery serpents hissed around the knight, and a thick cloud of smoke enveloped the giant. But short was this infernal display. Dobrünä touched the stream with his sword, made a few strokes with it in the air, and the fiery flood and the hissing serpents vanished. He then approached the smoke which concealed the giant, but scarcely had he thrust his sword into it, when like the enchantments that also disappeared. The giant was seen outstretched on the ground, and heard to roar with terror. No sooner did he perceive that the smoke which concealed him had vanished, than he sprang up and rushed, as if in madness, on the knight. Dobrünä awaited him unmoved, and as the giant stretched forth his monstrous hands for the second time to seize him, he cut them both off with a single stroke. The second stroke of that wondrous sword, wielded by the strong hand of the knight, severed the vile head from the shoulders. The colossus fell, and the earth shook beneath his weight.

Then the people lifted up a cry of joy. A hundred thousand voices shouted, "Long live our monarch, and the conqueror of the giant, Dobrünä Mikilitsch!"

The knight, who had dismounted to raise the fallen enemy's head on the point of his sword in sign of victory, was about to remount in order to give the monarch an account of his combat, when he beheld him coming towards him, accompanied by his consort and the magnates of the empire. The courteous knight hastened forward and laid the giant's head at his feet. The great prince embraced him in presence of the assembled people, and placed on his finger a gold ring, whilst Milolika hung around him a gold-embroidered scarf. Dobrünä bent his knee and thanked the royal pair in graceful and courteous words for these marks of favour. They then all returned full of joy to the city, where the festivities and rejoicings in honour of the knight lasted many weeks.

Vladimir also despatched messengers to his brother-in-law, Trewul, to inform him of his marriage with the beautiful Milolika, and the overthrow of their common enemy, the giant Tugarin. Dobrünä however remained at the court of Vladimir, and performed many more great and valiant deeds, which procured him great fame and honour, and rendered great service to the monarch, and he became the most beloved and most esteemed, both by prince and people, of all the knights in Vladimir's court.

THE STORY OF SIVA AND MADHAVA.

Once these two individuals met together to consult. "This town," they said, "has so entirely been laid under contribution by us, that we can have no reasonable hopes of any further success; let us, therefore, go to Ujjayini, and settle ourselves down there. The house-priest of the king, Sankar'aswarni by name, is considered a very rich man, and if, by some contrivance, we could possess ourselves of his treasures, it would be easy to curry favour with the charming and lovely women of the Malavese. The Brahmins, without exception, call him avaricious and miserly, for, though so rich that he measures his treasures by the bushel, he begrudges every offering to their altars, and it is only on compulsion he gives a portion of the dues. It is also well known that he has a remarkably beautiful daughter, whom, if we once are able to gain his confidence, one of us must receive as a wife from his own hands."

After this, these two rogues, Siva and Madhava, having first matured their plans and resolved upon the parts each individually was to play, took their departure from the city of Ratnapura and soon arrived at Ujjayini.

Madhava, disguised as a Rajput, remained with his followers in a small village outside the city; but Siva, more versed in all the arts of deceit, entered the town alone, garbed in the habit of a devout penitent. He built a cell on an elevated place on the banks of the Sipra, from whence he could be well observed, and here he laid on the ground a deer-skin, a pot wherein to collect alms, some darbha-grass, and some clay.

At the first dawn of morning he rubbed his whole body over with clay; he then entered the river, and remained with his head for a considerable time under the water; leaving the bath, he steadfastly fixed his gaze on the sun, then, holding in his hand some kusa-grass, he knelt before the image of a god, murmuring his prayers; he then plucked holy flowers, which he sacrificed to Siva, and when his offering was concluded he again began to pray, and remained long lost in deepest devotion.

On the following day, in order to gather alms, he wandered through the town, mute, as if dumb, leaning on a staff, and his only raiment consisting of the small skin of a black gazelle. After having made his collections at the houses of the Brahmins, he divided the gifts received into three parts; the first he gave to the crows, the second to the first person he met, and with the third he fed himself; then slowly counting the beads of his rosary, with constant and fervent prayers, he returned to his cell. The nights he devoted, apparently, to deepest meditation, and to the solution of great religious and philosophical questions.

Thus, by daily repeating these deceptions, he impressed on the inhabitants so great an idea of his sanctity that he was universally revered; and, when he passed, the people of Ujjayini reverentially bowed and knelt before him, exclaiming, "This is, indeed, a holy man!"

Meanwhile, his friend Madhava had, through his spies, received intelligence of all these doings, and now, magnificently dressed like a Rajput he also entered the city. He took up his abode in an adjacent temple, and went to the banks of the Sipra to bathe in the river. After having performed his ablutions, Madhava saw Siva, who, lost in prayer, knelt before the image of the god. The former then, along with his retinue, prostrated himself in reverence before the holy man; and addressing the people around him, said, "There lives not on earth a more devout penitent; more than once in my travels have I seen him, when, as here, he has been visiting the sacred rivers and the holy places of pilgrimage."

Though Siva had well observed and heard his companion, no feature betrayed the fact; immoveably as before, he continued in his devotion. Madhava soon after returned to his dwelling.

In the depth of night in a lonely place they again met, where, after having well feasted, they consulted together upon their next proceedings. At the dawn of morning Siva returned to his cell, and Madhava commanded one of his companions at an early hour of the day as follows: "Take these two robes of honour and present them to Sankar'aswarni, the house-priest of the king, and address him thus:—'A Rajput named Madhava, treacherously assaulted, and by his nearest relations driven from his empire, has, with the vast treasures of his father, taken refuge in these realms, and is anxious to present himself before the king and offer him the faithful and gratuitous services of himself and his brave followers. He has therefore sent me to thee, thou ocean of fame, to beg thy permission to visit him.'" As Madhava had commanded him, the follower, holding the robes of honour in his hands, waited at the house of the priest. Watching a favourable opportunity when the priest was alone, he presented himself before him, laid the presents at his feet, and delivered Madhava's message. The priest, full of dignity, received them condescendingly, and longing for some of the treasures to which the messenger had made no slight allusions, he graciously acquiesced in the demand.

Madhava consequently went the following day at a proper hour to visit the priest, accompanied by his followers, dressed like courtiers, in magnificent robes, and with silver spears in their hands. A messenger was sent in advance to announce them, and the priest receiving them at the entrance of his house, most reverentially saluted them, and gave them the very best welcome. Madhava after having passed a short time in pleasant conversation, and made a favourable impression on the priest, returned to his own dwelling.

The following day he again sent two robes of honour, and then presented himself to the priest, saying: "We are anxious as early as possible to enter the service of the king, for time hangs heavily on our hands; let our sole recompense be the honour of attending him, for we have sufficient treasures for all our wants."

When the priest had heard this, hoping to extract large sums from him, he granted his request, and immediately went to the king, who, out of esteem and love for his religious adviser, at once permitted the introduction of the Rajput at court.

On the following day the priest formally introduced Madhava and his followers to the king, who graciously, and with honours received them, and at once appointed the former to fill a high station in the household, for he was greatly pleased with his appearance, which in everything resembled that of a high-born Rajput. Thus was Madhava fairly installed at court, but every night he went secretly to Siva, to consult with him about their plans. Once the avaricious priest said to Madhava, who with his rich presents had shown him marked attention: "Come and live in my house," and as he pressed him very much, Madhava and his followers removed to the spacious dwelling of the priest.

Madhava had procured a great quantity of ornaments and trinkets set with false stones, wondrously well imitated; these he had inclosed in a jewel-box, which, slightly opening it that the priest might learn its contents, he begged him to deposit in his treasury. By this artifice he entirely won his confidence, and being thus secure, he feigned illness, and by abstaining for several days from taking any food, at last grew so thin and emaciated, that he had every appearance of being in a very alarming state of health. A few more days thus passed away, and the illness seemed to make rapid progress, when in a faint voice he thus addressed the priest, who was sitting at the side of his bed: "The malady which is devouring my strength and energies seems a retribution from the Gods for some of the sins my flesh has committed; bring therefore to me, O wise and pious man, some distinguished Brahmin to whom I may bequeath my treasures to insure my salvation here and there; for what man, even of ordinary wisdom would, when life is ebbing, set value on gold or jewels!"

Whereupon the priest answered: "I will do as thou wishest."

Out of gratitude, Madhava knelt down and kissed his feet. But whatever Brahmin the priest brought to the sick man, not one pleased him; he said an inward voice told him that their life was not pure enough, their favour with Brahma not sufficient. When this had been several times repeated, with the same result, one of the rogues, who was standing by, suggested in a low tone of voice, "As not one of all these Brahmins seems worthy of the benefits intended to be conferred; the holy priest, Siva, so celebrated for his sanctity, who dwells on the shores of the Sipra, might be sent for: perhaps he might find favour with our master."

Madhava when appealed to, sighed heavily, and as if unable in his agony to articulate, bowed his head by way of consent. The priest forthwith rose and went to Siva, whom he found absorbed in deepest meditation. After having walked round him without being observed, he at last placed himself on the ground facing him. The impostor having finished his long-protracted prayers, raised his eyes, when the priest reverentially saluted him, and said: "Most holy man, if thou wouldst permit me, I have a petition to make to thee; there lives at my house a very rich Rajput, by name, Madhava, born in the south, and lately arrived from thence. He is dying, and wishes for some holy individual to whom he may give his riches; if it should please thee, I think it is for thee he intends all his treasures, which consist in ornaments and jewels of inestimable value."

Siva having attentively listened to this, thoughtfully and slowly answered: "Brahmin, how should I, whose whole earthly striving and longing is after immortal reward; whose only aspiration is heaven, there to have my prayers and my privations recognised and approved; whose meagre maintenance is derived from alms of the charitable; how should I feel any wish or desire for earthly possessions?"

Whereupon the king's priest answered: "Say not so, noble and pious man! Well you know the pleasure of the God towards the Brahmin-priest, who in his own person is able to offer hospitality to the Gods and to man; who within his own house can welcome and relieve the devout pilgrim; who with rich contributions can assist in the embellishments of their temples and the splendour of their service, and who by taking a wife can extend his sphere of utility and philanthropy. Only by the possession of treasures these things are achievable, therefore it is laudable in man to strive after wealth. The father of a family is the best of Brahmins."

To which Siva answered: "Whence should I take a wife? My poverty prevents my alliance with any great family."

When the priest heard this he thought the treasures already his own, and having found a favourable opportunity, he said to him: "I have an unmarried daughter, her name is Vinyasvamini; she is most beautiful; her I will give thee to wife. The treasure that will be thine through the generosity of Madhava, I will guard and preserve for thee; choose, therefore, the pleasures and the bliss of the married state."

Siva attentively and with inward pleasure listened to the words of the priest, in which he saw their deep-laid scheme and their anxious wishes brought into fulfilment, and with diffidence he answered: "Brahmin, if by so doing I shall be able to please you and gain your favour, I consent to it; and as regards the treasure, to you I leave the whole and sole control and management thereof, as neither my understanding nor inclination lies in that direction."

Rejoiced at this answer of Siva, the priest forthwith took him into his house, assigned him a suite of apartments there, and announced to Madhava his arrival and what he had done, for which the latter warmly thanked him. Next the priest gave his unhappy daughter in marriage to Siva, thus sacrificing her to his avarice; and on the third day after the nuptials he led the bridegroom to Madhava, who now assumed a faintness as if in the last gasp of dissolution. After a pause, apparently rallying all his strength, he said: "In deepest humiliation I salute thee, most holy man, and beg of thee to accept, as I am dying and shall have no use for it, all that I possess of earthly wealth." He then had the artfully imitated jewels brought from the priest's treasury, and according to the sacred rites and customs on such occasions, had them presented to Siva. The latter, in accepting them, handed them over to the priest without even looking at them, saying, "Of such things I understand nothing, but you know their value."

"I will take care of them, as agreed between us," answered the priest; and again deposited the supposed treasure in its former place of security. Siva, after having in solemn words pronounced his blessing over Madhava, returned to the apartments of his wife.

The following day Madhava seemed already greatly recovered, and ascribed this wonderful change to the influence of his gift and the holiness of the man on whom he had bestowed it. In warmest terms, he thanked the priest for his kind interference, and assured him of his everlasting gratitude. With Siva he now openly allied himself, praising him every where, and declaring that through his great powers alone his life had been preserved.

After the lapse of a few days Siva said to the priest, "It is not right that I thus should continue to live in thy house where I must be of vast expense to thee; thou hadst better give me a sum, if only corresponding with half the value of the gems, which you consider so precious."

The priest, who in reality priced these jewels and ornaments at an inestimable sum, a sum capable of purchasing an empire, was very glad to assent to such a proposition; and with the idea of giving something like the twentieth part of their value, he gave him all the money he possessed. He then had documents drawn out, in which on both sides the exchange of the properties was legally secured, for fear that Siva in the course of time might repent of his bargain. They then separated, Siva and his wife living in greatest joy and happiness, and soon they were joined by Madhava, with whom the former now divided the treasures of the priest.

After some years the priest wanted money to make some purchase, and taking a part of the ornaments, he went to a goldsmith who had a stand in the market to offer them for sale. This man, who was a great judge, after narrowly examining them, cried out, full of astonishment—"The man who has manufactured these must indeed be a great artisan; for though of no intrinsic value, they are the finest and most wonderful imitations that ever were worked out of such materials; for these stones are nothing but glass, and the setting nothing but gilt metal."

Having heard this, the priest, breathless though full of despair, ran back to his house, fetched the contents of the whole casket, and, unwilling to believe, went from one merchant to the other to have his treasure examined; but in every instance the answer was the same—"Only glass and brass!" The priest, as if he had been struck by lightning, fell senseless on the ground, and had to be carried home; but early the following morning having recovered, he ran to Siva and said to him, "Take back thy jewels, and return me my money."

This the other refused, alleging that the greater part of it had already been expended, and the rest he had so invested as to be most useful for his wife and children.

Thus disputing they both went before the king, on whom Madhava at the time was in attendance. The priest in the following words made the king acquainted with his case: "Behold, my gracious king, these ornaments; they are all artfully manufactured out of valueless metal, coloured pieces of glass and crystal. Without knowing this, and believing them real, I have given Siva my whole fortune in exchange for them, and he already has spent it."

To which Siva answered: "From my very childhood, mighty king, have I lived in holy seclusion and devotion; from this seclusion the father of my wife drew me forth, pressed and entreated me to accept the gift of honour, with the value of which I was wholly ignorant; but he assured me he was aware of its great pecuniary worth, and he would guarantee it to me. On my accepting it, without even giving it a look, I handed it over to him: he afterwards voluntarily purchased it from me, giving me his own price, and in proof of this I adduce this contract in his own handwriting: now, mighty ruler, judge between us; I have in truth laid the case fairly before you."

Siva having thus concluded his defence, Madhava addressed himself to the priest, saying: "Speak not derogatorily of this holy man, now your son. Whatever the cause of your grievance, he is innocent, as you yourself are good and upright; but I also owe an explanation to my liege and master. In what way can I have committed myself?—neither from you nor him have I taken or accepted the least benefit. The fortune my father left me I had for years given into the custody of an old and tried friend of our house; removing it from thence I presented it, under the circumstances your majesty is aware of, to this Brahmin. But if they had not been real gems, but only worthless metal and glass as this worthy priest intimates, by what means was my restoration to health so wonderfully wrought? That I gave it with pure and honest intention, witness for me the all but miracle by which I was saved!"

Thus spoke Madhava without changing a feature; but the king and his ministers laughed, and testified the good opinion they entertained for him. They then pronounced the following judgment:—"Neither Siva nor Madhava are in the least to blame, they are wholly innocent."

In sorrow and shame the priest went his way, robbed of his whole fortune, and punished for his avarice and the heartless manner in which he had sacrificed his daughter; though fortunately for her and no thanks to her father, she found in Siva a good and affectionate husband.

The two rogues altered their mode of life: thenceforward they walked in the path of virtue and well-doing; and favoured by the king, whom they faithfully served, they lived many years honoured, respected, and happy in Ujjayini.

THE GOBLIN BIRD.

After some days travelling Mazziloniane passed a hill which formerly had been inhabited, and felt not a little astonished at beholding a great quantity of earthen vessels, all of which were placed upside down. In the hope of finding some treasure concealed under them, he removed several, until he came to one of immense size. Mazziloniane, gathering all his strength, gave it a violent push, but the vessel remained immoveable. The young traveller now doubled his exertions, but in vain. Twice he was obliged to fasten the girdle round his loins, which through his exertions had burst; the vessel seemed as if rooted to the ground. But all at once, as if by magic, it was upset by a slight touch, and revealed to the youthful and trembling Mazziloniane, a hideous and deformed giant.

"Why dost thou disturb me?" demanded the monster, in a voice of thunder.

Mazziloniane, having recovered from his first fright, observed with horror that one of the legs of the giant was as thick as the stem of a large tree, whilst the other was of an ordinary size.

"As a well-merited punishment for thy temerity in disturbing me, thou shalt henceforth carry me about;" and so saying the monster jumped on the shoulders of the unfortunate youth, who, unable to support such a weight, fell prostrate on the ground. Recovering himself with difficulty, he endeavoured to advance a few steps, and again he fell to the earth, his strength now wholly failing him. But the sight of an eland, which was swiftly passing by, presented to his mind the means of delivery.

"Dear father," said he, with trembling voice, to the abortion, "release me for a moment; the reason why I cannot carry you is that I have nothing wherewith to fasten you to my back; give me a few moments to kill the eland which has just passed by, and out of its hide I will cut some thongs for that purpose."

His demand was granted, and with the dogs that had accompanied him he disappeared from the plain. After he had run a considerable distance he took refuge in a cavern. But the thick-legged monster, tired of waiting, soon followed, and wherever he discovered a footmark of the youth, he in a mocking voice cried out:—

"The pretty little footmark of my dear child, the pretty little footmark of Mazziloniane."

The youth heard him approaching, and felt the ground tremble under his steps. Seized with despair he left the cavern, and calling his dogs, he set them on the enemy; stroking and encouraging them, he said—

"On! my brave dogs, kill him, devour him, but leave his thick leg for me."

The dogs obeyed the command of their master, and soon there was nothing left but the deformed and shapeless leg, which now he fearlessly approached, and with his axe cut into pieces, and, O wonder! out of it came a herd of most beautiful cows, one of them being as white as the driven snow; overjoyed he drove the cattle before him, taking the road leading to his father's hut.

Meanwhile the other brother having got possession of a great number of dogs, he also returned towards his home, and they both now met on the same place where they so shortly before had separated. The younger embracing the elder brother, offered him part of his herd, saying to him: "As fortune has favoured me most, take what you like, but you must leave me the white cow, for to no one else can she ever belong."

But Maszilo seemed to have placed his every desire upon this very animal; regardless of all the rest, he begged and intreated his brother to give up to him the possession thereof; but in vain were his prayers. Having journeyed together for two days, on the third day they came to a spring—"Let us tarry here," said Maszilo, "I am faint and exhausted with thirst; let us dig a deep hole, and convey the water into it, that it may get cool and fresh."

When they had dug the well, Maszilo went in search of a great flat stone, and with it covered the hole to protect the water from being heated by the rays of the sun; after the water had been sufficiently cooled, Maszilo drank first. His brother was now going to do the same, but the moment he bent himself over the well, Maszilo suddenly taking him by the hair, forced his head under the water, and held it there until he was suffocated; he then pushed the corpse into the hole, and covered it over with the stone.

With drooping head, though now sole master of the herd, the murderer proceeded on his journey, but hardly had he advanced a few steps, when a little bird perched on the horn of the white cow, and in a mournful tune sang: "Tsiri! tsiri! Maszilo killed Mazziloniane to get possession of the white cow which the murdered brother so much loved."

Enraged, he killed the bird with a stone, but hardly had he sufficiently recovered himself to proceed on his journey, when the bird again came flying, placed itself on the same spot, and repeated the same words; Maszilo again killed him with a stone, and then crushed him with his heavy staff; but within a few minutes the bird reappeared for the third time, again perching on the horn of the cow, and repeating the same words.

"Ah, Demon!" cried Maszilo, choking with rage, "I will try a more effectual way to silence thee;" whereupon he threw his staff at the hated little bird, who in such doleful tunes had stirred up and upbraided his conscience-stricken soul: he again killed it, and then lighting a fire, in it he burnt the bird to ashes, which he scattered in the winds.

Now convinced that the goblin-bird would return no more, Maszilo, full of pride and hardiness, returned to his father's dwelling. On his arrival there, he was surrounded by all the villagers, who, full of curiosity, gathered around him, in admiration of the rich flock, and praised his good fortune, but the first impulse of their curiosity satiated, they almost with one voice inquired "Where is Mazziloniane?"

"I know not; we went different ways," answered he.

Many of his relations now surrounded the white cow, and exclaimed: "Oh how beautiful she is! what fine hair! what a pure colour! happy the man that owns such a treasure!"

Suddenly, their exclamations were changed into deep silence, for upon one of the horns of the much-admired animal appeared a little bird, singing in most melancholy strains, "Tsiri! tsiri! Maszilo killed Mazziloniane, to get possession of the white cow which the murdered brother so much loved."

"What! has Maszilo killed his brother?" all exclaimed, and, full of horror, turned away from the murderer, unable to account to themselves for the emotion he inspired, and the strangeness of the disclosure. Infuriated, they drove Maszilo from their home, into the desert: in the confusion this occasioned, the little bird flew to the murdered man's sister, and whispered in her ear, "I am the soul of Mazziloniane; Maszilo has killed me; my body lies in a well near the desert, go bury it—" and then the bird flew back into the desert, evermore to be the companion of the murderer.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE SERPENT.

The place itself was simple enough—a rugged block of stone, beneath which murmured a little rivulet, and a wild cherry-tree which overshadowed the stone with its leafy branches, were all that was to be seen there; but the youth felt happy when he spread his meal upon that stone, and drank from that streamlet. When, after having partaken of his meal, he stretched himself to rest upon the stone, he would fancy he heard a mysterious singing, and sometimes a sighing too, beneath it; he would then listen and watch, but would finally slumber and dream. His spirit seemed to be ever wrapped in mysterious unearthly happiness. On going forth with his flocks in the morning, and returning home with them in the evening, this unaccountable longing seemed always to take possession of him. He liked not to accompany the throng of merry village youths and maidens who went about singing and frolicking on festive evenings, but preferred to walk alone, silent and even melancholy. But when the fair morning dawned again, and he went forth with his lambs over heath and meadow, his spirit grew ever more serene as he drew nearer to the beloved stone and to the shade of the dear cherry-tree. It often happened, too, that whilst he rested there and played upon his flute, a silver-white serpent came out from under the stone, and after wreathing herself caressingly at his feet, would then erect herself and gaze upon the shepherd, until two big tears would roll from her eyes, and then she softly slid back again: on these occasions a still more peculiar and strange feeling filled the shepherd's heart.

At length he altogether ceased to associate with the merry band of youths and maidens; their mirthsome noise was unpleasant to him; whilst, on the contrary, the still solitude became more and more dear to him.

One lovely Sunday in the spring time—it was Trinity Sunday, which the peasants call "Golden Sunday," and which they always keep with especial festivity—when the youth of the village were to have a merry dance beneath the linden-trees, the pensive shepherd boy, drawn by that inexpressible longing, directed his steps at mid-day to the lonely valley of the stone and cherry-tree. He gazed serenely upon the dear spot, and then sat down and listened musingly to the rustling of the leaves and the mysterious sounds under the stone, when suddenly a bright light shone before his eyes, a pang of terror shot through his heart, and looking up he saw a beauteous form arrayed in white like an angel, standing before him with a soft expression and folded hands, whilst with transported senses he heard a sweet voice thus address him: "O youth, fear not, but hear the supplication of an unhappy maiden, and do not drive me from thee, nor flee from my misfortune. I am a noble princess, and have immense treasures of pearls and gold; but for many hundred years I have languished under enchantment, have been banished beneath this stone, and am doomed to glide about in the form of a serpent. In that shape I have often gazed on thee and conceived the hope that thou mayest release me. Thou art still pure in heart as a child. Only once throughout the whole year, this very hour on Golden Sunday, am I permitted to wander on the earth in my own form; and if I then find a youth with a pure heart, I may implore him for my deliverance. Release me then, thou beloved one! release me, I implore thee by all that is holy!"—The maiden sank at the shepherd's feet, which she clasped as she looked up to him weeping. The heart of the youth heaved with transport; he raised the angelic maiden and faltered out: "Oh say only what I must do to free thee, thou fair beloved one!"

"Return hither to-morrow at the same hour," replied she, "and when I appear before thee in my serpent form, and wind myself around thee, and thrice kiss thee, do not, oh! do not shudder, else must I again languish enchanted here for another century!" She vanished, and again a soft sighing and singing issued from beneath the stone.

On the following day, at the hour of noon, the shepherd, not without fear in his heart, waited at the appointed place, and supplicated Heaven for strength and constancy at the trying moment of the serpent's kiss. Already the silver-white serpent glided from beneath the stone, approached the youth, twined herself round his body, and raised her serpent head, with its bright eyes, to kiss him. He remained steady, and endured the three kisses. A mighty crash was then heard, and dreadful thunders rolled around the youth, who had fallen senseless on the ground. A magic change passed over him, and when he was restored to his senses, he found himself lying on white cushions of silk, in a richly-adorned chamber, with the beautiful maiden kneeling by his couch, holding his hand to her heart. "Oh, thanks be to Heaven!" exclaimed she, when he opened his eyes; "receive my thanks, beloved youth, for my deliverance, and take as thy reward my fair lands, and this palace with all its rich treasures, and take me too as thy faithful wife: thou shalt henceforth be happy, and have plenitude of joy!"

And the shepherd was happy and joyful; that longing of his heart which had so often drawn him towards the stone, was gloriously satisfied. He dwelt, remote from the world, in the bosom of happiness, with his fair spouse; and he never wished himself back on earth, nor amongst his lambs again. But in the village there was great lamentation for the shepherd who had so suddenly vanished: they sought him in the valley, and by the stone under the cherry-tree, whither he had last gone, but neither the shepherd, nor the stone, nor the cherry-tree were to be found any longer; and no human eye ever again beheld any trace of either.

THE EXPEDITIOUS FROG.

Then the fox turned round, and as he did so, the frog leapt up into his bushy tail. Off went the fox, and when he reached the gate of the city, he turned round again to see if he could spy the frog coming after him. As he did so, the frog hopped out of his tail on the ground. The fox, after looking all about without being able to see the frog, turned round once more in order to enter the city.

Then the frog called out to him: "So! you are come at last? I am just going back again, for I really thought you meant not to come at all."

EASTWARD OF THE SUN, AND WESTWARD OF THE MOON.

Now it happened on a Thursday evening, late in the autumn, that a terrible storm came on. It was dark as pitch, the rain came down in torrents, and the wind blew till the windows cracked again. The whole family sat round the hearth, busy with their different occupations; suddenly some one gave three loud knocks at the window; the man went out to see whom it could be, and when he got outside the door, he saw standing by it, a great white bear.

"Good evening to you!" said the bear.

"Good evening!" said the man.

"I have called," said the bear, "to say that if you will give me your youngest daughter in marriage, I will make you as rich as you now are poor."

The man thought that would not be amiss, but he considered that he must first consult his daughter on the subject; so he stepped in, and told her that a great white bear was outside the door, who had promised to make him as rich as he was now poor, provided he would give him his youngest daughter in marriage. The maiden, however, said "No," and would hear nothing at all about the matter; so the man went out again, spoke very civilly to the bear, and told him to call again next Thursday evening, and in the mean time he would try what could be done. During the week they tried to persuade the maiden, and told her all kinds of fine things as to the riches they were to have, and how well she herself would be provided for, till at last she consented. So she washed the two or three things she had, dressed herself as well as she could, and made herself ready for the journey.

When the bear returned the following Thursday evening, all was ready: the maiden took her bundle in her hand, seated herself on his back, and off they went. When they had gone a good way, the bear asked her: "Do you feel sad?"

No, that she did not in the least.

"Mind you hold fast by my shaggy coat," said the bear, "and then there will be nothing to fear."

Thus she rode on the bear's back far far away—indeed nobody can say precisely how far it was—and at last they arrived at a great rock. The bear knocked, and a door opened, through which they entered a large castle, in which were a great many rooms, all lighted with lamps, and glittering with gold and silver: there was also a grand saloon, and in the saloon stood a table covered with the most costly viands. The bear then gave her a silver bell, which he told her to ring when she wanted anything, and it would immediately be brought to her. Now after she had eaten and drunk, and towards evening grew tired, and wished to go to bed, she rang her bell, and immediately a door opened into a chamber, where there was as beautiful a bed as she could wish for, ready prepared for her; the pillows were covered with silk, and the curtains fringed with gold, and all her toilette utensils were of silver and gold. As soon, however, as she had extinguished the light, and lay down in her bed, some one came and lay down by her side, and this happened every night; but she could never see who it was, as the person never came till after the light was put out, and always went away before day-break.

Thus she lived for some time, contented and happy, till at length she felt so great a desire to see her parents, and brothers and sisters, that she grew quite dull and melancholy. Then the bear asked her one day why she was always so still and thoughtful.

"Ah!" replied she, "I feel so lonely here in the castle, for I so much wish to see my parents, and brothers and sisters, once more."

"That you can easily do," said the bear, "but you must promise me that you will never converse with your mother alone, but only when all the others are present; for she will try to take you by the hand and lead you into another room, in order to speak to you alone, but do not consent to it, for if you do, she will make both you and me unhappy."

The maiden said she would be very careful to do as he desired her.

The following Sunday the bear came to her, and said she might now begin her journey to her parents. She seated herself on his back, and they commenced their journey. After they had travelled a very long time, they came to a great white castle, and she saw her sisters going in and out, and all was so beautiful and grand, it was quite a pleasure to behold it.

"That is where your parents dwell," said the bear, "now do not forget what I have said to you, or you will make yourself and me very miserable."

She would not forget, repeated the maiden, and she entered the castle; the bear, however, went back again. When her parents saw their daughter, they were more delighted than it is possible to express. They could not thank her enough for what she had done for them, and they told how wonderfully comfortable they were now, and inquired how matters went with her. Oh, she also was very happy, returned the maiden, she had everything she could desire. What else she told them, I do not exactly know, but I believe it was no every-day tale that she told them. In the afternoon, when they had dined, it happened exactly as the bear had foretold; the mother wanted to talk with her daughter in private, but the maiden remembered what the bear had said, and would not go with her, but said: "Oh, we can say what we have got to say, quite as well here."

Now, how it happened, I cannot tell, but all I know is, that her mother persuaded her at last, and then she got the whole history from her. The maiden related how some one came into her bed every night, but that she had never seen who it was, and that made her so uneasy, and the day seemed very long to her, because she was always alone.

"Who knows!" said the mother, "surely it must be some wizard who sleeps by you; but if you will take my advice, when he is fast asleep, get up and strike a light, and see who it is; but be careful not to let any grease drop upon him."

In the evening the bear came to fetch the maiden home. When they had gone a good way he asked her if it had not happened as he had told her.

"Yes," she could not deny that it had.

"Have you listened to your mother's counsel?" said the bear; "if you have, you have ruined yourself and me, and our friendship is at an end."

"No," she had not done so, replied she.

Now when they had got home, and the maiden had gone to bed, the same happened as usual, some one came and lay down by her. During the night, however, when she heard that he was asleep, she rose and kindled a light, and then she saw lying in her bed the handsomest prince that can be imagined, and she immediately loved him so well, that she could not refrain from kissing him that very moment. But as she did this, she accidentally let three drops of oil fall from her lamp, upon his shirt, and thereupon he awoke.

"What have you done?" cried he, as he opened his eyes; "now you have made yourself and me unhappy for ever. If you had but held out for a year, I should have been delivered; for I have a step-mother who has enchanted me, so that by day I am a bear, but at night I become a man again. But all is over for us both, for I must now leave you, and return to her. She dwells in a castle which lies eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and there I shall be obliged to marry a princess who has a nose three ells long."

The maiden then began to weep and bemoan herself; but it was too late, the prince was obliged to go. She asked him if she might not accompany him.

"No," said he, "that must not be."

"Can you not then tell me the road that I may find you?" inquired she; "for I suppose I may be allowed that."

"Yes, that you are right welcome to do," said he; "but there is no road that leads to it; for the castle lies eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and you will never get there."

In the morning when she awoke, the prince and the castle had both vanished, and she found herself lying on the bare earth, in a thick dark forest, and she was dressed in her old clothes, and near her lay the same bundle that she had brought with her from her former home. When she had rubbed her eyes till she was quite awake, and had cried till she could cry no longer, she began her journey, and wandered for many a long day, till at last she came to a great mountain. At the foot of the mountain sat an old woman, playing with a golden apple; the maiden asked her if she could tell her the way to where the prince lived with his step-mother, in a castle which was situated eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and who was to marry a princess who had a nose three ells long.

"How come you to know him?" asked the woman. "Can you be the maiden whom he wished to marry?"

"Yes," she replied, "she was that maiden."

"So! then you are the chosen one!" resumed the woman; "ah! my child," continued she, "I would willingly help you, but I myself know nothing more of the castle than that it lies eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and that you are almost certain never to get there; I will, however, lend you my horse, and you may ride on him to my next neighbour; perhaps she may be able to tell you the way thither, but when you have reached her, just give the horse a pat under the left ear, and bid him go home again; and now take this golden apple, for perhaps you may find a use for it."

The maiden mounted the horse, and rode for a long, long, time; and at last arrived at another mountain, where sat an old woman with a golden reel. The maiden asked her if she could tell her the way to the castle, which lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon. This old woman, however, said just like the other, that she knew nothing more about the castle than that it lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, "and you are almost sure never to find it," added she, "but I will lend you my horse to ride upon to my next neighbour, and perhaps she may tell you the way; when you get there, however, just give the horse a pat under his left ear, and tell him to go home; now take this reel, for perhaps you may find some use for it."

The maiden seated herself on the horse, and rode for many days and weeks; at last she again arrived at a mountain where an old woman sat spinning with a golden distaff. The maiden now again inquired about the prince, and the castle which was situated eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon.

"Are you she whom the prince wished to marry?" asked the woman.

"Yes," replied the maiden.

But this old woman knew no more about the castle than the two others.

"Eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, lies the castle, and you are almost certain never to get there. But I will lend you my horse, and you may ride upon him to the East Wind; perhaps he may be able to tell you the way, but when you get to him, give the horse a pat under the left ear, and bid him go home, and now take this golden distaff, you will probably have occasion for it."

She rode now a very long time, and at last arrived where the East Wind dwelt, and asked him if he could not tell her how to get to the prince who lived in the castle which lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon.

"Truly, I have often heard tell of the prince, and of the castle too," said the East Wind, "but I cannot tell you the way, for I have never blown so far; but I will carry you to my brother, the West Wind; perhaps he may know, for he is much stronger than I am. You have only to seat yourself on my back, and I will bear you thither."

The maiden seated herself on his back, and off they went. When they reached the West Wind, the East Wind told him that he had brought a maiden who was to marry the prince who dwelt in the castle that lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and asked if he could tell the way thither.

"No," answered the West Wind. "I have never blown so far. But," said he, addressing the maiden, "you may seat yourself on my back, and I will carry you to the South Wind; he may be able to tell you, for he is much stronger than I, and blows and blusters every where."

So the maiden seated herself on his back, and when they had reached the South Wind, the West Wind asked him if he did not know the way to the castle which lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, for the maiden whom he had brought with him, said he, was to marry the prince who dwelt there.

"I have blown pretty far, and pretty strong in my time," said the South Wind, "but I never went so far as that. If, however, you desire it," said he to the maiden, "I will carry you to my brother, the North Wind, who is the eldest and strongest of us all, and if he cannot tell you the way, you may rest assured you will never find it."

The maiden seated herself on his back, and off they went at such a rate that the plain heaved again.

In a very short time they reached the North Wind; but he was so wild and turbulent that long before they got up to him, he blew, I know not how much snow and ice, in their faces.

"What do you want?" cried he, in a voice that made their skin creep.

"Oh, you must not be so rough with us," said the South Wind; "for here am I, your own brother, and this is the maiden who is to marry the prince who dwells in the castle which lies eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon, and she is very desirous to ask you if you cannot give her some information about it."

"Yes, I know full well where it lies," said the North Wind; "I wafted an aspen leaf thither, once; but I was so fatigued that I could not blow for many a long day afterwards. If, however, you are resolved to go," said he to the maiden, "and are not afraid, I will take you on my back and try whether I can waft you so far."

"Yes," said the maiden, "there I must and will go, by all possible means, and I will not be frightened either, let it be as bad as it may."

"In that case you must pass the night here," said the North Wind; "for we must have the whole day before us, if we are to go there."

Early the next morning the North Wind awakened her, got himself into breath, and grew so large and strong, that it was terrible to behold; and off they dashed through the air, as if the world were coming to an end. Then arose such an awful storm, that whole villages and forests were overturned, and as they passed over the ocean, the ships sank by hundreds. On they went still over the water, so far as no one would believe, but the North Wind became weaker and weaker, and so weak did he become, that he could scarcely blow any more, and he sank lower and lower, and at last got so low, that the waves flowed over his heels.

"Are you frightened?" inquired he of the maiden.

"No, not in the least," said she.

Now they were only a very little way from land, and the North Wind had scarcely any strength remaining, to enable him to reach the shore under the windows of the castle that lay eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon. When he did get there, however, he was so weary and faint, that he was obliged to rest many days before he could return home.

In the morning the maiden seated herself under the windows of the castle, and played with her golden apple, and the first person who saw her, was the long-nosed princess whom the prince was to marry.

"What do you ask for your golden apple?" inquired the princess, as she opened her window.

"It is not to be had for gold nor for gain;" said the maiden.

"If you will not part with it for gold nor for gain, what will you take for it?" demanded the princess: "I will give whatever you ask."

"Well, then, if you will let me pass a night by the prince's side, you shall have it," said the maiden.

"Oh! that you are quite welcome to do," said the princess, and took the golden apple.

But when at night the maiden came into the prince's chamber, he was fast asleep; she called to him and shook him, and cried and moaned, but she could not awaken him, and as soon as the morning dawned, the princess with the long nose came and drove her out of the room.

That day the maiden again placed herself under the castle windows, and unwound the yarn from the golden reel, and the long-nosed princess spoke to her as on the day before. She asked her what she would take for the reel, but the maiden said it was not to be had for gold nor gain, but that if she might pass another night beside the prince, the princess should have it. She agreed, and took the golden reel. But when the maiden entered the chamber the prince was fast asleep; and, let her call and shake him, and weep and wail as she might, she could not rouse him; and when the morning dawned, the princess with the long nose again came and drove her away.

This day the maiden seated herself as before with her golden distaff and span. When the princess saw the distaff, she wanted that also, and opened the window, and asked what she would sell it for. The maiden replied as before, neither for gold nor gain; but if the princess would let her pass another night with the prince, she should have it. Yes, she was very welcome, said the princess, and took the distaff. Now it happened that some persons who slept close to the prince's apartment, had heard the lamentations and melancholy cries of the maiden during the two nights, and that morning they told the prince of it. So in the evening when the princess brought the drink which the prince was accustomed to take before he went to bed, he pretended to drink it, but in reality he poured it on the ground behind him, for he suspected strongly that the princess had mixed a sleeping potion with it. Now when the maiden went into his room that night, he was wide awake, and was overjoyed at seeing her, and he made her tell him all that had happened to her, and how she had contrived to get to the castle. When she had related all he said:—

"You are come just at the right moment; for to-morrow is to be my wedding with the princess; but I want nothing of her and her long nose, for you are the only one I will wed. I shall therefore say, that I want to know what my bride is fit for, and I shall require her to wash the three spots of oil out of my shirt. This she will willingly undertake to do, but I know that she will not succeed; for the spots were made by your hand, and can only be washed out again by Christian hands, and not by the hands of such a pack of sorcerers as she belongs to. I shall, however, say, that I will have no other bride than she who can succeed, and when they have all tried and failed, I shall call you, and desire you to try." So the night passed happily away, and on the bridal day the prince said:—

"I should like vastly to see what my bride is fit for."

"That is no more than fair," said the step-mother.

"I have such a beautiful shirt," said the prince, "that I should like to wear it on my bridal day, but there are spots of grease on it, and I would willingly have them washed out; I have in consequence resolved to wed none but her who is able to wash them out."

Truly, that was no such mighty matter, thought the women, and immediately set to work; and the princess with the long nose began to wash away as fast as she could. But the longer she washed, the larger and darker grew the spots.

"Oh! you do not know much about the matter," said the old sorceress, her mother: "give it to me."

But when she got hold of the shirt, it grew darker still, and the more she washed and rubbed, the larger grew the spots. Now the other witches of the establishment all tried their hands on the shirt, and the longer they washed the worse it grew, and at last the whole shirt looked as if it had been put up the chimney.

"Ah! you are all good for nothing," cried the prince; "there sits a poor beggar wrench under the windows; I'll lay any wager she knows more about washing than all of you put together. Come hither, wench!" cried he; and when she came, he asked her:—

"Can you wash that shirt clean?"

"I don't know," said the maiden; "but I think I can."

So the maiden took the shirt, and under her hands it soon became as white as the falling snow.

"Ah, I will have thee for my bride!" cried the prince, and when the old sorceress heard that, she fell into such a tremendous rage, that it killed her; and I think that the princess with the long nose, and the whole pack of witches, must have expired also, for I have never heard of them since. Then the prince and his bride set free all the Christians who were confined in the castle; and they took as much gold and silver as they could carry away, and went far away from the castle that lies eastward of the Sun, and westward of the Moon. But how they contrived to get away, and whither they went, I do not know; if, however, they are what I take them for, they are at no very great distance from here.