Part 4
No one in Heaven grieved at his departure. Smith recommenced his happy life on earth, and from the words of the song which is still sung by Flemish children, one may conclude he is still alive.
Smith Verholen, Smith Verholen, For seven years received wood and coal, Iron, lead and copper, From the devil Lucifer. Smith Verholen may burn, may be knocked on the head, But Smith Verholen is never dead.
BALTEN AND THE WOLF
Long, long ago, when the animals were able to speak, two brothers called Jack and Balten lived in a little hut in a dense and gloomy forest in Flanders.
Needless to say they were very poor or they would not have lived in this lonely wood.
One day, Jack was sitting at the window plaiting a whip, while Balten was at the fire preparing their supper. Suddenly a wolf rushed into the house with his mouth wide open and ran towards Jack. The latter, seeing his danger, looked to his brother for help. He had an inspiration and cried loudly: “Balten, pour! Balten, pour!” Balten understood what Jack meant. Quick as lightning he seized the saucepan and poured the boiling soup over the wolf.
The wolf fled out of the door howling with pain, for his back was terribly burnt, while Jack and Balten, having recovered from their fright, laughing heartily, watched him run off into the distance.
When the wolf, half dead with pain and shame, heard peals of laughter behind him, he turned round and shouted to them:
“Ah, ruffians, good-for-nothings and scoundrels, you are much amused, but wait; whichever one of you I see first I shall devour!” So saying he disappeared among the trees.
Shortly afterwards Jack went to gather acorns for their little pig. He was deep in the forest, when suddenly he saw a wolf a few yards in front of him, watching him from among the bushes.
Jack was very much frightened, especially as he saw scars on the wolf’s back, and thus immediately recognized him as the one they had so shamefully handled. The wolf stared at Jack, and on recognizing him sprang at him, crying:
“Oh, ruffian, good-for-nothing! You are one of the scoundrels who treated me so badly that I dare not show my face anywhere. Wait! I shall at once make mincemeat of you.”
The wolf was about to spring at Jack, but the latter, seeing that to fight would be useless, climbed like a cat up the nearest tree. There he was high and dry and out of his enemy’s reach, as he fondly imagined. But the wolf was not to be thwarted; smothering his rage he disappeared behind the bushes.
“I will stay quietly here,” thought Jack. “I must be on my guard against this wretch. I lose nothing by waiting.”
He was right, for in five minutes the wolf returned accompanied by a dozen wolves as bad as himself.
“Ha ha, scoundrel,” he cried, “you will not escape me this time! If you think you are safe you are greatly mistaken, you know. We shall have you down in no time.”
What did the wolf do?
He planted himself firmly near the tree trunk and formed the base of a ladder for his companions. They seemed quite accustomed to this trick, for another wolf immediately climbed on the shoulders of the first. Then a third and fourth followed his example.
At first Jack was very much amused at the idea of such a ladder and roared with laughter. But he soon realized that it was no joke, but a very serious matter. The ladder of wolves became so high that Jack, frightened out of his wits, had to climb into the topmost branches of the tree.
The ladder became yet higher!
“Have you caught him?” cried the first wolf.
“A little higher,” replied the topmost wolf.
“Do not let him escape,” shouted the first wolf, “for it is a tasty morsel and we shall enjoy it. It is such a long time since I have eaten any that I quite forget the taste of human flesh.”
“So do I,” said another wolf; whereupon they all laughed.
Jack was in no laughing mood; he was so frightened that he had cold shivers down his spine.
“Oh, heavens!” he thought, “what a terrible death to be eaten alive! What will my poor brother say when I fail to return? I have no means of defending myself, not even boiling soup.”
The wolf which was to reach him had already begun to ascend; he heard him grunting and panting. In his distress Jack had an inspiration and began to shout at the top of his voice: “Balten, pour! Balten, pour!”
This had a curious effect. The first wolf, who supported all the others on his shoulders and who knew by experience what “Balten, pour!” meant, believed that Balten was behind the tree ready to throw boiling soup on his back. He leapt aside as quick as lightning and ran like a hare. At the same time all the wolves fell down one on top of the other, howling fiercely. One had a paw broken, another a crushed foot, and a third had his head smashed in.
All swore at their cowardly comrade, who had organized the undertaking and then so treacherously deserted them. Those of them who were still able to run chased the coward and soon caught him.
“Oh! that is the way we were to help you get the man out of the tree. Your intention was to do us all a bad turn.”
They all set on to the unhappy wretch, who only made good his escape after having all his skin torn off and losing an ear.
Jack, now recovered from his fright, was a spectator of this scene and laughed long and loud. “What a curious result my crying ‘Balten, pour!’ had,” he thought, and he returned home.
More than a year passed and neither Jack nor Balten had met the famous wolf.
The time came when Jack had to take the little pig, now well fattened, to market. After selling it, he was on his way home, when he was attacked by robbers. They stole his money and knocked him about. Not satisfied with this, they put him into an empty barrel, which they found by the roadside, and nailed down the lid.
Poor Jack was now a prisoner and could not imagine how he could ever hope to escape. There was only one aperture, through which he could hardly squeeze his hand.
However, he did not despair. “Time cures everything,” he thought; “I have been in greater danger!”
For several hours he was thinking and meditating in the barrel. Suddenly he heard a sniff quite close to him. He looked out and saw the wolf, the famous wolf with scars on his back!
Jack watched him, and as soon as the animal’s tail was within his reach, he seized it through the hole in the barrel and cried as loud as ever he could:
“Balten, pour! Balten, pour!”
This shout again had the desired effect: the wolf, mad with fear, fled, dragging the barrel after him. Jack held tightly on to his tail, shouting all the time as loudly as before: “Balten pour! Balten, pour!”
The louder he shouted, the faster ran the wolf. The barrel crashed and banged against the trees, it cracked and finally broke. The ribs fell in and Jack found himself once more on his feet, none the worse except for a few bruises.
The wolf ran on and on. Perhaps he is running still?
THE MERMAID
Long ago, in a little hut by the seashore, there lived a fisherman’s widow with her only child.
The water had a wonderful fascination for the little girl. Nothing delighted her more than playing on the golden sands, where the tide washed up thousands of shells. She ran gaily with her small naked feet into the water, jumping over the little waves, which came rolling in from the deep like little white horses.
The mother, who still grieved in secret the loss of her husband, who had been snatched from her by the cruel sea, looked on sadly at her child’s play. She dreaded that the sea would steal from her her one and only remaining treasure.
“My child,” she besought her each morning, “do not go beyond the sand-hills. The sea is wicked and cunning, my darling. It swallowed up your dear father; do not go near the treacherous water.”
However, she was not able constantly to watch her little girl, and it so happened that one day she awaited her in vain. She searched for her everywhere, ran up and down the sand-hills, questioning all the fishermen she met, but in vain! No one could give her tidings of the little girl.
When evening fell, and the sun had sunk like a ball of fire into the sea, the poor mother returned to her home in the blackest despair.
Presently she heard a voice singing. The voice rose from the waves as they lashed the sand-hills. She looked up and saw a mermaid with plaited hair, and a crown of coral and pearls, standing waist-high in the water.
The words of her song were:
Under a roof of sparkling water In a crystal palace, My little loved ones play.
On hearing this, the widow thought that her child might be among the little loved ones. She fell on her knees, and implored the mermaid to tell her if she had seen the little girl who played on the sands every day. “Yes, I certainly know where she is,” replied the mermaid, “she grows and prospers with thousands of other children in my crystal palace at the bottom of the deep blue sea. She is happier than any child on earth.”
With a fresh outburst of weeping the mother begged the mermaid to restore to her her child. The water queen answered her that she was touched by her grief, but that the sea never returned alive the mortals it took away. The only thing she could do for the poor mother was to allow her to descend with her to her watery palace in order to see her child.
“Will you have the courage,” she added doubtfully, “to follow me on the mighty ocean for a hundred hours towards the West, and to dive with me where the sea is deepest, far down beneath the waves?”
“I have the courage,” answered the mother; “I am ready to follow you.”
Then the mermaid swam ashore near the sand-hill. She
told the widow to seat herself on her green and scaly fish’s tail, then she swam away faster than the fastest ship over the surface of the water. The boundless sea was soon plunged in the darkness of night as they continued their journey towards the West.
At length a ray of light was visible on the bosom of the ocean, and presently they came to an archway of coral, which they entered. “Here we are,” said the mermaid, “take a deep breath into your lungs; courage, we are going to dive.”
The dive was much quicker than the voyage over the ocean, and in a few seconds they found themselves in the most marvellous palace that mortal eyes have ever beheld. It was exactly as the mermaid had described it.
The roof was of sparkling water.
The building of crystal, flooded with a golden light.
The mother paid no heed to these splendours. She looked around on every side in the hope of discovering her beloved child. The mermaid led her into a hall framed with silver, to a glass door, behind which they saw a number of little girls and boys playing happily together. The mother was allowed to look as long as she pleased, but was forbidden to enter the room.
At first she could not see her child, but afterwards discovered her among a group of merry children. She was in blooming health, and was enjoying herself every bit as much as her companions.
The mother was very unhappy, and begged the mermaid to allow her to live in her palace, as she could not bear to be far away from her little girl. Her request was granted, and every day she would look with longing eyes through the glass door. She implored the mermaid daily on bended knee to allow her to return home with her child, but in vain.
One day she took pity on her, and said, “I will give you back your child, but on one condition.”
“Ask what you will,” said the mother; “I am willing to do anything possible.”
“You must weave me a cloak of your own hair,” said the mermaid. “Here is a pot of ointment which will make your hair grow again.”
The mother immediately set to work; she continued without a pause day and night.
Every morning the mermaid looked in at the window of her room to see what progress she had made. She could only make half a cloak, as she had used all her hair. She begged the mermaid to be satisfied with this, but in vain; she was immovable and demanded that the work should be completed.
At length, after sad years of waiting, the wonderful cloak was finished. The mermaid was delighted with it, and the little girl, now a young maiden, was restored to her mother.
The mermaid ordered a beautiful rounded barque, inlaid with shells, and with a brazen pelican as figure-head. Four mermaids were harnessed to it, and took the mother and her child across the mighty deep, back to their own home, where they lived happily ever after.
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE HALF-COCK
Johnny and Molly lived in a little hut in the forest. When their parents died they were left quite alone in the world, and had to divide their heritage between them. They were dreadfully poor and possessed nothing but two hens and a cock.
The puzzle was how to divide these animals into equal shares.
At last Molly said, “Let us cut the cock in two, and have half each.” This was done; Johnny had the part with the head, and Molly had the tail end.
Molly plucked her portion of the cock, and put it into the saucepan.
Suddenly Johnny’s godmother, who was a fairy, appeared down the chimney. “Listen,” she said to her godson, “you must not put your half into the saucepan; I will enchant him, and he will do anything you wish.”
On saying which the fairy thrust her wand in the cinders, murmured some strange words, and then touched the head of the Half-cock with her wand.
The clock struck midnight.
“Good-bye,” said the fairy, and she disappeared up the chimney.
“That is all very well,” said Johnny to his sister, “but what are we going to do with the Half-cock now?”
Molly, who was the cleverer of the two, thought to herself, “If we had money we should have everything we want.” She said, “Send him to Mr. Brauncastle’s to fetch three bags of silver.”
The cock started off immediately.
On the way he met two robbers, who were much surprised, and said to him, “Little Half-cock, where are you running to?”
“To Mr. Brauncastle’s,” he replied.
“May we go with you?”
“Yes, hide yourselves under my wings.”
The robbers settled themselves as comfortably as they could under the Half-cock’s wings.
A little farther on they overtook two foxes.
“Little Half-cock, where are you going?” they asked.
“To Mr. Brauncastle’s castle.”
“May we come with you?”
“Yes, hide yourselves under my wings.”
In less than a second the foxes had joined the robbers.
At length the Little Half-cock came to a large pond which was equally inquisitive.
“Little Half-cock, where are you running so quickly?” asked the water.
“To Mr. Brauncastle’s castle.”
“May I come with you?”
“Yes, hide under my wings.” Drip, drip--the water joined the other lodgers.
Ring-a-ding-ding! The Half-cock rang at the castle door.
“Tell your master that I want three bags of silver.”
“What an impertinent creature!” thought the servant who answered the door. He took the message to his master. The latter replied, “Put the Little Half-cock into the chicken-run with the hens.” This was done.
When night fell the Half-cock said to the foxes, “My good fellows, come out from under my wings, and eat all the hens.”
There was no need to tell them twice; they set to work with a will, feathers flew in all directions, and before you could count three they had eaten the lot. When the servant went to the chicken-run the next morning, he was horrified, and said to his master in a trembling voice, “All the hens have been eaten. The Little Half-cock is roosting on the rafters, crying, ‘Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!’”
“Well, put him into the stable,” said his master. The servant did so, but the next night the Little Half-cock set the robbers at liberty. They immediately mounted two horses, and in the twinkling of an eye they galloped off.
“Now I know what to expect,” the servant said the next day, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. “This time the wretched thief shall not escape me.”
The Little Half-cock was shut up in a red-hot oven. Now it was the water’s turn to escape, and the fire was immediately put out.
The next day the water had risen to the first story, and the Little Half-cock was swimming courageously on the surface, crowing as loudly as ever he could.
“Give him three bags of silver as quickly as ever you can,” said Mr. Brauncastle; “get rid of him or he will ruin me and all my family.”
The Little Half-cock went away and gave the money to his master.
Johnny and Molly were now rich, very rich.
They are very happy and get on well together; the Little Half-cock lives with them, and is their best friend.
THE DWARF AND THE BLACKSMITH
Once upon a time there was a poor blacksmith who had no possessions other than his wife and six children. He worked like a nigger from morn to night, and it was all he could do to make both ends meet at the end of each year.
One day he went to see a dying friend who lived some distance from the village, and it was very late when he returned home. On the way the road wound round a hill, at the foot of which lay a wood. As he turned the corner of the road he heard a strange sound. In front of him, surrounded by an embankment crowned with willow-trees, was a field flooded by moonlight, where several little men with long beards were disporting themselves. They were throwing their red caps in the air, and catching them very skilfully on their toes.
Our blacksmith, who was not the bravest of mortals, dared not go on, and hid himself behind a large tree among the bushes. After he had been there some time there was a sudden silence, and quick as lightning all the little dwarfs disappeared into the hill. On peering round him, the blacksmith discovered that one dwarf remained behind. He seemed to be looking for something. He saw him put his arm into a crack in the rock several times and draw it out.
“This little fellow cannot harm me,” thought the smith; “I should very much like to know what he is looking for.” Treading cautiously, he approached the dwarf. He discovered that the dwarf’s hat had fallen into the crack, and that his arm was not long enough to reach it. He immediately pulled it out and handed it to him.
The little fellow thanked the smith, and said, “You will be rewarded for what you have done for me to-day. We had a feast here to-day, during which we are obliged to wear our caps on our heads. If I had lost mine I should not have been able to attend the feasts for seven years.”
It goes without saying that the smith related his strange adventures to his wife, and they were very curious to know how the dwarf would reward them.
Every night before going to bed the blacksmith prepared the work which he and his apprentice would begin the first thing in the morning.
Picture his surprise the next day, when he found that the work had been done during the night, and by such skilled hands that there was no fault to find with it. His assistant, still serving his apprenticeship, was incapable of such work. Who the clever workman could be he failed to discover.
When the same thing happened the following night, the smith and his wife decided to keep watch. They wanted to find out how it was done.
The mystery was soon cleared up. Towards midnight, the smith, looking through the chinks in the boards of the attic, saw the little dwarf whose hat he had restored to him come in. The little fellow immediately set to work, and worked without a pause till morning. It was splendid to see how quickly he did it, and during this time he did more work than the smith and his assistant could do in half a day.
This went on for some time. The smith sent away his assistant, although his custom had increased, and he earned much money, so that he and his wife and children enjoyed good times, and saved a large sum.
The smith and his wife very often watched the dwarf at his work, and they consulted together to see in what way they could reward his kindness. One day his wife said, “I have an idea; didn’t you notice last time that his clothes looked rather shabby? I shall make him another set of very fine material.” This was done. The wife made the dwarf a set of clothes fit for a prince, and in the evening it was folded neatly and placed on a chair in the smithy. The smith and his wife went into the attic to see what would happen.
The dwarf was delighted with the clothes. He unfolded them and examined them one by one, and his smiling face showed how pleased he was. He put the garments on, and when he was dressed, he put on his little red hat decorated with a feather.
He was as proud as a peacock, and greatly pleased with
himself. At length he turned to the door and disappeared, this time without doing a stroke of work.
The blacksmith never saw the little imp again. The work prepared overnight was no longer finished in the morning. The smith was obliged to do the work himself, but his two eldest sons could help him now, and so, thanks to the dwarf, they were always able to keep the wolf from the door.
PERCY THE WIZARD NICKNAMED SNAIL
Long ago, when women spun at their spinning-wheels, there lived a man who was nicknamed Snail.
Snail was very fond of a glass, and his wife had a weakness for hotchpotch.
Every week Percy Snail took the thread his wife had spun to market. His wife never scolded him for losing a few pennies, or being muddle-headed on the way back, provided he brought all the necessary ingredients for a nice hotchpotch.
One day he sold the thread at a high price. He was in good spirits; all the way home he rattled the money in his pocket, thinking, “To-day I shall be able to have more than one glass.” He went into every little wayside inn he passed, in order to see where the best liquor was sold. Little by little his money began to disappear, until he had scarcely any left, and he realized at the same time that he was rather intoxicated. He stumbled along the road as well as he could, and on putting his hand in his pocket, found, to his great surprise, that he had only five farthings.
He counted them over and over again until he was forced to
believe his eyes. The worst of it was that he had quite forgotten his wife’s favourite dish. He continued his way meditating and calculating, and quite unconsciously entered another inn. In a second his last farthing was in the innkeeper’s pocket.