Chapter II: Part 2

So the king and queen were somewhat comforted, and the fairies returned to their homes. The greatest care was taken of the little princess, and in order to save her from her fate a law was made that every spindle in the kingdom should be burned, and no more made. Life moved along happily for the princess until she was eighteen years old. All that the first six fairies promised had come true, and she was the best and cleverest, the most beautiful and the happiest and the sweetest-voiced princess in all the world, and everybody loved her. Indeed, by this time Tormentilla’s spiteful words were nearly forgotten.

But one morning the king and queen went away to be gone till late in the afternoon, and the princess amused herself by wandering about into the out-of-the-way nooks and corners and attics of the great building. She found dusty furniture that was often so quaint it made her laugh, and there were many other curiosities. At last she climbed a narrow winding stair in an old tower. It led to a little door with a rusty key sticking out of the lock. She turned the key, opened the door, and there, in a low chamber, sat a white-capped old woman with a spinning-wheel before her on which she was spinning flax. This poor old woman had been allowed many years previous to make her home in the tower, and it happened that she had never heard the king’s command to destroy the spindles; for she was so deaf that if you shouted till you were hoarse she never would have been able to understand you.

The princess stood on the threshold watching the old woman curiously. This was the first time she had ever seen a spinning-wheel. “What pretty work you are doing,” she said presently; “and why does that wheel go whirr, whirr, whirr?”

But of course the old woman did not hear, and she neither answered nor lifted her eyes from her work. So the princess stepped into the room and laid her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. The spinner looked up and rubbed her eyes. “Deary, deary me!” cried she in a high, cracked voice, “and who may you be, my pretty darling?”

“I’m the princess,” screamed the maiden in her ear, but the spinner only shook her head—she could hear nothing.

Then the princess pointed to the spindle on which the flax was twirling into thread, and made the old woman understand that she wanted to try if she could work it. The spinner nodded and laughed and got up from her seat, and the princess sat down at the wheel, but she had hardly begun to spin when she pricked her finger with the spindle. Immediately a faintness seized her. She staggered to a bed close by, and as soon as her head touched the pillow she became unconscious.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
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At the same moment there was a deep silence everywhere in the castle. The little bird that just before had been singing so sweetly on the windowsill hushed its song. The distant hum of voices from the courtyard beneath was stilled. Even the old woman, who had been standing beside her wheel telling the princess how to spin, stopped short and fell asleep. In the great hall, the king and queen, who had just returned, and were inquiring for their daughter, fell asleep before the lady-in-waiting could answer them, and the lady herself began to snore. The guards slumbered at their posts. The horses in their stalls became motionless, and so did the dogs in the yard, the pigeons on the roof, and the flies on the wall. The fire on the hearth stopped burning, and the meat on the spit ceased roasting. In short, sleep fell on the whole castle, and round about it there sprung up a thick and thorny magic wood which it seemed impossible for anyone to penetrate, and which hid the entire castle from view except a weather-vane on the roof.

Time went on until a hundred years had passed, and then one day a king’s son happened to be hunting in the region. He became separated from his attendants in the excitement of the chase, and at length he came to a woodcutter’s cottage and dismounted to ask the way. The old man who lived in the hut gave him the required directions, and then told the prince about a thick wood a little farther on in the direction he had been riding. “No one has ever been able to get through that wood,” said the old man, “and my grandfather used to say it surrounded a castle in which was a beautiful princess condemned to sleep for a hundred years. He said some prince would come and awaken her with a kiss.”

On hearing this, nothing would do but the prince must go and have a look at the wood. He found it, and dismounted and prepared to push his way through the thorny thicket. But no sooner did he start to penetrate the wood than the tangled briars of the undergrowth were changed into beautiful flowers which parted and bent aside to let him pass. When he reached the courtyard he saw the dogs lying asleep, and on the roof the pigeons were sitting with their heads under their wings. He went indoors, and there were the flies asleep on the wall, and there was the cook with his hand uplifted to strike the kitchen boy, and a maid sitting near by had a fowl on her lap ready to pluck. When the prince entered the great hall he found the whole court asleep, and the king and queen slumbering on their thrones. Everything was so still he could hear his own breathing.

As yet he saw no princess, and he continued looking about till he came to the old tower and ascended the narrow, winding stair. He went into the little room where the princess lay, and she looked so lovely in her sleep that he could not turn away his eyes, and presently he stooped and kissed her. At once she awoke and said: “O prince, are you here at last? I have had such pleasant dreams!”

She sat up laughing and rubbing her eyes, and after a few moments stood on her feet, and they went hand in hand out of the room. The old woman stared at them in amazement, and then, mumbling to herself, resumed her spinning. They descended the stairs and passed along the corridors until they came to the throne room. The king and queen and whole court had just waked up and were gazing at each other with wonderment. The long sleep was ended for the rest of the palace also. Roosters crowed, dogs barked, the cats began to mew, the clocks struck the hours, the heralds blew their trumpets, the pigeons flew away from the roof to the fields, the kitchen fire blazed up, and the meat was again roasting, the cook gave the kitchen boy such a box on the ear that he roared lustily, and the maid began to pluck the fowl.

In short, everything went on as if there had been no enchantment at all. To be sure, the dress the princess was wearing was such as the prince’s great-grandmother might have worn, but that gave them something to laugh at.

As soon as preparations could be made, the wedding of the prince and princess was celebrated with great splendor, and they lived happily ever after.

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THE LOVE OF THE SNOW-WHITE FOX

ONCE upon a time there lived a young fox that was snow-white, and it was so gentle and intelligent that it was beloved by all the good people for miles around. If, in the evening, it knocked softly at their doors with its tail they were glad, and were quick to let it in. When it entered it would play with the children, eat of their humble fare, and then trot away. But there were hunters in the country who wanted to kill the beautiful white fox. Once or twice it nearly lost its life at the hands of these cruel men.

One summer afternoon, as it was frisking about in the woods with some young fox friends, two men caught sight of it. They were fleet of foot and had dogs with them. Away ran the white fox, and the men uttered an excited cry and gave chase. Instead of going deeper into the forest the fox ran across the open farm lands until it came to a holy temple. “There, surely, I will find a safe refuge from my pursuers,” it thought.

In the temple there happened to be a young prince of noble family named Yashi, deep in meditation. The white fox, whose strength was nearly spent, came running in at the door and went directly to the prince and took refuge behind him. The poor creature trembled with fright, and Yashi took pity on it and did all he could to calm its fears. “I will protect you, little one,” said he. “No one shall harm you.”

The fox looked up at him and seemed to understand his words. It ceased to tremble. The prince went to the door of the great temple. Two men hastened up to him and asked if he had seen a snow-white fox. “It must have run into the temple,” they declared.

But Yashi, faithful to his promise, answered, “I have been in the temple praying, but I can tell you nothing of the fox.”

The men were about to go on when they caught a glimpse of the fox behind him. Fiercely they demanded that he should stand aside. The prince firmly refused. Then the men, intent on having their prey, attacked him, and he was obliged to draw his sword in self-defense. At this moment Yashi’s father, a brave old man, came up. He rushed on the assailants of his son, but a deadly blow, which Yashi could not avert, struck the old man down. This made Yashi very wroth, and with two mighty strokes he felled his adversaries to the ground.

The loss of his father filled Yashi with grief, and as he stood looking down on the body his heart was very heavy. Just then a sweet song from within the sacred building greeted his ears. Who could the singer be? for there was no one inside when he came out. He reëntered the temple, and a beautiful maiden appeared before him. He saw from her look and manner that she knew he was in deep trouble, and he told her of the snow-white fox and the cruel hunters, and of the death of his father. Then the maiden spoke to Yashi tender words of sympathy, and her voice was so kindly and gentle that even the sound of it brought comfort to him.

Presently he asked her who she was, and she replied that she was a homeless stranger. So he insisted that she should dwell with him. As the days passed she constantly became more attractive to him, until he loved her more than anyone else in the world and asked her to be his bride.

“I already love you,” she replied. “I know that you are good and brave, and I would solace you for the loss of your father.”

So they were married and lived happily together. Time passed swiftly, and Yashi ruled his people wisely. At length a son was born to the prince and princess, and they were more happy than ever. But one day Yashi noticed that the princess was sorely troubled. For hours she sat alone, and tears sprang to her eyes when Yashi asked her the cause of her sorrow.

She took his hand and said: “My life with you has been very delightful. But now that I have given you a son to be with you always, I must leave you. I am the snow-white fox whose life you saved.”

Once again she looked into his eyes, and then without another word was gone. Yashi and his son lived long and were greatly beloved, but the snow-white fox was seen no more.

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THE GRAZIER’S WIFE

IN a certain valley, long ago, there dwelt a grazier who had a wife named Barbara. The grazier was famous for his valor in encountering wolves, and there was not in all the valley a man who was his match in handling the quarter-staff. Moreover, so expert was he with a sling that he could hurl a stone a distance of a hundred yards and hit a deer between the eyes, and so kill it. With his knife he was equally skilful, and he was greatly feared in a quarrel. Yet in spite of all his prowess and courage he quailed before his wife Barbara.

She was no longer young, and her beauty was a thing of the past, but she was a woman who made herself respected. She never failed to produce a startling effect on her husband when she visited him as he was tending his herds on the mountain-sides, for no other woman ever had such a tongue. He often prayed to the saints for relief, but she continued to both plague him with her tongue and mark him with her nails.

At last he applied for advice to an old wizard who lived in a neighboring valley. He had begun telling of his troubles when the wizard interrupted him and said: “I see plainly that you are complaining bitterly, but I would have you know that I am deaf, and no matter how violently you shout and jump and gesture, what you say or do will have no effect on me. Nevertheless, let me tell you, that if you have some bright yellow gold to bestow on me, you will be heard and understood. Yes, I would hear and comprehend, even if you were dumb and had no voice whatever.”

“I will hasten to the market,” said the grazier, “and sell some of my finest beasts, and the money that I receive for them I will gladly give to you.”

So away he went and sold some of his beasts and returned to the wizard and counted out the gold-pieces one by one. Then the wizard listened patiently to his story and sent him home with a promise of speedy relief.

That very night, after the grazier and his wife were in bed, and the latter was delivering a lengthy lecture on his lack of breeding in snoring when a lady was speaking, a white figure appeared at the bedside with a mirror in its hand.

“Barbara,” said the specter, “your virtues are known to me, and as a reward you shall be restored to youth and beauty, which you shall yourself behold when you look into this mirror. But beware lest angry or vain words pass your lips, for such a lapse will be punished by hideous old age and infirmity.”

So saying, the apparition vanished. Barbara lit a lamp and occupied herself in admiring her reflection in the magic mirror. Thus the grazier was enabled to enjoy an unbroken sleep till morning, a thing he had not done for years. He had peace also on the morrow and ever after, for Barbara never allowed the mirror to pass out of her possession, and it was a constant solace to her even to the day of her death.

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THE MAGIC HORN

ONCE upon a time there was a poor farmer who had three sons, and the sons’ names were Peter, Paul, and Philip. None of the three liked work very well, and instead of helping their father they spent most of their time sauntering about. At last Peter heard that the king wanted a keeper to watch his rabbits. So the youth told his father that he would go to the king’s palace and apply for the position.

“I doubt if you are fitted for just that sort of work,” said his father. “He who keeps the king’s rabbits needs to be light and quick, and no lazy-bones. You could not loiter when the rabbits began to skip and frisk, for if you dawdled as you do at home you would be discharged.”

But the father’s advice had no effect. Peter was determined to go, and after filling a bag with something to eat and drink and a few other necessaries, he took the bag on his back and started. He had not traveled many miles when he heard a voice calling for help. On going in the direction of the sound he found an old woman in a pit from which she was unable to climb out. “Don’t stand there staring,” said she sharply. “Reach me your hand and pull me up. I have been in this pit a whole year, and in all that time I have not had a morsel of food.”

“What!” exclaimed Peter, “a whole year, do you say? Then you must be a witch, or you could not fast so long, and I will have nothing to do with you.”

So off he marched. At length he arrived at the king’s palace and was engaged as the keeper of the rabbits. He was promised plenty of food and good pay and maybe the princess into the bargain, for the king had decreed that any keeper who took such good care of the rabbits that not one of them escaped should have the princess for his wife.

The next day Peter let the rabbits out to browse. As long as they were near the stables and in the adjacent open fields he kept them in one flock, but toward evening they got into a wood and began to scuttle about among the trees. Peter ran after them this way and that until he had no breath left for any more running. He could not get the rabbits together. They all disappeared, and he saw nothing more of them.

After resting a while he started to go back to the palace. As he went along he kept a sharp look-out, and he stopped to call his fugitive charges at every fence. But no rabbits came, and when he reached the palace there stood the king waiting for him. It was plain that Peter had failed, and for a punishment he was banished from the country.

The king presently got a new lot of rabbits, and then he let it be known that he wanted a keeper. Peter’s brother Paul heard of this, and nothing would do but he must try for the place. Away he went, and by and by he found the old woman in the pit just as Peter had, and he would not help her out. When he got to the palace he was promptly engaged as keeper of the rabbits, and the next day he let them out to feed. All went well until in the late afternoon they went from the fields into the woods. Then they skipped and hopped away, and though he rushed about and raced after them till he was ready to drop, they all escaped. So he returned to the palace without a rabbit, and the king ordered that he should leave the country.

More rabbits were obtained to replace those lost, and again word went forth that his Majesty wanted a keeper for them. Philip, the youngest of the three brothers, heard of this and concluded to apply for the job. “It will be just the right work for me,” he said to his father. “I would like nothing better than to spend my days in the fields and woodlands watching the rabbit flock, and I would be sure to have plenty of time to nap on the sunny hillsides.”

“I fear,” said the old farmer, “that you will fare no better than your two brothers. The person who keeps the king’s rabbits must not be like a fellow with leaden soles to his shoes, or like a fly in a tar-pot.”

“Well,” responded Philip, “however things may turn out, I shall get the job if I can. Surely it will be no harder than to take care of the calf and goat here at home.”

So he packed his bag, lifted it to his shoulder, and started for the palace of the king. He trudged along until he heard a voice calling, and when he looked about he saw the old woman in the pit. “Good day, grandmother,” said he, “what can I do for you?”

“Help me out of this hole,” she said, “and give me something to eat. I will do you a good turn afterward, you may depend on it.”

He was willing enough, and he pulled her out of the pit. Then he opened his bag and sat down to eat and drink with her. She had a keen appetite after her long fast, and naturally got the lion’s share, but that did not trouble Philip any. As soon as they finished, she gave him a magic horn, and said: “If you blow into the small end of it, whatever you wish away will be scattered to the four winds; and if you blow into the large end the things you wish near will at once come about you. Should the horn ever be lost or taken from you, all you have to do is to wish for it, and it will return to you.”

“Very good,” responded Philip. “Such a horn is worth having.”

So saying, he resumed his walk, and at length he came to the king’s palace. He was hired to keep the rabbits, and he was much pleased, for he was certain of good food and generous wages, and if he were clever enough not to lose any of the rabbits he might win the princess, too. The next morning he began work, and at first he found the task an easy one. As long as the rabbits were in the lanes and fields they behaved very well, but while he was eating his noon lunch they wandered to the woodland, where they frisked about and scampered away into the underbrush.

“Ho, ho!” cried Philip, “you want to leave me, do you? Well, off with you then,” and he blew into the small end of the magic horn.

Immediately they were all gone from view, and Philip found a mossy spot to his liking and lay down to sleep till eventide. The sun was low in the west when he awoke, and he took up his horn and blew into the large end of it. At once the rabbits came frolicking about him, and he led them like a flock of sheep to the king’s palace. The king, the queen, and the princess, too, all came out on the porch and wondered how he contrived to manage the rabbits so well. Several times the king counted them to make sure they were all there and he had to acknowledge that not one was missing.

“That rabbit-keeper would be a fine lad,” said the princess, “if only he was of noble birth.”

The next day he took the rabbits out again, and when they roamed to the woodland he lay down in the shade at the edge of the wood close to the sunny slope where the wild strawberries grew and scented the air with their sweet odor.

The king was curious to learn how the youth contrived to control the rabbits so admirably, and he sent a servant to watch him. By and by the servant came peeping about among the trees and spied Philip asleep in the pleasant shade of the woodland. He hid in a thicket and waited. Toward evening he saw Philip rise to his feet and blow his horn, and immediately all the rabbits came scampering about him. The servant hastened home and told the king what he had observed, and the king told his wife and daughter.

“Unless we put a stop to his using that horn,” said the princess, “I shall have to marry him, and he is only a common farmer’s son. Tomorrow I shall go to the wood, and while he is asleep I will take his horn and bring it home to the palace.”

She went to the wood just as she had planned, and she had little trouble in getting possession of the horn. When Philip awoke it was gone—and how was he to bring the rabbits together? But he remembered that the old woman had said he could get it back by wishing. So he wished for it; and the princess, who had nearly reached the palace, felt it suddenly slip through her fingers, and though she searched all about she could not find it. The horn had returned to the hands of Philip in the woodland, and he immediately blew it to fetch the rabbits together, and then he went with them to the palace.

Philip blows into the large end of his horn
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The royal family saw that Philip had the horn, and the queen said she would go the next day and take it, and they might be sure _she_ would bring it home. The morrow came, and in the early afternoon off she tramped to the wood. She secured the horn and hurried away with it, holding it very tight, but as she approached the palace it slipped from her grasp, and by and by the rabbit-keeper returned with his horn and flock as usual.

“I shall have to look into this matter myself,” grumbled the king, “if we are going to get that wretched horn into our possession. You women plan all right, but it usually takes a man to carry a plan to a successful conclusion.”

The following day, while Philip was having his nap in the wood, the king came to the spot where the youth lay and took the horn. To make doubly sure of it, the king put the horn in a bag he had brought along for the purpose. Back he went to the palace. His wife and daughter met him at the door, and he triumphantly opened the bag to show them the horn; but it was not there. He had not succeeded any better than the women folk. “Plague take the fellow!” he exclaimed. “There is some magic about the way that horn disappears. The lad gets the best of us every time, and I suppose he might as well marry into the family first as last.”

Pretty soon Philip arrived with his flock of rabbits and put them in their night quarters. Then he heard the king calling to him, and went to the palace porch, where he found all the royal family waiting for him. “What sort of a horn is that of yours?” asked the king. “It looks ordinary enough, but I am sure it has some strange power or you would not be able to take such excellent care of the rabbits and never lose a single one of them.”

“It was given to me by an old woman,” said Philip, “and if I blow in one end it does one thing, and if I blow in the other it does the opposite.”

“Oh, bother your explanations!” cried the king. “Show us its power, and then we shall understand.”

“But perhaps the showing would not please your Majesty,” said Philip.

“Stuff and nonsense!” the king exclaimed. “I said, ‘Show us.’ Who is king here—you or me? It is my business to command, and it is yours to obey.”

“Very well,” responded Philip, “then I wish you to scatter;” and he blew a good strong blast into the little end of his horn.

At once the king, very much against his will, and kicking savagely, was hurried off north, the queen flew east, and the princess west, and a little kitchen-maid, who had come up behind Philip and was looking on, was hustled off south in such sudden haste it seemed to her she would be scared out of a year’s growth.

“Stop me, you rascal! Bring me back!” yelled the king as he vanished in the distance.

Philip turned the horn about and blew into the big end. In a few moments the king and the others were back on the porch; and the little maid, vastly astonished by her experiences, lost no time in escaping to the kitchen. “What do you mean by treating me in that fashion?” the king demanded. “You shall hang for it.”

Philip raised the little end of the horn to his lips, and the king, fearful that he would have to repeat his wild race, called out: “Enough! enough! The fault was mine. You shall have my daughter and half the kingdom if only you won’t blow that horrible horn in my presence. I’m too old and stiff to be dashing about over the country as I did just now.”

So as soon as things could be made ready for a grand wedding, Philip married the princess, and they lived happily the rest of their days.

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THE ENVIOUS NEIGHBOR

THERE was a poor man in a tropical country who for many long years dwelt in a city where he suffered great privations and often went hungry. At last he left the city and built a hut far out in the country on the edge of the wilderness and dug up a piece of ground for a garden. He depended on this garden to furnish him a living, and he planted some corn and melon seeds, which soon sent green sprouts up to the light. He took the best of care of the growing melons and corn, and they throve luxuriantly.

When the crops began to mature, the monkeys from the neighboring wilderness observed the good things that were ripening in the garden, and they came daily to eat of them. The man, thinking of his own past privations and sufferings, willingly shared the product of his labor with them; and they wondered greatly what manner of person he was that permitted them to eat unmolested of his corn and melons.

One day the man lay down in the garden and fell asleep. By and by he became aware of the arrival of a troop of monkeys, but he continued to lie there as if still sound asleep. They saw him and drew near and cried out with one accord: “He is dead! Our good friend is dead! Lo, these many days we have eaten of the things growing in his garden. Therefore it is only just that we should bury him in as choice a place as we can find.”

The man heard what they said, but he did not open his eyes or stir, for he was curious to find out what they would do. They lifted him and carried him till they came to a place where two ways met. Then one of the monkeys said, “Let us take him to the cave of silver.”

Another said, “No, the cave of gold would be better.”

“Go to the cave of gold,” commanded the head monkey.

There they carried him and left him. When he found himself alone, he arose, gathered all the gold he could carry, and returned to his home. This gold, thus easily gained, enabled him to build a beautiful house, and to live in great comfort.

“How did you, who came here so poor, gain all this wealth?” asked a neighbor; and the man freely told all that had befallen him.

“What you have done I can do, too,” said the neighbor, and he hastened home, planted a piece of ground with corn and melons, and waited for the monkeys to feast there.

Everything came to pass as he had hoped. When the corn and melons ripened, great numbers of monkeys visited the garden and feasted. One day they found the owner lying in the garden apparently dead. Their gratitude prompted them to give him a worthy burial, and they carried him to the place where the two roads met. Here they disputed as to whether they should place the man in the cave of silver or the cave of gold.

Meanwhile the man was thinking: “As soon as I am alone in the cave I will begin gathering up the gold, and I will make a basket of bamboo so I can carry home a much larger amount than my neighbor brought away.”

Presently the head monkey said, “Put him in the cave of silver.”

That was such a disappointment to the man that he forgot he was supposed to be dead, and he exclaimed, “No, put me in the cave of gold!”

At once the monkeys dropped him and fled in great fright, and the man, bruised and disappointed, crept sorrowfully home.

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BLUEBEARD

ONCE upon a time there was a man who lived in a splendid house, and had dishes of gold and silver, chairs and sofas covered with flowered satin, and curtains of the richest silk. But alas! this man was so unlucky as to have a blue beard, which made him look so frightfully ugly that all the women and girls ran away from him.

His nearest neighbor was a lady of quality who had two beautiful daughters, and he wished to marry one of them. He was even willing to let the lady decide which of the two it should be. Neither of the daughters, however, would have him, and the lady sighed to think of her children’s obstinacy in refusing to become the mistress of such a magnificent mansion. But they were not able to make up their minds to marry a man with a blue beard. Their aversion was increased by the fact that he had already had several wives, and no one knew surely what had become of them, though he made all sorts of excuses to account for their disappearance.

At length Bluebeard, in order to cure the dislike of the lady’s daughters, invited them and their mother and some young friends to spend a whole week at his house. They came, and nothing was thought of but parties for hunting and fishing, feasting, dancing, and music. The guests were loaded with gifts of the most costly description and were so delightfully entertained that before many days had passed, Fatima, the youngest sister, began to imagine that the beard she had thought to be so ugly was not so _very_ blue after all. By the end of the week the kindness and politeness of her host had made such an impression that she concluded it would be a pity to refuse to become his wife on account of the trifling circumstance of his having a blue beard.

So they were married shortly afterward, and at first everything went well. A month passed away, and one morning Bluebeard told Fatima that he must go on a journey which would take him six weeks at least. He kissed her affectionately, gave her the keys of the whole mansion, and bade her amuse herself in any way she pleased while he was gone.

“But,” said he, “I would have you notice among the keys the small one of polished steel. It unlocks the little room at the end of the long corridor. Go where you will, and do what you choose, but remember I have forbidden you to enter that one room.”

Fatima promised faithfully to obey his orders, and she watched him get into his carriage, and stood at the door of the mansion waving her hand to him as he drove away. Lest she should be lonesome during her husband’s absence, she invited numerous guests to keep her company. Most of them had not dared to venture into the house while Bluebeard was there, and they came without any urging or delay, eager to see its splendors. They ran about upstairs and downstairs, peeping into the closets and wardrobes, admiring the rooms, and exclaiming over the beauties of the tapestries, sofas, cabinets, and tables, and of the mirrors in which they could see themselves from head to foot. With one consent they praised what they saw, and envied the fortune of their friend, the mistress of all this magnificence. She went about unlocking the doors for their convenience until the only door that remained untouched was that of the obscure room at the end of the long corridor. She wondered why she had been forbidden to enter that room. What was there in it? Even if she did go in, her husband need never know she had done so. The more she thought about it the more curious she became. At last she left her guests and hurried along the dark, narrow corridor that led to the forbidden room. At the door she hesitated, recalling her husband’s command, and fearful of his anger; but the temptation was too strong, and she tremblingly opened the door.

At first she could see nothing because the window-shutters were closed; but after a few moments she began to discern that on the floor lay the bodies of all the wives Bluebeard had married. She uttered a cry of horror, her strength left her, and she thought she would die from fear. The key of the room fell from her hand, but she picked it up, hastily retreated to the corridor, and locked the door. However, she could not forget what she had seen, and when she returned to her guests her mind was too disturbed for her to attend to their comfort or to attempt to entertain them. One by one they bade their hostess good-by and went home, until no one was left with her except her sister Anne.

Then Fatima noticed a spot of blood on the key of the fatal room. She tried to wipe it off, but the spot remained. Then she washed the key with soap and scoured it with sand, but her efforts were in vain, for it was a magic key, and only Bluebeard himself had the power to remove the stain. She decided not to put it with the other keys, but to hide it, hoping her husband would not miss it.

Bluebeard returned unexpectedly that very evening. He said a horseman had met him on the road and told him that the business which had taken him from home had been satisfactorily settled, so there was no need of his making the long journey.

Fatima tried to welcome her husband with every appearance of pleasure, but all the time she was dreading the moment when he should ask for the keys. This he did not do until the following morning, and then she gave them to him with such a blanched face and shaking hand that he easily guessed what had happened. “How is it that you have not brought me the key of the little room?” he asked sternly.

“I must have left it on my table upstairs,” she faltered.

“Bring it to me at once,” said Bluebeard, and she was forced to go and make a pretense of searching for it.

When she dared delay no longer she went to her husband and surrendered the key, and he immediately demanded the cause of the stain on it. She hesitated, at a loss what reply to make, and he shouted: “But why need I ask? I know the meaning of it right well. You have disobeyed my commands and have been into the room I ordered you not to enter. So you shall go in again, madam, but you will never return. You shall take your place among the ladies you saw there.”

Fatima fell on her knees at his feet weeping and begging for mercy, but the cruel man had a heart like a stone, and he bade her prepare for death. “Since I must die,” said she, “at least grant me a little time to say my prayers.”

“I give you ten minutes,” said Bluebeard, “and not one moment more.”

Poor Fatima hastened to a little turret chamber whither her sister had fled in terror and grief. “Sister Anne,” she said, “go up to the top of the tower and see if our brothers are coming. They promised to visit me today; and if they should be in sight beckon them to come quickly.”

So the sister climbed the narrow staircase that led to the top of the tower, and no sooner was she there than Fatima called from below, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

Anne replied sadly, “I see nothing but the sun shining and the grass growing tall and green.”

Several times Fatima asked the same question and received the same answer.

Meanwhile Bluebeard was waiting with a mighty cimeter in one hand and his watch in the other. At length he shouted in a great voice, “Come down, or I shall go up and fetch you.”

“Anne, sister Anne,” Fatima called softly, “look again. Is there no one on the road?”

“I see a cloud of dust rising in the distance,” Anne answered.

“Perchance it is our brothers,” said Fatima.

“Alas! no, my dear sister,” responded Anne, “it is only a flock of sheep.”

“Fatima!” roared Bluebeard, “I command you to come down.”

“One moment—just one moment more,” sobbed the wretched wife.

Then she called, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

“I see two horsemen riding in this direction,” said Anne, “but they are a great way off.”

“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Fatima. “They must be our brothers. Oh! sign to them to hasten.”

By this time the enraged Bluebeard was howling so loud for his wife to come down that his voice shook the whole castle. Fatima dared delay no longer, and she descended to the great hall, threw herself at her wicked husband’s feet, and once more begged him to spare her life.

“Silence!” cried Bluebeard. “Your entreaties are wasted. You shall die!”

He seized her hair and raised his cimeter to strike. At that moment a loud knocking was heard at the gates. Bluebeard paused with a look of alarm, and then the door of the hall was flung open and Fatima’s two brothers appeared with swords ready drawn in their hands. They rushed at Bluebeard, and one rescued his sister from her husband’s grasp, and the other gave the wretch a sword-thrust that put an end to his life.

So the wicked Bluebeard perished miserably, and Fatima became mistress of all his riches. Part of her wealth she bestowed on her sister Anne, and part on her two brothers. The rest she retained herself, and presently she married a man whose kind treatment helped her to forget her unfortunate experience with Bluebeard.

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THE SPENDTHRIFT MERCHANT’S SON

THERE was once a merchant’s son, who, when his father died, squandered all his inheritance. At last he had nothing to eat. So he took a spade, went to the market-place, and stood waiting to see if anyone would hire him for a laborer. By and by a rich noble drove into the market-place in his golden coach. As soon as the men who were waiting there for work saw him, all except the merchant’s son scattered in every direction and hid. The gilded coach came to a stop before him, and the noble said, “Do you want work, young man?”

“It is for no other purpose than to get work that I stand here,” replied the merchant’s son.

“Then I will hire you,” said the noble. “What wages do you require?”

“One hundred silver pieces a day,” was the answer.

“That is a high price,” said the noble.

“If you think it too much,” said the merchant’s son, “go and find a cheaper article. But I observe that you are not very popular as an employer. Crowds of laborers seeking work were here a few minutes ago, but you came, and away they all bolted.”

“Well,” said the noble, “I agree to pay your price. Meet me at the harbor tomorrow.”

Early the next day the youth resorted to the harbor, where he found the noble awaiting him. They went on board a ship, which soon put out to sea, and sailed and sailed until it approached an island. On this island were high mountains, and by the shore was a splendid castle. The ship cast anchor, and the noble and the merchant’s son were rowed to the castle, where they were met by the noble’s wife and daughter. After the greetings were over they sat down at table and began to eat, drink, and be merry. “Today we’ll feast,” said the noble, “and tomorrow we’ll work.”

The noble’s daughter was beautiful beyond anything that pen can tell, and the merchant’s son fell in love with her. Nor could she help liking him, for he was lively, sturdy, and handsome. At length she found an opportunity to call him secretly into an adjacent room, and gave him a flint and steel. “Use these, if you should be in great danger,” said she, “and they will bring you help.”

Next day the noble mounted a handsome steed and had his laborer mount an old rackabones, and they set off for the mountains. They went up and up till there rose before them a smooth wall of rock near the summit of the loftiest peak, and they could go no farther. “I am thirsty after all this climbing,” said the noble. “We will dismount and have something to drink.”

He handed the merchant’s son a flask that contained a sleeping potion, and the youth drank without any suspicion that he was being drugged. It made him very drowsy, and he sat down by a tree and was soon fast asleep. Then the noble killed the wretched nag on which the youth had ridden, removed its entrails, put the young man and his spade inside of the body, and sewed it up. That done, he went and hid in the bushes. In a little while there flew down a host of black, iron-beaked crows. They took up the carcass and carried it to the mountain-top, where they began to peck and eat it. Presently they had eaten their way in to where lay the merchant’s son. Then he awoke, beat off the crows, looked hither and thither, and said, “Where am I?”

The noble at the foot of the precipice heard him and shouted: “You are on the golden mountain. Take your spade and dig gold and throw it down to me.”

Then the youth saw that the whole mountain-top was composed of gold, and he dug and dug, and threw the gold down to the noble, who loaded it on to his horse. When the noble had all the horse could carry, he bawled out: “That’ll do. Thanks for your labor. Good-by!”

“But what is to become of me?” the merchant’s son shouted back.

“You will have to get along as best you can,” replied the noble. “Ninety-nine of your sort have already perished on this mountain-top. You will just make up a hundred.”

Thus spoke the noble and departed.

“What is to be done now?” thought the merchant’s son. “To get down the steep, slippery sides of this mountain summit is impossible. I shall starve to death.”

There he stood on the bleak height, and above him circled the iron-beaked crows, which evidently regarded him as their prey. He recalled the events that led to his being in his present plight, and it occurred to him how the lovely damsel had given him the flint and steel he had in his pocket. “She told me to use them if ever I was in great danger,” said he. “I will try them now.”

He took them out and struck a spark from the flint with the steel. Immediately there appeared before him two stout young men. “What do you want?” they asked.

“I will first fill my pockets with gold,” said he, “and then I would like to go from this mountain to the seashore.”

As soon as he was ready they lifted him and carried him away through the air to the seashore. Then they vanished. While he was walking about there he saw a ship not far distant sailing by the island. “Ho! good ship-folk!” he shouted, “take me with you.”

“No, brother,” they responded, “to stop would cause us to lose too much time.”

The mariners went on, but soon contrary winds began to blow, and they were presently beset by a hurricane. “Alas!” said they, “the person who hailed us from that island was no ordinary man. He has brought this storm on us for a punishment, and we shall perish unless we return and take him on the ship.”

So they went back and got him and conveyed him to his native town. The gold he had brought from the mountain supported him for a time, but when it was gone he again took a spade and went to the market-place to wait for some one to hire him. By and by the same noble who had hired him before came to the market-place in his gilded coach. The men waiting for employment all scattered in every direction and hid, except the merchant’s son. The noble spoke to him and said, “Will you come and work for me?”

“Willingly,” replied the youth, “if you will pay me two hundred pieces of silver a day.”

“Isn’t that rather dear, eh?” said the noble.

“If you find it dear,” said the merchant’s son, “go and hire some other man. But you saw how many people were waiting here for work when you came, and in what haste they all got out of the way.”

“Very well,” said the noble, “meet me tomorrow morning at the harbor.”

Early next day they met at the harbor, went on board a ship, and sailed to the island. There they ate and drank and took their ease for one day, and on the following morning mounted horses and rode up into the mountains. They arrived at the steep wall of rock near the summit of the highest peak, and the noble said, “Now let us have a drink.”

“But first,” said the youth, “you who are chief must drink. Let me treat you with what I have brought in my own flask.”

So the noble drank, but the merchant’s son had betimes filled his flask with a sleeping potion that put his master into a sound sleep. Then he killed the lame old horse he rode, removed the entrails, thrust the noble and the spade into the body and sewed him up in there. Afterward he hid in the bushes. Soon the black, iron-beaked crows flew down, took up the carcass of the horse, carried it to the top of the cliff, and began pecking at it. When they had made an opening to where the noble lay, he awoke, crawled out, and looked around. “Where am I?” said he.

“You are on the golden mountain,” bawled the merchant’s son. “Take your spade and dig gold and throw it down to me.”

The noble dug and dug, and threw down the gold, and the youth packed it on to the noble’s horse until he had all the creature could carry. “That’s enough,” he called. “Thanks for your labor. Adieu!”

“But how am I to get off this mountain?” cried the noble.

“Why, get off as best you can,” answered the youth. “Ninety-nine of your sort have perished on that golden summit. You can be the hundredth.”

The merchant’s son returned to the splendid castle beside the sea, married the lovely damsel, took possession of the noble’s riches, and then went in a ship to his native city. There he dwelt in peace and plenty the rest of his life.

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THE AMBITIOUS THRUSH

ONCE there was a thrush who lived in a tree on the borders of a field that a man sowed to cotton seed. The seed sprouted up through the ground and grew into bushes, and after a time the bushes had big, brown pods on them. Presently the pods burst open and the fluffy white cotton bulged out of them. “How nice and soft that cotton looks!” said the thrush.

She picked some of it and used it to line her nest. Never before had she slept with such ease as she did on that bed of cotton.

In her flights about the region she often passed the door of a man who made a business of carding cotton so it could be spun into thread. By carding it he disentangled the fibers, and then he formed it into small rolls and sold it to the spinners. The thrush often observed him at his work, and at length she concluded that she, also, would make some use of the cotton besides simply lining her nest with it. So again and again, every day, she would fly down among the cotton bushes, pluck out a fluff of cotton in her beak and fly away and hide it. She kept on doing this till she had quite a large heap. Then she flew to the house of the cotton-carder, and alighted in front of him. “Good day, man,” said she.

“Good day, little bird,” said the cotton-carder.

“Man,” said the thrush, “I have a heap of beautiful cotton; and you shall have half of it if you will card the rest and make it into rolls for me.”

“Very well,” said the man, “I will do as you desire. Where is your cotton?”

“Come with me, and I will show you,” said the thrush.