Part 2

Seppy said to the pots, he said to the pans, And likewise to the stools, That men who try to do women’s work Are all a parcel of fools.

THE ENCHANTED APPLE-TREE

Once upon a time there lived an old woman whose name was Misery.

Her one and only possession was an apple-tree, and even this caused her more pain than pleasure. When the apples were ripe, the village urchins came and stole them off the tree.

This went on year after year, when one day an old man, with a long white beard, knocked at Misery’s door. “Old woman,” he begged, “give me a crust of bread.”

“You, too, are a poor miserable creature,” said Misery, who, although she had nothing herself, was full of compassion for others. “Here is half a loaf, take it; it is all I have, eat it in peace, and may it refresh you.”

“As you have been so kind,” said the old fellow, “I will grant you a wish.”

“Oh!” sighed the old woman, “I have only one desire, that is, that any one who touches my apple-tree may stick to it until I set them free. The way my apples are stolen from me is past all bearing.”

“Your wish is granted,” said the old fellow, and he went away.

Two days later Misery went to look at her tree; she found hanging and sticking to the branches a crowd of children, servants, mothers who had come to rescue their children, fathers who had tried to save their wives, two parrots who had escaped from their cage, a cock, a goose, an owl, and other birds, not to mention a goat. When she saw this extraordinary sight, she burst out laughing, and rubbed her hands with delight. She let them all remain hanging on the tree some time before she released them.

The thieves had learnt their lesson, and never stole the apples again.

Some time passed by, when one day some one again knocked at old Misery’s door.

“Come in,” she cried.

“Guess who I am,” said a voice. “I am old Father Death himself. Listen, little mother,” he continued. “I think that you and your old dog have lived long enough; I have come to fetch you both.”

“You are all-powerful,” said Misery. “I do not oppose your will, but before I pack up, grant me one favour. On the tree yonder there grow the most delicious apples you have ever tasted. Don’t you think it would be a pity to leave them, without gathering one?”

“As you ask me so graciously, I will take one,” said Death, whose mouth was watering as he walked towards the tree. He climbed up to the topmost branches to gather a large rosy apple, but directly he touched it, the wretch remained glued to the tree by his long bony hand. Nothing could tear him off, in spite of his struggles.

“There you are, old tyrant, hanging high and dry,” said Misery.

As a result of Death hanging on the tree, no one died. If persons fell into the water they were not drowned; if a cart ran over them they did not even notice it; they did not die even if their heads were cut off.

After Death had hung, winter and summer, for ten long years on the tree, through all weathers, the old woman had pity on him, and allowed him to come down on condition that she should live as long as she liked.

This, Father Death agreed to, and that is why men live longer than the sparrows, and why Misery is always to be found in the world, and will doubtless remain until the end of time.

THE CONVENT FREE FROM CARE

Once when the Emperor Charles V was travelling in the country, he saw a convent, and in passing by a little door he read this strange inscription:

“Here you live without a care.”

The Emperor was very surprised and could scarcely believe his eyes.

“It seems to me an impossibility,” he thought; “does some one really exist on earth who is free from care? As Emperor I am overwhelmed with troubles, while here in this convent, which is a little kingdom in itself, one would have nothing to worry about. I cannot believe it.”

Immediately on setting foot in the village inn, the Emperor sent the hostess to fetch the Abbot of this singular convent.

You can imagine what a state of mind the latter was in when he heard he was summoned to the Emperor’s presence.

“What have I done to displease him,” he asked himself. On the way he examined his conscience over and over again, and he could think of no fault of which he was guilty. “I am in troubled waters; I must steer my way through,” he said.

When he was in the Emperor’s presence, the latter expressed his astonishment at what he had read.

The Abbot now knew why he had been summoned, and smiled. “Sir,” said he, “does that astonish you? However, it is very simple; we eat, we drink, we sleep, and worry over nothing.”

“Well, Reverend Abbot, that state of things must come to an end,” said the Emperor, “and in order that you may have your share of trouble, I command you to bring me to-morrow the answers to the three following questions:

“First, What is the depth of the sea?

“Secondly, How many cows’ tails would it take to measure the distance between the earth and the sun?

“Thirdly, What am I thinking about?

“Try to please me or I shall exact a penalty from you.”

On hearing these words, the Abbot returned to his convent with a heavy heart. From that moment he knew no peace. He cudgelled his brains as to what answer he could make to the Emperor.

When the little bell of the abbey rang, summoning the monks to prayer in the chapel, the Abbot continued to pace his garden. He was so deep in thought that he was quite oblivious of what was taking place around him. Even if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet, he would not have noticed it.

“What a horrible thing,” he thought. “Is it possible that such a misfortune has overtaken me? I cannot possibly answer. Who can save the situation? Perhaps our shepherd could; he has a very lively imagination; but talk of the devil----”

At that identical moment the shepherd appeared, leading his flock. He was very surprised to see the Abbot, who was always without a care, meditating in solitude.

What could have happened?

Without further ado he went to him, and asked him what was troubling him so deeply.

“Yes, I deserve to be pitied,” said the Abbot, and he told him what had happened.

“Why are you tormenting yourself over a little thing like that?” the shepherd laughingly replied. “Leave it to me, and all will be well. To-morrow I will come here and dress myself in your robe, and I will turn the tables on him.”

At first the Abbot demurred, but in the end he yielded, and the matter was settled.

The next day the shepherd went boldly to find the Emperor.

“Well, Reverend Abbot,” the Emperor said with serenity, “have you found out the answers?”

“Yes, certainly, sire.”

“Speak, I am listening.”

“Sire, the sea is as deep as a stone’s throw.

“To measure the distance between the earth and the sun, you only need one cow’s tail, if it is long enough.

“Do you wish to know, sire, what you are thinking? Well, at this moment, you think, sire, that the Abbot of the convent is in your presence, and it is only his shepherd.”

The Emperor laughed so heartily that if he has not stopped laughing he is laughing still.

THE WITCHES’ CELLAR

John Twist was courting a young girl who lived alone with her widowed mother.

His friends warned him that they were both witches, and that he ought to be very cautious, but he refused to believe them. One day, however, he determined to discover if it were true.

That day when he visited his fiancée, he pretended to be very tired, and after having chatted a while with the two women, he tipped his chair against the wall, drew down the peak of his cap over his eyes, in order to see what took place without appearing to do so, and feigned sleep.

“I think he is sleeping soundly,” the mother said to her daughter.

“I will make certain,” said the girl. She called him softly by name. The young man apparently heard nothing, and never moved a muscle.

The two women were quite reassured. The mother put on a beautiful red dress, and her daughter dressed herself in her best clothes. They then removed two bricks from the back of the stove, took out a little jar of pomade and rubbed it on their faces and hands.

When they had put everything carefully back in its place, they went out.

Then John Twist got up, and creeping as quietly as a mouse to the door, spied through the keyhole.

“Over hedges and fences, towards Spain, into the cellar,” he heard them say, and at the same moment they disappeared from view.

“I must find out what it all means,” said the lover. He went to the stove, took out the jar of pomade from its hiding-place, and after rubbing it on his face and hands, said, “Through hedges and fences, towards Spain, into the cellar.”

He was immediately lifted off his feet, and found himself flying through the air like a bird. He very quickly arrived in a cellar in Spain. There he saw the two witches, in a company composed of all nationalities. They all appeared to be mad. Some wore stove-pipes or saucepans instead of hats. Some were half man, half frog or stag. In one corner, mysterious dishes were in course of preparation, under the direction of a crow in spectacles, who was holding the recipe in his claw.

John Twist was in a deplorable condition. His clothes were torn to ribbons, and his skin was grazed all over.

“How is it that you have arrived in such a tattered state,” said his fiancée.

“I said, ‘Through hedges and fences,’” replied John Twist; “you may not believe me, but I assure you I have left half my clothing and skin hanging on thorn-bushes and palings.”

“You ought to have said, ‘Over hedges and fences,’” said the girl.

The subject was then dropped.

The company then sat down to eat tarts and drink wine out

of large goblets. A witch, in a large hat, with two black cats in attendance, organized games. John Twist was so tired that he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke the entire company had vanished, with the exception of an old man who was seated at a little table with a bottle of wine before him, at the entrance to the cellar.

“Where are the two ladies I know?” asked John Twist.

“Gone,” he replied.

“How shall I return home?” asked John uneasily.

“There is one way,” said the little man; “ride astride this pig, and he will take you home, but you must not utter a word on the way.”

“Oh, if that is all,” said John, “I know how to hold my tongue.”

So saying, he got on the pig’s back, and they started.

The pig travelled very quickly, obstacles were nothing to him. He leapt over hedges and ditches, until they reached a river twenty feet wide.

“We shall never arrive on the opposite bank,” thought John Twist, but the thought had hardly occurred to him, when w-whip--the pig landed on the other side.

“That was a splendid jump,” said John Twist. But, alack, the words were hardly out of his mouth before he was struggling in the water.

How he succeeded in getting out again, I am sure I do not know.

THE BOY WHO ALWAYS SAID THE WRONG THING

Tony was a very foolish, stupid boy. One morning his mother sent him to fetch a hundredweight of flour from the mill.

Knowing how silly he was, she said to him, “Tony, you will say to yourself all the way there, a hundredweight of flour, a hundredweight of flour.”

“Very well, mother,” he replied, and, slinging a sack over his shoulder, he walked off to the mill.

Presently he reached a field where he saw a peasant sowing. When the latter heard him say “A hundredweight of flour” instead of “Good morning,” he shouted to him, half in anger, “I shall be in a bad way if this piece of ground only yields a hundredweight of flour; say rather, I wish you a thousand.”

“All right, I will say that,” said Tony, and he repeated, as he went on his way, “I wish you a thousand.” After a time he saw a shepherd and his dog struggling with a wolf. The man, thinking that Tony hoped he would be attacked by a thousand wolves, cried out angrily, “What, you good-for-nothing! Say rather, May the devil fly away with him.”

“Good, I will say that,” answered Tony, and with these words on his lips he arrived at a cemetery where at that moment a corpse was being buried.

“May the devil fly away with him,” said Tony.

The mourners were very indignant. “Wretched boy,” said the sexton, “say rather, God rest his soul.”

“All right,” said Tony. He then repeated incessantly, “God rest his soul.”

A passer-by who was dragging a dog to the river heard him, and cried, “What! his soul, foolish boy! Say rather, Get out of the way, horrid animal.”

“Good,” said Tony, and he repeated the new refrain.

He then came to the church, and at that moment a newly married pair came out. When the bridegroom heard this strange greeting, he gave him a sounding box on the ears. “There, I’ll teach you manners, you vulgar little boy,” he said; “why don’t you say, It is a beautiful sight?”

On turning the corner of a street he saw a house on fire. Tony stopped a moment and said, “It is a beautiful sight.”

The people who were bringing pails of water to put out the fire cried angrily, “Say rather, I wish it were out.”

“All right, I will,” said Tony. He walked on. He was now only two minutes from the mill; the smithy was the last house he had to pass.

The blacksmith had not begun his work at the usual time that day. He had spent over a quarter of an hour trying to light his fire and had only half succeeded.

“I wish it were out,” he heard some one say.

“Rascal!” shouted the smith. “How dare you make fun of a good Christian man?” He seized his hammer and rushed outside. But Tony had such a holy terror of this grimy man that he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him, and is probably still running, in which case, no doubt, he has met with many adventures on the way.

HOP-O’-MY-THUMB

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was a tiny little fellow about as tall as your thumb.

He and his mother lived in a little hut made of dried leaves.

The little fellow was very fond of pancakes, and on Christmas Eve he begged his mother to make a dozen.

The latter replied, “Oh, Hop-o’-my-Thumb, my son, I have no butter, wood, or milk, and we are too poor to buy such things.”

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was very sad and sat down on a stool by the fire, while his mother went to fetch water from the stream.

Suddenly he heard some one call him, and looking up he espied a little lady standing at his elbow.

At first he was too much astonished to speak, but after a few seconds he blurted out, “Who are you, little lady?” She replied, “Hop-o’-my-Thumb, I am your fairy godmother, and because you are sad, and your mother is so poor, for this day I grant you the strength to do anything you may wish.” So saying, she vanished.

At first Hop-o’-my-Thumb thought he had been dreaming, and in order to determine whether his fairy godmother had really paid him a visit, he decided to put her words to the test. He seized his cap and ran to the miller’s.

“Miller,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb, “my mother would so like to make pancakes on Christmas Eve, but we have no flour. Won’t you give us a little?”

“Well, Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” said the miller, “if you can carry this flour-bin away you can have it.”

“Do you mean that I can have whatever I can carry?” asked Hop-o’-my-Thumb.

The miller nodded his assent, and Hop-o’-my-Thumb crawled under the mill and carried it and the entire contents home.

Afterwards he went to the butter merchant. “Boss,” he said, “my mother would so like to make pancakes, but she has not a scrap of butter.”

“Oh, all right, Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” said the boss, “if you can carry this keg it is yours.”

“Ah! thank you,” replied Hop-o’-my-Thumb. In a second he was under the keg, which moved off as if it had two legs.

From thence he went to a wealthy farmer who had been lopping his trees the day before.

“Farmer,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb, “can I have a little bundle of wood, my mother wants to make pancakes.”

“Oh, it is you, little Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” said the farmer. “You can have the whole stack if you can carry it.”

“I shall be ever grateful,” said Hop-o’-my-Thumb, and sliding under the stack he carried it home.

They now only lacked milk. Hop-o’-my-Thumb went to the milkman, and making a like request was given permission to carry away a whole can.

II

When the pancakes had been fried, and mother and son had enjoyed themselves to the full, the farmer who had given them

the milk came to ask Hop-o’-my-Thumb’s mother if her son could take his cows to graze the next day.

Next morning Hop-o’-my-Thumb went off to the field, taking a large pancake with him. On the way he came to a stream which was too wide for him to jump.

Fortunately some ducks were swimming about. Hop-o’-my-Thumb, who was a sharp little fellow, threw them some crumbs of pancake, which they swallowed greedily.

In recognition of his kindness the largest duck took him on his back and swam towards the opposite bank of the stream. In midstream he let poor little Hop-o’-my-Thumb fall into the water. However, after giving the ducks a few more crumbs he was landed safely on the other side on the back of another duck.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb, tired by his walk and wet through, lay down in the grass to rest. Presently an ant ran over the back of his hand. This so annoyed Hop-o’-my-Thumb that he caught it and killed it.

No sooner had he done so than he heard some one calling him. He recognized the voice of his fairy godmother, and looking up saw her in the grass.

This time she looked angrily at him. “Oh, Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” she said, “I am much disappointed in you. Up till now I have protected you because you are such a little thing, but after your cruelty to the poor little ant I withdraw my protection, and for one day you must suffer as do other little things.” She then disappeared into the ground.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was very ashamed of himself, and, feeling very miserable, fell asleep.

Soon after a cow which was grazing in the field came up and swallowed the little fellow.

In the evening when the animals were driven into the shed, and the milkmaid waited to milk the greedy cow, she heard some one singing:

“This cow swallowed me at dawn, Here I feel so nice and warm.”

The maid was much frightened and ran to tell the farmer. The latter came to listen and he heard the same thing.

“This cow swallowed me at dawn, Here I feel so nice and warm.”

“I bet you ten to one it is Hop-o’-my-Thumb,” said the farmer. “There is only one thing to be done; we must slaughter the cow in order to rescue him.”

While the animal was being cut up, a poor woman passed and begged the farmer to give her a small piece of meat.

As luck would have it she received the very piece in which Hop-o’-my-Thumb was embedded. She put her present into her basket and went her way. Suddenly Hop-o’-my-Thumb began to sing:

“This cow swallowed me at dawn, Here I feel so nice and warm.”

“Lord have mercy, this place is haunted,” cried the poor woman, and, flinging away the bag, she ran for her life.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was greatly pleased and crawled out of the piece of meat.

At that moment he saw a soldier who had had too much to drink staggering along, so he quickly hid himself in a mole-hole. The soldier fell down on the hole and went to sleep.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb pulled his knife out of his pocket and stuck the point into the soldier’s leg. The latter bounded on to his feet, stamped savagely on the hole, and returned home.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was now a prisoner; the soldier had stamped the ground so hard that it was impossible to get out. He heard people coming down the road, and on overhearing their conversation, concluded they were robbers. He cried out, “Captain, if you will let me out of this hole, I will follow you and be your faithful servant.”

“What is this whispering I hear?” said the captain.

Every one listened attentively, and finally they were able to catch what little Hop-o’-my-Thumb was saying. They scraped the earth away, and Hop-o’-my-Thumb appeared. He was at once enrolled as a member of the band.

The same night the robbers went to a provision shop. Hop-o’-my-Thumb was pushed through the ventilator, and handed a number of cheeses through this opening. He then went to the cellar where the eggs were stored, but he made such a noise that the servant jumped out of bed to see what was happening. Quick as lightning, Hop-o’-my-Thumb crept under an egg. The servant was about to crush the egg with his foot, when the clock struck midnight. Hop-o’-my-Thumb felt himself lifted into the air. He was drawn out through the cellar window, and presently found himself at the door of his mother’s cottage. He knew that his fairy godmother had saved him, and from that day forward he never did anything to forfeit her protection.

THE EMPEROR’S PARROT

One day a parrot belonging to the Emperor Charlemagne escaped from its cage and could nowhere be found.

The Emperor, who was very fond of this parrot, which was a lovely bird, and could talk very well, promised a handsome reward for its recovery.

A peasant was fortunate enough to catch it one morning. “What luck to be able to see the Emperor,” he said, “and to be assured of being well received.”

Without further delay he talked the matter over with Caroline, his wife, in order to settle what he should wear and how he should behave at Court.

He decided to start on his journey the following Sunday.

He carefully brushed his wedding suit before putting it on, and thus in his Sunday best, with shining boots and chimney-pot hat, he set out for the Flemish town, carrying the parrot.

On his arrival at Ghent, he boldly entered the palace. Suddenly a loud voice cried, “Stop, peasant, do not approach a step nearer.”

It was the captain of the guard who tried to prevent our hero from entering.

The peasant was not to be so easily deterred and said determinedly, “I demand an audience with the Emperor.”

“What have you to say to him?” asked the captain.

“I am bringing back the Emperor’s parrot,” the peasant replied, and proudly drawing his coat-tails on one side he showed the cage containing the bird.

“Oh, that somewhat alters the case,” replied the captain, who knew that the Emperor was searching for the bird and would reward the finder handsomely. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “I shall not permit you to pass unless you promise to give me half the reward.”

“I agree,” said the peasant, and he went in.