Chapter VIII: Part 8

At last they came to their journey’s end, and stopped at the gate of a fine house: “Now, Billy,” said the little man, “do as you see me do, and follow me close; but as you did not know your horse’s head from his tail, mind that your own head does not spin round until you can’t tell whether you are standing on it or on your heels: for remember that old liquor, though able to make a cat speak, can make a man dumb.”

The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy could make no meaning; but he contrived to say them after him for all that; and in they both went through the key-hole of the door, and through one key-hole after another, until they got into the wine cellar, which was well-stored with all kinds of wine.

The little man fell to drinking as hard as he could, and Billy, no way disliking the example, did the same. “The best of masters are you, surely,” said Billy to him; “no matter who is the next; and well pleased will I be with your service if you continue to give me plenty to drink.”

“I have made no bargain with you,” said the little man, “and will make none; but up and follow me.”

Away they went through key-hole after key-hole; and each mounting upon the rush which he left at the hall door, scampered off, kicking the clouds before them like snowballs, as soon as the words, “Borram, Borram, Borram,” had passed their lips.

When they came back to the Fort-field, the little man dismissed Billy, bidding him be there the next night at the same hour. Thus did they go on, night after night, shaping their course one night here, and another night there--sometimes north, and sometimes east, and sometimes south, until there was not a gentleman’s wine-cellar in all Ireland they had not visited and could tell the flavour of every wine in it as well--ay, better than the butler himself.

One night when Billy MacDaniel met the little man as usual in the Fort-field, and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their journey, his master said to him, “Billy, I shall want another horse to-night, for maybe we may bring back more company than we take.” So Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by his master, brought a third rush much wondering who it might be that would travel back in their company, and whether he was about to have a fellow-servant. “If I have,” thought Billy, “he shall go and fetch the horses from the bog every night; for I don’t see why I am not, every inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master.”

Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped until they came to a snug farmer’s house in the county Limerick, close under the old castle of Carrigogunniel, that was built they say, by the great Brian Boru. Within the house there was great carousing going forward, and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen; then turning round all of a sudden said, “Billy, I will be a thousand years old to-morrow.”

“God bless us, sir,” said Billy, “will you?”

“Don’t say these words again, Billy,” said the little man, “or you will be my ruin for ever. Now, Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the world to-morrow, I think it is full time for me to get married.”

“I think so too, without any kind of doubt at all,” said Billy, “if ever you mean to marry.”

“And to that purpose,” said the little man, “have I come all the way to Carrigogunniel; for in this house, this very night, is young Darby Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney; and as she is a tall and comely girl and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her myself and taking her off with me.”

“And what will Darby Riley say to that?” said Billy.

“Silence,” said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look: “I did not bring you here with me to ask questions;” and without holding further argument, he began saying the queer words which had the power of passing him through the key-hole as free as air, and which Billy thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.

In they both went; and for the better viewing the company, the little man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock sparrow upon one of the big beams which went across the house over all their heads, and Billy did the same upon another facing him; but not being much accustomed to roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be, and it was quite clear he had not taken pattern after the way in which the little man had bundled himself up together. If the little man had been a tailor all his life he could not have sat more contentedly upon his haunches.

There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun that was going forward; and under them were the priest and piper, and the father of Darby Riley, with Darby’s two brothers and his uncle’s son; and they were both the father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good right they had; and her four sisters, with bran new ribbons in their caps, and her three brothers all looking as clean and as clever as any three boys in Munster, and there were uncles and aunts, and gossips and cousins enough besides to make a full house of it; and plenty was there to eat and drink on the table for every one of them, if they had been double the number.

Now it happened, just as Mrs Rooney had helped his reverence to the first cut of the pig’s head which was placed before her, beautifully bolstered up with white savoys, that the bride gave a sneeze, which made every one at table start, but no one said, “God bless us.” All thinking that the priest would have done so, as he ought if he had done his duty, no one wished to take the word out of his mouth, which unfortunately was pre-occupied with pig’s head and greens. And after a moment’s pause the fun and merriment of the bridal feast went on without the pious benediction.

Of this circumstance both Billy and his master were no inattentive spectators from their exalted stations. “Ha,” exclaimed the little man, throwing one leg from under him with a joyous flourish, and his eye twinkled with a strange light, whilst his eyebrows became elevated into the curvature of Gothic arches--“Ha,” said he, leering down at the bride, and then up at Billy, “I have half of her now, surely. Let her sneeze out twice more, and she is mine, in spite of priest, mass-book, and Darby Riley.”

Again the fair Bridget sneezed; but it was so gently, and she blushed so much, that few except the little man took, or seemed to take, any notice; and no one thought of saying “God bless us.”

Billy all this time regarded the poor girl with a most rueful expression of countenance; for he could not help thinking what a terrible thing it was for a nice young girl of nineteen, with large blue eyes, transparent skin, and dimpled cheeks, suffused with health and joy, to be obliged to marry an ugly little bit of a man, who was a thousand years old barring a day.

At this critical moment the bride gave a third sneeze, and Billy roared out with all his might, “God save us.” Whether this exclamation resulted from his soliloquy, or from the mere force of habit, he never could tell exactly himself; but no sooner was it uttered than the little man, his face glowing with rage and disappointment, sprung from the beam on which he had perched himself, and shrieking out in the voice of a cracked bagpipe, “I discharge you from my service, Billy MacDaniel--take _that_ for your wages,” gave poor Billy a most furious kick in the back, which sent his unfortunate servant sprawling upon his face and hands right in the middle of the supper table.

If Billy was astonished, how much more so was every one of the company into which he was thrown with so little ceremony. But when they heard his story, Father Cooney laid down his knife and fork, and married the young couple out of hand with all speed; and Billy MacDaniel danced the Rinka at their wedding, and plenty did he drink at it too, which was what he thought more of than dancing.

* * * * *

Bottom was mighty glad when his story was over, for he did not like the feeling that he could not get up from the stool when he tried, and he did not like to hear how small a voice he was speaking in; he would have liked to speak big and show what a great fellow he was in that queer company, but there he sat unable to move, and roaring as gently as any sucking dove to use his own words. As soon as he had got to the last word of his story he found that he could get up and off he floundered to his companions.

“Another _fairy_ this time,” said King Oberon, as though he had not altogether relished Bottom’s story; “the Danish Elves have told us nothing yet.”

At this, which was of course equal to a command, a Danish Elf came forward, seated himself and began to tell about

The Elf Hill

Some lizards were nimbly running in and out of the clefts in an old tree. They understood each other very well, for they all spoke lizard language.

“What a rumbling and grumbling is going on inside the old Elf-hill,” said one of the lizards. “I have not closed my eyes for the last two nights for the noise. I might just as well be having toothache, for all the sleep I get!”

“There is something up inside,” said the other lizard. “They propped up the top of the hill on four red posts till cockcrow this morning, to air it out thoroughly; and the elf maidens have been learning some new dancing steps, which they are always practising. There certainly must be something going on.”

“Yes, I was talking to an earthworm of my acquaintance about it,” said the third lizard. “He came straight up out of the hill, where he had been boring into the earth for days and nights. He had heard a good deal, for the miserable creature can’t see, but it can feel its way, and plays the part of eavesdropper to perfection. They are expecting visitors in the Elf-hill, grand visitors; but who they are the earthworm refused to say or perhaps he did not know. All the will-o’-the-wisps are ordered for a procession of torches, as it is called; and the silver and gold plate, of which there is any amount in the hill, is all being polished up and put out in the moonlight.”

“Whoever can the strangers be?” said all the lizards together.

“What on earth is happening? Hark! what a humming and buzzing!”

At this moment the Elf-hill opened, and an elderly elf-maiden tripped out. She was hollow behind, but otherwise quite attractively dressed. She was the old elf-king’s housekeeper, and a distant relative. She wore an amber heart upon her forehead. She moved her legs at a great pace, “trip, trip.” Good heavens! how fast she tripped over the ground; she went right down to the night-jar in the swamp.

“You are invited to the Elf-hill for to-night,” she said to him. “But will you be so kind as to charge yourself with the other invitations. You must make yourself useful in other ways, as you don’t keep house yourself. We are going to have some very distinguished visitors, goblins, who always have something to say, and so the old elf-king means to show what he can do.”

“Who is to be invited?” asked the night-jar.

“Well, everybody may come to the big ball, even human beings, if they can only talk in their sleep, or do something else after our fashion. But the choice is to be strictly limited for the grand feast. We will only have the most distinguished people. I have had a battle with the Elf-king about it; because I hold that we mustn’t even include ghosts. The merman and his daughters must be invited first. I don’t suppose they care much about coming on dry land, but I shall see that they each have a wet stone to sit on, or something better; so I expect they won’t decline this time. All the old demons of the first-class, with tails, the River-god, and the wood-sprites. And then I don’t think we can pass over the Grave-pig, the Hell-horse, and the Church-grim, although they belong to the clergy, who are not of our people; but that is merely on account of their office, and they are closely connected with us, and visit us very frequently.”

“Croak,” said the night-jar, and he flew off to issue the invitations.

The elf-maidens had already begun to dance, and they danced a scarf-dance, with scarves woven of mist and moonshine; these have a lovely effect to those who care for that kind of thing. The great hall in the middle of the Elf-hill had been thoroughly polished up for the occasion. The floor was washed with moonshine, and the walls were rubbed over with witches’ fat, and this made them shine with many colours, like a tulip petal. The kitchen was full of frogs on spits, stuffed snake skins, and salads of toad-stool spawn, mouse snouts and hemlock. Then there was beer brewed by the marsh witch, and sparkling saltpetre wine from the vaults. Everything of the best, and rusty nails and church window panes among the kickshaws.

The old Elf-king had his golden crown polished with pounded slate-pencil, ay, and it was a head-boy’s slate-pencil too, and they are not so easy to get. They hung up fresh curtains in the bedroom, and fixed them with the slime of snails. Yes, indeed, there was a humming and a buzzing.

“Now we will fumigate, with horse-hair and pig’s bristles, and then I can do no more!” said the old elf-servant.

“Dear father!” said the youngest of the daughters, “are you not going to tell me who these grand strangers are?”

“Well, well,” he said, “I suppose I must tell you now. Two of my daughters must prepare themselves to be married,--two will certainly make marriages. The old Trold chieftain from Norway, that lives on the Dovrefield among his many rock castles and fastnesses and gold works, which are better than you would expect, is coming down here with his two sons. They are coming to look for wives. The old Trold is a regular honest Norwegian veteran, straightforward and merry. I used to know him in the olden days, when we drank to our good fellowship. He came here to fetch a wife, but she is dead now. She was a daughter of the king of the chalk cliffs at Möen. As the saying is, ‘he took his wife on the chalk,’ that is, bought her on tick. I am quite anxious to see the old fellow. The sons, they say, are a pair of overgrown, ill-mannered cubs; but perhaps they are not so bad; I daresay they will improve as they grow older. See if you can’t lick them into shape a bit.”

“And when do they come?” asked one of the daughters.

“That depends upon wind and weather,” said the Elf-king. “They travel economically, and they will take their chance of a ship. I wanted them to come round by Sweden, but the old fellow can’t bring himself to that yet. He doesn’t march with the times, but I don’t hold with that!”

At this moment two will-o’-the-wisps came hopping along, one faster than the other, so of course one arrived before the other.

“They are coming, they are coming!” they cried.

“Give me my crown, and let me stand in the moonlight,” said the Elf-king.

The daughters raised their scarves and curtseyed to the ground.

There stood the Trold chieftain from the Dovrefield; he wore a crown of hardened icicles and polished fir-cones, and besides this, he had on a bear-skin coat and snow-shoes. His sons, on the other hand, had bare necks and wore no braces, because they were strong men.

“Is that a hill?” asked the youngest of the brothers, pointing to the Elf-hill. “We should call it a hole in Norway.”

“Lads!” cried the old man, “holes go inwards, hills go upwards? Haven’t you got eyes in your heads?”

The only thing that astonished them, they said, was that they understood the language without any trouble.

“Don’t make fools of yourselves,” said the old man; “one might think you were only half baked.”

Then they went into the Elf-hill, where the company was of the grandest, although they had been got together in such a hurry; you might almost say they had been blown together. It was all charming, and arranged to suit everyone’s taste. The merman and his daughters sat at table in great tubs of water, and said it was just like being at home. Everybody had excellent table manners, except the two young Norwegian Trolds; they put their feet up on the table, but then they thought anything they did was right.

“Take your feet out of the way of the dishes,” said the old Trold, and they obeyed him, but not at once. They tickled the ladies they took in to dinner with fir-cones out of their pockets; then they pulled off their boots, so as to be quite comfortable, and handed the boots to the ladies to hold. Their father the old Trold chieftain, was very different; he told no end of splendid stories about the proud Norwegian mountains, and the waterfalls dashing down in white foam with a roar like thunder. He told them about the salmon leaping up against the rushing water, when the nixies played with golden harps. Then he went on to tell them about the sparkling winter nights when the sledge bells rang and the lads flew over the ice with blazing lights, the ice which was so transparent that you could see the startled fish darting away under your feet. Yes, indeed, he could tell stories, you could see and hear the things he described; the saw mills going, the men and maids singing their songs and dancing the merry Halling dance. Huzza! All at once the old Trold gave the elf housekeeper a smacking kiss, such a kiss it was, and yet they were not a bit related. Then the elf-maidens had to dance, first plain dancing, and then step dancing, and it was most becoming to them. Then came a fancy dance.

Preserve us, how nimble they were on their legs, you couldn’t tell where they began or where they ended, you couldn’t tell which were arms and which were legs, they were all mixed up together like shavings in a saw-pit. They twirled round and round so often that it made the Hell-horse feel quite giddy and unwell and he had to leave the table.

“Prrrrr!” said the old Trold. “There is some life in those legs, but what else can they do besides dancing and pointing their toes and all those whirligigs?”

“We will soon shew you!” said the Elf-king, and he called out his youngest daughter; she was thin and transparent as moonshine, and was the most ethereal of all the daughters. She put a little white stick in her mouth and vanished instantly; this was her accomplishment.

But the Trold said he did not like that accomplishment in a wife, nor did he think his boys would appreciate it. The second one could walk by her own side as if she had a shadow, and no elves have shadows.

The third was quite different; she had studied in the marsh witches’ brewery, and understood larding alder stumps with glow-worms.

“She will be a good housewife,” said the Trold, and then he saluted her with his eyes instead of drinking her health, for he did not want to drink too much.

Now came the turn of the fourth; she had a big golden harp to play, and when she touched the first string everybody lifted up their left legs (for all the elfin folk are left legged). But when she touched the second string everybody had to do what she wished.

“She is a dangerous woman!” said the Trold, but both his sons left the hill, for they were tired of it all.

“And what can the next daughter do?” asked the old Trold.

“I have learnt to like the Norwegians,” she said, “and I shall never marry unless I can go to Norway!”

But the smallest of the sisters whispered to the Trold, “that is only because she once heard a song which said that when the world came to an end, the rocks of Norway would still stand, and that is why she wants to go there, she is so afraid of being exterminated.”

“Ho, ho!” said the Trold, “so that slipped out. But what can the seventh do?”

“The sixth comes before the seventh,” said the Elf-king, for he could reckon, but she would not come forward.

“I can only tell people the truth,” she said. “Nobody cares for me, and I have enough to do in making my winding sheet.”

Now came the seventh and last, what could she do? Well she could tell stories as many as ever she liked.

“Here are my five fingers,” said the old Trold, “tell me a story for each one.”

The elf-maiden took hold of his wrist, and he chuckled and laughed, till he nearly choked. When she came to the fourth finger, which had a gold ring on it, as if it knew there was to be a betrothal, the Trold said, “Hold fast what you have got, the hand is yours, I will have you for a wife myself!” The elf-maiden said that the stories about Guldbrand, the fourth finger, and little Peter Playman, the fifth, had not yet been told.

“Never mind, keep those till winter. Then you shall tell us about the fir, and the birch, and the fairy gifts, and the tingling frost. You shall have every opportunity of telling us stories; nobody up there does it yet. We will sit in the Stone Hall, where the pine logs blaze, and drink mead out of the golden horns of the old Norwegian kings. The river god gave me a couple. When we sit there the mountain sprite comes to pay us a visit, and he will sing you the songs of the Sæter girls. The salmon will leap in the waterfalls, and beat against the stone wall, but it won’t get in. Ah, you may believe me when I say that we lead a merry life there in good old Norway. But where are the lads?”

Yes, where were the lads? They were running about the fields, blowing out the will-o’-the-wisps, who came so willingly for the torchlight procession.

“Why do you gad about out there?” said the Trold. “I have taken a mother for you, now you can come and take one of the aunts.”

But the lads said they would rather make a speech, and drink toasts; they had no wish to marry. Then they made their speeches, and drank toasts and tipped their glasses up to shew that they had emptied them. After that they pulled off their coats and went to sleep on the table, to show that they were quite at home. But the old Trold danced round and round the room with his young bride, and exchanged boots with her, which was grander than exchanging rings.

“There is the cock crowing!” said the old housekeeper. “Now we must shut the shutters, so that the sun may not burn us up.”

Then the hill closed up. But the lizards went on running up and down the clefts of the tree; and they said to each other, “Ah, how much I liked the old Trold.”

“I liked the boys better,” said the earthworm, “but then it couldn’t see, poor, miserable creature that it was.”

* * * * *

“That reminds me of another story,” said the French Fay, who had already told one story, but was evidently ready and willing to tell another.

“We don’t want to hear two stories that are like each other,” said King Oberon.

“Please your Majesty it is not like that which the Danish Elf has just told, only his one reminded me of mine,” answered the Fay.

“What is it about?” enquired the Queen who remembered how much she had liked the dainty little creature’s first tale.

“It is a story showing how that which is ugly may become beautiful through love,” readily responded the French Fay.

“Let us hear it,” said Oberon, “if my Titania wishes it.”

Titania having answered that she certainly _did_ wish it, the Fay sprang lightly to the stool and began telling the pretty little love story of

Riquet with the Tuft

Once upon a time there was a Queen who had a son, so ugly and misshapen, that it was doubted for a long time whether his form was really human. A fairy, who was present at his birth, affirmed, nevertheless, that he would be worthy to be loved, as he would have an excellent wit; she added, moreover, that by virtue of the gift she had bestowed upon him, he would be able to impart equal intelligence to the one whom he loved best. All this was some consolation to the poor Queen, who was much distressed at having brought so ugly a little monkey into the world. It is true that the child was no sooner able to speak than he said a thousand pretty things, and that in all his ways there was a certain air of intelligence, with which everyone was charmed. I had forgotten to say that he was born with a little tuft of hair on his head, and so he came to be called Riquet with the Tuft; for Riquet was the family name.

About seven or eight years later, the Queen of a neighbouring kingdom had two daughters. The elder was fairer than the day, and the Queen was so delighted, that it was feared some harm might come to her from her great joy. The same fairy who had assisted at the birth of little Riquet, was present upon this occasion, and in order to moderate the joy of the Queen, she told her that this little Princess would have no gifts of mind at all, and that she would be as stupid as she was beautiful. The Queen was greatly mortified on hearing this, but, shortly after, she was even more annoyed, when her second little daughter was born and proved to be extremely ugly. “Do not distress yourself, madam,” said the fairy to her, “your daughter will find compensation, for she will have so much intelligence, that her lack of beauty will scarcely be perceived.”

“Heaven send it may be so,” replied the Queen; “but are there no means whereby a little more understanding might be given to the elder, who is so lovely?” “I can do nothing for her in the way of intelligence, madam,” said the fairy, “but everything in the way of beauty; as, however, there is nothing in my power I would not do to give you comfort, I will bestow on her the power of conferring beauty on any man or woman who shall please her.” As these two Princesses grew up, their endowments also became more perfect, and nothing was talked of anywhere but the beauty of the elder, and the intelligence of the younger. It is true that their defects also greatly increased with their years. The younger became uglier every moment, and the elder more stupid every day. She either made no answer when she was spoken to, or else said something foolish. With this she was so clumsy, that she could not even place four pieces of china on a mantelshelf, without breaking one of them, or drink a glass of water, without spilling half of it on her dress. Notwithstanding the attraction of beauty, the younger, in whatever society they might be, nearly always bore away the palm from her sister. At first everyone went up to the more beautiful, to gaze at and admire her; but they soon left her for the cleverer one, to listen to her many pleasant and amusing sayings; and people were astonished to find that in less than a quarter of an hour, the elder had not a soul near her, while all the company had gathered round the younger. The elder, though very stupid, noticed this, and would have given, without regret, all her beauty, for half the sense of her sister. Discreet as she was, the Queen could not help often reproaching her with her stupidity, which made the poor Princess ready to die of grief.

One day, when she had gone by herself into a wood, to weep over her misfortune, she saw approaching her, a little man of very ugly and unpleasant appearance, but magnificently dressed. It was the young Prince Riquet with the Tuft, who, having fallen in love with her from seeing her portraits, which were sent all over the world, had left his father’s kingdom that he might have the pleasure of beholding her and speaking to her. Enchanted at meeting her thus alone, he addressed her with all the respect and politeness imaginable. Having remarked, after paying her the usual compliments, that she was very melancholy, he said to her, “I cannot understand, madam, how a person so beautiful as you are can be so unhappy as you appear; for, although I can boast of having seen an infinite number of beautiful people, I can say with truth that I have never seen one whose beauty could be compared with yours.”

“You are pleased to say so, sir,” replied the Princess, and there she stopped.

“Beauty,” continued Riquet, “is so great an advantage, that it ought to take the place of every other, and, possessed of it, I see nothing that can have power to afflict one.”

“I would rather,” said the Princess, “be as ugly as you are, and have intelligence, than possess the beauty I do, and be so stupid as I am.”

“There is no greater proof of intelligence, madam, than the belief that we have it not; it is the nature of that gift, that the more we have, the more we believe ourselves to be without it.”

“I do not know how that may be,” said the Princess, “but I know well enough that I am very stupid, and that is the cause of the grief that is killing me.”

“If that is all that troubles you, madam, I can easily put an end to your sorrow.”

“And how would you do that?” said the Princess.

“I have the power, madam,” said Riquet with the Tuft, “to give as much intelligence as it is possible to possess, to the person whom I love best; as you, madam, are that person, it will depend entirely upon yourself, whether or not you become gifted with this amount of intelligence, provided that you are willing to marry me.”

The Princess was struck dumb with astonishment, and replied not a word.

“I see,” said Riquet with the Tuft, “that this proposal troubles you, and I am not surprised, but I will give you a full year to consider it.”

The Princess had so little sense, and at the same time was so anxious to have a great deal, that she thought the end of that year would never come; so she at once accepted the offer that was made her. She had no sooner promised Riquet with the Tuft that she would marry him that day twelve months, than she felt herself quite another person.

She found she was able to say whatever she pleased, with a readiness past belief, and of saying it in a clever, but easy and natural manner. She immediately began a sprightly and well-sustained conversation with Riquet with the Tuft, and was so brilliant in her talk, that Riquet with the Tuft began to think he had given her more wit than he had reserved for himself. On her return to the palace, the whole Court was puzzled to account for a change so sudden and extraordinary; for the number of foolish things which they had been accustomed to hear from her, she now made as many sensible and exceedingly witty remarks. All the Court was in a state of joy not to be described. The younger sister alone was not altogether pleased, for, having lost her superiority over her sister in the way of intelligence, she now only appeared by her side as a very unpleasing-looking person.

The King now began to be guided by his elder daughter’s advice, and at times even held his Council in her apartments. The news of the change of affairs was spread abroad, and all the young princes of the neighbouring kingdoms exerted themselves to gain her affection, and nearly all of them asked her hand in marriage. She found none of them, however, intelligent enough to please her, and she listened to all of them, without engaging herself to one.

At length arrived a Prince, so rich and powerful, so clever and so handsome, that she could not help listening willingly to his addresses. Her father, having perceived this, told her that he left her at perfect liberty to choose a husband for herself, and that she had only to make known her decision. As the more intelligence we possess, the more difficulty we find in making up our mind on such a matter as this, she begged her father, after having thanked him, to allow her time to think about it.

She went, by chance, to walk in the same wood in which she had met Riquet with the Tuft, in order to meditate more uninterruptedly over what she had to do. While she was walking, deep in thought, she heard a dull sound beneath her feet, as of many persons running to and fro, and busily occupied. Having listened more attentively, she heard one say, “Bring me that saucepan;” another, “Give me that kettle;” another, “Put some wood on the fire.” At the same moment the ground opened, and she saw beneath her what appeared to be a large kitchen, full of cooks, scullions, and all sorts of servants necessary for the preparation of a magnificent banquet. There came forth a band of about twenty to thirty cooks, who went and established themselves in an avenue of the wood, at a very long table, and who, each with the larding-pin in his hand and the tail of his fur cap over his ear, set to work, keeping time to a harmonious song.

The Princess, astonished at this sight, asked the men for whom they were working.

“Madam,” replied the chief among them, “for Prince Riquet with the Tuft, whose marriage will take place to-morrow.” The Princess, still more surprised than she was before, and suddenly recollecting that it was just a twelvemonth from the day on which she had promised to marry Prince Riquet with the Tuft, was overcome with trouble and amazement. The reason of her not having remembered her promise was, that when she made it she had been a very foolish person, and when she became gifted with the new mind that the Prince had given her, she had forgotten all her follies.

She had not taken another thirty steps, when Riquet with the Tuft presented himself before her, gaily and splendidly attired, like a Prince about to be married. “You see, madam,” said he, “I keep my word punctually, and I doubt not that you have come thither to keep yours, and to make me, by the giving of your hand, the happiest of men.”

“I confess to you, frankly,” answered the Princess, “that I have not yet made up my mind on that matter, and that I do not think I shall ever be able to do so in the way you wish.” “You astonish me, madam,” said Riquet with the Tuft. “I have no doubt I do,” said the Princess; “and assuredly, had I to deal with a stupid person, with a man without intelligence, I should feel greatly perplexed. ‘A Princess is bound by her word,’ he would say to me, ‘and you must marry me, as you have promised to do so.’ But as the person to whom I speak is, of all men in the world, the one of greatest sense and understanding, I am certain he will listen to reason. You know that, when I was no better than a fool, I nevertheless could not decide to marry you--how can you expect, now that I have the mind which you have given me, and which renders me much more difficult to please than before, that I should take to-day a resolution which I could not then? If you seriously thought of marrying me, you did very wrong to take away my stupidity, and so enable me to see more clearly than I saw then.” “If a man without intelligence,” replied Riquet with the Tuft, “who reproached you with your breach of promise, might have a right, as you have just intimated, to be treated with indulgence, why would you, madam, that I should receive less consideration in a matter which affects the entire happiness of my life? Is it reasonable that persons of intellect should be in a worse position than those that have none? Can you assert this--you who have so much, and who so earnestly desired to possess it? But let us come to the point, if you please. Setting aside my ugliness, is there anything in me that displeases you? Are you dissatisfied with my birth, my understanding, my temper, or my manners?”

“Not in the least,” replied the Princess; “I admire in you everything you have mentioned.”

“If that is so,” rejoined Riquet with the Tuft, “I shall soon be happy, as you have it in your power to make me the most pleasing looking of men.”

“How can that be done?” asked the Princess.

“It can be done,” said Riquet with the Tuft, “if you love me sufficiently to wish that it should be. And, in order, madam, that you should have no doubt about it, know that the same fairy, who, on the day I was born, endowed me with the power to give intelligence to the person I chose, gave you also the power to render handsome the man you should love, and on whom you should wish to bestow this favour.”

“If such be the fact,” said the Princess, “I wish, with all my heart, that you should become the handsomest and most lovable Prince in the world, and I bestow the gift on you to the fullest extent in my power.”

The Princess had no sooner pronounced these words than Riquet with the Tuft appeared to her eyes, of all men in the world, the handsomest, the best made, and most attractive she had ever seen. There are some who assert that it was not the spell of the fairy, but love alone that caused the metamorphosis. They say that the Princess, having reflected on the perseverance of her lover, on his prudence, and on all the good qualities of his heart and mind, no longer saw the deformity of his body, or the ugliness of his features; that his hump appeared to her nothing more than a good-natured shrug of his shoulders, and that instead of noticing, as she had done, how badly he limped, she saw in him only a certain lounging air, which charmed her. They say also that his eyes, which squinted, only seemed to her the more brilliant for this; and that the crookedness of his glance was to her merely expressive of his great love; and, finally, that his great red nose had in it, to her mind, something martial and heroic. However this may be, the Princess promised on the spot to marry him, provided he obtained the consent of the King, her father. The King, having learned that his daughter entertained a great regard for Riquet with the Tuft, whom he knew also to be a very clever and wise Prince, received him with pleasure as his son-in-law. The wedding took place the next morning, as Riquet with the Tuft had foreseen, and according to the orders which he had given a long time before.

No beauty, no talent, has power above
Some indefinite charm discern’d only by love.

* * * * *

“That is delightful, but it is _much_ too short,” said Titania smilingly.

“It is better too short than too long,” answered Oberon, “but perhaps the pretty little story-teller has another one for us?”

“If your Majesties wish it,” replied the dainty creature.

“Let it be a longer one this time,” said Titania, “and let it be another tale of true love, _please_.”

The French Fay considered for a moment, and then said, as if to herself, “I _do_ know another story of true love rewarded after strange adventures, but I’m afraid it will be too long for his Majesty’s taste.”

“This one is for _me_,” said Titania, turning smilingly to the King, “and my Oberon need not listen if he does not wish to.”

“Be it as my Queen wishes,” said Oberon, who was really excited by the promise of hearing of strange adventures.

Then there was a sort of dainty rustling as of the breeze toying with the summer leaves while all the fairies about the circle settled comfortably down to listen to the long story which the French Fay named

The Benevolent Frog

There was once a King who for many years had been engaged in a war with his neighbours; a great number of battles had been fought, and at last the enemy laid siege to his capital. The King, fearing for the safety of the Queen, begged her to retire to a fortified castle, which he himself had never visited but once. The Queen endeavoured, with many prayers and tears, to persuade him to allow her to remain beside him and to share his fate, and it was with loud cries of grief that she was put into her chariot by the King to be driven away. He ordered his guards, however, to accompany her, and promised to steal away when possible to visit her. He tried to comfort her with this hope, although he knew that there was little chance of fulfilling it, for the castle stood a long distance off, surrounded by a thick forest, and only those who were well acquainted with the roads could possibly find their way to it.

The Queen parted from her husband, broken-hearted at leaving him exposed to the dangers of war; she travelled by easy stages, in case the fatigue of so long a journey should make her ill; at last she reached the castle, feeling low-spirited and distressed. When sufficiently rested, she walked about the surrounding country, but found nothing to interest her or divert her thoughts. She saw only far-spreading desert tracts on either side, which gave her more pain than pleasure to look upon; sadly she gazed around her, exclaiming at intervals, “What a contrast between this place and that in which I have lived all my life! If I stay here long I shall die! To whom have I to talk in these solitudes? With whom can I share my troubles? What have I done to the King that he should banish me? He wishes me, it seems, to feel the full bitterness of our separation, by exiling me to this miserable castle.”

Thus she lamented; and although the King wrote daily to her, and sent her good news of the progress of the siege, she grew more and more unhappy, and at last determined that she would return to him. Knowing, however, that the officers who were in attendance upon her had received orders not to take her back, unless the King sent a special messenger, she kept her design secret, but ordered a small chariot to be built for her, in which there was only room for one, saying that she should like sometimes to accompany the hunt. She drove herself, and followed so closely on the hounds, that the huntsmen were left behind; by this means she had sole command of her chariot, and could get away whenever she liked. Her only difficulty was her ignorance of the roads that traversed the forest; but she trusted to the kindness of Providence to bring her safely through it. She gave word that there was to be a great hunt, and that she wished everybody to be there; she herself would go in her chariot, and each was to follow a different route, that there might be no possibility of escape for the wild beasts. Everything was done according to her orders. The young Queen, feeling sure that she should soon see her husband again, dressed herself as becomingly as possible; her hat was covered with feathers of different colours, the front of her dress lavishly trimmed with precious stones, and her beauty, which was of no ordinary kind, made her seem, when so adorned, a second Diana.

While everybody was occupied with the pleasures of the hunt, she gave rein to her horses, encouraged them with voice and whip, and soon their quickened pace became a gallop; then, taking the bit between their teeth, they flew along at such a speed, that the chariot seemed borne by the winds, and the eye could scarcely follow it. Too late the poor Queen repented of her rashness: “What could I have been thinking of?” she said. “How could I have imagined that I should be able to control such wild and fiery horses? Alas! what will become of me? What would the King do if he knew the great danger I am in, he who loves me so dearly, and who only sent me away that I might be in greater safety! This is my gratitude for his tender care!” The air resounded with her piteous lamentations; she invoked Heaven, she called the fairies to her assistance, but it seemed that all the powers had abandoned her. The chariot was overthrown; she had not sufficient strength to jump quickly enough to the ground, and her foot was caught between the wheel and the axle-tree; it was only by a miracle she was saved.

She remained stretched on the ground at the foot of a tree; her heart scarcely beat, she could not speak, and her face was covered with blood. She lay thus for a long time; when at last she opened her eyes, she saw, standing near her, a woman of gigantic stature, clothed only in a lion’s skin, with bare arms and legs, her hair tied up with the dried skin of a snake, the head of which dangled over her shoulders; in her hand was a club made of stone, which served her as a walking-stick, and a quiver full of arrows was fastened to her side. When the Queen caught sight of this extraordinary figure, she felt sure that she was dead, for she did not think it was possible that she could be alive after such a terrible accident, and she said in a low voice to herself, “I am not surprised that it is so difficult to resolve to die, since what is to be seen in the other world is so frightful.” The giantess, who overheard her words, could not help laughing at the Queen’s idea that she was dead. “Take courage,” she said to her, “for know that you are still among the living; but your fate is none the less sad. I am the Fairy Lioness, whose dwelling is near here; you must come and live with me.” The Queen looked sorrowfully at her, and said, “If you will be good enough, Madam Lioness, to take me back to my castle, and tell the King what ransom you demand, he loves me so dearly, that he will not refuse you even the half of his kingdom.” “No,” replied the giantess, “I am rich enough, but for some time past my lonely life has seemed dull to me; you are intelligent, and will be able perhaps to amuse me.” As she finished speaking, she took the form of a lioness, and placing the Queen on her back, she carried her to the depths of her cave, and there rubbed her with a spirit which quickly healed the Queen’s wounds. But what surprise and misery for the Queen to find herself in this dreadful abode! It was only reached by ten thousand steps, which led down to the centre of the earth; there was no light but that shed by a number of tall lamps, which were reflected in a lake of quicksilver. This lake was covered with monsters, each hideous enough to have frightened a less timid queen; there were owls, screech-owls, ravens, and other birds of ill omen, filling the air with discordant sounds; in the distance could be seen rising a mountain whence flowed the sluggish waters of a stream composed of all the tears shed by unhappy lovers, from the reservoirs of their sad loves. The trees were bare of leaves and fruit, the ground covered with marigolds, briars, and nettles.

The food corresponded to the climate of this miserable country; for a few dried roots, some horse-chestnuts, and thorn-apples, were all that was provided by the Fairy Lioness to appease the hunger of those who fell into her hands.

As soon as the Queen was well enough to begin work, the fairy told her she could build herself a hut, as she was going to remain with her for the rest of her life. On hearing this, the Queen could no longer restrain her tears: “Alas, what have I done to you,” she cried, “that you should keep me here? If my death, which I feel is near, would give you pleasure, I pray you, kill me, it is all the kindness I dare hope from you; but do not condemn me to pass a long and melancholy life apart from my husband.”

The Lioness only scoffed at her, and told her that the best thing she could do was to dry her tears, and try to please her; that if she acted otherwise, she would be the most miserable person in the world.

“What must I do then,” replied the Queen, “to soften your heart?” “I am fond of fly-pasties,” said the Lioness. “You must find means of procuring a sufficient number of flies to make me a large and sweet-tasting one.” “But,” said the Queen, “I see no flies here, and even were there any, it is not light enough to catch them; and if I were to catch some, I have never in my life made pastry, so that you are giving me orders which it is impossible for me to execute.” “No matter,” said the pitiless Lioness; “that which I wish to have, I will have.”