Chapter II: One day the hare said suddenly, (3)

They sent men to seek for the old sorceress in the wood where she dwelt, and when they brought her, she and her daughter and the gardener were torn to pieces by four horses and then thrown into a great fire and burned to ashes.

Goulven and Lévénez lived after that peacefully and happily, and were blessed, they say, with many children.

Told by Le Noac’h, of Gourin, at Merville, near Lorient, March 10, 1874.

F. M. LUZEL.

THE KING AND HIS THREE SONS

Once there was a king who had three sons. He wanted to lay aside his crown. In his kingdom it was the custom to give it to the oldest; but as this king loved his three children equally, he could not resolve to obey this custom and exclude the youngest in advance. He wished that each of his children should have equal chance to succeed him. He decided that the crown should belong to whoever of his sons should bring him the most beautiful flower. He called them together and said to them,--

“The crown shall belong to the one who shall bring me the most beautiful flower; go and search.”

The three sons started out, each his own way, after having agreed to meet in a field well known to them. The first who reached the field was the oldest. He brought a beautiful flower. The second arrived next, with a flower still more beautiful. The oldest, seeing it, said bitterly,--

“I shall not have the crown!”

The youngest came last. His flower was so beautiful that it eclipsed those of his brothers.

“I shall not have the crown,” said the oldest to himself, angrily; and seizing the knife which hung from his girdle, he struck his youngest brother and killed him.

The father, grieved at not seeing his youngest child return, continued to wait for him before resigning his crown. The younger was so much afraid of the oldest that he dared not speak.

Several years had passed after the murder, when a shepherdess, who was keeping her sheep in the field where the three brothers had had their meeting, found a bone made like a flute.

She put it to her lips and blew. A voice came out of it which sang,--

“Blow softly, shepherdess,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from the girdle
Cruelly killed me.”

The king heard that the shepherdess had found a bone like a flute which made harmonious sounds. He had it brought to him, put it to his mouth and blew. The bone sang,--

“Blow softly, my father,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from the girdle
Cruelly killed me.”

The king called his younger son, handed him the bone and told him to blow in it. The son blew; the bone sang,--

“Blow softly, my brother,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from the girdle
Cruelly killed me.”

The king called his oldest son, handed him the bone and told him to blow in it. The son blew; the bone sang,--

“Blow softly, my brother,
Blow, blow softly;
The knife from thy girdle
Cruelly killed me.”

At these words, “The knife from thy girdle,” the father understood it all. He had his oldest son quartered at once.

Told at Fraisses (Loire) by Jacques Bayon, Aug. 19, 1877.

V. S.

FANCH SCOUARNEC

A BRETON STORY

A rich lord was returning, alone, on horseback, from Brest to Rennes. At Brest, his footman had left him and sailed. He wished to get another in his place, and as he went along he had already proposed to more than one; but all had refused; his terms did not suit them. Between Plounevez-Moëdec and Belle-Isle-en-Terre (doubtless on the bridge of Saint-Elo) he saw by the roadside a little hut, the one door and window of which stood open. He got down from his horse so as to walk up to it. He went to the hut to ask for a fire to light his pipe. Holding his horse by the bridle, he put his head in at the door, standing with one foot inside and one out. His horse also put his head in through the window, which, as I have said, was open. A boy of twelve or thirteen years was alone in the hut, seated by the hearth-stone.

“Are you alone, my boy?” asked the traveler.

“No,” replied Fanch. (His name was Fanch Scouarnec.)

“But I see no one beside you.”

“It is nevertheless true, that there are in this house at this moment, a man and a half and the head of a horse.”

“You love to joke I see, but give me a little fire to light my pipe. Where is your father?”

“My father has gone hunting, and he will leave what he catches, and bring back to the house what he does not catch.”

“That seems difficult; and where is your mother?”

“My mother has gone to the oven to bake some bread that has been eaten”

“Good, good, you are a real joker; and your sister?”

“My sister is crying for the joy of last year.”

“I do not understand any of it; but you, what are you doing there?”

“I,--I am watching some leap over others and catching a few.”

“Surely, I have never seen any one so full of joke as you; but will you not explain it all to me?”

“There is nothing easier,” said Fanch, “and although you are a lord, you are not of the sharpest, it seems to me. My father is like me; he never goes out alone; he is always accompanied by a crowd of little animals who love him so that they would like to eat him up. Once upon a time, when there were too many of them, he seated himself down there in the sun, and went hunting among the little beasts that I spoke of. He left on the spot those he caught and brought to the house those he did not catch. Do you understand me now?”

“Perfectly.”

“My mother borrowed some bread last month and she has gone to the oven to bake some bread to return what she borrowed, so therefore you see she has gone to bake some bread already eaten. My sister had a lover, and her greatest happiness was to go walking with him at the hour for the angelus, and dance with him on the new threshing-floors; but after promising to marry her, he left her, and went away to France, and that is the reason she is crying for the joy she had last year. And as for me, I am busy cooking some peas in a pot, and when the pot boils the peas leap over each other, and with my spoon I catch some of them and eat them. Now, my lord, is it not all just as I said?”

“Yes, upon my word! But you have not explained your first answer.”

“You asked me if I was alone in the house; and I told you that I was not alone, but that there were here a man and a half and the head of a horse. Now, you see, you have your head, one foot, and half your body inside the house, and I am entirely inside, that makes a man and a half; and the horse’s head is the head of your horse which was in at the window.”

“I see that there are bigger fools than you in the country; but tell me now where this road goes.”

“That road, my lord, does not go anywhere; I have always seen it there.”

“I want to know to what place it leads; do you hear me?”

“Ah! that is different; it leads to Belle-Isle, to Louargat, to Bré, to Guingamp, and even to Paris, they say.”

“Very well! Would you like to come with me and be my footman?”

“Perhaps, yes, when you have told me your terms.”

“I will give you a hundred crowns, and a bag full of farthings, when you shall have served me for a year and a day; but on condition that you do everything I command you, and that you shall never get angry, no matter what is said to you, or what you are ordered to do; if you get angry, you shall have a strip of skin taken off from your neck to your heels, and be sent away without a penny.”

“The sum is tempting, a hundred crowns! but the conditions are hard. The strip of skin makes me shiver. But now about your part, my lord? Are you never to get angry either?”

“That is the bargain.”

“If you do, your skin shall be stripped off too?”

“Just so; it shall be done to the first one who gets angry.”

“Very well, it is a bargain; I will go with you, and I will go with you now while my father and mother are away.”

So they both started off on horseback, for the lord was leading the horse of the footman who had left him at Brest.

After traveling several days they came to the lord’s castle. At first Fanch was set to take care of two children, four or five years old, with the order never to contradict them and to do everything they asked, if possible.

“Very well!” said Fanch; “that is not hard work to begin with.”

That evening when they were at the table (for Fanch ate with the master and mistress of the house, so as to be always with the children), the two little brats cried out,--

“I want to get down, I want to get down!”

“Come, Fanch, do you not hear?” said the lady.

“Yes, yes,” answered Fanch; and he took them away. He had only eaten his soup, and when he came back into the room with the children, the table was cleared away, there was nothing left on it.

“How is it there is nothing on the table?” asked he, after waiting a while.

“There is a rule in my house,” replied the lord, “that whoever comes after the table has been cleared away shall have nothing.”

“A bad rule!” he muttered.

“Are you not satisfied with it?”

“Oh! yes! I will not die for the loss of one poor meal; I was used to that at my father’s house.”

“If you are not pleased, you can have your skin taken off.”

“I am pleased, I tell you.”

The next day at supper, Fanch had hardly begun to eat his soup, when the little brats began to cry out,--

“I want to go.”

“Come, Fanch, do you not hear?”

And Fanch went to please the children.

“Come, children, make haste and go back!” said he to them.

But when he returned, there was nothing on the table.

“How is this,” said he: “must I go without supper two days together?”

“Are you dissatisfied, Fanch?”

“I did not say that; but the children could just as well stay and let me eat in peace.”

“You promised to do everything the children asked, and if you are displeased, you know--”

“Yes, yes, I am entirely satisfied.”

And Fanch went to bed again without eating anything.

“Ah!” said he, “this thing cannot go on; I must eat sometime; we will see how it will be to-morrow.”

The next day the children began their song again.

“Ah!” cried Fanch, “this is no way to live; I must put an end to it. You want to go, my little scamps? Very well, go to the devil! I want some supper to-night, I do!” and he threw the two children out of the window.

“Stop!” cried the master and mistress, rising, “this is too much! To throw our children out of the window! Ah! you shall pay for it!”

“So then you are angry, master?” said Fanch quickly.

“I am not angry,” he replied, growing a little calmer, “but that is no way to do; it is a mercy if my poor children are not crippled!”

“If you are angry, master, you know our conditions, and I will strip off--”

“I tell you I am not angry, but I shall not trust my children with you again.”

“Just as you like; I would rather do anything than mind children like a nurse.”

That evening Fanch could eat comfortably. The next day the lord said,--

“Go to the blacksmith’s and have the horses’ feet shod.”

“Very well,” said Fanch; “I like that better than minding children.”

Then he went to the stable, cut off the horses’ feet with a hatchet, put them in a wagon, and took them to the blacksmith. That evening when he returned, the lord was in the court-yard of the castle.

“Here are your horses’ feet,” said Fanch; “see if they are well shod.”

“What have you done, you miserable creature?”

“Did you not tell me to have the horses’ feet shod?”

“You have ruined me, you wretch!”

“Why, master, you are angry, it seems to me!”

“Ah! it is enough to make me,--but you know very well that I do not get angry very easily.”

“If you are angry, you know--I shall strip off your skin--”

“Go to your supper at once and say nothing of this to your mistress; to-morrow I will see how I can employ you.”

The next day Fanch was sent to watch a great herd of beeves, in a pasture which was by the side of the high road. A butcher passed along the road. He went into the pasture and began to examine and feel the beeves. “Fine beeves,” said he to himself. “They are fat as moles. I have to furnish the meat at the castle, for the wedding of the young lady, which will take place the coming week, and if I can get three or four of these beeves, that will suit me exactly. Eh! boy!” cried he to Fanch, who was lying under a beech-tree singing.

“What do you want?” he asked, without moving.

“Come here, so that I can speak to you.”

“Come yourself, if you want me.”

Then the butcher went to him, saying to himself,--

“He does not look like the sharpest kind of a fellow.”

“Will you sell me three or four of your beeves?”

“All, if you wish.”

“How much do you ask for them?”

“Five hundred crowns, and the tail of one of them!”

“Why, for goodness’ sake?”

“Do not bother about that; that is my business.”

“Very well, agreed! The bargain is made!”

And they shook hands with each other.

“And the money at once,” added Fanch.

The butcher, pleased with his bargain, counted the five hundred crowns to him, and was about to go off with the beeves, when Fanch called out,--

“But the tail? I must have the tail.”

“You insist upon that, do you?”

“Why, certainly, and nothing is concluded without it.”

Then the butcher cut off the tail of one of the beeves and gave it to him.

When the butcher was gone with all the beeves, Fanch climbed up into an oak-tree, with the tail, and began crying out with all his might, “Help! help! help at once!”

They heard his cry at the castle, and sent a footman to see what was the matter. Fanch, seeing the footman coming, called to him,--

“Run to the castle and tell the lord to come here as quickly as possible, or all of his beeves will be lost.”

So the footman ran to the castle and said to the lord,--

“Come as fast as you can to the field, master, or all your beeves will be lost.”

The lord ran to the field, and saw Fanch up in a tree, and apparently holding on with all his might to the tail of a beef.

“What are you doing there, Fanch, and where are the beeves?”

“Come up here quickly, my poor master, come up quickly, or you will lose them all! A terrible whirlwind came suddenly and carried them up to the sky, each holding on to the other by the tail! I seized the tail of the last one, and have been lifted up here. I am still holding on, but for goodness’ sake make haste and come to my assistance, or I shall have to let go; I cannot hold on any longer.”

So the lord went up and took hold of the tail also. But as soon as he did so, Fanch let go, and his master fell to the ground, taking the tail along.

“Alas! my poor master,” said he then, “we held on so long that the tail is all that is left; the beeves have gone to heaven.”

The poor lord, all mangled and bleeding, swore and stormed.

“Miserable wretch, accursed rascal! you have almost killed me!”

“Why, master, are you angry?” asked Fanch quietly; he was still in the tree.

“And who would not be angry?”

“Well, you know your conditions, and I shall strip off your skin.”

“But I did not say that I was angry, though indeed I think I had good right to be. You will ruin me! I shall be thankful if you do not kill me.”

Then the lord returned to his house, rubbing his back and trying to think how he could get rid of such a rascal.

The next day he sent Fanch to take care of his hogs. A hog merchant passed by on his way to the fair at Lannion.

“Will you sell me your hogs, my boy?” said he to Fanch.

“I should like nothing better,” he replied.

“How much will you take?”

“Two hundred crowns and the tail of one of them.”

“Agreed! It is a bargain!”

“And the money on the spot?”

“Yes, yes, on the spot.”

Then the merchant paid two hundred crowns and went away, taking the hogs along.

There was a pond near by, part of which was all marshy and filled up with grass and branches of trees. Fanch waded in up to his stomach, and began to call out as loud as he could. He had stuck the large end of the hog’s tail which he had, down in the mud, and was pretending to pull it up with all his might, crying, “Help! help! help, quickly!” The lord was walking in the wood, not far from the pond, and ran to his assistance on hearing his cries.

“What is the matter now?” asked he, seeing Fanch in the mud up to his stomach.

“Come quickly and help me, my poor master, or we shall lose all of them. An animal unlike any I ever saw before,--a frightful creature, a real demon, I believe,--came up out of the pond, when I was not dreaming of such a thing, and then went back again dragging my hogs after him, all holding on to each other by the tail. I caught the tail of the last one, you see! Come help me to pull it up, for if we can pull this one up, all the others will come after it. Come quickly, for I am ready to let go.”

Then the lord went into the pond without hesitation, and began to pull on the tail with Fanch. But the latter, letting go suddenly, he fell, and sinking into the mud, was almost stifled.

“Alas! they are all lost! They are gone below!” cried Fanch.

The other, after getting out with great difficulty, swore and threatened.

“Why, master, are you angry?” said Fanch to him, jeeringly.

“Leave me in peace, you villain! I wish you were in purgatory!”

“If you are angry, you have only to give me my hundred crowns, with the bag of farthings, according to our agreement, and I will go whenever you wish; but before I go, you know, I will strip off your skin from your neck--”

“Who said I was angry? Though indeed I had great reason, I think; you will ruin me utterly!”

“What could I do? I could not prevent the demon’s taking off your hogs.”

“To-morrow I will give you another occupation, and as soon as the year is ended you shall go, for you are good for nothing.”

“As you like; but when will my year be ended?”

“When the cuckoo sings.”

The next day the lord said to Fanch,--

“Take this gun and come with me into the woods; the poachers are destroying all my game, and the poor people of the whole country provide themselves with wood at my expense; I want to see after these matters.”

“Very well,” said Fanch, “that suits me.”

And he put his gun on his shoulder, and followed his master to the woods. At the edge of it they saw an old woman who had a great load on her back.

“Fire at her!” said the lord to Fanch.

“Must I do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if I kill her?”

“So much the worse for her! That will teach her to steal my wood.”

So Fanch fired, bang! and the old woman rolled over on the ground with her load. They went to her.

“She is dead!” said the lord.

“Quite,” said Fanch, “unfortunately for you, for I should not like to be in your place. This old woman has two sons,--two jolly fellows, upon my word, and when they know that you have killed their mother,--”

“But it was you who killed her.”

“Yes, but by your order; I am your servant, and I must obey you, but you will have to pay for it.”

“You frighten me; go quickly to the castle and bring me two shovels, so we can bury her in the earth and no one will know anything about it. You will find them in the passage near the chamber of my wife and daughter. Put them in a bag, so that no one can see, and return quickly.”

Fanch went to the castle and found the door of the lady’s room open, where she was sitting with her daughter. He entered and said,--

“My master has ordered me to put both of you in a bag.”

“What is it you say, idiot? You must have lost your senses!”

“You shall hear him say it himself.”

And going to the window, he called out to the lord, who was waiting for him below,--

“Both of them in a bag, shall I not, my lord?”

“Yes, both, and make haste.” (He meant the two shovels.)

“Do you hear? I must obey my master.”

And he seized upon the mother and daughter, and succeeded, not without difficulty,--for they resisted as well as they could,--in shutting them up in a bag. The lord, hearing the noise, and their screams, ran up to see what was going on.

“What trick have you played on me now, miserable wretch, demon incarnate?” cried he, seeing the bag rolling on the floor, and hearing the screams that came out of it.

“Well, I put them in the bag; did you not tell me to bring you two women in a bag?”

“Two women, idiot!”

“Bless me! I thought you said two women.”

“I have a good mind to run my sword through your body.”

“You are angry it seems to me, my master.”

“Angry, angry,--and who would not be in my place?”

“Oh! then I am going to strip off your skin.”

“But I am not angry at all. I said nothing of the sort; you know very well that I have a good temper, and that I never get angry. But go, run quickly to the woods, take two shovels in a bag,--you understand now, two _shovels_,--and do what I told you.”

The lord then pulled his wife and daughter out of the bag, and consulted with them upon some means of getting rid of Fanch as soon as possible.

“It was agreed,” said the lady, “that his year should end when the cuckoo began to sing.”

“Yes, but it is not yet time for the cuckoo to sing.”

“Pshaw! that boy is such a fool, he would never know what time of the year the cuckoo ought to sing; to-morrow I will make the cuckoo sing myself.”

The next day, just as Fanch was going to the wood with his gun on his shoulder, he heard, “Cuckoo! cuckoo!” from a large oak-tree which was near the gate of the court-yard.

“What is this?” said he; “does the cuckoo sing in the month of February in this country? I will teach you in a moment, how to wait till the right time comes to sing, vile bird!”

And he fired, bang! and the lady fell dead at his feet.

“Why, what a singular cuckoo!” said he.

“Ah! you demon!” cried the lord, “you have killed my wife! I will kill you, too, as I would a dog.”

“Oh! this time you are angry, my master, you are very angry, and I shall strip off your skin.”

“No, I am not angry, because I never get angry, myself. But from this moment, you shall never have anything to do at the castle but eat, drink, and go walking; for you would bring me to beggary!”

“Oh! delightful! that is just what I had wished for.”

One day the cuckoo sang at last in the month of May. They gave Fanch his hundred crowns and his bag of farthings, and bade him farewell. And he returned to his country, without having had his skin stripped off; more fortunate than many others who had been before him at this castle; for there was a room there where you could see a great number of skins hung up against the wall.

With the five hundred crowns that he got for the beeves, the two hundred crowns for the hogs, and the hundred crowns and the bag of farthings for his wages, he found himself quite rich. Moreover, he married one of the richest heiresses in his neighborhood, and for three whole days there were holidays and feasts, to which all the people in the neighborhood were invited, the poor as well as the rich.

Told in Breton by Barbe Tassel, Plouaret, December, 1868.

F. M. LUZEL.

THE ROEBUCK HUNT

AN IROQUOIS STORY

An old man lived in a cabin with his grandson, who was twenty years old. They were the last survivors of a nation exterminated by the sorceresses.

The young man was a good hunter, but he had one great trouble: his grandfather forbade his hunting the roebuck, without giving him any reason for this interdiction. One day, returning from the hunt sooner than usual, the young man surprised his grandfather making soup of some bones. Being questioned very narrowly on the subject, the old man told the following story:--

“These bones that you have seen are the bones of a roebuck. When you were born, our nation was numerous and powerful. But unfortunately there were some young people who would not obey their chiefs. These young people became more and more insolent, and were imitated by others. The Lord of life became angry and sent the sorceresses to destroy the cabins: you see that ours is the only one now remaining. Our warriors were all killed or made prisoners. You were very small then; I carried you away with me, far away, to a nation allied to ours--a fortunate journey which saved our lives, or at least spared us from slavery. But what do I say? Are we free? Alas! no, for the sorceresses allowed us to live only on condition that we should never hunt the roebuck, and never eat his flesh. The wolves have devoured a roebuck, I gathered up the remains, these few naked bones; I could not resist the desire to taste some soup made of the bones and to eat the marrow of them.”

Hearing this story, the young man became very angry with the sorceresses, and resolved to find them and punish them. His grandfather then said to him.

“Since you are determined to go, listen to me. You will be obliged to go through a forest at the end of which there is a place where there are a great many wolves; throw to them the game you kill by the way, and you will then be able to catch them. Soon after, you will come to the country of the sorceresses; then, especially, you must be very cautious. Take care not to touch a single ear when you come to their field of Indian corn; or else immediately they will surprise you, and you will be lost.”

The young man took leave of the old man, promising to follow his instructions. All went well till just when he went to the sorceresses’ corn-field. The ripe ears made him covetous, and he had just put out his hand when suddenly he heard some one whisper in his ear to go along quietly and not touch a single ear. He had only gone a few steps when he saw a skeleton leaning against the enclosure of the field, as if put there to scare away the birds. It was one of the victims of the sorceresses and the young warrior’s paternal uncle. He recognized his nephew and called him by his name.

The latter coming up to him, his skeleton uncle told him everything that he would have to do when he went into the presence of the sorceresses. Furnished with these instructions, he arrived at the dwelling of the sorceresses. He was well received, and they contended as to who should bring him his pottage. The skeleton had told him this beforehand; “Each sorceress,” he told him, “will bring you a plate of corn boiled with meat; do not accept it, for if you do you make a fatal engagement with them. Only one, the youngest of them, will not invite you to eat out of her plate, and hers is really the corn and meat of which you must partake: you must put the spoon in boldly; she will give you a sweet smile, and by this you will be married. Meanwhile the other sorceresses will wish to kill you, but your young wife will know very well how to take care of you: you have only to follow our counsels.”

Everything happened as he said.

When evening came, the young sorceress said to her husband,--

“The great old woman will come to-night to kill you; but do not be afraid, I will waken you in time.”

Sure enough, about midnight the great old woman came suddenly to the bedside of the newly married pair, but, surprised at finding them awake, she went away without having been able to execute her design. At dawn of day the husband and wife arose, and the wife said to her husband,--

“Go find your uncle; he has something to tell you,” and he went to him immediately.

“My nephew,” said the skeleton to him, “what you must do now is to seize upon the bag which is in the chamber of the great old woman.”

It was an enchanted bag which had shut up in it all the secrets of sorcery, and he would have been entirely unable to take it away without the aid of his wife, who showed him how to do it, and procured him the assistance of a rat that helped him by cutting the string of the bag with its teeth. As soon as this was done, the sorceresses uttered cries of rage and despair. What did they see? Roebucks running here and there in their cornfield; and ducks, each wearing a heart around his neck. It was all over with the sorceresses; the newly married husband, instructed by his wife, took the hearts, one after the other, and broke them. They were the hearts of the sorceresses. The vengeance was complete; but there was one more thing still to be done,--they must free the prisoners. These numerous herds of roebucks wandering about the country are a sign of good fortune.

“Do you see that tree near the lake?” said the wife to her husband; “you must cut it down so that it will fall across the lake and serve as a bridge.”

No sooner said than done; thousands of warriors rose up at once and thanked their deliverer. Then began a triumphal march to their own country; the emblem of the nation was erected, the recaptured roebuck should be the family token of the children that should be born to the young couple.

Ten days had scarcely passed since the grandfather and his grandson had parted. Five days, thanks to the skill of the young sorceress, was enough for the journey home. The joy of the old man on seeing his grandson again and hearing the story of his adventures, can scarcely be imagined. And the nation arose from its ruins and became more powerful than before.

J. A. CUOQ.

PIERRE AND HÉLÈNE

A STORY OF LOWER BRITANNY

Once there were two orphans who lived in a village, a brother and a sister; the brother’s name was Pierre, and the sister’s Hélène. Pierre was married. The woman he married was wicked and jealous, and from the moment she entered Pierre’s house she hated her sister-in-law; Hélène was good.

A year passed, and Pierre became the father of a little girl.

“Hélène shall be her godmother!” said he.

“As you like,” said his wife, casting an angry glance upon the poor girl.

Little Hélène grew; and when she began to say a few words she was always lisping that of her good godmother. Pierre’s wicked wife was very indignant at it.

“Hypocrite!” cried she in a rage, “is she going to deprive me of my child’s affection as she has of my husband’s love? I will find some sure means of driving this perfidious creature out of the house.”

One day she went to her husband. “See here,” said she, “it is I who do all the work; your sister takes her pleasure when your wife is worn out with fatigue; she folds her arms from morning to night while I do her work and mine. Send her away, then, and you will see that everything will go better in our household.”

Pierre was very sad at these words, for he loved Hélène tenderly.

“My sister,” said he to her the next day, “it is not right that you should eat the bread that others have earned, and be idle yourself.”

“I milk, I bake the bread, I make the butter,” said Hélène; “what more do you wish me to do?”

But the wicked woman could not restrain her hatred, and a few days after this she said,--

“I cannot stand it any longer; she must go!”

And she ran to the stable and killed an ox.

“Pierre, Pierre!” cried she to her husband, “see what your sister Hélène has done; she has killed one of your oxen.”

“My sister, why did you do this?” said Pierre to her, greatly mortified.

“I did not do it, brother,” answered Hélène sweetly.

The next day the second ox died.

“Pierre, Pierre!” cried the wicked woman, “see; your other ox is dead, and it is Hélène who killed this one also.”

“I shall be ruined if I have no beasts to take into the fields,” said Pierre to his sister, “and this is the second one of my oxen that you have killed.”

“I did not do it, brother,” answered Hélène quietly.

The next day the horse was found dead in the stable.

“Pierre, Pierre! see what your sister has done. Next thing she will set the house on fire.”

“Sister,” said Pierre, “how could you kill my horse? Do you wish me to be obliged to beg my bread?”

“I did not do it, brother,” Hélène answered sadly.

“Pierre, Pierre!” cried the wicked woman, the day after, “come see what your demon of a sister has done. Look at our child; I found her smothered in her bed.”

Pierre tore out his hair in despair, and sent for Hélène, who had gone out to her work early in the morning.

“Sister,” said he angrily, “you killed my oxen and my horse, and I pardoned you; but now you have killed my child: you must leave this house, and receive the punishment for your crimes!”

Then Pierre cut off Hélène’s two arms; and they prepared to go away.

“Where are you going to take me?” said Hélène.

“You will see,” said Pierre.

“Give me my mass-book, brother, and let my little dog go with me.”

Pierre took Hélène a long distance, and they came at last to a great forest; the wind blew through the trees and made the leaves shake. Suddenly a large oak-tree fell. Pierre took his sister in his arms and placed her up among the branches; he opened the mass-book and laid it on her lap, and the little dog played nimbly by his mistress’ side.

“Farewell, my sister!” said Pierre, turning away to wipe his tears.

“Farewell!” answered Hélène.

At that moment she saw that Pierre had hurt himself, and that there was a thorn in his foot.

“Go on, brother,” said she to him; “some day I will come and take it out.”

Pierre went on his way, and when he returned to his dwelling, he sat down beside his hearth-stone; and suddenly the thorn grew immensely, and a great tree sprang up from his foot and went up the chimney. He was thus condemned to remain where he was seated and to wait till his sister should come to set him free as she had promised him.

Hélène continued in the forest, seated in the top of the great tree, and the wind turned the leaves of the mass-book she had on her knees. Hélène prayed.

At the hour for meals, twice a day, the oak-tree bent down as if blown down by the wind, and the little dog jumped to the ground and went to look for his mistress’ breakfast.

There was in the neighborhood a castle where a young lord and his mother lived.

Every day, for some time, the lady of the castle had remarked, on sitting down to her table, that several of her dishes had been partly consumed.

“See here!” said she to her astonished servants, “who is permitted to eat of the meats before they are brought to the table? Is it proper that my son and I should eat what our servants leave?”

“Madam,” said the steward, “I placed those meats there only a moment ago, and I assure you they had not been touched.”

“Very well,” said the lady angrily; “find out as soon as possible who this insolent creature is, who feeds upon our meats before we have tasted them ourselves.”

The next day, at the dinner hour, the steward took his place near the table, which was all served for dinner. Suddenly a little dog leaped in at the open window; he held a handkerchief between his teeth. With one bound he was on the table; and seizing several bits of meat, some bread, and a few pieces of fruit, he fled away. The steward was completely confounded.

“Well?” said the lady as she entered.

“I have seen him!” cried the steward; “I have seen him!”

“Who?” she asked.

And he explained all that had passed.

“You must follow it,” said the lady of the castle.

“I will try, madam.”

The next day, at the same hour, the steward took his place near the table. The dog came in through the window and took his provision as usual; then, seeing they were watching for him, he fled away rapidly. The steward tried to follow him in vain; the little animal disappeared in the forest.

“Leave it to me,” said the young lord; “I will find out where this dog goes.”

And the next day he took the steward’s place. The window had been left open purposely. At the usual hour the little dog appeared. The lord of the castle did not interfere with him; but when he saw him take the four corners of Hélène’s handkerchief between his teeth, he darted out and ran in pursuit of the thief.

He followed the dog for several minutes; but soon worn out by the useless chase, he threw himself at the foot of a tree, breathless, but not discouraged.

“To-morrow,” said he resolutely, “to-morrow I will find out where this dog goes.”

So the next day he had his horse saddled, and, taking his place under the window, he waited. The little dog appeared, jumped on the table, chose among the dishes that were served, a breakfast for his mistress; but when he started as usual to return to his retreat, the gallop of a horse resounded behind him.

The dog stopped suddenly; one of the oak-trees bent down just then, and the intelligent little animal took his place near his mistress. The young lord of the castle, looking up, saw a charming young girl seated among the branches at the top of the tree. He was struck with her beauty. A book was lying on her lap, and the wind turned the leaves of it as she read; for oh, strange! the poor child had been deprived of both her arms.

He questioned Hélène; and she answered his questions.

The lord of the castle heard all the young girl’s history. His heart was moved with pity. He came to see her often; and one day he swore he would have no one but her for his wife.

One day a carriage stopped at the foot of the oak-tree, which bent down; and the young husband received his betrothed in his arms.

When the ceremony was over, the old lady of the castle, looking at the young wife, said to herself,--

“So this is my son’s wife!” and an expression of hatred came over her face. “Patience!” she added, in a low voice, “patience! the day will come when she shall leave my house forever.”

A few months after, the young husband went away to the war.

One morning the crabbed old lady of the castle came into the young wife’s room. Twin babies had just been born to her; and they were resting quietly by her side in a gilded cradle.

“Ah!” she muttered with disgust, and went out. Her hand trembled with anger as she dipped the pen into the ink and wrote the news to her son:--

“Well,” said she, “your wife has brought two very ugly little children into the world.”

The springtime came: but still the lord of the castle had sent no tidings of himself.

“Your husband is dead,” said Hélène’s wicked mother-in-law to her one day; “I do not wish you to be any longer under my roof. Go; neither you nor your brats shall disgrace this castle any longer.”

“Alas, madam!” answered Hélène, “I can go away very well; but who will carry my dear little ones?”

“You yourself,” said the horrible woman. “Do you suppose I would put my servants at your service? They would refuse to go with a beggar like you.”

“Alas!” replied Hélène, “I have no arms, as other mothers have, to carry my poor children.”

“We will manage it,” said the hard-hearted mother-in-law.

And the next day Hélène left the castle, carrying the two innocent little ones in a cloth which was tied round her waist.

She wandered a long time in the forest, followed by her little dog; and when evening came on, weariness overcame her, and she was very thirsty. A fountain flowed a few steps from her. Hélène sighed.

“Alas!” she thought, “if I only had one arm, I could catch some water in the palm of my hand and quench my thirst.”

And as she uttered the words, a little bird, perched on the edge of the fountain, began to twitter. He said, in his language,--

“Do not cry, poor Hélène.”

Hélène, astonished, stopped to listen to it; but the little bird continued to sing. Hélène approached the fountain, and leaned over the water; she tried to drink.

But before her lips could reach the water, one of her nurslings fell into the fountain. Poor Hélène! who would give her little baby back to her?

But the bird went on singing; and in its language it said,--

“Dip what there is left of your right arm into the fountain, and fear nothing for your child.”

Hélène obeyed the little bird, and dipped what remained of her arm; and at once a strong and active arm and a supple hand grew out in place of the right arm and hand that she had lost.

Hélène picked up her child with delight; but at the same moment the other dropped from the cloth that held it, and fell into the water, as his brother had done. But the little bird kept on singing; and in its joyous language it said,--

“Dip what remains to you of your left arm into the fountain, and fear nothing for your child.”

Hélène dipped what there was left of her other arm, and immediately she had a new left arm.

Hélène picked up her other child.

A cabin under the shade of an oak-tree sheltered Hélène and her children. One day the two children were playing on the threshold. A stranger passed by. He stopped before the two children.

“I, too,” cried he bitterly, “I would one day have been surrounded by fair young ones; but Hélène has fled from my home.” When suddenly Hélène appeared at the cabin door.

“It is she!” cried the stranger.

But he drew back as if struck by lightning. This woman had two arms, and her fingers fondled her children’s hair. His Hélène had both arms cut off.

Meanwhile, she had also recognized the stranger, and sprang towards him.

A few hours after, a magnificent carriage stopped at Pierre’s farm. Hélène descended quickly from her carriage, and went into the house. Poor Pierre was still seated beside the fire. He suffered terribly, and his wicked wife never consoled him. When she heard the carriage stop, and saw her sister-in-law get out of it, she suddenly disappeared.

“Where is your wife?” asked Hélène of her brother.

“I do not know,” answered Pierre. “Heaven has punished me for my crime, for I have not had a day of happiness since I left you in the forest; and my wife, who caused me to do such a deed, leaves me to my misery.”

At this moment they heard the voice of the wicked woman. “Hélène,” said she, coming forward, and speaking in a sweet voice, “I hope you have pardoned me; Heaven has punished us, and we are, as you see, very unhappy. But come,” she added, leading the way to the upper story.

“I cannot,” said Hélène; “I must cure my brother first.”

“Come up, so that I may show you what Heaven has left me to console me in my misfortune.”

Hélène, thinking her sister-in-law wished to show her a new baby, started towards the winding stairway.

“Go first,” said Pierre’s wife, with hypocritical respect.

“No,” said Hélène; “I do not wish to go in front of you. I am always poor Hélène, Pierre’s sister.”

The sister-in-law then went up first, and suddenly a loud noise was heard; two steps of the stairway fell in with a great crash, and the wicked woman fell into a pot of boiling water that she had prepared for Hélène. She thought she had counted the steps, and was sure of the success of her treachery; but hatred bewildered her, and made her the victim of her own perfidy. Hélène turned away her head in horror and descended the stair.

“My brother,” said she to Pierre, “Heaven has punished the crime; your wife is dead: she fell into the snare she set for me. But you see I have come to fulfill my promise. Show me your foot, and I will take out the thorn which has caused you so much suffering.”

“Alas, my sister! this thorn is a great tree whose branches already cover the roof of my dwelling,” said Pierre.

But as he spoke, Hélène touched her brother’s foot, and in a moment the tree disappeared up the chimney, and fell with a crash on the other side of the house.

MARGUERITE DE BELZ, “La Clef des Champs.”

THE THREE EGGS

A CREOLE STORY

Once upon a time there was a negro and his wife who lived in a village on the shore of the Oyapok. They had a little girl who was much the prettiest child that ever was seen. Obedient, intelligent, loving her parents with all her soul, she was the joy and pride of her father and mother. The whole family lived on the produce of the little field of tapioca and potatoes which surrounded their hut.

When winter came, the torrents of rain caused the river to overflow, and when the waters retired, all the plain, for a great distance, was only a mass of gravel and stones. Poverty desolated the country. In the negro’s hut there was soon scarcely a morsel of cassava; the provision of potatoes diminished day by day. After having talked many times in a low voice over their sad condition, after having wept over it, the poor people resolved to go and leave their precious child to be lost in the forest.

One morning they started out. As they went along, the mother and her good man walked slowly, with great tears in their eyes; the little girl went in front gathering berries that she found in the bushes. Suddenly, not hearing her parents talking any longer, the child called,--

“Mamma! mamma!”

No reply. Alas, poor little one! you are lost in this thick forest! The more she tried to find her way, the more she went astray.

Night came; the foliage was so thick that she could not even see the moon or the stars to guide her. The ferocious beasts howled terribly. The child continued to walk on and on; her little feet were bleeding, her teeth chattered with fright, she was faint from hunger and fatigue. Soon, however, the trees became more scattered; a light shone in the distance. The child went in the direction of the light. At last she saw a cabin. She knocked at the door. “In the name of the good Virgin, open to me,” she cried.

The door opened, creaking. An old witch, all wrinkled, appeared on the threshold. “What do you want, my child?” said she, in a coarse voice.

“I am a poor little girl who has lost her parents in the great forest below there; I am afraid of being eaten up by the ferocious beasts; let me rest to-night in your house.”

The coarse voice answered,--

“Here, little one, raise your eyes. Do you see over the door those three large pumpkins? In order to be able to enter my house, you must catch them one by one on your head.”

“Ah, good mamma! if they fall on my head, surely they will crush me! I am so little, they are so big!”

“Then, my child, I will catch them for you.” Then the old witch began to sing in a melancholy tone,--

“Fall, fall, big pumpkins!
So she can come into my house.”

Then she leaned her poor old head forward and caught the three big pumpkins on it, one after the other. Each time, her body bent and her knees gave way.

As soon as the child came in, she asked for something to eat.

“Open this cupboard, little one; you will find two plates. In one there is some good meat and some good fish; in the other there are only bones and fish-bones. Put them in the fire, and when they are cooked, you can give me whichever one you choose.”

The little one lighted the fire, warmed the two plates, and gave the old witch the plate of meat and fish; she kept for herself the plate of bones and fish-bones.

When the dinner was over, the old witch put the child to bed.

“To-morrow,” said she, “when you are well rested, we will go and bathe in the river.”

Before going to sleep, the child kneeled down to pray, and thanked the little Jesus for having rescued her from the dark night and the wicked beasts.

As soon as it was day, the old witch and the child went to the river. When they had taken their bath, the old witch said to the child,--

“Little one, rub me all over my body to make me clean.”

The child then looked at the witch’s back; it was covered with razors, knives, pointed nails, pieces of broken glass. However, she did not hesitate to rub the witch’s back and her old limbs as well as she could. Soon her hands were all bloody. When the witch saw that, she cried,--

“You are a good little girl; you have taken pity on a poor old woman; give me your hands.”

The child held them to her; then she spat in her hands and said to her,--

“Now rub yourself.”

Immediately the wounds disappeared.

“Now, my child, you must set out to go back to your parents. Here are three eggs. When you encounter any obstacle along the way, you have only to break an egg, and the obstacle will disappear. I only charge you one thing: do not stop a moment, and if by chance, young people meet you, and pay you compliments, do not listen to them, and continue your journey without paying any attention to their fine speeches.”