Part 7

So, to make a sort of drawn battle of the matter, it was settled that Heinel should be put into an open boat, that lay on the sea-shore hard by; that the father should push him off with his own hand, and that he should thus be set adrift, and left to the bad or good luck of wind and weather. Then he took leave of his father, and set himself in the boat; but before it got far off a wave struck it, and it fell with one side low in the water, so the merchant thought that poor Heinel was lost, and went home very sorrowful, while the dwarf went his way, thinking that at any rate he had had his revenge.

The boat, however, did not sink, for the good fairy took care of her friend, and soon raised the boat up again, and it went safely on. The young man sat safe within, till at length it ran ashore upon an unknown land. As he jumped upon the shore he saw before him a beautiful castle, but empty and dreary within, for it was enchanted. "Here," said he to himself, "must I find the prize the good fairy told me of." So he once more searched the whole palace through, till at last he found a white snake, lying coiled up on a cushion in one of the chambers.

Now the white snake was an enchanted princess; and she was very glad to see him, and said, "Are you at last come to set me free? Twelve long years have I waited here for the fairy to bring you hither as she promised, for you alone can save me. This night twelve men will come: their faces will be black, and they will be dressed in chain armour. They will ask what you do here, but give no answer; and let them do what they will, beat, whip, pinch, prick, or torment you, bear all; only speak not a word, and at twelve o'clock they must go away. The second night twelve others will come: and the third night twenty-four, who will even cut off your head; but at the twelfth hour of that night their power is gone, and I shall be free, and will come and bring you the water of life, and will wash you with it, and bring you back to life and health." And all came to pass as she had said; Heinel bore all, and spoke not a word; and the third night the princess came, and fell on his neck and kissed him. Joy and gladness burst forth throughout the castle, the wedding was celebrated, and he was crowned king of the Golden Mountain.

They lived together very happily, and the queen had a son. And thus eight years had passed over their heads, when the king thought of his father; and he began to long to see him once again. But the queen was against his going, and said, "I know well that misfortunes will come upon us if you go." However, he gave her no rest till she agreed. At his going away she gave him a wishing-ring, and said, "Take this ring, and put it on your finger, whatever you wish it will bring you: only promise never to make use of it to bring me hence to your father's house." Then he said he would do what she asked, and put the ring on his finger, and wished himself near the town where his father lived.

Heinel found himself at the gates in a moment; but the guards would not let him go in, because he was so strangely clad. So he went up to a neighbouring hill, where a shepherd dwelt, and borrowed his old frock, and thus passed unknown into the town. When he came to his father's house, he said he was his son; but the merchant would not believe him, and said he had had but one son, his poor Heinel, who he knew was long since dead: and as he was only dressed like a poor shepherd, he would not even give him anything to eat. The king, however, still vowed that he was his son, and said, "Is there no mark by which you would know me if I am really your son?" "Yes," said his mother, "our Heinel had a mark like a raspberry on his right arm." Then he showed them the mark, and they knew that what he had said was true.

He next told them how he was king of the Golden Mountain, and was married to a princess, and had a son seven years old. But the merchant said, "That can never be true; he must be a fine king truly who travels about in a shepherd's frock!" At this the son was vexed; and forgetting his word, turned his ring, and wished for his queen and son. In an instant they stood before him; but the queen wept, and said he had broken his word, and bad luck would follow. He did all he could to soothe her, and she at last seemed to be appeased; but she was not so in truth, and was only thinking how she should punish him.

One day he took her to walk with him out of the town, and showed her the spot where the boat was set adrift upon the wide waters. Then he sat himself down, and said, "I am very much tired; sit by me, I will rest my head in your lap, and sleep awhile." As soon as he had fallen asleep, however, she drew the ring from his finger, and crept softly away, and wished herself and her son at home in their kingdom. And when he awoke he found himself alone, and saw that the ring was gone from his finger. "I can never go back to my father's house," said he, "they would say I am a sorcerer: I will journey forth into the world, till I come again to my kingdom."

So saying, he set out and travelled till he came to a hill, where three giants were sharing their father's goods; and as they saw him pass, they cried out and said, "Little men have sharp wits; he shall part the goods between us." Now there was a sword, that cut off an enemy's head whenever the wearer gave the words, "Heads off!" a cloak, that made the owner invisible, or gave him any form he pleased; and a pair of boots that carried the wearer wherever he wished. Heinel said they must first let him try these wonderful things, then he might know how to set a value upon them. Then they gave him the cloak, and he wished himself a fly, and in a moment he was a fly. "The cloak is very well," said he; "now give me the sword." "No," said they; "not unless you undertake not to say, 'Heads off!' for if you do, we are all dead men." So they gave it him, charging him to try it on a tree. He next asked for the boots also; and the moment he had all three in his power, he wished himself at the Golden Mountain; and there he was at once. So the giants were left behind with no goods to share or quarrel about.

As Heinel came near his castle he heard the sound of merry music; and the people around told him that his queen was about to marry another husband. Then he threw his cloak around him, and passed through the castle-hall, and placed himself by the side of his queen, where no one saw him. But when anything to eat was put upon her plate, he took it away and ate it himself; and when a glass of wine was handed to her, he took it and drank it: and thus, though they kept on giving her meat and drink, her plate and cup were always empty.

Upon this fear and remorse came over her, and she went into her chamber alone, and sat there weeping; and he followed her there. "Alas!" said she to herself, "was I not once set free? why then does this enchantment still seem to bind me?"

"False and fickle one!" said he, "one indeed came who set thee free, and he is now near thee again; but how have you used him? ought he to have had such treatment from thee?" Then he went out and sent away the company, and said the wedding was at an end, for that he was come back to the kingdom. But the princes, peers, and great men mocked at him. However, he would enter into no parley with them, but only asked them if they would go in peace or not. Then they turned upon him and tried to seize him; but he drew his sword; "Heads off!" cried he; and with the word, the traitors' heads fell before him, and Heinel was once more king of the Golden Mountain.

*PERSEPHONE[1]*

[1] In some forms of this story the maiden is called Proserpina and her mother Ceres. Tennyson tells the story in his poem "Demeter."

I

She stepped upon Sicilian grass, Demeter's daughter, fresh and fair; A child of light, a radiant lass, And gamesome as the morning air. The daffodils were fair to see, They nodded lightly on the lea, Persephone--Persephone!

Lo! one she marked of fairer growth Than orchis or anemone: For it the maiden left them both, And parted from her company. Drawn nigh she deemed it fairer still, And stooped to gather by the rill The daffodil, the daffodil.

What ailed the meadow that it shook? What ailed the air of Sicily? She wandered by the prattling brook, And trembled with the trembling lea. "The coal-black horses rise--they rise: O Mother, Mother!" low she cries-- Persephone--Persephone!

"O light, light, light!" she cried, "farewell; The coal-black horses wait for me. O shade of shades, where must I dwell, Demeter, Mother, far from thee! Ah, fated doom that I fulfil! Ah, fateful flower beside the rill! The daffodil, the daffodil!"

What ails her that she comes not home? Demeter seeks her far and wide, And gloomy-browed doth ceaseless roam From many a morn till eventide. "My life, immortal though it be, Is nought," she cried, "for want of thee, Persephone--Persephone!"

"Meadows of Enna, let the rain No longer drop to feed your rills, Nor dew refresh the fields again, With all their nodding daffodils! Fade, fade and droop, O lilied lea, Where thou, dear heart, wast reft from me-- Persephone--Persephone!"

II

She reigns upon her dusky throne, 'Mid shades of heroes dread to see; Among the dead she breathes alone, Persephone--Persephone! Or seated on the Elysian hill She dreams of earthly daylight still, And murmurs of the daffodil.

A voice in Hades soundeth clear, The shadows mourn and flit below; It cries--"Thou Lord of Hades, hear, And let Demeter's daughter go. The tender corn upon the lea Droops in her golden gloom when she Cries for her lost Persephone.

"From land to land she raging flies, The green fruit falleth in her wake, And harvest fields beneath her eyes To earth the grain unripened shake. Arise and set the maiden free; Why should the world such sorrow dree[2] By reason of Persephone?"

[2] _Dree_ means endure or bear.

He takes the cleft pomegranate seeds, "Love, eat with me this parting day;" Then bids them fetch the coal-black steeds-- "Demeter's daughter, wouldst away?" The gates of Hades set her free; "She will return full soon," saith he-- "My wife, my wife Persephone."

Low laughs the dark king on his throne-- "I gave her of pomegranate seeds;" Demeter's daughter stands alone Upon the fair Eleusian meads. Her mother meets her. "Hail!" saith she; "And doth our daylight dazzle thee, My love, my child Persephone?

"What moved thee, daughter, to forsake Thy fellow-maids that fatal morn, And give thy dark lord power to take Thee living to his realm forlorn?" Her lips reply without her will, As one address who slumbereth still-- "The daffodil, the daffodil!"

Her eyelids droop with light oppressed, And sunny wafts that round her stir, Her cheek is on her mother's breast, Demeter's kisses comfort her. Calm Queen of Hades, art thou she Who stepped so lightly on the lea-- Persephone, Persephone?

When, in her destined course, the moon Meets the deep shadow of this world, And labouring on doth seem to swoon Through awful wastes of dimness whirled-- Emerged at length, no trace hath she Of that dark hour of destiny, Still silvery sweet--Persephone.

The greater world may near the less, And draw it through her weltering shade, But not one biding trace impress Of all the darkness that she made; The greater soul that draweth thee Hath left his shadow plain to see On thy fair face, Persephone!

Demeter sighs, but sure 'tis well The wife should love her destiny; They part, and yet, as legends tell, She mourns her lost Persephone; While chant the maids of Enna still-- "O fateful flower, beside the rill-- The daffodil, the daffodil!"

JEAN INGELOW (1820-89).

*THE WRITER OF THE STORY OF BEE*

The best way to learn something about the author of _Bee_ is to study with care the portrait given as the frontispiece of this book. You shall form your own opinion of the man from the artist's drawing and that opinion will depend greatly upon the amount of enjoyment and the number of ideas you have got from his story.

His name is sufficient guide to his nationality, and you will know by easy guesswork that you have been reading a translation of his tale; but the change from French to English is so well made that not much is lost of the charm of the story as Anatole France wrote it. The best way to judge his work is, of course, to read it in French.

Anatole France is not, like Hans Andersen, a recognised fairy-tale writer, which from our point of view seems a pity, because he has the light touch which does not crush the gossamer or brush the dust from the wings of the butterfly. It is of no use having a heavy touch if you are dealing with things like Queen Mab's Wagon.

Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs. The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, Her traces of the smallest spider's web, Her whip of crickets' bone, the lash of film;

Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers.

One of our own writers, John Ruskin, wrote one fairy tale called _The King of the Golden River_, and the rest of his writings, like those of Anatole France, were for grown-up readers. There are some people who think that Ruskin's fairy tale is one of the best of its kind ever written, and _Bee: the Princess of the Dwarfs_ is quite worthy to stand beside it. You may care to compare the two in matters of detail and style, and will find the work very interesting indeed; and you will remember that it is quite fair to compare these two stories, for they were both _invented_ or "made-up" by their authors all out of their own heads.

Most of the old fairy tales, like Cinderella, seem to have grown like the cabbages, or, shall we say, the roses. They have been told again and again by one person after another as the years rolled by and they were well known before anyone set them down in print. In a sense, _Bee_ and _The King of the Golden River_ are not true fairy tales, but you will agree that they are very good imitations of the old models.

Anatole France, whose real surname is Thibault, was the son of a bookseller in Paris, and was born so long ago as 1844. He was brought up among books and among clever men who came to his father's shop not only to buy books but to discuss them. It is not surprising that when he grew up he should begin to write books.

As for his thoughts about things in general, you will find them all in the pages of _Bee: the Princess of the Dwarfs_.

THE TEMPLE PRESS LETCHWORTH ENGLAND