Kabanata Kabanata 22 · The Jackal and the Spring The Bear

. The Jackal and the Spring The Bear

Once upon a time all the streams and rivers ran so dry that the animals

did not know how to get water. After a very long search, which had been

quite in vain, they found a tiny spring, which only wanted to be dug

deeper so as to yield plenty of water. So the beasts said to each other,

‘Let us dig a well, and then we shall not fear to die of thirst;’ and

they all consented except the jackal, who hated work of any kind, and

generally got somebody to do it for him.

When they had finished their well, they held a council as to who should

be made the guardian of the well, so that the jackal might not come near

it, for, they said, ‘he would not work, therefore he shall not drink.’

After some talk it was decided that the rabbit should be left in charge;

then all the other beasts went back to their homes.

When they were out of sight the jackal arrived. ‘Good morning! Good

morning, rabbit!’ and the rabbit politely said, ‘Good morning!’ Then the

jackal unfastened the little bag that hung at his side, and pulled out

of it a piece of honeycomb which he began to eat, and turning to the

rabbit he remarked:

‘As you see, rabbit, I am not thirsty in the least, and this is nicer

than any water.’

‘Give me a bit,’ asked the rabbit. So the jackal handed him a very

little morsel.

‘Oh, how good it is!’ cried the rabbit; ‘give me a little more, dear

friend!’

But the jackal answered, ‘If you really want me to give you some more,

you must have your paws tied behind you, and lie on your back, so that I

can pour it into your mouth.’

The rabbit did as he was bid, and when he was tied tight and popped on

his back, the jackal ran to the spring and drank as much as he wanted.

When he had quite finished he returned to his den.

In the evening the animals all came back, and when they saw the rabbit

lying with his paws tied, they said to him: ‘Rabbit, how did you let

yourself be taken in like this?’

‘It was all the fault of the jackal,’ replied the rabbit; ‘he tied me

up like this, and told me he would give me something nice to eat. It was

all a trick just to get at our water.’

‘Rabbit, you are no better than an idiot to have let the jackal drink

our water when he would not help to find it. Who shall be our next

watchman? We must have somebody a little sharper than you!’ and the

little hare called out, ‘I will be the watchman.’

The following morning the animals all went their various ways, leaving

the little hare to guard the spring. When they were out of sight the

jackal came back. ‘Good morning! good morning, little hare,’ and the

little hare politely said, ‘Good morning.’

‘Can you give me a pinch of snuff?’ said the jackal.

‘I am so sorry, but I have none,’ answered the little hare.

The jackal then came and sat down by the little hare, and unfastened his

little bag, pulling out of it a piece of honeycomb. He licked his lips

and exclaimed, ‘Oh, little hare, if you only knew how good it is!’

‘What is it?’ asked the little hare.

‘It is something that moistens my throat so deliciously,’ answered the

jackal, ‘that after I have eaten it I don’t feel thirsty any more, while

I am sure that all you other beasts are for ever wanting water.’

‘Give me a bit, dear friend,’ asked the little hare.

‘Not so fast,’ replied the jackal. ‘If you really wish to enjoy what

you are eating, you must have your paws tied behind you, and lie on your

back, so that I can pour it into your mouth.’

‘You can tie them, only be quick,’ said the little hare, and when he was

tied tight and popped on his back, the jackal went quietly down to the

well, and drank as much as he wanted. When he had quite finished he

returned to his den.

In the evening the animals all came back; and when they saw the little

hare with his paws tied, they said to him: ‘Little hare, how did you let

yourself be taken in like this? Didn’t you boast you were very sharp?

You undertook to guard our water; now show us how much is left for us to

drink!’

‘It is all the fault of the jackal,’ replied the little hare. ‘He told

me he would give me something nice to eat if I would just let him tie my

hands behind my back.’

Then the animals said, ‘Who can we trust to mount guard now?’ And the

panther answered, ‘Let it be the tortoise.’

The following morning the animals all went their various ways, leaving

the tortoise to guard the spring. When they were out of sight the jackal

came back. ‘Good morning, tortoise; good morning.’

But the tortoise took no notice.

‘Good morning, tortoise; good morning.’ But still the tortoise pretended

not to hear.

Then the jackal said to himself, ‘Well, to-day I have only got to manage

a bigger idiot than before. I shall just kick him on one side, and then

go and have a drink.’ So he went up to the tortoise and said to him in a

soft voice, ‘Tortoise! tortoise!’ but the tortoise took no notice. Then

the jackal kicked him out of the way, and went to the well and began to

drink, but scarcely had he touched the water, than the tortoise seized

him by the leg. The jackal shrieked out: ‘Oh, you will break my leg!’

but the tortoise only held on the tighter. The jackal then took his bag

and tried to make the tortoise smell the honeycomb he had inside; but

the tortoise turned away his head and smelt nothing. At last the jackal

said to the tortoise, ‘I should like to give you my bag and everything

in it,’ but the only answer the tortoise made was to grasp the jackal’s

leg tighter still.

So matters stood when the other animals came back. The moment he saw

them, the jackal gave a violent tug, and managed to free his leg, and

then took to his heels as fast as he could. And the animals all said to

the tortoise:

‘Well done, tortoise, you have proved your courage; now we can drink

from our well in peace, as you have got the better of that thieving

jackal!’

[Contes Populaires des Bassoutos, recueillis et traduits par E.

Jacottet. Paris: Leroux, editeur.]

The Bear

Once on a time there was a king who had an only daughter. He was so

proud and so fond of her, that he was in constant terror that something

would happen to her if she went outside the palace, and thus, owing to

his great love for her, he forced her to lead the life of a prisoner,

shut up within her own rooms.

The princess did not like this at all, and one day she complained about

it very bitterly to her nurse. Now, the nurse was a witch, though the

king did not know it. For some time she listened and tried to soothe the

princess; but when she saw that she would not be comforted, she said to

her: ‘Your father loves you very dearly, as you know. Whatever you were

to ask from him he would give you. The one thing he will not grant you

is permission to leave the palace. Now, do as I tell you. Go to your

father and ask him to give you a wooden wheel-barrow, and a bear’s skin.

When you have got them bring them to me, and I will touch them with my

magic wand. The wheel-barrow will then move of itself, and will take

you at full speed wherever you want to go, and the bear’s skin will make

such a covering for you, that no one will recognise you.’

So the princess did as the witch advised her. The king, when he heard

her strange request, was greatly astonished, and asked her what she

meant to do with a wheel-barrow and a bear’s skin. And the princess

answered, ‘You never let me leave the house--at least you might grant me

this request’ So the king granted it, and the princess went back to her

nurse, taking the barrow and the bear’s skin with her.

As soon as the witch saw them, she touched them with her magic wand,

and in a moment the barrow began to move about in all directions. The

princess next put on the bear’s skin, which so completely changed her

appearance, that no one could have known that she was a girl and not a

bear. In this strange attire she seated herself on the barrow, and in

a few minutes she found herself far away from the palace, and moving

rapidly through a great forest. Here she stopped the barrow with a sign

that the witch had shown her, and hid herself and it in a thick grove of

flowering shrubs.

Now it happened that the prince of that country was hunting with his

dogs in the forest. Suddenly he caught sight of the bear hiding among

the shrubs, and calling his dogs, hounded them on to attack it. But the

girl, seeing what peril she was in, cried, ‘Call off your dogs, or they

will kill me. What harm have I ever done to you?’ At these words, coming

from a bear, the prince was so startled that for a moment he stood

stock-still, then he said quite gently, ‘Will you come with me? I will

take you to my home.’

‘I will come gladly,’ replied the bear; and seating herself on the

barrow it at once began to move in the direction of the prince’s palace.

You may imagine the surprise of the prince’s mother when she saw her son

return accompanied by a bear, who at once set about doing the house-work

better than any servant that the queen had ever seen.

Now it happened that there were great festivities going on in the palace

of a neighbouring prince, and at dinner, one day, the prince said to his

mother: ‘This evening there is to be a great ball, to which I must go.’

And his mother answered, ‘Go and dance, and enjoy yourself.’

Suddenly a voice came from under the table, where the bear had rolled

itself, as was its wont: ‘Let me come to the ball; I, too, would like to

dance.’

But the only answer the prince made was to give the bear a kick, and to

drive it out of the room.

In the evening the prince set off for the ball. As soon as he had

started, the bear came to the queen and implored to be allowed to go to

the ball, saying that she would hide herself so well that no one would

know she was there. The kind-hearted queen could not refuse her.

Then the bear ran to her barrow, threw off her bear’s skin, and touched

it with the magic wand that the witch had given her. In a moment the

skin was changed into an exquisite ball dress woven out of moon-beams,

and the wheel-barrow was changed into a carriage drawn by two prancing

steeds. Stepping into the carriage the princess drove to the grand

entrance of the palace. When she entered the ball-room, in her wondrous

dress of moon-beams, she looked so lovely, so different from all the

other guests, that everyone wondered who she was, and no one could tell

where she had come from.

From the moment he saw her, the prince fell desperately in love with

her, and all the evening he would dance with no one else but the

beautiful stranger.

When the ball was over, the princess drove away in her carriage at full

speed, for she wished to get home in time to change her ball dress into

the bear’s skin, and the carriage into the wheel-barrow, before anyone

discovered who she was.

The prince, putting spurs into his horse, rode after her, for he was

determined not to let her out of his sight. But suddenly a thick mist

arose and hid her from him. When he reached his home he could talk to

his mother of nothing else but the beautiful stranger with whom he had

danced so often, and with whom he was so much in love. And the bear

beneath the table smiled to itself, and muttered: ‘I am the beautiful

stranger; oh, how I have taken you in!’

The next evening there was a second ball, and, as you may believe, the

prince was determined not to miss it, for he thought he would once more

see the lovely girl, and dance with her and talk to her, and make her

talk to him, for at the first ball she had never opened her lips.

And, sure enough, as the music struck up the first dance, the beautiful

stranger entered the room, looking even more radiant than the night

before, for this time her dress was woven out of the rays of the sun.

All evening the prince danced with her, but she never spoke a word.

When the ball was over he tried once more to follow her carriage, that

he might know whence she came, but suddenly a great waterspout fell from

the sky, and the blinding sheets of rain hid her from his sight.

When he reached his home he told his mother that he had again seen the

lovely girl, and that this time she had been even more beautiful than

the night before. And again the bear smiled beneath the table, and

muttered: ‘I have taken him in a second time, and he has no idea that I

am the beautiful girl with whom he is so much in love.’

On the next evening, the prince returned to the palace for the third

ball. And the princess went too, and this time she had changed her

bear’s skin into a dress woven out of the star-light, studded all over

with gems, and she looked so dazzling and so beautiful, that everyone

wondered at her, and said that no one so beautiful had ever been seen

before. And the prince danced with her, and, though he could not induce

her to speak, he succeeded in slipping a ring on her finger.

When the ball was over, he followed her carriage, and rode at such a

pace that for long he kept it in sight. Then suddenly a terrible wind

arose between him and the carriage, and he could not overtake it.

When he reached his home he said to his mother, ‘I do not know what is

to become of me; I think I shall go mad, I am so much in love with that

girl, and I have no means of finding out who she is. I danced with her

and I gave her a ring, and yet I do not know her name, nor where I am to

find her.’

Then the bear laughed beneath the table and muttered to itself.

And the prince continued: ‘I am tired to death. Order some soup to be

made for me, but I don’t want that bear to meddle with it. Every time I

speak of my love the brute mutters and laughs, and seems to mock at me.

I hate the sight of the creature!’

When the soup was ready, the bear brought it to the prince; but before

handing it to him, she dropped into the plate the ring the prince had

given her the night before at the ball. The prince began to eat his soup

very slowly and languidly, for he was sad at heart, and all his thoughts

were busy, wondering how and where he could see the lovely stranger

again. Suddenly he noticed the ring at the bottom of the plate. In a

moment he recognised it, and was dumb with surprise.

Then he saw the bear standing beside him, looking at him with gentle,

beseeching eyes, and something in the eyes of the bear made him say:

‘Take off that skin, some mystery is hidden beneath it.’

And the bear’s skin dropped off, and the beautiful girl stood before

him, in the dress woven out of the star-light, and he saw that she was

the stranger with whom he had fallen so deeply in love. And now she

appeared to him a thousand times more beautiful than ever, and he led

her to his mother. And the princess told them her story, and how she had

been kept shut up by her father in his palace, and how she had wearied

of her imprisonment. And the prince’s mother loved her, and rejoiced

that her son should have so good and beautiful a wife.

So they were married, and lived happily for many years, and reigned

wisely over their kingdom.

The Sunchild

Once there was a woman who had no children, and this made her very

unhappy. So she spoke one day to the Sunball, saying: ‘Dear Sunball,

send me only a little girl now, and when she is twelve years old you may

take her back again.’

So soon after this the Sunball sent her a little girl, whom the woman

called Letiko, and watched over with great care till she was twelve

years old. Soon after that, while Letiko was away one day gathering

herbs, the Sunball came to her, and said: ‘Letiko, when you go home,

tell your mother that she must bethink herself of what she promised me.’

Then Letiko went straight home, and said to her mother: ‘While I was

gathering herbs a fine tall gentleman came to me and charged me to tell

you that you should remember what you promised him.’

When the woman heard that she was sore afraid, and immediately shut all

the doors and windows of the house, stopped up all the chinks and holes,

and kept Letiko hidden away, that the Sunball should not come and take

her away. But she forgot to close up the keyhole, and through it the

Sunball sent a ray into the house, which took hold of the little girl

and carried her away to him.

One day, the Sunball having sent her to the straw shed to fetch straw,

the girl sat down on the piles of straw and bemoaned herself, saying:

‘As sighs this straw under my feet so sighs my heart after my mother.’

And this caused her to be so long away that the Sunball asked her, when

she came back: ‘Eh, Letiko, where have you been so long?’

She answered: ‘My slippers are too big, and I could not go faster.’

Then the Sunball made the slippers shorter.

Another time he sent her to fetch water, and when she came to the

spring, she sat down and lamented, saying: ‘As flows the water even so

flows my heart with longing for my mother.’

Thus she again remained so long away that the Sunball asked her: ‘Eh,

Letiko, why have you remained so long away?’

And she answered: ‘My petticoat is too long and hinders me in walking.’

Then the Sunball cut her petticoat to make it shorter.

Another time the Sunball sent her to bring him a pair of sandals, and

as the girl carried these in her hand she began to lament, saying: ‘As

creaks the leather so creaks my heart after my little mother.’

When she came home the Sunball asked her again: ‘Eh, Letiko, why do you

come home so late?’

‘My red hood is too wide, and falls over my eyes, therefore I could not

go fast.’

Then he made the hood narrower.

At last, however, the Sunball became aware how sad Letiko was. He sent

her a second time to bring straw, and, slipping in after her, he heard

how she lamented for her mother. Then he went home, called two foxes to

him, and said: ‘Will you take Letiko home?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘But what will you eat and drink if you should become hungry and thirsty

by the way?’

‘We will eat her flesh and drink her blood.’

When the Sunball heard that, he said: ‘You are not suited for this

affair.’

Then he sent them away, and called two hares to him, and said: ‘Will you

take Letiko home to her mother?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘What will you eat and drink if you should become hungry and thirsty by

the way?’

‘We will eat grass and drink from streamlets.’

‘Then take her, and bring her home.’

Then the hares set out, taking Letiko with them, and because it was a

long way to her home they became hungry by the way. Then they said to

the little girl: ‘Climb this tree, dear Letiko, and remain there till we

have finished eating.’

So Letiko climbed the tree, and the hares went grazing.

It was not very long, however, before a lamia came under the tree and

called out: ‘Letiko, Letiko, come down and see what beautiful shoes I

have on.’

‘Oh! my shoes are much finer than yours.’

‘Come down. I am in a hurry, for my house is not yet swept.’

‘Go home and sweep it then, and come back when you are ready.’

Then the lamia went away and swept her house, and when she was ready

she came back and called out: ‘Letiko, Letiko, come down and see what a

beautiful apron I have.’

‘Oh! my apron is much finer than yours.’

‘If you will not come down I will cut down the tree and eat you.’

‘Do so, and then eat me.’

Then the lamia hewed with all her strength at the tree, but could not

cut it down. And when she saw that, she called out: ‘Letiko, Letiko,

come down, for I must feed my children.’

‘Go home then and feed them, and come back when you are ready.’

When the lamia was gone away, Letiko called out: ‘Little hares! little

hares!’

Then said one hare to the other: ‘Listen, Letiko is calling;’ and they

both ran back to her as fast as they could go. Then Letiko came down

from the tree, and they went on their way.

The lamia ran as fast as she could after them, to catch them up, and

when she came to a field where people were working she asked them: ‘Have

you seen anyone pass this way?’

They answered: ‘We are planting beans.’

‘Oh! I did not ask about that; but if anyone had passed this way.’

But the people only answered the louder: ‘Are you deaf? It is beans,

beans, beans we are planting.’

When Letiko had nearly reached her home the dog knew her, and called

out, ‘Bow wow! see here comes Letiko!’

And the mother said, ‘Hush! thou beast of ill-omen! wilt thou make me

burst with misery?’

Next the cat on the roof saw her, and called out ‘Miaouw! miaouw! see

here comes Letiko!’

And the mother said, ‘Keep silence! thou beast of ill-omen! wilt thou

make me burst with misery?’

Then the cock spied, and called out: ‘Cock-a-doodle-do! see here comes

Letiko!’

And the mother said again: ‘Be quiet! thou bird of ill-omen! wilt thou

make me burst with misery?’

The nearer Letiko and the two hares came to the house the nearer also

came the lamia, and when the hare was about to slip in by the house door

she caught it by its little tail and tore it out.

When the hare came in the mother stood up and said to it: ‘Welcome, dear

little hare; because you have brought me back Letiko I will silver your

little tail.’

And she did so; and lived ever after with her daughter in happiness and

content.

The Daughter Of Buk Ettemsuch

Once upon a time there lived a man who had seven daughters. For a long

time they dwelt quite happily at home together, then one morning the

father called them all before him and said:

‘Your mother and I are going on a journey, and as we do not know how

long we may be away, you will find enough provisions in the house to

last you three years. But see you do not open the door to anyone till we

come home again.’

‘Very well, dear father,’ replied the girls.

For two years they never left the house or unlocked the door; but one

day, when they had washed their clothes, and were spreading them out on

the roof to dry, the girls looked down into the street where people were

walking to and fro, and across to the market, with its stalls of fresh

meat, vegetables, and other nice things.

‘Come here,’ cried one. ‘It makes me quite hungry! Why should not

we have our share? Let one of us go to the market, and buy meat and

vegetables.’

‘Oh, we mustn’t do that!’ said the youngest. ‘You know our father

forbade us to open the door till he came home again.’

Then the eldest sister sprang at her and struck her, the second spit at

her, the third abused her, the fourth pushed her, the fifth flung her to

the ground, and the sixth tore her clothes. Then they left her lying on

the floor, and went out with a basket.

In about an hour they came back with the basket full of meat and

vegetables, which they put in a pot, and set on the fire, quite

forgetting that the house door stood wide open. The youngest sister,

however, took no part in all this, and when dinner was ready and the

table laid, she stole softly out to the entrance hall, and hid herself

behind a great cask which stood in one corner.

Now, while the other sisters were enjoying their feast, a witch passed

by, and catching sight of the open door, she walked in. She went up

to the eldest girl, and said: ‘Where shall I begin on you, you fat

bolster?’

‘You must begin,’ answered she, ‘with the hand which struck my little

sister.’

So the witch gobbled her up, and when the last scrap had disappeared,

she came to the second and asked: ‘Where shall I begin on you, my fat

bolster?’

And the second answered, ‘You must begin on my mouth, which spat on my

sister.’

And so on to the rest; and very soon the whole six had disappeared.

And as the witch was eating the last mouthful of the last sister, the

youngest, who had been crouching, frozen with horror, behind the barrel,

ran out through the open door into the street. Without looking behind

her, she hastened on and on, as fast as her feet would carry her, till

she saw an ogre’s castle standing in front of her. In a corner near the

door she spied a large pot, and she crept softly up to it and pulled the

cover over it, and went to sleep.

By-and-by the ogre came home. ‘Fee, Fo, Fum,’ cried he, ‘I smell the

smell of a man. What ill fate has brought him here?’ And he looked

through all the rooms, and found nobody. ‘Where are you?’ he called. ‘Do

not be afraid, I will do you no harm.’

But the girl was still silent.

‘Come out, I tell you,’ repeated the ogre. ‘Your life is quite safe. If

you are an old man, you shall be my father. If you are a boy, you shall

be my son. If your years are as many as mine, you shall be my brother.

If you are an old woman, you shall be my mother. If you are a young one,

you shall be my daughter. If you are middle-aged, you shall be my wife.

So come out, and fear nothing.’

Then the maiden came out of her hiding-place, and stood before him.

‘Fear nothing,’ said the ogre again; and when he went away to hunt he

left her to look after the house. In the evening he returned, bringing

with him hares, partridges, and gazelles, for the girl’s supper; for

himself he only cared for the flesh of men, which she cooked for him.

He also gave into her charge the keys of six rooms, but the key of the

seventh he kept himself.

And time passed on, and the girl and the ogre still lived together.

She called him ‘Father,’ and he called her ‘Daughter,’ and never once

did he speak roughly to her.

One day the maiden said to him, ‘Father, give me the key of the upper

chamber.’

‘No, my daughter,’ replied the ogre. ‘There is nothing there that is any

use to you.’

‘But I want the key,’ she repeated again.

However the ogre took no notice, and pretended not to hear. The girl

began to cry, and said to herself: ‘To-night, when he thinks I am

asleep, I will watch and see where he hides it;’ and after she and the

ogre had supped, she bade him good-night, and left the room. In a few

minutes she stole quietly back, and watched from behind a curtain. In a

little while she saw the ogre take the key from his pocket, and hide it

in a hole in the ground before he went to bed. And when all was still

she took out the key, and went back to the house.

The next morning the ogre awoke with the first ray of light, and the

first thing he did was to look for the key. It was gone, and he guessed

at once what had become of it.

But instead of getting into a great rage, as most ogres would have done,

he said to himself, ‘If I wake the maiden up I shall only frighten her.

For to-day she shall keep the key, and when I return to-night it will be

time enough to take it from her.’ So he went off to hunt.

The moment he was safe out of the way, the girl ran upstairs and opened

the door of the room, which was quite bare. The one window was closed,

and she threw back the lattice and looked out. Beneath lay a garden

which belonged to the prince, and in the garden was an ox, who was

drawing up water from the well all by himself--for there was nobody to

be seen anywhere. The ox raised his head at the noise the girl made in

opening the lattice, and said to her, ‘Good morning, O daughter of Buk

Ettemsuch! Your father is feeding you up till you are nice and fat, and

then he will put you on a spit and cook you.’

These words so frightened the maiden that she burst into tears and ran

out of the room. All day she wept, and when the ogre came home at night,

no supper was ready for him.

‘What are you crying for?’ said he. ‘Where is my supper, and is it you

who have opened the upper chamber?’

‘Yes, I opened it,’ answered she.

‘And what did the ox say to you?’

‘He said, “Good morning, O daughter of Buk Ettemsuch. Your father is

feeding you up till you are nice and fat, and then he will put you on a

spit and cook you.”’

‘Well, to-morrow you can go to the window and say, “My father is feeding

me up till I am nice and fat, but he does not mean to eat me. If I had

one of your eyes I would use it for a mirror, and look at myself before

and behind; and your girths should be loosened, and you should be

blind--seven days and seven nights.”’

‘All right,’ replied the girl, and the next morning, when the ox spoke

to her, she answered him as she had been told, and he fell down straight

upon the ground, and lay there seven days and seven nights. But the

flowers in the garden withered, for there was no one to water them.

When the prince came into his garden he found nothing but yellow stalks;

in the midst of them the ox was lying. With a blow from his sword he

killed the animal, and, turning to his attendants, he said, ‘Go and

fetch another ox!’ And they brought in a great beast, and he drew the

water out of the well, and the flowers revived, and the grass grew green

again. Then the prince called his attendants and went away.

The next morning the girl heard the noise of the waterwheel, and she

opened the lattice and looked out of the window.

‘Good morning, O daughter of Buk Ettemsuch!’ said the new ox. ‘Your

father is feeding you up till you are nice and fat, and then he will put

you on a spit and cook you.’

And the maiden answered: ‘My father is feeding me up till I am nice and

fat, but he does not mean to eat me. If I had one of your eyes I would

use it for a mirror, and look at myself before and behind; and your

girths should be loosened, and you should be blind--seven days and seven

nights.’

Directly she uttered these words the ox fell to the ground and lay

there, seven days and seven nights. Then he arose and began to draw the

water from the well. He had only turned the wheel once or twice, when

the prince took it into his head to visit his garden and see how the

new ox was getting on. When he entered the ox was working busily; but in

spite of that the flowers and grass were dried up. And the prince drew

his sword, and rushed at the ox to slay him, as he had done the other.

But the ox fell on his knees and said:

‘My lord, only spare my life, and let me tell you how it happened.’

‘How what happened?’ asked the prince.

‘My lord, a girl looked out of that window and spoke a few words to me,

and I fell to the ground. For seven days and seven nights I lay there,

unable to move. But, O my lord, it is not given to us twice to behold

beauty such as hers.’

‘It is a lie,’ said the prince. ‘An ogre dwells there. Is it likely that

he keeps a maiden in his upper chamber?’

‘Why not?’ replied the ox. ‘But if you come here at dawn to-morrow, and

hide behind that tree, you will see for yourself.’

‘So I will,’ said the prince; ‘and if I find that you have not spoken

truth, I will kill you.’

The prince left the garden, and the ox went on with his work. Next

morning the prince came early to the garden, and found the ox busy with

the waterwheel.

‘Has the girl appeared yet?’ he asked.

‘Not yet; but she will not be long. Hide yourself in the branches of

that tree, and you will soon see her.’

The prince did as he was told, and scarcely was he seated when the

maiden threw open the lattice.

‘Good morning, O daughter of Buk Ettemsuch!’ said the ox. ‘Your father

is feeding you up till you are nice and fat, and then he will put you on

a spit and cook you.’

‘My father is feeding me up till I am nice and fat, but he does not mean

to eat me. If I had one of your eyes I would use it for a mirror, and

look at myself before and behind; and your girths should be loosened,

and you should be blind--seven days and seven nights.’ And hardly had

she spoken when the ox fell on the ground, and the maiden shut the

lattice and went away. But the prince knew that what the ox had said

was true, and that she had not her equal in the whole world. And he came

down from the tree, his heart burning with love.

‘Why has the ogre not eaten her?’ thought he. ‘This night I will invite

him to supper in my palace and question him about the maiden, and find

out if she is his wife.’

So the prince ordered a great ox to be slain and roasted whole, and two

huge tanks to be made, one filled with water and the other with wine.

And towards evening he called his attendants and went to the ogre’s

house to wait in the courtyard till he came back from hunting. The ogre

was surprised to see so many people assembled in front of his house; but

he bowed politely and said, ‘Good morning, dear neighbours! To what do I

owe the pleasure of this visit? I have not offended you, I hope?’

‘Oh, certainly not!’ answered the prince.

‘Then,’ continued the ogre, ‘What has brought you to my house to-day for

the first time?’

‘We should like to have supper with you,’ said the prince.

‘Well, supper is ready, and you are welcome,’ replied the ogre, leading

the way into the house, for he had had a good day, and there was plenty

of game in the bag over his shoulder.

A table was quickly prepared, and the prince had already taken his

place, when he suddenly exclaimed, ‘After all, Buk Ettemsuch, suppose

you come to supper with me?’

‘Where?’ asked the ogre.

‘In my house. I know it is all ready.’

‘But it is so far off--why not stay here?’

‘Oh, I will come another day; but this evening I must be your host.’

So the ogre accompanied the prince and his attendants back to the

palace. After a while the prince turned to the ogre and said:

‘It is as a wooer that I appear before you. I seek a wife from an

honourable family.’

‘But I have no daughter,’ replied the ogre.

‘Oh, yes you have, I saw her at the window.’

‘Well, you can marry her if you wish,’ said he.

So the prince’s heart was glad as he and his attendants rode back with

the ogre to his house. And as they parted, the prince said to his guest,

‘You will not forget the bargain we have made?’

‘I am not a young man, and never break my promises,’ said the ogre, and

went in and shut the door.

Upstairs he found the maiden, waiting till he returned to have her

supper, for she did not like eating by herself.

‘I have had my supper,’ said the ogre, ‘for I have been spending the

evening with the prince.’

‘Where did you meet him?’ asked the girl.

‘Oh, we are neighbours, and grew up together, and to-night I promised

that you should be his wife.’

‘I don’t want to be any man’s wife,’ answered she; but this was only

pretence, for her heart too was glad.

Next morning early came the prince, bringing with him bridal gifts, and

splendid wedding garments, to carry the maiden back to his palace.

But before he let her go the ogre called her to him, and said, ‘Be

careful, girl, never to speak to the prince; and when he speaks to you,

you must be dumb, unless he swears “by the head of Buk Ettemsuch.” Then

you may speak.’

‘Very well,’ answered the girl.

They set out; and when they reached the palace, the prince led his bride

to the room he had prepared for her, and said ‘Speak to me, my wife,’

but she was silent; and by-and-by he left her, thinking that perhaps she

was shy. The next day the same thing happened, and the next.

At last he said, ‘Well, if you won’t speak, I shall go and get another

wife who will.’ And he did.

Now when the new wife was brought to the palace the daughter of Buk

Ettemsuch rose, and spoke to the ladies who had come to attend on the

second bride. ‘Go and sit down. I will make ready the feast.’ And the

ladies sat down as they were told, and waited.

The maiden sat down too, and called out, ‘Come here, firewood,’ and

the firewood came. ‘Come here, fire,’ and the fire came and kindled the

wood. ‘Come here, pot.’ ‘Come here, oil;’ and the pot and the oil came.

‘Get into the pot, oil!’ said she, and the oil did it. When the oil was

boiling, the maiden dipped all her fingers in it, and they became ten

fried fishes. ‘Come here, oven,’ she cried next, and the oven came.

‘Fire, heat the oven.’ And the fire heated it. When it was hot enough,

the maiden jumped in, just as she was, with her beautiful silver and

gold dress, and all her jewels. In a minute or two she had turned into a

snow-white loaf, that made your mouth water.

Said the loaf to the ladies, ‘You can eat now; do not stand so far off;’

but they only stared at each other, speechless with surprise.

‘What are you staring at?’ asked the new bride.

‘At all these wonders,’ replied the ladies.

‘Do you call these wonders?’ said she scornfully; ‘I can do that too,’

and she jumped straight into the oven, and was burnt up in a moment.

Then they ran to the prince and said: ‘Come quickly, your wife is dead!’

‘Bury her, then!’ returned he. ‘But why did she do it? I am sure I said

nothing to make her throw herself into the oven.’

Accordingly the burnt woman was buried, but the prince would not go to

the funeral as all his thoughts were still with the wife who would not

speak to him. The next night he said to her, ‘Dear wife, are you afraid

that something dreadful will happen if you speak to me? If you still

persist in being dumb, I shall be forced to get another wife.’ The poor

girl longed to speak, but dread of the ogre kept her silent, and the

prince did as he had said, and brought a fresh bride into the palace.

And when she and her ladies were seated in state, the maiden planted a

sharp stake in the ground, and sat herself down comfortably on it, and

began to spin.

‘What are you staring at so?’ said the new bride to her ladies. ‘Do you

think that is anything wonderful? Why, I can do as much myself!’

‘I am sure you can’t,’ said they, much too surprised to be polite.

Then the maid sprang off the stake and left the room, and instantly the

new wife took her place. But the sharp stake ran through, and she was

dead in a moment. So they sent to the prince and said, ‘Come quickly,

and bury your wife.’

‘Bury her yourselves,’ he answered. ‘What did she do it for? It was not

by my orders that she impaled herself on the stake.’

So they buried her; and in the evening the prince came to the daughter

of Buk Ettemsuch, and said to her, ‘Speak to me, or I shall have to take

another wife.’ But she was afraid to speak to him.

The following day the prince hid himself in the room and watched. And

soon the maiden woke, and said to the pitcher and to the water-jug,

‘Quick! go down to the spring and bring me some water; I am thirsty.’

And they went. But as they were filling themselves at the spring, the

water-jug knocked against the pitcher and broke off its spout. And the

pitcher burst into tears, and ran to the maiden, and said: ‘Mistress,

beat the water-jug, for he has broken my spout!’

‘By the head of Buk Ettemsuch, I implore you not to beat me!’

‘Ah,’ she replied, ‘if only my husband had sworn by that oath, I could

have spoken to him from the beginning, and he need never have taken

another wife. But now he will never say it, and he will have to go on

marrying fresh ones.’

And the prince, from his hiding-place, heard her words, and he jumped up

and ran to her and said, ‘By the head of Buk Ettemsuch, speak to me.’

So she spoke to him, and they lived happily to the end of their days,

because the girl kept the promise she had made to the ogre.

[Märchen und Gedichte aus der Stadt Tripolis. Von Hans Stumme.]