Part 4

The cave was divided into four quarters by two deep, narrow cracks or chasms, extending through its whole length and breadth. In each division stood a chair and table, and at each table now sat a Wind eating his supper. The reason of their being thus distinct Ernest perceived was because the temperature in which each one delighted would have been very disagreeable to either of his brothers, and so with the food and drink which stood before them.

The North Wind was voraciously eating a great lump composed of narrow strips of meat wound round and round into a ball, and then thoroughly saturated with melted grease. Before him stood a bucket filled with whale-oil, from which every few moments he drank greedily. His dress was the skin of a polar bear, with the fur outside, which he wrapped about him like a mantle. His face was red and full, his eyes, of a bright, clear blue, sparkled frostily, his long, light hair hung about his shoulders, and his bushy, flax-colored beard and moustache were hung full of icicles.

His voice was deep and thunderous; and when he laughed, fragments of the solid rock were shaken off and fell about him.

Next him sat the West Wind, whose name was Zephyrus, and Ernest at once decided that he was by far the most prepossessing of the four brothers. He was as tall as his neighbor the North, but not nearly so heavy, looking strong, but yet graceful. His hair and curling beard were of a dark brown, his eyes a dark gray, his teeth very white and sound, and he had a particularly fresh and healthy glow shining through the tan upon his cheeks. His voice and laugh were hearty and joyous, but not so deep and rough as that of the North Wind. His table was spread with ears of Indian corn, heads of wheat, a wild turkey, and a large ham. He was drinking from a little cask of Catawba wine.

Next came the South Wind, sometimes called Auster, a slight, dark-skinned youth, with straight, purple-black hair and glowing, dark eyes. He looked pale and languid, and reclined in his chair as if he wished it were a bed; his voice was soft and sighing, and he never laughed.

Upon the table before him were bunches of grapes, oranges, melons, bananas, and sugar-cane. For drink he pressed some orange juice into a jar, and then sent one of the Breezes to fill it with snow, remarking at the same time with a sigh, that sherbet was the only luxury which he gained by living in this horribly cold cave with his brothers.

“Ho! ho!” laughed the North Wind. “Nothing could be more comfortable than this cave, if only you will keep at your proper distance, and not be melting me with your hot breath.”

“I have to breathe as fast as I can to keep a little circle of air warm around my table,” murmured the South. “If I did not, you and East would chill me to death.”

“Yes, you always run away when I come,” piped East. “How many times I have whistled with delight at seeing how every thing would change before me when I come stealing along at noon, after you have been making a fine morning on earth. How the people begin to shiver and shut down the windows and put on their shawls--how the flowers wither up, and droop, and hang their heads--Ph-e-w!”

Thus spake Eurus, the East Wind, a thin, sallow, unhappy looking person, with watery blue eyes, a peaked blue nose, and a withered, crooked form. He looked bilious and ill-natured, had a shrill, whining voice, and never laughed, although he whistled a great deal in a very sharp, ill-natured manner. His supper consisted of a little rice, a raw fish, which he had whipped up as he came sweeping over the Atlantic Ocean, and a great bowl of tea which he had brought from China.

Supper ended, the North Wind, whom his brothers addressed as Boreas, stretched himself, and said,--

“Well, I’m off! I have got some ships jammed up there near the Pole, and I’m going to blow ’em out. I wish these navigators, as they call themselves, would stay away. They come creeping along up there, and you always help them, Auster, which I think is very ill-natured of you; and then I have to get ’em out after they’re blocked in, or if I don’t come, the sailors plague my life out whistling for me. Pretty soon, too, I shall have to drive down the snow clouds. I have got a nice flock of them waiting up there at the Pole. I am going to make a tremendous winter of it.”

“Yes, winter is your time, and spring is mine,” said Eurus, the East Wind. “Auster and I, between us, will soon drive you from the field when we set about it. Just now, though, I have got a fine little lot of vessels to attend to on the Atlantic coast. I am going to drive them on the rocks, and then, how I’ll whistle through the ropes--Ph-e-w! They call some of the ropes shrouds,--a capital name when I get hold of ’em. Then I have a good deal to do in China. I suppose they are waiting for me to get their ships out of the river. If I feel good-natured I’ll do it; if not, I’ll leave em just at low tide, and let them pull for themselves. It does me good to plague these mortals.”

“It does you good to plague anybody, I believe, Eurus,” sighed Auster. “I am sure you are always thwarting me. I am going to visit the tropics to-morrow, and shall leave the northern regions to Boreas, Zephyrus, and you, for several months.”

“What route do you take, brother?” asked Zephyrus; “for I don’t wish to interfere with you.”

“I am going through the forest of Gnomes, and then straight down to Quito. I like to see the Gnomes at work, they look so warm. Where are you going, brother?”

“I don’t know,” said Zephyrus. “I have some whalers to help round Cape Horn, and then I think I shall go and see Boreas. He and I do nicely together, when he is not too savage. Let us each take a turn at the flute, to see if our voices are in tune, and then be off.”

So saying, Zephyrus took from a shelf behind him an instrument shaped something like a German flute, and played a piece of spirited martial music upon it, with great taste and execution.

He then passed the flute to the North Wind, who roared through it a stormy Norwegian Berserker song, and then threw it to East, who squealed out a favorite Chinese air, with very high notes and very little variety. Auster, the South, was the next performer, and played a fandango, followed by the tune of a languishing love-song.

The flute was then replaced on its shelf, and as it wanted an hour of sunrise, the usual hour for the brothers to set out upon their day’s journey, each composed himself for a little nap.

As soon as the Four Winds and all the Breezes and Zephyrs were sound asleep, Ernest stole softly from his place of concealment, took the flute, disjointed it, and placed it in his breast; then, creeping carefully under the loose mantle of the South Wind, he tied himself firmly to one of his legs (for all the Winds were four or five times as large as common men), and waited anxiously for sunrise, which he knew would awake all four brothers.

The moment at last arrived; Boreas, Zephyrus, and Eurus, one after the other awoke, and left the cave; and last of all, Auster, who, finding himself belated, rushed through the narrow opening with great velocity, without noticing at all in his hurry the passenger whom he was taking with him.

After traversing with the speed of the “winds” many a mile of sea and land, Ernest found that his conductor was pausing in the tops of some high pine trees in the centre of a vast forest.

Peering cautiously down, the young man perceived some little yellow figures running about among the trees, diving suddenly into the earth, and as suddenly reappearing upon its surface. Ernest at once concluded that this must be the forest of the Gnomes, and, hastily untying the scarf with which he had bound himself to the South Wind, he slipped off into the top of a tree and scrambled down the branches, leaving the Wind languidly sighing and moaning before taking a fresh start.

Having reached the lower branch of the tree which he had selected, Ernest looked attentively about him. The little yellow men were still running about as busily as ever, and did not seem to have heard his approach. They seemed to be employed in bringing little scales and particles of gold from beneath the ground and scattering it upon the earth; and Ernest, noticing that the trees and shrubs grew greener and larger as they did so, concluded that the Gnomes were watering their garden. Presently he noticed that directly at the foot of the tree where he crouched was one of the holes by which the Gnomes continually emerged and reëntered, and, seizing a moment when it was empty, Ernest dropped himself directly into it, and found himself at the top of a long flight of rocky steps. For a moment the Gnomes stood motionless with astonishment at this sudden apparition; but as soon as they perceived the intruder was a man, they rushed toward him, each armed with the little pick-axe which he wore in his belt; and although each Gnome was very small, their numbers made them formidable.

However, the instant he touched ground, Ernest had pulled the flute from his bosom and commenced putting it together. As he did so, he noticed that there were four mouthpieces, each marked with the name of a Wind, and, selecting that of the South as likely to be the most soothing, he began to play as he had seen the Winds do. To his pleasure and surprise--for he knew nothing about music--the flute played the same airs which it had done when the South Wind blew into it, and the Gnomes, dropping their weapons, sunk down upon the ground, and presently fell fast asleep.

As soon as Ernest was sure that they were so, he began to descend the steps, which wound round and round, constantly descending, so that very soon not a ray of light was to be seen. Then he stopped playing, and, indeed, all his breath was no more than sufficient to support him in the close and heavy atmosphere in which he found himself. At last the steps ended in a narrow passage, and Ernest proceeded a long distance through it in total dark and silence, guiding himself by feeling the cold, dripping walls at each side, which seemed hewn out of the solid rock, and was so low and narrow that he was obliged to stoop very low to get through at all.

Suddenly a sound of merry voices broke the silence, and, turning a sharp corner, the young man found himself close to an opening, which appeared to conduct into a grotto or cavern; but the only thing which Ernest could distinguish was a heavy curtain whose rich folds lay upon the ground at his feet. It seemed to be of satin; but on putting out his hand to pull it cautiously away, Ernest found to his astonishment that it was made of gold, so pure in its quality and beaten so thin in substance, that it was flexible and delicate as silk. Creeping cautiously along behind this screen, Ernest presently came to a small opening between his curtain and the next one, through which he could see plainly without being himself discovered.

He found that the opening, as he supposed, led into a small grotto, across whose rocky roof ran in every direction veins of purest gold, which sparkled in the brilliant rays of the immense carbuncle hanging from the centre of the roof, which was thickly studded with twinkling diamond stars.

All around, the walls were draped with curtains like that which concealed Ernest, and the floor was composed of alternate blocks of gold and silver.

At one side of the cavern was a throne of gold and gems, over which hung by way of canopy an immense orange, the lobes divided and spread apart at the bottom, but united at the top. The peel of this orange was of solid gold, roughened to resemble the natural skin; but the interior or pulp was composed of innumerable little cells, each wrought separately in fine gold, and then placed in their natural position; the seeds were represented by very pale topazes, cut in the exact shape of an orange seed.

Upon this throne sat a young woman about the age of Phelia, whom Ernest at once concluded to be her rival Oriphera; for on her head, which was covered with long golden ringlets, was placed a crown, composed entirely of the gems known as cat’s-eyes, held together by gold wire.

This princess was very gorgeously dressed and decorated with a great many jewels, and to most persons would have appeared very beautiful; but, of course, Ernest could not think any thing of the sort, seeing in her as he did, only the enemy and rival of his beloved Phelia.

All around the princess stood her beautiful maids of honor, while behind the throne Ernest perceived a body-guard of Gnomes, each armed, in addition to his pick-axe, with a sling, while in a pouch at his belt he carried a supply of golden bullets. Other Gnomes were constantly appearing from behind the screens and laying at the feet of their princess whatever rare or beautiful gems they had discovered in their mining operations. Some of these Oriphera ordered her treasurer, a little, old, yellow Gnome, to take up and carry away, others she pushed aside with her foot, and they were taken away to be put in the rubbish-pit.

Suddenly, as Ernest was looking with all his eyes, he heard a noise behind him, and, listening attentively, he found that the Gnomes whom he had left above ground had awakened from their sleep and were pursuing him.

Seizing his flute, Ernest blew a hurried strain with all his force; but, not stopping to select his mouthpiece, he took that belonging to Boreas, the North Wind, and the noise which ensued was so loud and sudden that it cracked the golden curtain from top to bottom, caused several of the diamond stars to fall from the roof, set the great carbuncle swinging like a pendulum, and made the princess and all her attendants fall down as if they had been shot.

Ernest stood for a moment, thunderstruck at the mischief he had wrought; but, quickly recovering himself, he darted forward, seized Phelia’s crown from the head of the prostrate Oriphera, filled his pockets with some of the refuse diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and then, finding the proper mouthpiece, he made the best of his way out of the grotto and up the stairs, playing away as hard as he could at the fandango and love-song of the South Wind. He however found it necessary to go very slowly, not only on account of the darkness, but because on almost every step lay a Gnome stupefied, or rather entranced with the music; and Ernest, who was a very kind-hearted young man, could not bear to hurt one of the little fellows, although they would willingly have killed him.

At length he found himself once more in the open air, and, heaving a great sigh of relief, he hastened on, hoping soon to get out of the wood; but what with constantly losing his way, and what with having to stop every little while to play the Gnomes to sleep (who pursued him furiously), it was many days before he gained the open country, and a great many more before he found himself approaching the beloved hut where he hoped to find Phelia waiting for him. Even then he turned a little out of his way to visit the place where the Four Winds meet, that he might lay the borrowed flute upon the little circle in the centre, where the Winds could not fail to see and reclaim it; for, as Ernest said to himself, if they had not the flute, how could they try their voices to see if they were in tune? and if they were obliged to sing false, what would become of the world then?

Finally, toward evening, on the very last day of the month which had been allowed him for his enterprise, Ernest came in sight of his little hut, where almost the first object that met his view was the Gray Cat perched upon the top of the chimney, and anxiously looking in every direction to see if she could catch sight of her deliverer.

No sooner did she see him than, leaping to the ground, she came bounding to meet him; but before she had quite reached him, her dignity as a princess overcame her delight as a cat, and, pausing at the foot of a low rock, she leaped upon it, and seated herself upright with her tail folded closely about her feet, in a very stately and formal manner.

Ernest approached the presence of this little sovereign with all the respect imaginable, and, kneeling upon one knee, laid the recovered crown at her feet.

The cat purred her thanks and approval, but gracefully intimated, by placing her paw upon the crown and then upon her head, that she would thank her gallant knight to complete her transformation by placing the diadem in its proper place.

Ernest understood the silent request, and immediately complied with it. No sooner had he done so than the Gray Cat forever disappeared, and in her place sat the Princess Phelia, who extended her white hand to the young man, with the same gracious dignity with which she had given him her paw to kiss when he was setting out upon his journey.

“How can I ever thank you,--how can I ever reward you, dearest friend?” said she, softly.

“I will tell you, fairest Phelia,” replied Ernest, blushing far more deeply than the princess, brought up in a court, had done.

“You can reward me by giving me this little hand, which I fear but for me would have been but a cat’s paw to the end of time.”

Phelia, to this proposition--which, perhaps, was not quite unexpected--yielded a gracious assent; and the next day the young couple journeyed together to Catland, where they were immediately married, and, soon succeeding to the throne, lived and reigned many, many happy years; and, for any thing I have ever heard, they do so still.

THE FROST-MAIDEN

Once there was a little boy, who more than any thing else loved to look at pictures. He had but few books containing them, nor were his parents able to hang their walls with beautiful paintings and engravings, as rich people can do. Still, little Claude found pictures all about him. In the spring, it was the tender green of the new leaves and the springing grass; in the summer, the thousand different flowers and the beautiful birds; in the autumn, the gorgeous scarlet and golden tints of the changing woods; and in the winter--oh, in the winter--Claude never wanted for pictures!

Every morning there they were, twelve new ones, all different, ready placed to meet his eyes as soon as they should open!

But what do you think these twelve pictures were, and where were they drawn?

Why, on the twelve panes of glass in the window of Claude’s little bedroom.

Every morning was to the boy a new delight; and how sorry he felt, if, by sleeping a little later than usual, he lost a few minutes of the half hour which he usually enjoyed before his mother called him to get up.

The pictures were quite different. Sometimes there was a dense forest covering all one pane, the tree tops crowded together with scarcely any gap between them.

Sometimes there was a grove at one side, and a wide, lawn-like field stretching away out of sight at the other.

Sometimes a few scattered trees, with a brook winding among them, and troops of deer drinking at it.

Sometimes a wild and savage ravine between two precipices, and a crazy waterfall dashing down between them.

Sometimes a flowery plain, with a star-spangled sky overhead, and a flower wreathed May-pole, waiting quietly for a troop of happy children to dance about it in the sunrise.

Sometimes, behind a trim and quiet-looking group of trees, Claude could see the outline of a stately castle, its chimneys and turrets peeping over the tree tops.

Sometimes it was a ruined and deserted tower, standing gloomy and solitary upon a craggy mountain side.

In short, there was no end to the beauty and variety of the pictures in Claude’s gallery.

But who drew them in a single night, while all in the house slept?

This question troubled the boy’s mind constantly. His mother said the frost did it; but how could that be? “Frost has nothing lovely about him,” thought Claude. “He turns all my beautiful flowers to ugly black stalks as soon as he sees them; he makes the ground hard and white, and changes the soft green of the grass to a dull brown; he makes my mother’s pretty face look blue and pinched, and spoils her curls. How can it be the frost who draws my dear pictures?”

His mother could not tell him why,--only she was quite sure it was the frost, because everybody said so.

He asked his father, who laughed, and told him that when he was older he would find out.

So Claude asked no more questions, but wondered all the more.

One morning there was a new picture, one which had never come before; and Claude’s eyes only glanced at the rest, turning again and again to this new one, which seemed to call him to it as if it spoke.

A low, irregular mountain, with a wide plain at its foot,--that was all.

But stop!--was it a mountain? No,--it was a palace; very large, and very fantastic in its shape, but evidently a palace, and a very magnificent one.

What he had at first taken for crags and ice-peaks were in reality graceful minarets and spires; what he had supposed a mass of frozen snow upon the mountain top was the sheeny, silvered roof of the palace; what had been solitary trees upon the mountain side were now gayly floating banners; little clear spots, which he had not noticed at first, now showed as thousands of windows and scores of doors; what, at the first glance, seemed wild bushes about the base of the hill, suddenly became a troop of guards, some mounted, some on foot.

Claude, astonished, raised himself upon his elbow to look more closely at this transformation. Just then his mother entered the room to call him to breakfast.

“See, see, mother!” cried he, “that beautiful palace, in the middle of my window! How I wish I could really go to it!”

“Palace, child!” said his mother, “I see no palace. There is something there which looks like a mountain, but nothing more. You will hurt yourself, dear boy, looking so much at these frost pictures; we shall have you crazy next. Come, now, and eat some nice, warm breakfast.”

“But, mother”--began Claude, and then stopped suddenly. His mother was right, it _was_ nothing but a mountain,--how could he have been so deceived? “And yet,”--

Claude rose, and dressed himself slowly, often glancing at the window, where now the mountain (nothing but a mountain) was fading slowly under the bright rays of the rising sun, which shone full upon it.

Claude paid but little attention to his breakfast, or his dinner either, he was so anxious to have night come and go again, that he might see if the enchanted palace, as he called it, would reappear.

The next morning, as soon as there was light enough to see any thing, his eager eyes started open, and turned at once to the upper centre pane of glass, which was, indeed, the only one bearing any intelligible picture, all the rest being covered with a thick white coat, looking like nothing, unless it was a curtain, to hide what might be behind. But there, where it had stood before, rose clear and sharp the fairy palace; and Claude wondered how he could have taken it for a mountain.

After looking at it for a while, the boy suddenly noticed a new feature in his picture.

This was a large fir-tree, standing in the middle of the plain, quite alone, its lower branches dead and broken, while the top was dense and flourishing. Under the tree was an object which Claude could not make out.

“It must be a little bush,” thought he, and turned his eyes again toward the palace.

The next morning Claude slept late, and when he woke was obliged to jump up directly.

He looked at the window, but saw nothing except a shapeless mark, hardly resembling even a mountain.

All that day Claude was sad and uneasy, feeling as if something were wanting to his happiness which he knew not where to find.