A FREE e-BOOK
containing a sample of stories
from the series
YESTERDAY’S BOOKS
for
TOMORROW’S EDUCATIONS
A Social Enterprise Project
33% of the profit from the sale of the books in this series
is donated to charities specialising in
educational scholarships for the underprivileged
© Abela Publishing
London
[2009]
Contents
THE SLIPPERS OF THE TWELVE PRINCESSES 20
The story of the boy and the old woman, and how the wasp got his small waist 87
INTRODUCTION
The stories contained in this free eBook have been selected from the books that make up the series
“Folk-lore, Fairy Tales, Myths and Legends from Around the World”
Fifteen stories have been selected from the books in the series. So you will find stories from ancient Celtic England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland. As well as Roma and Gypsy stories which have travelled across Europe from the Black Sea region. There are also stories from the Zulus and Bushmen of South Africa, to the Orient, the Silk Route, the Vikings, the Red Indians of North America and beyond.
The books in the series are rare and out of print books and have been republished as part of a Social Enterprise project where the main aim is to give a large portion of the profits to charity. In fact 33% of the profit from each book sold is donated to charities that specialise in educational scholarships for the underprivileged; and the beneficiaries of these scholarships are spread around the globe.
While this is a free book, it is but a sampler of the rich and diverse tapestry of tales and folk-lore contained in the volumes published to date. We encourage you to visit our webpage at
ww.AbelaPublishing.com/catalogue.html
We also encourage you to pass this free eBook on to anyone and everyone you know, especially those with young children.
John Halsted
Abela Publishing
YESTERDAY’S BOOKS
for
TOMORROW’S EDUCATIONS
THE LOST MESSAGE
(a folk story from South Africa)
THE ant has had from time immemorial many enemies, and because he is small and destructive, there have been a great many slaughters among them. Not only were most of the birds their enemies, but Anteater lived almost wholly from them, and Centipede beset them every time and at all places when he had the chance.
So now there were a few among them who thought it would be well to hold council together and see if they could not come to some arrangement whereby they could retreat to some place of safety when attacked by robber birds and animals.
But at the gathering their opinions were most discordant, and they could come to no decision.
There was Red-ant, Rice-ant, Black-ant, Wagtail-ant, Gray-ant, Shining-ant, and many other varieties. The discussion was a true babel of diversity, which continued for a long time and came to nothing.
A part desired that they should all go into a small hole in the ground, and live there; another part wanted to have a large and strong dwelling built on the ground, where nobody could enter but an ant; still another wanted to dwell in trees, so as to get rid of Anteater, forgetting entirely that there they would be the prey of birds; another part seemed inclined to have wings and fly.
And, as has already been said, this deliberation amounted to nothing, and each party resolved to go to work in its own way, and on its own responsibility.
Greater unity than that which existed in each separate faction could be seen nowhere in the world; each had his appointed task, each did his work regularly and well. And all worked together in the same way. From among them they chose a king-that is to say some of the groups did-and they divided the labour so that all went as smoothly as it possibly could.
But each group did it in its own way, and not one of them thought of protecting themselves against the onslaught of birds or Anteater.
The Red-ants built their house on the ground and lived under it, but Anteater levelled to the ground in a minute what had cost them many days of precious labour. The Rice-ants lived under the ground, and with them it went no better. For whenever they came out, Anteater visited them and took them out sack and pack. The Wagtail-ants fled to the trees, but there on many occasions sat Centipede waiting for them, or the birds gobbled them up. The Gray-ants had intended to save themselves from extermination by taking to flight, but this also availed them nothing, because the Lizard, the Hunting-spider, and the birds went a great deal faster than they.
When the Insect-king heard that they could come to no agreement he sent them the secret of unity, and the message of Work-together. But unfortunately he chose for his messenger the Beetle, and he has never yet arrived at the Ants, so that they are still to-day the embodiment of discord and consequently the prey of enemies.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Source: South African Folk Tales,
originally published 1910
ISBN-13: 978-0-9560584-5-4
http://www.abelapublishing.com/safolktales.html
MOOWIS
(an American Indian story)
IN a large village there lived a noted belle, or Mamon-da-go-Kwa, who was the admiration of all the young hunters and warriors. She was particularly admired by a young man who, from his good figure and the care he took in his dress, was called the Beau-Man, or Ma-mon-da-gin-in-e. This young man had a friend and companion whom he made his confidant.
“Come,” said he one day, in a sportive mood,
“let us go a-courting to her who is so handsome, perhaps she may fancy one of us.”
She would, however, listen to neither of them; and when the handsome young man rallied her on the coldness of her air, and made an effort to over come her indifference, she repulsed him with the greatest contempt, and the young man retired confused and abashed. His sense of pride was deeply wounded, and he was the more piqued because he had been thus treated in the presence of others, and this affair had been noised about in the village, and became the talk of every lodge circle. He was, besides, a very sensitive man, and the incident so preyed upon him that he became moody and at last took to his bed. For days he would lie without uttering a word, with his eyes fixed on vacancy, and taking little or no food. From this state no efforts could rouse him. He felt abashed and dishonoured even in the presence of his own relatives, and no persuasions could induce him to rise, so that when the family prepared to take down the lodge to remove lie still kept his bed, and they were compelled to lift it from above his head and leave him upon his skin couch. It was a time of general removal and breaking up of the camp, for it was only a winter hunting-camp, and as the season of the hunt was now over, and spring began to appear, his friends all moved off as by one impulse to the place of their summer village, and in a short time all were gone, and he was left alone. The last person to leave him was his boon companion and cousin, who had been, like him, an admirer of the forest belle. The hunter disregarded even his voice, and as soon as his steps died away on the creaking snow the stillness and solitude of the wilderness reigned around.
As soon as all were gone, and he could no longer, by listening, hear the remotest sound of the departing camp, the Beau-Man arose.
Now this young man had for a friend a powerful guardian
spirit or personal manito, and he resolved, with this spirit said, to use his utmost power to punish and humble the girl, for she was noted in her tribe for her coquetry, and had treated many young men, who were every way her equals, as she had treated this lover. He resolved on a singular stratagem by way of revenge.
He walked over the deserted camp and gathered up all the
cast-off bits of soiled cloth, clippings of finery, and old clothing and ornaments, which had either been left there as not worth carrying away, or forgotten. These he carefully picked out of the snow, into which some of them had been trodden, and collected in one place. These gaudy arid soiled stuffs he restored to their original beauty, and made of them a coat and leggings, which he trimmed with beads, and finished and decorated after the best fashion of his tribe. He then made a pair of moccasins and garnished them with beads, a bow and arrows, and a frontlet and feathers for the head. Having done this he searched about for cast-out bones of animals, pieces of skin, clippings of dried meat, and even dirt. Having cemented all this together he filled the clothes with it, pressed the mass firmly in, and fashioned it, externally, in all respects like a tall and well-shaped man. He put a bow and arrows in its hands, and the frontlet on its head.
Having finished it he brought it to life, and the image stood forth in the most favoured lineaments of his fellows. Such was the origin of Moowis, or the Dirt-and-Rag Man.
“Follow me,” said the Beau-Man, “and I will direct you how
you shall act.”
Moowis was, indeed, a very sightly person, and as the Beau-Man led him into the new encampment where the girl dwelt, the many colours of his clothes, the profusion of his ornaments, his manly deportment, his animated countenance, drew all eyes to him.
He was hospitably received, both old and young showing him great attention. The chief invited him to his lodge, and he was there treated to the moose’s hump and the finest venison.
No one was better pleased with the handsome stranger than
Ma-mon-da-go-Kwa. She fell in love with him at first sight, and he was an invited guest at the lodge of her mother the very first evening of his arrival. The Beau-Man went with him, for it was under his patronage that he had been introduced, and, in truth, he had another motive in accompanying him, for he had not yet wholly subdued his feelings of admiration for the object against whom he had, nevertheless, exerted all his necromantic power, and he held himself ready to take advantage of any favourable turn which he secretly hoped the visit might take in relation to himself. No such opportunity, however, arose. Moowis attracted the chief attention, every eye and heart was alert to entertain him. In this effort on the part of his entertainers they had well-nigh brought about his destruction by dissolving him into his original elements of rags, snow, and dirt, for he was assigned the most prominent place near the tire, where he was exposed to a heat that he could by no means endure. However, he warded this calamity off by placing a boy between him and the fire ; he shifted his position frequently, and evaded, by dexterous manoeuvres and timely remarks, the pressing invitation of his host to sit and enjoy the warmth. He so managed these excuses as not only to conceal his dread of immediate dissolution, but to secure the further approbation of the fair forest girl, who was filled with admiration of one who had so brave a spirit to endure the paralysing effects of cold.
The visit proved that the rejected lover had well calculated
the effects of his plan. He withdrew from the lodge, and Moowis triumphed. Before the Beau-Man left he saw him cross the lodge to the coveted abivos, or bridegroom s seat. The dart which Ma-mon-da-go-Kwa had so often delighted in sending to the hearts of her admirers she was at length fated to receive. She had married an image.
As the morning began to break the stranger arose, adjusted
his warrior s plumes, and took his forest weapons to depart.
“I must go,” said he, “for I have important work to do, and
there are many hills and streams between me and the object of my journey.”
“I will go with you,” said Ma-mon-da-go-Kwa.
“The journey is too long,” replied her husband, “and you
are ill able to encounter the perils of the way.”
“It is not so long but that I will go,” answered his wife,
“and there are no dangers I will not share with you.”
Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and told him what had occurred. For a moment pity took possession of the young man s heart. He regretted that she whom he so loved should thus have thrown herself away upon an image, a shadow, when she might have been the mistress of the best lodge in the camp.
“It is her own folly,” he said; “she has turned a deaf ear to the counsels of prudence. She must submit to her fate.”
The same morning Moowis set forth, and his wife followed
him at a distance. The way was rough and intricate, and she found that she could not keep up with him, he walked so quickly. She struggled hard and obstinately to overtake him, but Moowis had been for some time out of sight when the sun rose and commenced upon his snow-formed body the work of dissolution. He began to melt away and fall to pieces. As Ma-mon-da-go-Kwa followed in his track she found piece after piece of his clothing in the path. She first found his mittens, then his moccasins, then his leggings, then his coat, and after that other parts of his garments. As the heat unbound them the clothes also returned to their filthy condition. Over rocks, through wind-falls, across marshes, Ma-mon-da-go-Kwa pursued him she loved. The path turned aside in all directions. Rags, bones, leather, beads, feathers, and soiled ribbons she found, but caught no sight of Moowis. She spent the day in wandering, and when evening came she was still alone. The snow having now melted, she had completely lost her husband s track, and she wandered about uncertain which way to go and in a state of perfect despair. At length with bitter cries she
lamented her fate.
“Moowis, Moowis,” she cried,
“nin ge won e win ig, ne won e win ig !”
“Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray, you are leading me astray !”
With this cry she wandered in the woods. The cry of the lost Ma-mon-da-go-Kwa is some times repeated by the village girls who have made of it a song-
Moowis ! Moowis !
Forest rover,
Where art thou ?
Ah ! nay bravest, gayest lover,
Guide me now.
Moowis ! Moowis !
Ah ! believe me,
List my moan :
Do not, do not, brave heart, leave me
All alone.
Moowis ! Moowis !
Footprints vanished !
Whither wend I ?
Fated, lost, detested, banished
Must I die !
Moowis ! Moowis !
Whither goest thou,
Eye-bright lover ?
Ah ! thou ravenous bird that knowest,
I see thee hover,
Circling, circling
As I wander,
And at last
When I fall thou then wilt come
And feed upon my breast.
* * * * * * * * * * *
S
ISBN-13: 978-0-9560584-6-1
http://www.abelapublishing.com/americanindian.html
The Vampire
(a Gypsy folktale)
THERE was an old woman in a village. And grown-up maidens met and span, and made a 'bee.' And the young sparks came and laid hold of the girls, and pulled them about and kissed them. But one girl had no sweetheart to lay hold of her and kiss her. And she was a strapping lass, the daughter of wealthy peasants; but three whole days no one came near her. And she looked at the big girls, her comrades. And no one troubled himself with her. Yet she was a pretty girl, a prettier was not to be found. Then came a fine young spark, and took her in his arms and kissed her, and stayed with her until cock-crow. And when the cock crowed at dawn he departed. The old woman saw he had cock's feet. And she kept looking at the lad's feet, and she said, 'Nita, my lass, did you see anything?'
'I didn't notice.'
'Then didn't I see he had cock's feet?'
'Let be, mother, I didn't see it.'
And the girl went home and slept; and she arose and went off to the spinning, where many more girls were holding a 'bee.' And the young sparks came, and took each one his sweetheart. And they kissed them, and stayed a while, and went home. And the girl's handsome young spark came and took her in his arms and kissed her and pulled her about, and stayed with her till midnight. And the cock began to crow. The young spark heard the cock crowing, and departed. What said the old woman who was in the hut, 'Nita, did you notice that he had horse's hoofs?'
'And if he had, I didn't see.'
Then the girl departed to her home. And she slept and arose in the morning, and did her work that she had to do. And night came, and she took her spindle and went to the old woman in the hut. And the other girls came, and the young sparks came, and each laid hold of his sweetheart. But the pretty girl looks at them. Then the young sparks gave over and departed home. And only the girl remained neither a long time nor a short time. Then came the girl's young spark. Then what will the girl do? She took heed, and stuck a needle and thread in his back. And he departed when the cock crew, and she knew not where he had gone to. Then the girl arose in the morning and took the thread, and followed up the thread, and saw him in a grave where he was sitting. Then the girl trembled and went back home. At night the young spark that was in the grave came to the old woman's house and saw that the girl was not there. He asked the old woman, 'Where's Nita?'
'She has not come.'
Then he went to Nita's house, where she lived, and called, 'Nita, are you at home?'
Nita answered, ['I am'].
'Tell me what you saw when you came to the church. For if you don't tell me I will kill your father.'
'I didn't see anything.'
Then he looked, and he killed her father, and departed to his grave.
Next night he came back. 'Nita, tell me what you saw.' I didn't see anything.'
'Tell me, or I will kill your mother, as I killed your father. Tell me what you saw.'
'I didn't see anything.'
Then he killed her mother, and departed to his grave. Then the girl arose in the morning. And she had twelve servants. And she said to them, 'See, I have much money and many oxen and many sheep; and they shall come to the twelve of you as a gift, for I shall die to-night. And it will fare ill with you if you bury me not in the forest at the foot of an apple-tree.'
At night came the young spark from the grave and asked, Nita, are you at home?'
'I am.'
'Tell me, Nita, what you saw three days ago, or I will kill you, as I killed your parents.'
'I have nothing to tell you.'
Then he took and killed her. Then, casting a look, he departed to his grave.
So the servants, when they arose in the morning, found Nita dead. The servants took her and laid her out decently. They sat and made a hole in the wall and passed her through the hole, and carried her, as she had bidden, and buried her in the forest by the apple-tree.
And half a year passed by, and a prince went to go and course hares with greyhounds and other dogs. And he went to hunt, and the hounds ranged the forest and came to the maiden's grave. And a flower grew out of it, the like of which for beauty there was not in the whole kingdom. So the hounds came on her monument, where she was buried, and they began to bark and scratched at the maiden's grave. Then the prince took and called the dogs with his horn, and the dogs came not. The prince said, 'Go quickly thither.'
Four huntsmen arose and came and saw the flower burning like a candle. They returned to the prince, and he asked them, 'What is it?'
'It is a flower, the like was never seen.'
Then the lad heard, and came to the maiden's grave, and saw the flower and plucked it. And he came home and showed it to his father and mother. Then he took and put it in a vase at his bed-head where he slept. Then the flower arose from the vase and turned a somersault, and became a full-grown maiden. And she took the lad and kissed him, and bit him and pulled him about, and slept with him in her arms, and put her hand under his head. And he knew it not. When the dawn came she became a flower again.
In the morning the lad rose up sick, and complained to his father and mother, 'Mammy, my shoulders hurt me, and my head hurts me.'
His mother went and brought a wise woman and tended him. He asked for something to eat and drink. And he waited a bit, and then went to his business that he had to do. And he went home again at night. And he ate and drank and lay down on his couch, and sleep seized him. Then the flower arose and again became a full-grown maiden. And she took him again in her arms, and slept with him, and sat with him in her arms. And he slept. And she went back to the vase. And he arose, and his bones hurt him, and he told his mother and his father. Then his father said to his wife, 'It began with the coming of the flower. Something must be the matter, for the boy is quite ill. Let us watch to-night, and post ourselves on one side, and see who comes to our son.'
Night came, and the prince laid himself in his bed to sleep. Then the maiden arose from the vase, and became there was never anything more fair--as burns the flame of a candle. And his mother and his father, the king, saw the maiden, and laid hands on her. Then the prince arose out of his sleep, and saw the maiden that she was fair. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her, and lay down in his bed, slept till day.
And they made a marriage and ate and drank. The folk marvelled, for a being so fair as that maiden was not to be found in all the realm. And he dwelt with her half a year, and she bore a golden boy, two apples in his hand. And it pleased the prince well.
Then her old sweetheart heard it, the vampire who had made love to her, and had killed her. He arose and came to her and asked her, 'Nita, tell me, what did you see me doing?'
'I didn't see anything.'
'Tell me truly, or I will kill your child, your little boy, as I killed your father and mother. Tell me truly.'
'I have nothing to tell you.'
And he killed her boy. And she arose and carried him to the church and buried him.
At night the vampire came again and asked her, 'Tell me, Nita, what you saw.'
'I didn't see anything.'
'Tell me, or I will kill the lord whom you have wedded.'
Then Nita arose and said, 'It shall not happen that you kill my lord. God send you burst.'
The vampire heard what Nita said, and burst. Ay, he died, and burst for very rage. In the morning Nita arose and saw the floor swimming two hand's-breadth deep in blood. Then Nita bade her father-in-law take out the vampire's heart with all speed. Her father-in-law, the king, hearkened, and opened him and took out his heart, and gave it into Nita's hand. And she went to the grave of her boy and dug the boy up, applied the heart, and the boy arose. And Nita went to her father and to her mother, and anointed them with the blood, and they arose. Then, looking on them, Nita told all the troubles she had borne, and what she had suffered at the hands of the vampire.
f
* * * * * * * * * * *
Source: Gypsy Folk Tales – Book One, originally published 1899
I
http://www.abelapublishing.com/gypsytales.html
THE SLIPPERS OF THE TWELVE PRINCESSES
(a Romanian fairy tale)
I.
ONCE on a time, in the good old times, there lived a cow-herd, who had neither father nor mother. He was called Jonica, that is to say Johnnie, but people had given him the name of Gura Casca (open mouth) because when he led his cows to pasture, he bellowed at every thing which he met on the way. Otherwise he was really a very pretty boy, his face was fair, and his eyes as blue as a morsel of the sky, with hair curling, and as yellow as the rays of the Sun. The young girls of the village teased him sadly. "Hé! Hé! Jonica, where are you going with your open mouth"? "What does that matter to you"? he would reply tranquilly, and pass on his way. Though only a cow-herd, he was sufficiently proud of his good looks, and he knew quite well the difference between beauty and ugliness, so the young peasant girls with their faces and throats tanned by the sun, their large hands red and cracked, their feet shod in "opinci" (a rough sort of sandal) or other common leather, were not at all to his mind.
He had heard tell, that, down there, a long way off, in the towns, the young girls were quite different; that they had throats as white as alabaster, pink cheeks, delicate and soft hands, their small feet covered by satin slippers, that in short they were clad in robes of silk and gold, and were called Princesses. So that, while his comrades only sought to please some rustic villager, he dreamed, neither more nor less, that he should marry a Princess.
II.
One noon-day in the middle of August, when the sun was so scorching that even the flies did not know where to put themselves, Jonica sat down under the shadow of an oak to eat his mammaliga (thick Indian meal porridge) and a morsel of sheep's milk cheese; seeing that his flock was lying peaceably about, he stretched himself at fall length, and was soon asleep.
He had a charming dream! a Zina, a fairy, appeared to him, beautiful as the day, fresh as a rose,
JONICA'S DREAM
and clad in a robe sparkling with diamonds. She said to him--
"There is a country where precious stones grow; go to the Court of the Emperor who reigns there, and you will marry a Princess."
In the evening, when he took his cows back to the stable, Jonica recounted his dream to several of his friends, who freely laughed at him. But the words of the Zina had such an influence on him, that he laughed himself at the ridicule of which he was the object.
The next day, at the same hour, and the same place, our cow-herd came to take his siesta. He had the same dream; and the same fairy, more radiant than ever, appeared again to him, and repeated: "There is a country where precious stones grow; go to the Court of the Emperor who reigns there and you will marry a Princess."
Jonica again repeated his dream, and it was again turned into ridicule.
"What does it matter to me," said Jonica, "if they laugh! I know one thing, that if that fairy appears again to me, I'll follow her advice."
On the following day he had the same dream, he got up joyfully, and in the evening they heard him in the village singing: "I quit the cows and calves, for I am going to marry the daughter of an Emperor."
His master, who overheard him, became thoughtful, but Jonica said to him, "You may do, and think as you like, but it is decided! I am going away!" He began to make his preparations, and in the morning he left.
The people of the village held their sides with laughing, when they saw him with his little bundle on a stick, slung across his shoulder, descend the hill, traverse the plain, and then slowly disappear, in the dim distance.
III.
In those days, people did say that there was really a country where precious stones grew, as grass, plants, and flowers grow in other places. It was said that the Emperor of these parts had twelve daughters--twelve Princesses, the one prettier than the other, but all as proud as they were beautiful. It was said also, that they only went to sleep at sunrise, and got up at mid-day.
They lived altogether in one large room of the Palace, and slept in beds of gold, encrusted with flowers of diamonds and emeralds.
When the Princesses retired in the evening, the nine doors of their apartment were locked outside with nine padlocks. It was impossible for them to get out, and yet each night something very extraordinary took place.
The satin slippers of the twelve Princesses, were literally worn out each morning. One might have thought that the daughters of the Emperor had danced all night. When they were questioned, they declared that they knew nothing, and could understand nothing about it. No one could explain this strange fact, for, notwithstanding the greatest watchfulness, not the least noise had ever been heard in the chamber of the Princesses, after they had retired to rest.
The Emperor, their father, was most perplexed, and determined, at any price, to penetrate this mystery. He had a trumpet sounded, and it was published throughout all the country, that if any one succeeded in finding out, by what means his daughters, the Princesses, wore out their slippers in a single night, he might choose from amongst them, his wife. At this news, a great number of Emperors' sons, and Kings' sons, presented themselves to explore this adventure. They hid themselves behind a great curtain in the chamber of the Princesses. But once there, no one ever heard any more of them, and they never re-appeared.
Our Jonica, who arrived just then at the Court of the Emperor, heard talk of all these matters, and succeeded in being taken into the service of one of the Imperial Gardeners, who) had been obliged to send away one of his best helps. His new master did not find him very intelligent, but he was convinced that his curling light hair and good looks, would make him acceptable to the Princesses.
Thus his daily duty, then, was each morning to present a bouquet to the daughters of the Emperor. Jonica posted himself at their door, at the hour of their awakening, and as each came forth, he presented her with a bouquet. They found the flowers very beautiful, but disdained to cast a look or smile on poor Jonica, who remained there more than ever, Gura Casca, open-mouthed.
Lina, alone, the youngest, the most graceful, and the prettiest of the Princesses, let fall by hazard on him, a look as soft as velvet. "Ah! my sisters," cried she, "how good looking our young gardener is!"
They burst into mocking laughter, and the eldest remarked to Lina, that it was unbecoming a Princess to lower her eyes to a valet. Nevertheless, Jonica intoxicated by the looks and the beauty of
Lina, thought of the promise of the Emperor, and it entered into his head to try and discover the mystery of the slippers. He did not mention it to any one though, for he was afraid that the Emperor might hear of it, be angry, and have him driven away from Court, as a punishment for his audacity.
IV.
While these thoughts were passing through his brain, Jonica dreamed again of the fairy with the sparkling robe. She held in her right hand two small laurel branches, one was as red as a cherry, and the other like a rose; in her left hand was a little golden spade, a watering can of the same metal, and a silken veil.
She gave all these to Jonica, saying, "Plant these two laurels in large boxes, turn over the earth with this spade, water them with this watering-can, and wipe them with this silken veil. When they have grown three feet high, say to each separately, "Beautiful laurels, with a golden spade I have dug you, with a golden watering-can I have watered you, and with a silken veil I have wiped you." "This said, you can ask anything you wish, and it will be accorded you." When Jonica awoke he found the two laurels and the other objects on the table, and fell on his knees to thank the good fairy. He at once began to carry out her instructions. The shrubs grew rapidly, and when they had attained the necessary height, he went to the cherry laurel, and said:
"Beautiful cherry laurel, with a golden spade I have dug you, with a golden can I have watered you, with a silken veil I have wiped you; grant me in exchange, the gift of becoming invisible whenever I desire." Immediately he saw grow out from the laurel, a beautiful white flower. He gathered it, placed it in his button-hole, and at once became invisible.
V.
When night arrived, the Princesses went up to their bedroom, and Jonica, bare-footed, so as to make no noise, glided up behind them, and hid himself underneath one of the twelve beds.
Then, instead of preparing themselves to go to bed, each of the Princesses opened a wardrobe, and took out their richest dresses and finest jewels. Each assisting the other, they dressed en grande toilette. Jonica could see nothing from his hiding place, but he heard them laugh, and dance with joy. The eldest, who seemed to have great authority over them, hurried them, and kept exclaiming: "Be quick, my sisters, our dancers are dying of impatience." At the end of an hour, the laughing and talking ceased. Jonica carefully put out his head, and saw that the Princesses were dressed like fairies. They wore quite new satin slippers, and held in their hands the bouquets which he had offered to them in the morning.
They placed themselves one behind the other, and the eldest who was at the head, struck three blows in a peculiar manner, on a certain part of the wall. A door quite invisible opened, and the Princesses disappeared.
Jonica followed them noiselessly, but by accident he placed his foot on the train of the Princess Lina. "There is some one behind me," she cried, "some one trod on my dress." The eldest turned round quickly, but seeing no one, exclaimed, "how foolish you are Lina, you must have caught it against a nail."
The twelve daughters of the Emperor, descended, and descended, and descended until they arrived at an underground passage, at the end of which was an iron door with a strong bolt.
The eldest opened this, and then they found themselves in an enchanted bower, where the leaves of the trees were in silver, and sparkled in the moonlight. They walked on until they came to a second bower, and here the trees had golden leaves; still on, and then a third bower, where the leaves were of emeralds and rubies and diamonds, and their rays were so bright that one might have thought it was full daylight. The princesses continued their walk, and (Jonica still following), arrived soon on the borders of a large lake.
On this lake were twelve boats, and in each boat one of the lost sons of an Emperor, who, oar in hand, each waited for a Princess. Jonica took his place in the boat of the Princess Lina. The boat, being more heavily laden, could not float so quickly as the others, and so was always behind. "I do not know," said Lina to her cavalier, "why we do not go so quickly as at other times, what can be the matter?"
"I do not understand it either," said the Emperor's son, "for I row with all my force."
On the other side of the lake the little gardener perceived a beautiful palace, illuminated a giorno, and heard harmonious sounds of violins, trumpets and cymbals. The Emperors' sons each having a Princess on his arm entered the palace, and after them came Jonica into a saloon lighted by ten lustres.
The walls were immense mirrors, in gold frames set with precious stones. On a centre table a massive golden vase contained an enormous bouquet of flowers which gave forth an exquisite perfume. Poor Jonica was literally dazed and petrified by the sight of so much splendour. When able to look at, and admire the Princesses in the midst of this dazzling light, he lost his wits completely, and looked so ardently with his eyes, that one would have thought that he wished to taste them also with his mouth. Some were fair, some were brown, and nearly all of them had let fall their beautiful hair down their pretty white shoulders. Never, even in his dreams, had the poor boy seen such enchanteresses.
But amongst them all, and above all, it was Lina, who seemed to him the most graceful, the most beautiful, thee most intoxicating, with her dark eyes and long-hair--the shade of a raven's wing. And with what fire she danced! leaning on the shoulder of her cavalier, Lina turned as light as a spindle. Her face was flushed, her eyes shone like two stars, and it was evident that dancing was her great delight.
Poor Jonica let fall envious looks on the Emperors' sons, and heartily regretted not to be on the same footing, so that he also might have had the right to be cavalier to such beautiful young creatures. All these dancers, to the number of fifty, were Emperors' sons who had tried to discover the secret of the Princesses.
These latter had enticed them to a midnight expedition, and had given them to drink at table, an enchanted beverage, which had frozen their blood, killed in them every sentiment of love, every remembrance, or worldly desire, leaving them only the ardent pleasure of the dance, in the bosom of this splendid palace, become henceforth their eternal habitation.
VI.
The Princesses danced until their white satin slippers were in holes, until the cock had crowed three times. Then the music ceased, black slaves arranged a princely table, which was instantaneously filled with the most succulent meats, and the rarest and most exquisite wines. Each one took his place, and ate and drank at his ease, excepting our poor Gusa Casca, who had to content himself with feasting his eyes alone. When the repast was over, the Princesses re-entered their boat, and Jonica who followed them step by step, arrived with them in the wood with the silver leaves.
There, to prove to himself, and to prove also to others, that what he had seen was no dream, Jonica broke off a branch of the tree with the beautiful leaves. The noise which he made, caused Lina to turn round. "What can that be?" said she to her sisters. "Probably," said the eldest, it is the rustling amongst the branches of some bird, that has its nest in one of the towers of the Palace." Jonica then got in advance of the Princesses, and mounted rapidly to their chamber, opened the window, and glided silently along the trellis which covered the wall, and began his daily work.
While preparing the flowers for the Princesses, he hid the branch of Silver Leaves in the bouquet destined for Lina.
Great was the astonishment of the young girl, who asked herself, in vain, how it was possible that the branch could have come there.
Without saying anything to her sisters, she went down into the garden, and there, under the shade of a large chestnut tree, she found the gardener. She had for the moment, a great mind to speak to him, but on reflection, thought it better to wait a little, and so passed on her way.
When evening arrived, the Princesses again returned to the Ball, Jonica followed them, and a second time entered Lina's boat. Again the Emperor's son complained of the labour required in rowing. "No doubt it is the heat which you feel," replied Lina. All passed as on the previous evening, but this time, on returning, Jonica broke off a branch of the Golden Leaves.
When the daily bouquets were distributed, the Princess Lina found, concealed in hers, the golden branch. Remaining a little behind her sisters, and showing the golden branch to Jonica, she asked, "From whence, hadst thou these leaves?"
"Your Highness knows quite well."
"So thou hast followed us?"
"Yes, Highness."
"And how didst thou manage that?"
"It is a secret."
"We did not see thee."
"I was invisible."
"At any rate, I see that thou hast penetrated the mystery. Speak of it to no one, and take this purse as the price of thy silence," and she throw to the poor boy, a purse of gold. "I do not sell my silence," said Jonica, with a haughtiness which astonished the Princess. "I know how to hold my tongue, without being paid for it." And he walked away, leaving the purse on the ground.
The three succeeding days, Lina neither saw nor heard anything particular, during their nocturnal excursions; but the fourth night, there was a distinct rustling in the wood of Diamond Leaves, and the next morning she found a Diamond Branch, hidden in her bouquet. Then she was fully convinced that the young gardener knew all their escapades, and calling him to her, she asked:
"Dost thou know the price, which the Emperor, our father, offers for the discovery of our secret?"
"I know it, Highness."
"Then why dost thou not go to him, and betray it?"
"I do not wish."
"Art thou afraid?"
"No, Highness."
"Then, why wilt thou not speak?"
Jonica looked up at her, his eyes full of expression, but did not reply.
VII.
While Lina was talking with the youth, her sisters were laughing at her, and when she came back they still went on with their ridicule, until she became quite red with anger.
"Thou canst marry him," said her sisters, "there is nothing to prevent; thou wilt be the gardener's wife, and thou wilt live in the cottage at the bottom of the garden. 'Thou canst help thy husband to draw the water from the fountain, and thou canst offer us our daily nosegays."
Lina became still more angry, and the weight of her anger fell on poor Jonica. When he again presented her with flowers, she took them with supreme indifference, and treated him with the greatest disdain. The poor fellow could not understand it, for he was always most respectful. He never dared to look her full in the face, and yet she felt he was present with her all day long. At length, she came to the resolution to confide to her sisters all that she knew.
"What!" cried they, "this stupid boy has learned our secret, and thou hast kept it from us! We must, at once, absolutely get rid of him."
"By what means?"
"Have him stabbed, and thrown into a cave."
This was the usual way by which troublesome people were disposed of.
But Lina would not hear of this, saying that the poor boy had committed no fault.
"If you touch a hair of his head," she said, "I will go and confess all to our father the Emperor."
To tranquilise Lina, it was decided to get Jonica to go again to the Ball, and to make him drink the enchanted beverage, which would put him in the same state as the other Cavaliers. So they called the young gardener to them, and the eldest sister asked him by what means he had discovered their secret? but he would give them no answer. Then they informed him of the decision which they had come to respecting him. He replied, that he accepted it, and that he would drink willingly the enchanted beverage, so as to become the Cavalier of her whom he loved.
On the day fixed, wishing to have as fine clothes, and to be able to make as handsome presents as the Emperors' sons, Jonica went to the rose laurel, and said "my beautiful laurel, I have dug you with a golden spade, I have watered you with a golden watering can, I have wiped you with a silken veil, grant that, in one moment, I may be as richly dressed as an Emperor's son."
Immediately he saw a beautiful flower expand, and gathering it, he was at once clad in velvet as dark and soft as Lina's eyes, a toque to match, with an agraffe of diamonds, and a flower in his buttonhole. From being tanned and brown, his complexion became fair and fresh as an infant's and his beauty was marvellous. Even his common, vulgar manner changed completely, and any one might have thought him really an Emperor's son.
Thus metamorphosed, he presented himself before the Emperor, to ask his authority to try in his turn, to unravel the secret of the Princesses. He was so changed that the Emperor did not recognize him.
When the Princesses went back to their bedroom, Jonica was waiting for them behind the door. After their usual excursion, Jonica gave his arm to the eldest Princess, and afterwards danced with each of the sisters successively, and with so much dignity and grace, that they were all enchanted. When it was Lina's turn, he was in raptures; but he did not address a single word to her. While conducting her to her place, the Princess said to him, jokingly, "Being treated like an Emperor's son, thou must be in blissful happiness." "Never fear, Princess," replied he, "you shall not be a gardener's wife." Lina looked at him, half frightened, but he walked away, without waiting for her answer.
When the Princesses had once more danced until their slippers were in holes, the music ceased, the black slaves prepared the table as usual, and Jonica was placed at the right hand of the eldest Princess, and facing Lina. He was served with the most delicate meats, the choicest wines; compliments and praises were showered on him, but he was neither intoxicated by their wines, nor by their flatteries. Presently the eldest Princess made a sign, and one of the slaves came forward bearing a massive golden cup.
"This enchanted Palace has no longer any secrets for thee," cried the Princess to Jonica, "Let us drink to your triumph!" The young man casting tender glance at Lina, raised the cup to his lips.
"Do not drink it," she cried impetuously, "do not drink it, I would rather be a gardener's wife," and she began to weep.
Jonica threw the enchanted beverage over his shoulder, cleared the table, and fell on his knees at the feet of the Princess Lina. All the other Emperors' sons fell each at the feet of their respective Princesses, who choosing them for their husbands, held out their hands and raised them from the ground.
The charm was broken!
The twelve couples crossed the lake in boats, traversed the forests, passed through the cellar, and arrived at the Emperor's chamber. Jonica, with the golden cup in his hand, explained to him the mystery of the worn-out slippers. "God give thee life, young man," said the Emperor, "take thy choice from amongst my daughters."
"My choice has been made for a long time," said he, taking by the hand the Princess Lina, who blushed and could not look up.
IX.
The Princess Lina did not become a gardener's wife, for Jonica became a Prince. Before their marriage took place, Lina enquired of him, how he had discovered their secret. Jonica showed her the two laurels. Lina, like an intelligent woman, thought that Jonica would have too great an advantage over her, if he enjoyed the power which was given to him by possessing these shrubs, so she tore the laurels up by their roots and flung them into the fire.
A short time afterwards, the marriage took place with imperial splendour. It was followed by festivities which lasted three days and three nights, and the young people lived very happily together, to a good old age.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Source: Roumanian Fairy Tales and Legends,
originally published 1881
http://www.abelapublishing.com/roumanian.html
KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN
A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH
(a story from Ireland)
WHO has not read of St. Kevin, celebrated as he has been by Moore in the melodies of his native land, with whose wild and impassioned music he has so intimately entwined his name? Through him, in the beautiful ballad whence the epigraph of this story is quoted, the world already knows that the skylark, through the intervention of the saint, never startles the morning with its joyous note in the lonely valley of Glendalough. In the same ballad, the unhappy passion which the saint inspired, and the "unholy blue" eyes of Kathleen, and the melancholy fate of the heroine by the saint's being "unused to the melting mood," are also celebrated; as well as the superstitious, finale of the legend, in the spectral appearance of the love-lorn maiden:
"And
her ghost was seen to glide
Gently o'er the fatal tide."
Thus has Moore given, within the limits of a ballad, the spirit of two legends of Glendalough, which otherwise the reader might have been put to the trouble of reaching after a more roundabout fashion. But luckily for those coming after him, one legend he has left to be
"--touched by a hand more unworthy--"
and instead of a lyrical essence, the raw material in prose is offered, nearly verbatim, as it was furnished to me by that celebrated guide and bore, Joe Irwin, who traces his descent In a direct line from the old Irish kings, and warns the public In general that "there's a power of them spalpeens sthravaigin' about, sthrivin' to put their comether upon the quol'ty (quality), and callin' themselves Irwin (knowin', the thieves o' the world, how his name had gone far and near, as the rale guide), for to deceave dacent people; but never for to b'lieve the likes--for it was only mulvatherin people they wor." For my part, I promised never to put faith in any but himself; and the old rogue's self-love being satisfied, we set out to explore the wonders of Glendalough. On arriving at a small ruin, situated on the south-eastern side of the lake, my guide assumed an air of importance, and led me into the ivy-covered remains, through a small square doorway, whose simple structure gave evidence of its early date: a lintel of stone lay across two upright supporters, after the fashion of such remains in Ireland.
"This, sir," said my guide, putting himself in an attitude, "is the chapel of King O'Toole--av coorse y'iv often heard o' King O'Toole, your honour?"
"Never," said I.
"Musha, thin, do you tell me so?" said be. "By gor, I thought all the world, far and near, heerd o' King O'Toole! Well, well!--but the darkness of mankind is ontellible. Well, sir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that ownded the Churches in the airly days."
"Surely," said I, "the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time?"
"Oh, by no manes, your honour--throth, it's yourself that's right enough there; but you know the place is called 'The Churches,' bekase they wor built afther by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver more; and therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that the king ownded the Churches--and why not, sir, seein' 'twas his birthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the king, you see, was the right sort--he was the rale boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun, up he got, and away be wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer. And the fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin--aye, throth, far plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the king, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast.
"In this counthry, air," added he, speaking parenthetically in an undertone, "we think it onlooky to kill the redbreast, or the robin is God's own bird."
Then, elevating his voice to its former pitch, he proceeded:
"Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health; but, you see, in coorse o' time, the king grewn ould, by raison he was stiff in his limbs, and when he got athriken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a-huntln' no longer; and, by dad, the poor king' was obleeged at last for to get a goose to divart him."
Here an involuntary smile was produced by this regal mode of recreation, "the royal game of goose."
"Oh, you may laugh if you like," said he, half-affronted, "but it's thruth I'm tellin' you; and the way the goose diverted him was this-a-way: you see, the goose used for to swim acrass the lake, and go down divin' for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland, than the same throut), and cotch fish on a Friday for the king, and flew every other day round about the lake divartin' the poor king, that you'd think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his goose; so in coorse o' time the goose was the greatest pet in the counthry, and the biggest rogue, and diverted the king to no end, and the poor king was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it was; and all went on mighty well, antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken in years, as well as the king, and grewn stiff in the limbs, like her masther, and couldn't divert him no longer; and then it was that the poor king was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to do, seein' he was done out of all divarshin, by raison that the goose was no more in the flower of her blame.
"Well, the king was nigh-hand broken-hearted, and melancholy intirely, and, was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself that could get no divarshin in life, when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.
"'God save you,' says the king (for the king was a civil-spoken gintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you, 'says he to the young man.
"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save you,' says he, 'King O'Toole.'
"'Thrue for you,' says the king, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince and plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to know that?' says he.
." 'Oh, never mind,' says Saint Kavin.
"For you see," said Old Joe, in his undertone again, and looking very knowingly, "it was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint himself in disguise, and nobody else. 'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more than that," says be, 'nor twice that.'
"'And who are you?' said the king, 'that makes so bowld--who are you, at all at all?'
"Oh, never you mind,' says Saint Kavin, 'who I am; you'll know more o' me before we part, King O'Toole,' says he.
"'I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your acqaintance, sir,' says the king mighty p'lite.
"'Troth, you may say that,' says Saint Kavin. 'And now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.
"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the king.
"'Oh, no matther; I was given to undherstand It,' says Saint Kavin.
"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the king; 'bekase myself and my goose is private frinds,' says he, 'and no one could tell you,' says he 'barrin' the fairies.'
"'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you to know,' says he, "that I don't keep the likes o' sitch company.'
"You might do worse then, my good fellow,' says the king; 'for it's they could show you a crock o' money as alay as kiss hand; and that's not to be sneezed at,' says the king, 'by a poor man,' says be.
"'Maybe I've a better way of making money myself' says the saint.
"'By gor,' says the king, 'barrin' you're a coiner," says he, 'that's impossible!'
"I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high, 'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.
"'Then, what are you,' says the king 'that makes money so aisy, by your own account? '
"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.
"'Well, honest man,' says the king, 'and how is it you make your money so aisy?'
"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.
"'Blur-an-ouns, is it a tinker you are?' says the king.
"'No,' say. the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a betther thade than a tinker,' says he--' what would you say,' says he, 'if I made your old goose as good as new?'
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