Chapter II: One day the hare said suddenly, (2)

And immediately the stick was in motion and beat the inn-keeper and his wife and the stable-boy with all its might. All their efforts to stop it were useless, and in vain they tried to hide themselves under the table and other things; the stick reached them everywhere, and Jean laughed and made a joke of it. “Pity! Mercy!” they cried to him, and he said to them,--

“That will teach you to steal mules and napkins!”

“Pity! We will give them all back to you! You will kill us!”

“Enough!” cried Jean, at the end of half an hour of this exercise; and the stick stopped striking, and Jean returned to his home with his mule, napkin, and stick. If he has been wise enough to keep them, he has nothing to complain of. For my part I have heard nothing of him since that time.

Told by Barbe Tassel, of Plouaret (Côtes-du-Nord).

F. M. LUZEL.

THE BAKER’S THREE DAUGHTERS

OR,

THE DANCING WATER, THE SINGING APPLE, AND THE BIRD OF TRUTH

There was once an old baker who was a widower with three daughters. One evening after supper they sat before the fire talking about their loves. “Whom do you love, oldest sister?” asked the youngest.

“The king’s gardener,” she replied.

“And you?” she asked of the second sister.

“The king’s waiting-man.”

“Very well; as for me, I love the king’s son.”

“The king’s son! you are joking!” cried the other two.

“Certainly not, and I tell you, moreover, that we shall have three children, the king’s son and I, two boys, each with a gold star on his forehead, and a daughter with a silver star.”

The father, who had gone to bed, and who overheard the conversation of his daughters, said to them then,--

“What sort of talk is this? You must be crazy! go to bed at once.”

So the three girls went to bed.

The king’s son was taking a walk that evening through the village, accompanied by his waiting-man and his gardener. A shower came up, and they went under the baker’s shed for shelter and overheard the conversation of the three girls. The prince took down the name of the baker, which was on his sign, and the next morning he sent to ask the oldest daughter to come to the palace to speak to him.

“Do you remember,” said he to her, “what you said yesterday evening, beside your fire, in your father’s house?” The young girl was very much surprised and frightened. “Do not be afraid, my girl,” said he, “speak boldly, for I have heard all; do you remember what you said?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“And you would be willing to marry my gardener?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Very well; go home and tell your second sister to come and talk with me.”

When the latter came to the palace, the prince asked of her, as he had done of her elder sister,--

“Do you remember what you said yesterday evening, beside your fire in your father’s house?”

“Yes, sire, certainly,” she replied.

“And you would be willing to take my waiting-man for your husband?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Very well; go home and tell your youngest sister to come also and talk with me.”

The latter came also in her turn, and the prince asked of her, as of the other two, “Do you remember what you said yesterday evening, by the fireside, in your father’s house?”

“I remember, sire,” she replied.

“And you would be willing to marry me?”

“Yes, with all my heart.”

“And you would have three children, as you said, two boys, each with a gold star on his forehead, and a daughter with a silver star?”

“Yes, as truly as I have said it, sire.”

“Very well; then you shall be my wife. Now go home and tell your father to come and talk with me.”

The young girl went home, very happy, and told her father to go to the palace and talk with the king’s son.

“Why?” asked the old man; “I told you so; your foolish talk has come to the prince’s ears, and now he has doubtless sent for me to punish me.”

“No, no, my father; go and fear nothing,” said his daughter.

The old baker went to the palace, sad and sighing, as if he were going to his death. But when he heard the son of the king ask his three daughters in marriage, one for his gardener, one for his waiting-man, and the third for himself, he was as joyful and happy as before he had been anxious and afraid.

The three weddings were celebrated at once, and for a whole month there were feasts every day, dances, and all sorts of amusements.

The gardener and the waiting-man went to live in the city with their wives, and the young prince remained with his, in his father’s palace. The other two were jealous of the youngest sister because she was a princess, and they tried every day to find some means to destroy her. At last they consulted an old fairy. She told them that when the princess’ baby was born they must bribe the old nurse to put a little dog in the cradle instead of the baby and send the baby out on the river. Then they recommended a nurse to their sister, who, they said, was the best in the kingdom. The princess asked to see her and welcomed her kindly. The baby that was born was a magnificent child, with a gold star in the middle of his forehead. The nurse gave the poor little creature to a man who was waiting at the door, to take it and leave it on the shore of the Seine, which they tell me flows by Paris. Then she put in his place in the cradle, a little dog that she had brought with her. When the prince asked to see his child they showed him the little dog.

“Ah! ah! what is this that you are showing me?” he cried.

“Alas! my prince,” replied the perfidious nurse, “God does all as it pleases Him!”

“Ah! misery for me! But it is useless to complain, since it is the will of God. Take care always of this poor creature.”

The husband of the baker’s oldest daughter, the king’s gardener, had a beautiful garden on the shore of the river, and as he was walking in it one day, he saw a basket which was floating on the water. He jumped into his boat, caught the basket, and was very much astonished to find in it a beautiful child with a gold star in the middle of his forehead. “God be praised,” said he, “who sends me such a lovely child, for I have none of my own.” And he carried it to his wife, who received it with great joy, and took as much pleasure in caring for it as if it had been her own child.

A year after, a second son was born to the princess, having also a gold star in his forehead like the first. The perfidious nurse substituted a little dog for him also, and the poor baby was put out on the water in a basket as his brother had been.

The king (the prince had become king, his father having died) asked to see the new-born son.

“Alas! another dog!” cried he, as soon as he saw it, and he turned away his head and wept. “But since it is the will of God,” he added, “what God does is well done.”

The gardener, who was fishing with hook and line in his garden, saw a basket floating down the river. He caught it and hastened to carry to his wife the beautiful child he found in it. The latter received it joyfully, saying,--

“How delightful! Now we each have one, my husband and I!”

They chose a godfather and godmother, and the child was baptized.

A third child was born to the princess, and this time it was a little girl, with a silver star in the middle of her forehead. The perfidious nurse put a little dog in her place, too, and the poor thing was exposed as her brothers had been. This time the king began to swear and storm like one beside himself, when they showed him another little dog.

“They will call me,” said he, “the father of dogs! and not without reason. But all this does not come from God; there is some mystery at the bottom of it.” And he had the queen shut up in a tower, with only bread and water for food, and a little book to read.

The gardener found another child floating on the water, and picked it up and carried it home, as he had done the others.

“Enough children like that,” said his wife, seeing him come in with the basket. “How is it that you find so many children?”

“Very well, wife, do not worry; be quiet. I will carry the child back where I found it on the water; but it is a great pity; such a pretty little girl!”

“It is a girl, do you say? Show her to me. Oh! the pretty little angel, with a silver star in the middle of her forehead. We will keep her, husband; we have sufficient means, and since God has given us no children of our own, we will take these instead.”

Meanwhile the poor queen was in her tower, weeping and moaning night and day, and no one came to see her. Her two sisters were happy with their husbands.

By and by the gardener and his wife died. The king had their three children brought to his palace, and as they were handsome children, and well brought up, they pleased him very much. Every Sunday they were seen in his pew at church,--at high mass,--having each a bandage round his forehead to hide his star. Every one was astonished to see these bandages, and asked, “What does it mean?”

One day, when the king was out hunting, an old woman came to the kitchen of the palace, and said, “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! how cold I am!” And she trembled and her teeth chattered.

“Come near the fire, grandmother,” said the young girl with the silver star, who happened to be there.

“Blessings on you, my child. Ah! how beautiful you are! Ah! if you had the dancing water, the singing apple, and the bird of truth, you would not have your equal on the earth!”

“Yes, grandmother; but how can I get these marvelous things?”

“You have two brothers here who can get them for you.”

Then she went away without saying anything more.

From that moment the young girl could think of nothing but the words of the old woman; she dreamed only of the dancing water, the singing apple, and the bird of truth, and she was very sad.

“Why are you so sad?” asked her brothers.

“There is nothing the matter,” she replied.

“Yes, there is something the matter, and you must tell us what it is.”

“An old woman came to warm herself in the kitchen, and she said to me, ‘My child, if you had the dancing water, the singing apple, and the bird of truth, you would not have your equal on the earth!’ And since then I am always dreaming of the dancing water, the singing apple, and the bird of truth. But how can I ever procure such marvelous things?”

“My little sister, I will find them for you if they are anywhere on this earth,” said the elder brother.

“How can you do it, my poor brother?”

“Leave it to me, and do not be worried. See! here is a dagger, which I give you; draw it from the scabbard several times a day for a whole year and a day; as long as you can draw it out, no harm will have happened to me; but when you cannot pull it out, alas! I shall be dead!”

Then he bade farewell to his sister and brother, and departed.

His sister often drew the dagger-blade from the scabbard, and it came out easily. But alas! one day she could not draw it out, although she tried her best. Then she began to cry.

“What is the matter, my dear little sister?” said her younger brother.

“Alas! poor brother, our older brother is dead!” And they both began to cry.

“I must go and look for him.”

“Oh, no! do not go, my brother; stay here with me.”

“No, I must go, and I never will stop walking till I have found my brother. Here! I give you this necklace; slip the beads around constantly; when you come to one that will not move, then I also shall be dead.” Then he said good-by to his sister and went away.

She, left all alone, was very sad and full of care. She constantly slipped the beads on her necklace around and she saw with pleasure that they moved easily. But alas! one day there was one that would not move.

“My God!” she cried, “my second brother is dead, also! What shall I do now? I must go and seek for them, and I will never stop traveling until I have found them, dead or alive.”

She bought a horse, dressed herself as a cavalier, and set out, without saying anything to any one. She continued to go on and on till she reached a great plain.

There she saw in an old hollow tree a little old man with a long white beard.

“Good morning, daughter of the king of France!” said the little old man with the white beard.

“Good morning, grandfather; but you surely take me for some one else, for I am not the daughter of the king of France.”

“No, no, I am not mistaken, for I know you well.”

“But, grandfather, is not that long beard very much in your way?”

“It is, indeed, my child; I have worn it for five hundred years, and it has been very much in my way, I assure you.”

“If you wish it, I will cut it off.”

“Oh, yes, do!”

She took her scissors out of her pocket and cut off the old man’s beard.

“My blessing on you, daughter of the king of France,” said he, “for you have delivered me! A great many people have passed by here, during these five hundred years, and no one has had pity on me but you, and you shall never have reason to regret it. I know where you are going; you are going to look for your two brothers. Listen to me well, and do exactly what I tell you. Sixty miles from here you will find an inn by the roadside. Alight there, eat, drink, and then leave your horse there and say you will pay when you return. Soon after you leave this house, you will come to a high mountain. You will have much difficulty in climbing this mountain, and it will even be necessary sometimes to get down on your hands and feet. A tremendous wind will soon rise; hail, snow, ice, and a bitter cold will assail you; but take care and do not lose courage, and continue to climb up as before. On each side of the way you will see a great number of stone pillars. These are so many persons, who, like you, have attempted to climb this mountain, but have lost courage, and have been changed into pillars of stone. When you reach the top, you will see a plain with a turf dotted with flowers, as if in the month of May. Then you will see a golden seat under an apple-tree. Sit down on this seat and pretend to be asleep, and you will see a blackbird hop down the apple-tree from branch to branch, and go into a cage which is under the tree. Then shut the cage quickly, for it is the Bird of Truth. Then cut a branch of the apple-tree with an apple on it; that will be the Singing Apple. And finally, draw a phial full of water from the fountain under the tree, for that is the fountain of the Dancing Water. Then you can come away. As you descend the mountain, drop a drop of water from your phial on each pillar of stone, and out of each pillar will rise a knight. Your two brothers will rise also, like the others.”

The young girl thanked the little old man and continued her journey. She did just exactly what she had been told. She ate and drank at the inn, left her horse there, and began to climb the mountain. But the cold became so intense that her limbs were almost frozen, and she came near stopping and being changed to stone like the others. However, at last she reached the top of the mountain. There the sky was clear, and the air mild, as in the middle of summer. She seated herself on the golden seat, under the apple-tree, and pretended to be asleep. The blackbird hopped down the tree, from branch to branch, and went into the cage. Then she got up at once and shut the cage; and the blackbird, seeing himself caught, said,--

“You have caught me, daughter of the king of France! Many others, before you, have tried to catch me, but none have succeeded. But you have been guided by some one.”

Then she cut a branch of the apple-tree with an apple on it, filled her phial with water from the fountain, and departed. As she went down the mountain, she dropped a drop of water on each pillar of stone, and out of them came princes, dukes, barons, and knights; her two brothers arose also, the last two; but they did not recognize their sister; and all crowded around her, some saying, “Give me the Dancing Water, young knight”; and others,--“Give me the Singing Apple”; and others,--“Give me the Bird of Truth.”

But she went quickly away, taking with her the water, the apple, and the bird. As she passed the inn where she had left her horse, she paid her reckoning, then turned quickly homeward and arrived there a long time before her brothers. When the latter arrived, they embraced their sister.

“Ah! my poor brothers,” said she to them, “how anxious I have been about you. How long your journey has been! But God be praised, since I have you back again!”

“Alas! yes, my poor sister, we were gone a long time, and we have done no good by it; it is only by chance that we returned at all.”

“Why, have you not brought me the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth?”

“Alas! no, poor sister; a young knight whom we did not know took them away. Ah! what a handsome knight! We wish you could have seen him.”

The old king, who had no children (as he thought) loved his sister-in-law’s children, and was glad to see them back again. He ordered a great feast, to which he invited many people, princes, dukes, marquises, barons, and generals. When the supper was nearly over the young girl placed on the table the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth, and told each of them to do his duty. And immediately the water began to dance, the apple to sing, and the bird to fly over the table. And all the people, in ecstacy, mouths and eyes open, looked and listened at these wonders. They had never seen nor heard anything like it.

“Whose are these wonderful things?” asked the king, when he could speak.

“Mine, sire,” said the young girl.

“And what are they?”

“The Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth.”

“And from whom did you get them?”

“I went, myself, to seek for them.”

Then the two brothers knew that it was their sister who had delivered them. As for the king, he was almost beside himself with joy and admiration.

“My crown and my kingdom,” he said, “for your wonderful things; and you--you shall be queen.”

“Wait a moment, sire, till you have heard my bird speak; the Bird of Truth, for he has important matters to reveal to you. Now, my little bird, tell the truth.”

“I will indeed,” said the bird, “but let no one go out of the room.”

So they shut the doors. The wicked old nurse, and one of the king’s sisters-in-law were there, and they were not at all comfortable when they heard these words.

“Come, my bird, tell the truth now.” And this is what the bird said,--

“It is twenty years now, sire, since your wife was shut up in the tower, abandoned by every one, and you have long believed her to be dead. But she is not dead; no harm has happened to her, for she was unjustly accused and cast into a dreary prison.”

Just here the nurse and the king’s sisters-in-law said they felt sick and wanted to go out.

“No one shall go out yet,” said the king; “go on telling the truth, little bird.”

“You have had two sons and a daughter, sire,” continued the bird, “all three children of your wife, and here they are! Take off their bandages, and you will see that each has a star in his forehead.”

The bandages were taken off, and they saw that each of the two young men had a gold star on his forehead and the young girl had a silver star.

“The authors of all this wickedness,” continued the bird, “are your two sisters-in-law and the nurse, that sorceress of the devil. They made you believe that your wife gave birth to dogs, and your poor children were sent, as soon as they were born, to float on the waters of the Seine. When the nurse learned that the children had been saved, and were being brought up in your palace, she sought for other means of destroying them. She went into the palace, one day, disguised as a beggar, ready to die of cold and hunger, and inspired the princess with a desire to possess the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth. Her two brothers went, one after the other, to seek them for her, and the sorceress knew very well that they would never return. And they never would have returned, alas! if their sister had not succeeded, after much trouble, in delivering them, and bringing away the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Bird of Truth.”

The king fainted on hearing all this. When he came to himself, he went himself to seek his queen in the tower, and returned to the festive hall, leading her by the hand. She had not changed at all; she was beautiful and gracious as ever. She ate and drank a little, then died suddenly in her chair. The king, wild with grief and anger, ordered that a furnace should be heated immediately and his sisters-in-law and the old nurse thrown into it. It was done.

I do not know anything more of the princess and her two brothers. I think they were all happily married. And as for the bird, it is not told whether he continued always to tell the truth, but I presume that he did, as he was not a man.

Told by Barbe Tassel, written down and translated into French by F. M. Luzel. Plouaret, December, 1858.

YOU MUST NOT WORK ON SUNDAY

A STORY OF THE DISTRICT OF AMIENS

There was once upon a time a woodcutter and his wife who had an invalid daughter; they had made all the pilgrimages in the neighborhood in vain, and had become entirely discouraged. But it happened one evening that Mathias (that was the woodcutter’s name), being belated in the forest, came upon a noisy company of dwarfs, who insisted upon his dancing with them. The dwarfs were singing,--

“The day is for working,
The day is for working;”

and they did not know how to sing anything else. Mathias said to them,--“Your song has but little variety; it would be well to add something to it.” “Add! add!” cried the dwarfs. And when they began to sing again,--

“The day is for working,”

the woodcutter added,--

“And the night is for resting.”

Then there was a great commotion; a little old man, mounted on a colt, appeared in the midst of the assembly; when silence was re-established he addressed these words to the woodcutter,--

“You shall be rewarded for having added something to our song; I will give you the choice between riches for yourself, and beauty, with health, for your daughter.”

Mathias did not hesitate; he preferred the happiness of his child to riches; and when he returned to his house, he found that she was in good health and had become marvelously beautiful. This adventure caused much stir in the country, and the baker’s wife, who had also an invalid daughter, after having heard from the woodcutter, in detail, all that had happened to him, resolved to go and find the dwarfs in the forest. The latter seized her quickly by the petticoats and dragged her round and round in their circle. After awhile, the dwarfs, seeing her out of breath, gave her a moment to recover.

“It is my opinion, my joyous companions,” said she to them, “that your song is too short.”

“Cheerly, woman, cheerly! Round we go!” shouted the dwarfs as they again began their dance, singing,--

“The day is for working,
And the night is for resting.”

The baker’s wife added,--

“All the whole year long.”

She was going to go on, but moved her lips in vain; she could not speak another word. At this moment, the ground opened, and out of the opening came a young girl mounted on a goat.

“Choose,” said she, “between riches for yourself, and beauty, with health, for your daughter.”

The baker’s wife was very avaricious; she chose riches, and when she returned to her house she found her daughter dying. She became envious of the happiness of the woodcutter, and as he owed her some money, she threatened to sell his hut and all that he possessed.

In order to pay their debts, the woodcutter, his wife, and daughter, went to work earnestly together in the forest. While Mathias cut the wood, his wife and daughter made fagots of the twigs.

One Sunday our woodcutter left his wife and daughter at home and went to work in the wood; but he was so overcome by fatigue that he fell asleep; when he awoke he found himself surrounded by the company of dwarfs who were singing,--

“The day is for working,
And the night is for resting.
All the whole year long.”

Mathias, who had been forced against his will to join in the dance, cried out for spite,--

“Save Sunday alone,
Which God kept for his own.”

At this moment the forest became illuminated; the little old man on the colt appeared, followed by an immense crowd of dwarfs, and said to the woodcutter, “By finishing our couplet you have broken the charm which forced us to impose such hard tests on mankind; for your reward we give you all our riches.” Each dwarf then came and placed a large sack at Mathias’ feet. He gathered up as many of them as he could and returned triumphantly to his house. But when he opened them he saw that they contained only dry leaves!

“The dwarfs have mocked thee,” said his wife; “I shall sprinkle the sacks with holy water, for one must purify what comes from the evil one.”

No sooner said than done; but what was her astonishment to see the dry leaves change into bright gold crowns!

The baker’s wife was paid immediately; she died of vexation a few days after; the woodcutter and his wife lived ever after rich and happy.

Told in the Picard dialect by Fernand Delaunoy, aged 51 years, at Warloy-Baillon (Somme).

HENRI CARNOY.

DESTINY

There was once a rich woman whose son was born when the moon was hung (suspended from a cloud by one horn). As the child grew, the mother, who knew he would be hung as soon as he was eighteen years old, became sadder day by day, and could not look at him without sighing and shedding tears. Seeing this, he wished to know the cause, and one day he asked her,--

“Why do you weep so much, mother?”

“Never mind, my child; do not trouble yourself about it.”

But he insisted so much, that at last his mother said to him,--

“Alas! my poor child, you were born under a very unfortunate star. A monk told me, the moment you came into the world, that you would be hung at the age of eighteen because the moon was hung at the same moment.”

“Pshaw! mother,” replied the child; “do not believe that; and,” he added, “I will leave the country; I will go far away, and if it is the will of God that what the monk told you should happen to me, at least you will not have to blush for me.”

So he left his country and went far, far away. He came to a beautiful castle and asked if they needed a servant there. He was taken as assistant gardener. Day and night he prayed to God to avert his evil fate. As he was a handsome young fellow, the young lady of the castle, who saw him as she was walking in the garden, fell in love with him. She passed most of her time in the garden, watching him work and talking with him. At last she made known her feelings to him.

“I do not deserve such honor, my lady,” said the young man; “and moreover, for another reason this cannot be. If you knew how sad my destiny is!”

Then he told the young lady the monk’s prediction. But she only laughed at it. Her love increased every day. She decided at last to tell her father about it. The old lord got very angry. “What,” said he, “do you wish to dishonor me? Marry a gardener, an adventurer? No one knows where he comes from, or who he is!”

But the young lady was so persistent, that the old lord, who had no child but her, and who could refuse her nothing, finally yielded, and there was a grand wedding, with holidays, plays, and rejoicings of every sort.

The first night after the wedding, the young husband went to sleep early. The new wife did not sleep at all. Towards midnight she was amazed to see her chamber suddenly illuminated. Then the window opened and she saw some men with horrible faces come in, who put up a gallows in the middle of the room. When their task was finished, they went straight to the bed and took the newly married man,--who was still asleep,--passed a rope around his neck, and fastened him to the gibbet. One of the executioners rested his feet on his shoulders;--then, after a little while they unfastened him from the gallows, put him back in his bed, and then went away through the window.

The young woman saw all this, pale and horror-stricken,--she could neither move nor speak a single word. Her husband was lying by her side, motionless, cold as ice, and with the marks of the rope around his neck.

Suddenly he awoke with a start, and cried out,--

“Oh! how my body is bruised! and how sore my throat is!”

Then his wife threw her arms around him and covered him with kisses, exclaiming,--

“Oh! thank heaven, you are not really dead!”

“No, indeed, I am not dead, but I am so tired!”

“I thought you were dead. They hung you there, right before my eyes, in the middle of the room!”

“Really? ah! God be praised! for my destiny is then accomplished and I am released from my terrible fate. A monk told my mother that I should be hung at the age of eighteen,--and I am eighteen years old this very night!”

They lived together a long time, happy and fearing God, and had many children.

Told by Marguerite Philippe, of Pluzunet (Côtes-du-Nord).

F. M. LUZEL.

THE LITTLE ANT THAT WAS GOING TO JERUSALEM, AND THE SNOW

There was once a little ant that was going to Jerusalem.

She met the snow and the snow cracked the paw of the little ant that was going to Jerusalem.

“Oh! snow, how strong you are, to crack the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the snow replied, “The sun that melts me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! sun, how strong you are, to melt the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the sun replied, “The cloud that hides me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! cloud, how strong you are, to hide the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the cloud replied, “The wind that drives me away is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! wind, how strong you are, to drive away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the wind replied, “The mountain that stops me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! mountain, how strong you are, to stop the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the mountain replied, “The mouse that bores through me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! mouse, how strong you are, to bore through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the mouse replied, “The cat that eats me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! cat, how strong you are, to eat the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the cat replied, “The dog that chases me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! dog, how strong you are, to chase the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the dog replied, “The stick that beats me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! stick, how strong you are, to beat the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the stick replied, “The fire that burns me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! fire, how strong you are, to burn the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the fire replied, “The water that puts me out is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! water, how strong you are, to put out the fire, that burns the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the water replied, “The cow that drinks me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! cow, how strong you are, to drink the water, that puts out the fire, that burns the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the cow replied, “The man who kills me is a great deal stronger.”

“Oh! man, how strong you are, to kill the cow, that drinks the water, that puts out the fire, that burns the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

And the man replied, “God is much stronger, who can kill the man, that killed the cow, that drinks the water, that puts out the fire, that burns the stick, that beats the dog, that chases the cat, that eats the mouse, that bores through the mountain, that stops the wind, that drives away the cloud, that hides the sun, that melts the snow, that cracks the paw of the little ant that is going to Jerusalem!”

Told in 1876, by M. G. de la Landelle, the maritime novelist, who had learned it in his childhood, at Montpellier.

F. M. LUZEL.

THE MOST POWERFUL HUSBAND IN THE WORLD

AN ARABIAN STORY

It is said that a monk, whose prayers were always answered, was one day seated on the seashore, when he saw a kite fly holding in one of its claws a little mouse, which escaped and fell on the monk. Touched with compassion for the mouse, he took it, wrapped it up in a leaf, and carried it home with him.

Fearing that his people would not be very eager to care for it, he prayed his Lord to change it into a young girl; and immediately it became a young girl gifted with great beauty. The monk led her to his wife, and said to the latter,--

“Here is a girl who belongs to me, and I desire that you shall treat her as my own child.”

When she had come to the age of womanhood, the monk said to her,--

“My dear daughter, you are quite grown up, and you absolutely must have a husband; choose then, one to suit yourself, so that I may unite you to him.”

“Since you leave me free to choose,” she replied, “I wish for my husband, he who is the most powerful in the world.”

“Perhaps you would like the sun?” said he; and he went to find the sun, and said to it,--

“O! thou who art so essentially great, I have a daughter who desires to have for a husband he who is the most powerful in the world; would you be willing to marry her?”

“I will show you some one who is more powerful than I,” said the sun; “it is the cloud which obscures me, and makes my rays pale and tarnishes the splendor of my fires.”

The monk went to the cloud and repeated to him the sun’s words.

“And I,” said the cloud, “I will show you some one more powerful than I; go find the wind which makes me come and go, which drives me from east to west.”

The monk went to find the wind, and said to him the same things which he had said to the cloud; but the wind said to him also,--

“I will show you some one more powerful than I; it is the mountain that I cannot move.”

Then the monk went to speak to the mountain, which made him this reply,--

“I will show you some one more powerful than I; it is the rat, against which I cannot defend myself, when he bores into me and makes his home in me.”

At last the monk went and said to the rat,--

“Do you wish to marry my young daughter?”

“And how could I do so?” cried the rat. “My hole is narrow, and a rat only marries a mouse.”

The monk then prayed his Lord to change the young girl into a mouse, as she was before, and this to the entire contentment of the young girl. Immediately she resumed her original shape, and she ran away with the rat.

THE NINE BROTHERS, WHO WERE CHANGED TO SHEEP, AND THEIR SISTER

A BRETON STORY

There were once nine brothers and their sister, who were left orphans. They were rich also, and lived in an old castle in the midst of a forest. The sister, whose name was Lévénez, who was the oldest of the ten children, undertook the direction of the house, when the old lord died, and her brothers consulted and obeyed her in everything, as if she had been their mother. They often went hunting in the woods, which were full of all sorts of game. One day, following a roe, they came to a hut built of branches of trees, wattled together with clods of dirt. It was the first time they had seen it. Curious to know who could live in it, they entered under pretence of asking for some water to quench their thirst. They saw only an old woman with teeth as long as one’s arm, and whose tongue went nine times round her body. Frightened at this sight, they were about to run away, when the old woman said to them,--

“What do you want, my children? Come in, and do not be so frightened; I love children very much, especially when they are good and gentle like you.”

“We should like a little water, if you please, grandmother,” said the oldest, whose name was Goulven.

“Certainly, my children; I will give you some fresh, clear water, which I drew this morning, from my fountain. But come in, and do not be afraid, my poor dears.”

And the old woman gave them some water in a wooden porringer, and while they drank it, she caressed them, stroking the soft curls of their blond hair, and when they were ready to go, she said to them, “Now, my children, you must pay me for the little service I have rendered you.”

“We have no money with us, grandmother,” replied the children, “but we will ask our sister for some, and bring it to you to-morrow.”

“Oh! it is not money I want, my friends; but one of you,--the oldest, perhaps, for the others are still very young,--must take me for his wife.”

And turning to Goulven,--

“Will you, Goulven, take me to be your wife?”

The poor boy could not reply at once, the request seemed so strange to him.

“Come, answer, will you have me for your little wife?” asked the horrible old woman again, embracing him.

“I do not know,” said Goulven, confounded; “I will ask my sister.”

“Very well; to-morrow morning I will come myself to the castle, for your answer.”

The poor children returned to the house, sad and trembling, and hastened to tell their sister all that had happened.

“Shall I be obliged to marry that horrible old woman, sister?” asked Goulven, weeping.

“No, my brother, you shall not marry her,” replied Lévénez; “I know that we shall all have to suffer for it, but we will endure whatever comes to us, and we will never abandon you.”

The next day, the sorceress came to the castle as she had promised. She found Lévénez and her brothers in the garden.

“You know, doubtless, why I have come,” said she to Lévénez.

“Yes; my brother has told me everything,” said the young girl.

“And you are very willing that I should become your sister-in-law?”

“No; that cannot be.”

“Why not? Perhaps you do not know who I am, and what I can do.”

“I know that you can do a great deal of harm to my brothers and me; but you cannot force me to consent to what you ask.”

“Think well of it, and repent quickly of this foolish resolution, while there is yet time, or misery to you!” cried the sorceress, furious, and her eyes shone like two burning coals.

Lévénez’s nine brothers trembled all over; but she, calm and resolute, replied to these threats,--

“I have thought of it all, and I shall change nothing of all I have said.”

Then the horrible old woman turned a wand, which she carried in her hand, towards the castle, pronounced a magic sentence, and immediately the castle fell to the ground with a great noise. Not one stone was left upon another. Then turning the wand towards the nine brothers, who were hiding behind their sister in great terror, she pronounced another magic sentence and the nine brothers were immediately changed into nine white sheep. Then she said to Lévénez, who still retained her natural form,--

“Now, you can go and keep your sheep in this plain. And take care never to tell any one that they are your brothers, or the same thing will happen to you.” Then she went away, sneering.

The beautiful gardens of the castle, and the grand wood which surrounded it, had been changed also, instantly, into a great arid and desolate plain.

Poor Lévénez, left alone with her nine white sheep, pastured them on the open plain, and never lost them from her sight a moment. She sought for tufts of fresh grass, which they ate from her hand, and she played with them, caressed them, embraced them, and talked to them as if they understood her. And indeed they appeared to understand her. One of them was larger than the others; it was Goulven, the oldest of the brothers. Lévénez had built a shelter, a sort of hut, with stones, clods of earth, moss and dry grasses, and at night, or when it rained, she took refuge there with her sheep. But when the weather was fine, she ran and played about in the sun with them, or sang songs, or recited her prayers, to which they listened attentively, all ranged in a circle around her. She had a very beautiful voice, clear and correct.

One day a young lord who was hunting in those parts, was astonished to hear such a beautiful voice in a place so deserted. He stopped to listen; then going in the direction from which it came, he soon found himself in the presence of a lovely young girl, surrounded by nine white sheep, who appeared to love her very much. He spoke to her and was so struck with her sweetness, her wit, and her beauty, that he wished to take her and her sheep away with him to his castle. She refused to go. But the young lord could think of nothing but the pretty shepherdess, and every day, under pretence of hunting, he went to see her and talk with her in the great plain. At last he carried her away with him to his castle, and they were married, and there were long holidays and great feasting.

The nine sheep had been installed in the garden of the castle, and Lévénez passed almost all her days there, playing with them, caressing them, and talking to them as if they understood her; and they did indeed seem to understand all that she said to them. Her husband was astonished to see them so intelligent, and he asked himself if it were possible that they could be real sheep.

Lévénez had an attendant who was the wife of the castle gardener, and who was also the daughter of the old woman who had changed her brothers into sheep; but of this she knew nothing. One day, when Lévénez was leaning over the edge of a well which was in the garden, to see how deep it was, her attendant took her by the feet and threw her down the well. Then she ran to her mistress’ chamber, got into her bed, and drew the curtains close around the bed and at the windows, and pretended to be sick. The lord was absent at the moment. But on his return, not finding his wife in the garden among her sheep as usual, he went to her chamber.

“What is the matter, my sweetheart?” said he.

“I am very sick,” replied the traitress; and when he was about to open the curtains, “Don’t open the curtains, I beg you; I cannot stand the light.”

“Why are you alone? Where is your attendant?”

“I do not know; I have not seen her the whole day long.”

The lord looked for her in the castle, and then in the garden, and not finding her, he returned to his wife, and said to her,--

“I do not know what has become of your attendant. I cannot find her anywhere. Do you want anything? Perhaps you are hungry?”

“Oh, yes! I am very hungry.”

“What would you like to eat?”

“I must have a bit of that big white sheep in the garden.”

“What a strange notion! You who love your sheep so much, and this one most of all!”

“That is the only thing that will soothe the frightful pain I suffer. But do not make any mistake; I want a piece of the big white sheep, and not of any other.”

The husband went to the garden and ordered the gardener to take the big white sheep and kill it at once and put it on the kitchen spit.

So the gardener, who was conniving with the attendant, ran after the white sheep. But it ran so fast round and round the well, bleating so pitifully all the time, that he could not catch it. The lord, seeing this, wanted to help him, and went up to the well. He was astonished to hear moans and groans which seemed to come up from it. He leaned over the opening and called out,--

“Who is there? is there any one down the well?”

And a gentle voice that he knew so well, answered him,--

“Yes, it is I, your wife, Lévénez.”

The lord, without waiting to hear more, quickly lowered the bucket into the well and drew up his wife. She was all trembling and terrified.

Soon after this occurrence a child was born to them, a son, as beautiful as the day.

Lévénez said it must be baptized at once.

“You may choose the godmother, if you wish, but I want my big white sheep for the godfather,” said she to her husband.

“What! have a sheep for your son’s godfather?”

“I wish it, I tell you; do as I say and do not be uneasy about it.”

Not wishing to cross his young wife, and fearing lest he should make her sick, the father consented, though grieved at his heart, that the big white sheep should be his son’s godfather.

They went to church. The big white sheep, very happy, walked in front with the father and the godmother, a young and beautiful princess. The other eight sheep, his brothers, followed him. The whole procession entered the church, to the great astonishment of the village people. The father presented the child to the priest. The latter looked at the godmother, but seeing no godfather, he asked,--

“Where is the godfather?”

“Here he is,” replied the father, pointing to the big white sheep.

“What! a sheep?”

“Yes, it seems so; but do not stop for a matter of form, but go on without fear with the service.”

The priest made no more objections, such transformations being, doubtless, common in his day, and proceeded to baptize the child.

The sheep then raised himself on his two hind legs, took his godson in his two forelegs, with the assistance of the godmother, and all passed off very well.

But as soon as the ceremony was over, the sheep godfather became a handsome young man. He was Goulven, Lévénez’s oldest brother.

He told how he and his brothers had been changed into sheep by an old sorceress because he had refused to marry her. His sister, the child’s mother, could not tell of it lest the same fate should befall her; but now the charm was broken, and the sorceress had no longer any power over them.

“Are the sheep really your brothers?” asked the priest.

“Yes, they are my brothers, and the time has come for them also to escape from the power of the sorceress, and return to their human form. Lay your stole over them, say a prayer, and you will see them become men again, as I have done.”

The priest followed his advice: he laid his stole on each of the sheep successively, recited a prayer each time, and immediately they resumed their original form.

Goulven then told of the terrible deed which had been done to his sister by her attendant, the daughter of the sorceress.

So they returned to the castle determined to treat each one as she had deserved.