Chapter V: Part 5

and went on eating. Now Grethel had broken out a round pane of the window for herself, and Hansel had torn off a large piece of cake from the roof, when the door opened, and a little old fairy came gliding out. At this Hansel and Grethel were so frightened, that they let fall what they had in their hands. But the old lady nodded to them, and said, “Dear children, where have you been wandering about? Come in with me; you shall have something good.”

So she took them each by the hand, and led them into her little hut, and brought out plenty to eat,--milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts; and then two beautiful little beds were got ready, and Grethel and Hansel laid themselves down, and thought they were in heaven. But the fairy was a spiteful one, and made her pretty sweetmeat house to entrap little children. Early in the morning, before they were awake, she went to their little beds; and though she saw the two sleeping and looking so sweetly, she had no pity on them, but was glad they were in her power. Then she took up Hansel, and fastened him up in a coop by himself, and when he awoke he found himself behind a grating, shut up safely, as chickens are; but she shook Grethel, and called out, “Get up, you lazy little thing, and fetch some water; and go into the kitchen, and cook something good to eat: your brother is shut up yonder; I shall first fatten him, and when he is fat, I think I shall eat him.”

When the fairy was gone poor Grethel watched her time, and got up, and ran to Hansel, and told him what she had heard, and said, “We must run away quickly, for the old woman is a bad fairy, and will kill us.” But Hansel said, “You must first steal away her fairy wand, that we may save ourselves if she should follow; and bring the pipe too that hangs up in her room.” Then the little maiden ran back, and fetched the magic wand and the pipe, and away they went together; so when the old fairy came back and could see no one at home, she sprang in a great rage to the window, and looked out into the wide world (which she could do far and near), and a long way off she spied Grethel, running away with her dear Hansel. “You are already a great way off,” said she; “but you will still fall into my hands.”

Then she put on her boots, which walked several miles at a step, and scarcely made two steps with them before she overtook the children; but Grethel saw that the fairy was coming after them, and, by the help of the wand, turned her friend Hansel into a lake of water, and herself into a swan, which swam about in the middle of it. So the fairy sat herself down on the shore, and took a great deal of trouble to decoy the swan, and threw crumbs of bread to it; but it would not come near her, and she was forced to go home in the evening without taking her revenge. Then Grethel changed herself and Hansel back into their own forms once more, and they went journeying on the whole night, until the dawn of day: and then the maiden turned herself into a beautiful rose, that grew in the midst of a quickset hedge; and Hansel sat by the side.

The fairy soon came striding along. “Good piper,” said she, “may I pluck yon beautiful rose for myself?” “O yes,” answered he. “And then,” thought he to himself, “I will play you a tune meantime.” So when she had crept into the hedge in a great hurry, to gather the flower--for she well knew what it was,--he pulled out the pipe slily, and began to play. Now the pipe was a fairy pipe, and, whether they liked it or not, whoever heard it was obliged to dance. So the old fairy was forced to dance a merry jig, on and on without any rest, and without being able to reach the rose. And as he did not cease playing a moment, the thorns at length tore the clothes from off her body, and pricked her sorely, and there she stuck quite fast.

Then Grethel set herself free once more, and on they went; but she grew very tired, and Hansel said, “Now I will hasten home for help.” And Grethel said, “I will stay here in the meantime, and wait for you.” Then Hansel went away, and Grethel was to wait for him.

But when Grethel had stayed in the field a long time, and found he did not come back, she became quite sorrowful, and turned herself into a little daisy, and thought to herself, “Someone will come and tread me under foot, and so my sorrows will end.” But it so happened that, as a shepherd was keeping watch in a field, he saw the daisy; and thinking it very pretty, he took it home, placed it in a box in his room, and said, “I have never found so pretty a daisy before.” From that time everything throve wonderfully at the shepherd’s house. When he got up in the morning, all the household work was ready done; the room was swept and cleaned, the fire made, and the water fetched; and in the afternoon, when he came home, the table-cloth was laid, and a good dinner ready set for him. He could not make out how all this happened, for he saw no one in his house; and although it pleased him well enough, he was at length troubled to think how it could be, and went to a cunning woman who lived hard by, and asked her what he should do. She said, “There must be witchcraft in it; look out to-morrow morning early, and see if anything stirs about in the room: if it does, throw a white cloth at once over it, and then the witchcraft will be stopped.” The shepherd did as she said, and the next morning saw the box open, and the daisy come out: then he sprang up quickly, and threw a white cloth over it: in an instant the spell was broken, and Grethel stood before him, for it was she who had taken care of his house for him; and she was so beautiful, that he asked her if she would marry him. She said, “No,” because she wished to be faithful to her dear Hansel; but she agreed to stay, and keep house for him till Hansel came back.

Time passed on, and Hansel came back at last; for the spiteful fairy had led him astray, and he had not been able for a long time to find his way, either home or back to Grethel. Then he and Grethel set out to go home; but after travelling a long way, Grethel became tired, and she and Hansel laid themselves down to sleep in a fine old hollow tree that grew in a meadow by the side of the wood. But as they slept the fairy--who had got out of the bush at last--came by; and finding her wand was glad to lay hold of it, and at once turned poor Hansel into a fawn while he was asleep.

Soon after Grethel awoke, and found what had happened; and she wept bitterly over the poor creature; and the tears too rolled down his eyes, as he laid himself down beside her. Then she said, “Rest in peace, dear fawn; I will never, never leave thee.” So she took off her golden necklace, and put it round his neck, and plucked some rushes, and plaited them into a soft string to fasten to it, and led the poor little thing by her side when she went to walk in the wood; and when they were tired they came back, and laid down to sleep by the side of the hollow tree, where they lodged at night: but nobody came near them except the little dwarfs that lived in the wood, and these watched over them while they were asleep.

At last one day they came to a little cottage; and Grethel having looked in, and seen that it was quite empty, thought to herself, “We can stay and live here.” Then she went and gathered leaves and moss to make a soft bed for the fawn; and every morning she went out and plucked nuts, roots, and berries for herself, and sweet shrubs and tender grass for her friend; and it ate out of her hand, and was pleased, and played and frisked about her. In the evening, when Grethel was tired, and had said her prayers, she laid her head upon the fawn for her pillow, and slept; and if poor Hansel could but have his right form again, she thought they should lead a very happy life.

They lived thus a long while in the wood by themselves, till it chanced that the king of that country came to hold a great hunt there. And when the fawn heard all around the echoing of the horns, and the baying of the dogs, and the merry shouts of the huntsmen, he wished very much to go and see what was going on. “Ah, sister! sister!” said he, “let me go out into the wood, I can stay no longer.” And he begged so long, that she at last agreed to let him go. “But,” said she, “be sure to come to me in the evening; I shall shut up the door, to keep out those wild huntsmen; and if you tap at it and say, ‘Sister, let me in!’ I shall know you; but if you don’t speak, I shall keep the door fast.” Then away sprang the fawn, and frisked and bounded along in the open air. The king and his huntsmen saw the beautiful creature, and followed, but could not overtake him; for when they thought they were sure of their prize, he sprang over the bushes, and was out of sight at once.

As it grew dark he came running home to the hut and tapped, and said, “Sister, sister, let me in!” Then she opened the little door, and in he jumped, and slept soundly all night on his soft bed.

Next morning the hunt began again; and when he heard the huntsmen’s horns, he said, “Sister, open the door for me, I must go again.” Then she let him out, and said, “Come back in the evening, and remember what you are to say.” When the king and the huntsmen saw the fawn with the golden collar again, they gave him chase; but he was too quick for them. The chase lasted the whole day; but at last the huntsmen nearly surrounded him, and one of them wounded him in the foot, so that he became sadly lame, and could hardly crawl home. The man who had wounded him followed close behind, and hid himself, and heard the little fawn say, “Sister, sister, let me in!” upon which the door opened, and soon shut again. The huntsman marked all well, and went to the king and told him what he had seen and heard; then the king said, “To-morrow we will have another chase.”

Grethel was very much frightened when she saw that her dear little fawn was wounded; but she washed the blood away, and put some healing herbs on it, and said, “Now go to bed, dear fawn, and you will soon be well again.” The wound was so slight, that in the morning there was nothing to be seen of it; and when the horn blew, the little thing said, “I can’t stay here, I must go and look on; I will take care that none of them shall catch me.” But Grethel said, “I am sure they will kill you this time: I will not let you go.” “I shall die of grief,” said he, “if you keep me here; when I hear the horns, I feel as if I could fly.” Then Grethel was forced to let him go: so she opened the door with a heavy heart, and he bounded out gaily into the wood.

When the king saw him, he said to his huntsmen, “Now chase him all day long, till you catch him; but let none of you do him any harm.” The sun set, however, without their being able to overtake him, and the king called away the huntsmen, and said to the one who had watched, “Now come and show me the little hut.” So they went to the door and tapped, and said, “Sister, sister, let me in!” Then the door opened, and the king went in, and there stood a maiden more lovely than any he had ever seen.

Grethel was frightened to see that it was not her fawn, but a king with a golden crown that was come into her hut: however, he spoke kindly to her, and took her hand, and said, “Will you come with me to my castle, and be my wife?” “Yes,” said the maiden, “I will go to your castle, but I cannot be your wife; and my fawn must go with me, I cannot part with that.” “Well,” said the king, “he shall come and live with you all your life, and want for nothing.” Just then in sprang the little fawn; and his sister tied the string to his neck, and they left the hut in the wood together.

Then the king took Grethel to his palace, and on the way she told him all her story: and then he sent for the fairy, and made her change the fawn into Hansel again; and he and Grethel loved one another, and were married, and lived happily together all their days in the good king’s palace.

* * * * *

The story of Hansel and Grethel was liked as well as any one that could be told and the German Fairy was very proud of this, so much so that she began to declare that the part of the world which she came from was one far richer than any other in such stories, and implied that she was quite ready to tell them all if King Oberon liked, but the king did not take the hint but instead thanked the German Fairy, and at once began to look around for the next tale-teller when Puck came flying up and in a privileged fashion whispered in the ear of the Fairy King.

“Capital,” exclaimed Oberon, “Bottom and his friends must know some stories and one of them shall be next.”

Off Puck went, and then there was such a shuffling of feet and nudging of elbows where Nick Bottom the weaver sat with Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout and Starveling, his companions.

“You first, bully Bottom,” says Snout, and “You first, Peter Quince,” says Nick Bottom, and “You first, Robin Starveling,” “You first, Flute,” comes from the others.

Puck would not wait for the dispute as to precedence to be settled but just laid hold of Robin Starveling the tailor by the ear and willy-nilly off he had to go. On getting to the stool, like a sensible fellow, he began at once without any excuses by telling another story of the Irish fairies, and his story was called

The Magic Bottles

It was in the good old days that a farmer named Mick Purcell rented a few acres of barren ground in the neighbourhood of Mouren, situated about three miles from Mallow and thirteen from the beautiful city called Cork. Mick had a wife and family. They all did what they could, and that was but little, for the poor man had no child grown up big enough to help him in his work; and all the poor woman could do was to mind the children, and to milk the one cow, and to boil the potatoes and carry the eggs to market to Mallow; but with all they could do ’twas hard enough on them to pay the rent. Well, they did manage it for a good while; but at last came a bad year, and the little grain of oats was all spoiled, and the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the measles--she was sold in Mallow and brought almost nothing; and poor Mick found that he hadn’t enough half to pay his rent.

“Why, then, Molly,” says he, “what’ll we do?”

“Wisha, then, mavourneen, what would you do but take the cow to the fair of Cork and sell her?” says she; “and so you must go to-morrow, that the poor beast may be rested _again_ the fair.”

“And what’ll we do when she’s gone?” says Mick sorrowfully.

“Never a know I know, Mick; but sure God won’t leave us without him, Mick; and you know how good he was to us when poor little Billy was sick, and we had nothing at all for him to take--that good doctor gentleman at Ballydahin came riding and asking for a drink of milk; and how he gave us two shillings; and how he sent the things and bottles for the child and gave me my breakfast when I went over to ask a question, so he did; and how he came to see Billy, and never left off his goodness till he was quite well?”

“Oh! you are always that way, Molly, and I believe you are right after all, so I won’t be sorry for selling the cow; but I’ll go to-morrow, and you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know ’tis ripped under the arm.”

Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve o’clock next day he left her, getting a charge not to sell his cow except for the highest penny. Mick promised to mind it, and went his way along the road. He drove his cow slowly through the little stream which crosses it, and runs under the old walls of Mourne. As he passed he glanced his eye upon the towers and one of the old elder trees, which were then only little bits of switches.

“Oh, then, if I only had half the money that’s buried in you, ’tisn’t driving this poor cow I’d be now! Why, then, isn’t it too bad that it should be there covered over with earth, and many a one besides me wanting? Well, if it’s God’s will, I’ll have some money myself coming back.”

So saying he moved on after his beast. ’Twas a fine day, and the sun shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey as he passed under them. He then crossed an extensive mountain tract and after six long miles he came to the top of that hill--Bottle Hill ’tis called now, but that was not the name of it then, and just there a man overtook him. “Good morrow,” says he. “Good morrow, kindly,” says Mick, looking at the stranger, who was a little man, you’d almost call him a dwarf, only he wasn’t quite so little neither: he had a bit of an old wrinkled, yellow face, for all the world like a dried cauliflower only he had a sharp little nose, and red eyes, and white hair, and his lips were not red, but all his face was one colour, and his eyes were never quite still but looking at everything and although they were red they made Mick feel quite cold when he looked at them. In truth he did not much like the little man’s company; and he couldn’t see one bit of his legs nor his body, for though the day was warm, he was all wrapped up in a big great-coat. Mick drove his cow something faster, but the little man kept up with him. Mick didn’t know how he walked for he was almost afraid to look at him, and to cross himself, for fear the old man would be angry. Yet he thought his fellow-traveller did not seem to walk like other men, nor to put one foot before the other, but to glide over the rough road--and rough enough it was--like a shadow, without noise and without effort. Mick’s heart trembled within him, and he said a prayer to himself, wishing he hadn’t come out that day, or that he was on Fair-hill, or that he hadn’t the cow to mind that he might run away from the bad thing--when, in the midst of his fears, he was again addressed by his companion.

“Where are you going with the cow, honest man?”

“To the fair of Cork then,” says Mick, trembling at the shrill and piercing tones of the voice.

“Are you going to sell her?” said the stranger.

“Why, then, what else am I going for but to sell her?”

“Will you sell her to me?”

Mick started--he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man, and he was more afraid to say no.

“What’ll you give for her?” at last says he.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you this bottle,” said the little one, pulling a bottle from under his coat.

Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, he could not help bursting into a loud fit of laughter.

“Laugh if you will,” said the little man, “but I tell you this bottle is better for you than all the money you will get for the cow in Cork--ay, than ten thousand times as much.”

Mick laughed again. “Why then,” says he, “do you think I am such a fool as to give my good cow for a bottle--and an empty one, too? indeed, then I won’t.”

“You’d better give me the cow, and take the bottle--you’ll not be sorry for it.”

“Why, then, and what would Molly say? I’d never hear the end of it; and how would I pay the rent? and what would we all do without a penny of money?”

“I tell you this bottle is better to you than money; take it and give me the cow. I ask you for the last time, Mick Purcell.”

Mick started.

“How does he know my name?” thought he.

The stranger proceeded: “Mick Purcell, I know you, and I have a regard for you; therefore do as I warn you, or you may be sorry for it. How do you know but your cow will die before you go to Cork?”

Mick was going to say “God forbid!” but the little man went on (and he was too attentive to say anything to stop him; for Mick was a very civil man, and he knew better than to interrupt a gentleman, and that’s what many people, that hold their heads higher, don’t mind now).

“And how do you know but there will be much cattle at the fair, and you will get a bad price, or maybe you might be robbed when you are coming home? but what need I talk more to you, when you are determined to throw away your luck, Mick Purcell.”

“Oh! no, I would not throw away my luck, sir,” said Mick, “and if I was sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never liked an empty bottle, although I had drank the contents of it, I’d give you the cow in the name----”

“Never mind names,” said the stranger, “but give me the cow; I would not tell you a lie. Here, take the bottle, and when you go home do what I direct exactly.”

Mick hesitated.

“Well, then, good-bye, I can stay no longer: once more take it, and be rich; refuse it, and beg for your life, and see your children in poverty, and your wife dying for want--that will happen to you, Mick Purcell!” said the little man with a malicious grin, which made him look ten times more ugly than ever.

“Maybe, ’tis true,” said Mick, still hesitating: he did not know what to do--he could hardly help believing the old man, and at length in a fit of desperation, he seized the bottle. “Take the cow,” said he, “and if you are telling a lie, the curse of the poor will be on you.”

“I care neither for your curses nor your blessings; but I have spoken truth, Mick Purcell, and that you will find to-night, if you do what I tell you.”

“And what’s that?” says Mick.

“When you go home, never mind if your wife is angry, but be quiet yourself, and make her sweep the room clean, set the table out right and spread a clean cloth over it; then put the bottle on the ground saying these words: ‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see the end of it.”

“And is this all?” says Mick.

“No more,” said the stranger. “Good-bye, Mick Purcell--you are a rich man.”

“God grant it!” said Mick, as the old man moved after the cow, and Mick retraced the road towards his cabin; but he could not help turning back his head, to look after the purchaser of his cow, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Lord between us and harm!” said Mick. “_He_ can’t belong to this earth; but where is the cow?” She, too, was gone, and Mick went homeward muttering prayers, and holding fast the bottle.

“And what would I do if it broke?” thought he. “Oh! but I’ll take care of that.” So he put it into his bosom, and went on anxious to prove his bottle, and doubting of the reception he should meet from his wife. Balancing his anxieties with his expectation, his fears with his hopes, he reached home in the evening and surprised his wife, sitting over the turf fire in the big chimney.

“Oh! Mick, are you come back? Sure you weren’t at Cork all the way! What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much money did you get for her? What news have you? Tell us everything about it.”

“Why then, Molly, if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all about it. If you want to know where the cow is, ’tisn’t Mick can tell you, for the never a know does he know where she is now.”

“Oh! then, you sold her; and where’s the money?”

“Arrah, stop awhile, Molly, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“But what is that bottle under your waistcoat?” said Molly, spying its neck sticking out.

“Why, then, be easy now, can’t you,” says Mick, “till I tell it to you.” Then, putting the bottle on the table, “That’s all I got for the cow.”

His poor wife was thunderstruck. “All you got! and what good is that, Mick? Oh! I never thought you were such a fool; and what’ll we do for the rent, and what----”

“Now, Molly,” says Mick, “can’t you hearken to reason? Didn’t I tell you how the old man, or whatsoever he was, met me--no, he did not meet me, neither, but he was there with me--on the big hill and how he made me sell him the cow, and told me the bottle was the only thing for me?”

“Yes, indeed, the only thing for you, you fool!” said Molly seizing the bottle to hurl it at her poor husband’s head; but Mick caught it, and quickly (for he minded the old man’s advice) loosened his wife’s grasp, and placed the bottle again in his bosom. Poor Molly sat down crying, while Mick told her his story, with many a crossing and blessing between him and harm. His wife could not help believing him, particularly as she had as much faith in fairies as she had in the priest, who indeed never discouraged her belief in the fairies; maybe he didn’t know she believed in them, and maybe he believed in them himself. She got up, however, without saying one word, and began to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heath; then she tidied up everything, and put out the long table, and spread the clean cloth, for she had only one, upon it, and Mick, placing the bottle on the ground, looked at it and said, “Bottle, do your duty.”

“Look there! look there, mammy!” said his chubby eldest son, a boy about five years old--“look there! look there!” and he sprung to his mother’s side, as two tiny little fellows rose like light from the bottle, and in an instant covered the table with dishes and plates of gold and silver, full of the finest victuals that ever were seen, and when all was done went into the bottle again. Mick and his wife looked at everything with astonishment; they had never seen such plates and dishes before, and didn’t think they could ever admire them enough, the very sight almost took away their appetites; but at length Molly said, “Come and sit down, Mick, and try and eat a bit: sure you ought to be hungry after such a good day’s work.”

“Why, then, the man told no lie about the bottle.”

Mick sat down, after putting the children to the table and they made a hearty meal, though they couldn’t taste half the dishes.

“Now,” says Molly, “I wonder will those two good little gentlemen carry away these fine things again?” They waited, but no one came; so Molly put up the dishes and plates very carefully saying, “Why, then, Mick, that was no lie sure enough: but you’ll be a rich man yet, Mick Purcell.”

Mick and his wife and children went to their bed, not to sleep, but to settle about selling the fine things they did not want and taking more land. Mick went to Cork and sold his plate, and bought a horse and cart, and began to show that he was making money; and they did all they could to keep the bottle a secret; but for all that, their landlord found it out, for he came to Mick one day and asked him where he got all his money--sure it was not by the farm; and he bothered him so much, that at last Mick told him of the bottle. His landlord offered him a deal of money for it, but Mick would not give it, till at last he offered to give him all his farm for ever: so Mick, who was very rich, thought he’d never want any more money, and gave him the bottle: but Mick was mistaken--he and his family spent money as if there was no end of it; and to make the story short, they became poorer and poorer, till at last they had nothing left but one cow; and Mick once more drove his cow before him to sell her at Cork fair, hoping to meet the old man and get another bottle. It was hardly daybreak when he left home, and he walked on at a good pace till he reached the big hill: the mists were sleeping in the valleys and curling like smoke wreaths upon the brown heath around him. The sun rose on his left, and just at his feet a lark sprang from its grassy couch and poured forth its joyous matin song, ascending into the clear blue sky.

Mick crossed himself listening as he advanced to the sweet song of the lark, but thinking, notwithstanding, all the time of the little old man; when, just as he reached the summit of the hill, and cast his eyes over the extensive prospect before and around him, he was startled and rejoiced by the same well-known voice: “Well, Mick Purcell, I told you you would be a rich man.”

“Indeed, then, sure enough I was, that’s no lie for you, sir. Good morning to you, but it is not rich I am now--but have you another bottle, for I want it now as much as I did long ago; so if you have it, sir, here is the cow for it.”

“And here is the bottle,” said the old man, smiling; “you know what to do with it.”

“Oh! then, sure I do, as good right I have.”

“Well, farewell for ever, Mick Purcell: I told you you would be a rich man.”

“And good-bye to you, sir,” said Mick, as he turned back; “and good luck to you, and good luck to the big hill--it wants a name--Bottle Hill--good-bye, sir, good-bye.”

Mick walked home as fast as he could, never looking after the white-faced little gentleman and the cow, so anxious was he to bring home the bottle. Well, he arrived with it safely enough, and called out as soon as he saw Molly--“Oh! sure I’ve another bottle!”

“Arrah! then, have you? why, then, you’re a lucky man, Mick Purcell, that’s what you are.”

In an instant she put everything right; and Mick, looking at his bottle, exultingly cried out, “Bottle, do your duty.” In a twinkling, two great stout men with big cudgels issued from the bottle (I do not know how they got room in it) and belaboured poor Mick and his wife and all his family, till they lay on the floor, when in they went again. Mick, as soon as he recovered, got up and looked about him; he thought and thought, and at last he took up his wife and his children; and, leaving them to recover as well as they could, he took the bottle under his coat and went to his landlord, who had a great company: he got a servant to tell him he wanted to speak to him, and at last he came out to Mick.

“Well, what do you want now?”

“Nothing, sir, only I have another bottle.”

“Oh! ho! is it as good as the first?”

“Yes, sir, and better; if you like, I will show it to you before all the ladies and gentlemen.”

“Come along, then.” So saying Mick was brought into the great hall, where he saw his old bottle standing high up on a shelf. “Ah! ha!” says he to himself, “maybe I won’t have you by-and-by.”

“Now,” says his landlord, “show us your bottle.” Mick set it on the floor, and uttered the words: in a moment the landlord was tumbled on the floor; ladies and gentlemen, servants and all, were running, and roaring, and sprawling, and kicking, and shrieking. Wine cups and salvers were knocked about in every direction, until the landlord called out, “Stop those two devils, Mick Purcell, or I’ll have you hanged.”

“They never shall stop,” said Mick, “till I get my own bottle that I see up there at top of that shelf.”

“Get it down to him, give it down to him, before we are all killed!” says the landlord.

Mick put his bottle in his bosom: in jumped the two men into the new bottle, and he carried them home. I need not lengthen my story by telling how they got richer than ever; how his son married his landlord’s only daughter, how he and his wife died when they were very old, and how some of the servants fighting at their wake, broke the bottles; but still the hill has the name upon it; ay, and so ’twill be always Bottle Hill to the end of the world, and so it ought, for it is a strange story.

* * * * *

Some of the fairies did not think the story so strange as Starveling the tailor did, but then they were accustomed to wonderful things. While he was making his way back to his friends (with Puck keeping close watch upon him the while) the King had already fixed upon the next tale-teller, and a French Fay--a brilliant delicate little creature with transparent gauzy wings coloured like the rainbow--was standing on the stool and had begun to tell the story of the

Princess Rosette

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who had two handsome boys; so well-fed and hearty were they, that they grew like the day.

Whenever the Queen had a child, she sent for the fairies, that she might learn from them what would be its future lot. After a while she had a little daughter, who was so beautiful, that no one could see her without loving her. The fairies came as usual, and the Queen having feasted them, said to them as they were going away, “Do not forget that good custom of yours, but tell me what will happen to Rosette”--for this was the name of the little Princess. The fairies answered her that they had left their divining-books at home, and that they would come again to see her. “Ah!” said the Queen, “that bodes no good, I fear; you do not wish to distress me by foretelling evil; but, I pray you, let me know the worst, and hide nothing from me.” The fairies continued to make excuses, but the Queen only became more anxious to know the truth. At last the chief among them said to her, “We fear, madam, that Rosette will be the cause of a great misfortune befalling her brothers; that they may even lose their lives on her account. This is all that we can tell you of the fate of this sweet little Princess, and we are grieved to have nothing better to say about her.” The fairies took their departure, and the Queen was very sorrowful, so sorrowful that the King saw by her face that she was in trouble. He asked her what was the matter. She told him she had gone too near the fire and accidentally burnt all the flax that was on her distaff. “Is that all?” replied the King, and he went up to his store-room and brought her down more flax than she could spin in a hundred years.

But the Queen was still very sorrowful, and the King again asked her what was the matter. She told him that she had been down to the river and had let one of her green satin slippers fall into the water. “Is that all?” replied the King, and he sent for all the shoemakers in the kingdom, and made the Queen a present of ten thousand green satin slippers.

Still the Queen was no less sorrowful; and the King asked her once more what was the matter. She told him that, being hungry, she had eaten hastily, and had swallowed her wedding-ring. The King knew that she was not speaking the truth, for he had himself put away the ring, and he replied, “My dear wife, you are not speaking the truth; here is your ring, which I have kept in my purse.” The Queen was put out of countenance at being caught telling a lie--for there is nothing in the world so ugly--and she saw that the King was vexed, so she told him what the fairies had predicted about little Rosette, and begged him to tell her if he could think of any remedy. The King was greatly troubled, so much so, that at last he said to the Queen, “I see no way of saving our two boys, except by putting the little girl to death, while she is still in her swaddling clothes.” But the Queen cried that she would rather suffer death herself, that she would never consent to so cruel a deed, and that the King must try and think of some other remedy. The King and Queen could think of nothing else, and while thus pondering over the matter, the Queen was told that in a large wood near the town, there lived an old hermit, who made his home in the trunk of a tree, whom people went from far and near to consult.

“It is to him I must go,” said the Queen; “the fairies told me the evil, but they forgot to tell me the remedy.”

She started early in the morning, mounted on her little white mule, that was shod with gold, and accompanied by two of her maids of honour, who each rode a pretty horse. When they were near the wood they dismounted out of respect, and made their way to the tree where the hermit lived. He did not much care for the visits of women, but when he saw that it was the Queen approaching, he said, “Welcome! what would you ask of me?” She related to him what the fairies had said about Rosette, and asked him to advise her what to do. He told her that the Princess must be shut up in a tower, and not be allowed to leave it as long as she lived. The Queen thanked him, and returned and told everything to the King. The King immediately gave orders for a large tower to be built as quickly as possible. In it he placed his daughter, but that she might not feel lonely and depressed, he, and the Queen, and her two brothers, went to see her every day. The elder of these was called the big Prince, and the younger, the little Prince. They loved their sister passionately, for she was the most beautiful and graceful Princess ever seen, and the least glance of hers was worth more than a hundred gold pieces. When she was fifteen years old, the big Prince said to the King, “Father, my sister is old enough to be married; shall we not soon have a wedding?” The little Prince said the same to the Queen, but their Majesties laughed and changed the subject, and made no answer about the marriage.

Now, it happened that the King and Queen both fell very ill, and died within a few days of one another. There was great mourning; everyone wore black, and all the bells were tolled. Rosette was inconsolable at the loss of her good mother.

As soon as the funeral was over, the dukes and marquises of the kingdom placed the big Prince on a throne made of gold and diamonds; he wore a splendid crown on his head, and robes of violet velvet embroidered with suns and moons. Then the whole Court cried out, “Long live the King!” and now on all sides there was nothing but rejoicing.

Then the young King and his brother said, “Now that we are the masters, we will release our sister from the tower, where she has been shut up for such a long and dreary time.” They had only to pass through the garden to reach the tower, which stood in one corner of it, and had been built as high as was possible, for the late Queen had intended her to remain there always. Rosette was embroidering a beautiful dress on a frame in front of her, when she saw her brothers enter. She rose, and taking the King’s hand, said, “Good-day, sire, you are now King, and I am your humble subject; I pray you to release me from this tower, where I lead a melancholy life,” and with this, she burst into tears. The King embraced her, and begged her not to weep, for he was come, he said, to take her from the tower, and to conduct her to a beautiful castle. The Prince had his pockets full of sweetmeats, which he gave Rosette. “Come,” he said, “let us get away from this wretched place; the King will soon find you a husband; do not be unhappy any longer.”

When Rosette saw the beautiful garden, full of flowers, and fruits, and fountains, she was so overcome with astonishment, that she stood speechless, for she had never seen anything of the kind before. She looked around her, she went first here, then there, she picked the fruit off the trees, and gathered flowers from the beds; while her little dog, Fretillon, who was as green as a parrot, kept on running before her, saying, yap, yap, yap! and jumping and cutting a thousand capers, and everybody was amused at his ways. Presently he ran into a little wood, whither the Princess followed him, and here her wonder was even greater than before, when she saw a large peacock spreading out its tail. She thought it so beautiful, so very beautiful, that she could not take her eyes off it. The King and the Prince now joined her, and asked her what delighted her so much. She pointed to the peacock, and asked them what it was. They told her it was a bird, which was sometimes eaten. “What!” she cried, “dare to kill and eat a beautiful bird like that. I tell you, that I will marry no one but the King of the Peacocks, and when I am their Queen I shall not allow anybody to eat them.” The astonishment of the King cannot be described. “But, dear sister,” said he, “where would you have us go to find the King of the Peacocks?” “Whither you please, sire; but him, and him alone, will I marry.”

Having come to this decision, she was now conducted by her brothers to their castle; the peacock had to be brought and put into her room, so fond was she of it. All the Court ladies who had not before seen Rosette now hastened to greet her, and pay their respects to her. Some brought preserves with them, some sugar, and others dresses of woven gold, beautiful ribbons, dolls, embroidered shoes, pearls, and diamonds. Everyone did their best to entertain her, and she was so well brought up, so courteous, kissing their hands, curtseying when anything beautiful was given to her, that there was not a lord or lady who did not leave her presence gratified and charmed. While she was thus occupied, the King and the Prince were turning over in their minds how they should find the King of the Peacocks, if there was such a person in the world to be found. They decided that they would have Rosette’s portrait painted; and when completed it was so life-like, that only speech was wanting. Then they said to her, “Since you will marry no one but the King of the Peacocks, we are going together to look for him, and will traverse the whole world to try and find him for you. If we find him, we shall be very glad. Meanwhile take care of our kingdom until we return.”

Rosette thanked them for all the trouble they were taking; she promised to govern the kingdom well, and said that, during their absence, her only pleasure would be in looking at the peacock, and making her little dog dance. They all three cried when they said good-bye to each other.

So the two Princes started on their long journey, and they asked everyone whom they met, “Do you know the King of the Peacocks?” but the reply was always the same, “No, we do not.” Each time they passed on and went further, and in this way they travelled so very, very far, that no one had ever been so far before.

They came to the kingdom of the cockchafers; and these were in such numbers, and made such a loud buzzing, that the King feared he should become deaf. He asked one of them, who appeared to him to have the most intelligence, whether he knew where the King of the Peacocks was to be found. “Sire,” replied the cockchafer, “his kingdom lies thirty thousand leagues from here; you have chosen the longest way to reach it.” “And how do you know that?” asked the King. “Because,” answered the cockchafer, “we know you very well, for every year we spend two or three months in your gardens.” Whereupon the King and his brother embraced the cockchafer, and they went off arm in arm to dine together, and the two strangers admired all the curiosities of that new country, where the smallest leaf of a tree was worth a gold piece. After that, they continued their journey, and having been directed along the right way, they were not long in reaching its close. On their arrival, they found all the trees laden with peacocks, and, indeed, there were peacocks everywhere, so that they could be heard talking and screaming two leagues off.

The King said to his brother, “If the King of the Peacocks is a peacock himself, how can our sister marry him? it would be folly to consent to such a thing, and it would be a fine thing for us to have little peacocks for nephews.” The Prince was equally disturbed at the thought. “It is an unhappy fancy she has taken into her head,” he said. “I cannot think what led her to imagine that there was such a person in the world as the King of the Peacocks.”

When they entered the town, they saw that it was full of men and women, and that they all wore clothes made of peacocks’ feathers, and that these were evidently considered fine things, for every place was covered with them. They met the King, who was driving in a beautiful little carriage of gold, studded with diamonds, and drawn by twelve peacocks at full gallop. This King of the Peacocks was so handsome, that the King and the Prince were delighted; he had long, light, curly hair, fair complexion, and wore a crown of peacocks’ feathers. Directly he saw them, he guessed, seeing that they wore a different costume to the people of the country, that they were strangers, and wishing to ascertain if this was so, he ordered his carriage to stop, and sent for them.

The King and the Prince advanced, bowing low, and said, “Sire, we have come from afar, to show you a portrait.” They drew forth Rosette’s portrait and showed it to him. After gazing at it a while, the King of the Peacocks said, “I can scarcely believe that there is so beautiful a maiden in the whole world.” “She is a thousand times more beautiful,” said the King. “You are jesting,” replied the King of the Peacocks. “Sire,” rejoined the Prince, “here is my brother, who is a King, like yourself; he is called King, and my name is Prince; our sister, of whom this is the portrait, is the Princess Rosette. We have come to ask if you will marry her; she is good and beautiful, and we will give her, as dower, a bushel of golden crowns.” “It is well,” said the King. “I will gladly marry her; she shall want for nothing, and I shall love her greatly; but I require that she shall be as beautiful as her portrait, and if she is in the smallest degree less so, I shall make you pay for it with your lives.” “We consent willingly,” said both Rosette’s brothers. “You consent?” added the King. “You will go to prison then, and remain there until the Princess arrives.” The Princes made no difficulty about this, for they knew well that Rosette was more beautiful than her portrait. They were well looked after while in prison, and were well served with all they required, and the King often went to see them. He kept Rosette’s portrait in his room, and could scarcely rest day or night for looking at it. As the King and his brother could not go to her themselves, they wrote to Rosette, telling her to pack up as quickly as possible, and to start without delay, as the King of the Peacocks was awaiting her. They did not tell her that they were prisoners, for fear of causing her uneasiness.