Part 10

Siva having thus concluded his defence, Madhava addressed himself to the priest, saying: "Speak not derogatorily of this holy man, now your son. Whatever the cause of your grievance, he is innocent, as you yourself are good and upright; but I also owe an explanation to my liege and master. In what way can I have committed myself?--neither from you nor him have I taken or accepted the least benefit. The fortune my father left me I had for years given into the custody of an old and tried friend of our house; removing it from thence I presented it, under the circumstances your majesty is aware of, to this Brahmin. But if they had not been real gems, but only worthless metal and glass as this worthy priest intimates, by what means was my restoration to health so wonderfully wrought? That I gave it with pure and honest intention, witness for me the all but miracle by which I was saved!"

Thus spoke Madhava without changing a feature; but the king and his ministers laughed, and testified the good opinion they entertained for him. They then pronounced the following judgment:--"Neither Siva nor Madhava are in the least to blame, they are wholly innocent."

In sorrow and shame the priest went his way, robbed of his whole fortune, and punished for his avarice and the heartless manner in which he had sacrificed his daughter; though fortunately for her and no thanks to her father, she found in Siva a good and affectionate husband.

The two rogues altered their mode of life: thenceforward they walked in the path of virtue and well-doing; and favoured by the king, whom they faithfully served, they lived many years honoured, respected, and happy in Ujjayini.

THE GOBLIN BIRD.

[Betschuanian, South Africa.]

Two brothers one day set out from their father's hut, to seek their fortune. The name of the elder one was Maszilo, the younger one was called Mazziloniane. After a few days' journeying they reached a plain, from which branched two roads; the one led eastwards, the other westwards. The first road was covered with the footmarks of cattle, the other with the footmarks of dogs. Maszilo followed the latter road, his brother went in the opposite direction.

After some days travelling Mazziloniane passed a hill which formerly had been inhabited, and felt not a little astonished at beholding a great quantity of earthen vessels, all of which were placed upside down. In the hope of finding some treasure concealed under them, he removed several, until he came to one of immense size. Mazziloniane, gathering all his strength, gave it a violent push, but the vessel remained immoveable. The young traveller now doubled his exertions, but in vain. Twice he was obliged to fasten the girdle round his loins, which through his exertions had burst; the vessel seemed as if rooted to the ground. But all at once, as if by magic, it was upset by a slight touch, and revealed to the youthful and trembling Mazziloniane, a hideous and deformed giant.

"Why dost thou disturb me?" demanded the monster, in a voice of thunder.

Mazziloniane, having recovered from his first fright, observed with horror that one of the legs of the giant was as thick as the stem of a large tree, whilst the other was of an ordinary size.

"As a well-merited punishment for thy temerity in disturbing me, thou shalt henceforth carry me about;" and so saying the monster jumped on the shoulders of the unfortunate youth, who, unable to support such a weight, fell prostrate on the ground. Recovering himself with difficulty, he endeavoured to advance a few steps, and again he fell to the earth, his strength now wholly failing him. But the sight of an eland, which was swiftly passing by, presented to his mind the means of delivery.

"Dear father," said he, with trembling voice, to the abortion, "release me for a moment; the reason why I cannot carry you is that I have nothing wherewith to fasten you to my back; give me a few moments to kill the eland which has just passed by, and out of its hide I will cut some thongs for that purpose."

His demand was granted, and with the dogs that had accompanied him he disappeared from the plain. After he had run a considerable distance he took refuge in a cavern. But the thick-legged monster, tired of waiting, soon followed, and wherever he discovered a footmark of the youth, he in a mocking voice cried out:--

"The pretty little footmark of my dear child, the pretty little footmark of Mazziloniane."

The youth heard him approaching, and felt the ground tremble under his steps. Seized with despair he left the cavern, and calling his dogs, he set them on the enemy; stroking and encouraging them, he said--

"On! my brave dogs, kill him, devour him, but leave his thick leg for me."

The dogs obeyed the command of their master, and soon there was nothing left but the deformed and shapeless leg, which now he fearlessly approached, and with his axe cut into pieces, and, O wonder! out of it came a herd of most beautiful cows, one of them being as white as the driven snow; overjoyed he drove the cattle before him, taking the road leading to his father's hut.

Meanwhile the other brother having got possession of a great number of dogs, he also returned towards his home, and they both now met on the same place where they so shortly before had separated. The younger embracing the elder brother, offered him part of his herd, saying to him: "As fortune has favoured me most, take what you like, but you must leave me the white cow, for to no one else can she ever belong."

But Maszilo seemed to have placed his every desire upon this very animal; regardless of all the rest, he begged and intreated his brother to give up to him the possession thereof; but in vain were his prayers. Having journeyed together for two days, on the third day they came to a spring--"Let us tarry here," said Maszilo, "I am faint and exhausted with thirst; let us dig a deep hole, and convey the water into it, that it may get cool and fresh."

When they had dug the well, Maszilo went in search of a great flat stone, and with it covered the hole to protect the water from being heated by the rays of the sun; after the water had been sufficiently cooled, Maszilo drank first. His brother was now going to do the same, but the moment he bent himself over the well, Maszilo suddenly taking him by the hair, forced his head under the water, and held it there until he was suffocated; he then pushed the corpse into the hole, and covered it over with the stone.

With drooping head, though now sole master of the herd, the murderer proceeded on his journey, but hardly had he advanced a few steps, when a little bird perched on the horn of the white cow, and in a mournful tune sang: "Tsiri! tsiri! Maszilo killed Mazziloniane to get possession of the white cow which the murdered brother so much loved."

Enraged, he killed the bird with a stone, but hardly had he sufficiently recovered himself to proceed on his journey, when the bird again came flying, placed itself on the same spot, and repeated the same words; Maszilo again killed him with a stone, and then crushed him with his heavy staff; but within a few minutes the bird reappeared for the third time, again perching on the horn of the cow, and repeating the same words.

"Ah, Demon!" cried Maszilo, choking with rage, "I will try a more effectual way to silence thee;" whereupon he threw his staff at the hated little bird, who in such doleful tunes had stirred up and upbraided his conscience-stricken soul: he again killed it, and then lighting a fire, in it he burnt the bird to ashes, which he scattered in the winds.

Now convinced that the goblin-bird would return no more, Maszilo, full of pride and hardiness, returned to his father's dwelling. On his arrival there, he was surrounded by all the villagers, who, full of curiosity, gathered around him, in admiration of the rich flock, and praised his good fortune, but the first impulse of their curiosity satiated, they almost with one voice inquired "Where is Mazziloniane?"

"I know not; we went different ways," answered he.

Many of his relations now surrounded the white cow, and exclaimed: "Oh how beautiful she is! what fine hair! what a pure colour! happy the man that owns such a treasure!"

Suddenly, their exclamations were changed into deep silence, for upon one of the horns of the much-admired animal appeared a little bird, singing in most melancholy strains, "Tsiri! tsiri! Maszilo killed Mazziloniane, to get possession of the white cow which the murdered brother so much loved."

"What! has Maszilo killed his brother?" all exclaimed, and, full of horror, turned away from the murderer, unable to account to themselves for the emotion he inspired, and the strangeness of the disclosure. Infuriated, they drove Maszilo from their home, into the desert: in the confusion this occasioned, the little bird flew to the murdered man's sister, and whispered in her ear, "I am the soul of Mazziloniane; Maszilo has killed me; my body lies in a well near the desert, go bury it--" and then the bird flew back into the desert, evermore to be the companion of the murderer.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE SERPENT.

[German, Traditional.]

In a peaceful, pleasantly situated little village, there once lived a poor shepherd youth. Near the village was a valley, a lonely retired spot, whither the youth always guided his flock; and it seemed as though he had selected that quiet valley for his favourite retreat. He never took his noon-day meal, nor lay down to repose in the cool shade, except in that beloved place. Thither was he ever drawn by an irresistible longing.

The place itself was simple enough--a rugged block of stone, beneath which murmured a little rivulet, and a wild cherry-tree which overshadowed the stone with its leafy branches, were all that was to be seen there; but the youth felt happy when he spread his meal upon that stone, and drank from that streamlet. When, after having partaken of his meal, he stretched himself to rest upon the stone, he would fancy he heard a mysterious singing, and sometimes a sighing too, beneath it; he would then listen and watch, but would finally slumber and dream. His spirit seemed to be ever wrapped in mysterious unearthly happiness. On going forth with his flocks in the morning, and returning home with them in the evening, this unaccountable longing seemed always to take possession of him. He liked not to accompany the throng of merry village youths and maidens who went about singing and frolicking on festive evenings, but preferred to walk alone, silent and even melancholy. But when the fair morning dawned again, and he went forth with his lambs over heath and meadow, his spirit grew ever more serene as he drew nearer to the beloved stone and to the shade of the dear cherry-tree. It often happened, too, that whilst he rested there and played upon his flute, a silver-white serpent came out from under the stone, and after wreathing herself caressingly at his feet, would then erect herself and gaze upon the shepherd, until two big tears would roll from her eyes, and then she softly slid back again: on these occasions a still more peculiar and strange feeling filled the shepherd's heart.

At length he altogether ceased to associate with the merry band of youths and maidens; their mirthsome noise was unpleasant to him; whilst, on the contrary, the still solitude became more and more dear to him.

One lovely Sunday in the spring time--it was Trinity Sunday, which the peasants call "Golden Sunday," and which they always keep with especial festivity--when the youth of the village were to have a merry dance beneath the linden-trees, the pensive shepherd boy, drawn by that inexpressible longing, directed his steps at mid-day to the lonely valley of the stone and cherry-tree. He gazed serenely upon the dear spot, and then sat down and listened musingly to the rustling of the leaves and the mysterious sounds under the stone, when suddenly a bright light shone before his eyes, a pang of terror shot through his heart, and looking up he saw a beauteous form arrayed in white like an angel, standing before him with a soft expression and folded hands, whilst with transported senses he heard a sweet voice thus address him: "O youth, fear not, but hear the supplication of an unhappy maiden, and do not drive me from thee, nor flee from my misfortune. I am a noble princess, and have immense treasures of pearls and gold; but for many hundred years I have languished under enchantment, have been banished beneath this stone, and am doomed to glide about in the form of a serpent. In that shape I have often gazed on thee and conceived the hope that thou mayest release me. Thou art still pure in heart as a child. Only once throughout the whole year, this very hour on Golden Sunday, am I permitted to wander on the earth in my own form; and if I then find a youth with a pure heart, I may implore him for my deliverance. Release me then, thou beloved one! release me, I implore thee by all that is holy!"--The maiden sank at the shepherd's feet, which she clasped as she looked up to him weeping. The heart of the youth heaved with transport; he raised the angelic maiden and faltered out: "Oh say only what I must do to free thee, thou fair beloved one!"

"Return hither to-morrow at the same hour," replied she, "and when I appear before thee in my serpent form, and wind myself around thee, and thrice kiss thee, do not, oh! do not shudder, else must I again languish enchanted here for another century!" She vanished, and again a soft sighing and singing issued from beneath the stone.

On the following day, at the hour of noon, the shepherd, not without fear in his heart, waited at the appointed place, and supplicated Heaven for strength and constancy at the trying moment of the serpent's kiss. Already the silver-white serpent glided from beneath the stone, approached the youth, twined herself round his body, and raised her serpent head, with its bright eyes, to kiss him. He remained steady, and endured the three kisses. A mighty crash was then heard, and dreadful thunders rolled around the youth, who had fallen senseless on the ground. A magic change passed over him, and when he was restored to his senses, he found himself lying on white cushions of silk, in a richly-adorned chamber, with the beautiful maiden kneeling by his couch, holding his hand to her heart. "Oh, thanks be to Heaven!" exclaimed she, when he opened his eyes; "receive my thanks, beloved youth, for my deliverance, and take as thy reward my fair lands, and this palace with all its rich treasures, and take me too as thy faithful wife: thou shalt henceforth be happy, and have plenitude of joy!"

And the shepherd was happy and joyful; that longing of his heart which had so often drawn him towards the stone, was gloriously satisfied. He dwelt, remote from the world, in the bosom of happiness, with his fair spouse; and he never wished himself back on earth, nor amongst his lambs again. But in the village there was great lamentation for the shepherd who had so suddenly vanished: they sought him in the valley, and by the stone under the cherry-tree, whither he had last gone, but neither the shepherd, nor the stone, nor the cherry-tree were to be found any longer; and no human eye ever again beheld any trace of either.

THE EXPEDITIOUS FROG.

[Wendian.]

A fox came one day at full speed to a pond to drink. A frog who was sitting there, began to croak at him. Then, said the fox, "Be off with you, or I'll swallow you."

The frog, however, replied: "Don't give yourself such airs; I am swifter than you!"

At this the fox laughed; but as the frog persisted in boasting of his swiftness, the fox said at length: "Now, then, we will both run to the next town, and we shall see which can go the faster."

Then the fox turned round, and as he did so, the frog leapt up into his bushy tail. Off went the fox, and when he reached the gate of the city, he turned round again to see if he could spy the frog coming after him. As he did so, the frog hopped out of his tail on the ground. The fox, after looking all about without being able to see the frog, turned round once more in order to enter the city.

Then the frog called out to him: "So! you are come at last? I am just going back again, for I really thought you meant not to come at all."

EASTWARD OF THE SUN, AND WESTWARD OF THE MOON.

[Norwegian.]

In days of yore there lived a poor charcoal-burner who had many children. His poverty was so great, that he knew not how to feed them from day to day, and they had scarcely any clothes to cover them. Nevertheless all the children were very beautiful, but the youngest daughter was the most beautiful of them all.

Now it happened on a Thursday evening, late in the autumn, that a terrible storm came on. It was dark as pitch, the rain came down in torrents, and the wind blew till the windows cracked again. The whole family sat round the hearth, busy with their different occupations; suddenly some one gave three loud knocks at the window; the man went out to see whom it could be, and when he got outside the door, he saw standing by it, a great white bear.

"Good evening to you!" said the bear.

"Good evening!" said the man.

"I have called," said the bear, "to say that if you will give me your youngest daughter in marriage, I will make you as rich as you now are poor."

The man thought that would not be amiss, but he considered that he must first consult his daughter on the subject; so he stepped in, and told her that a great white bear was outside the door, who had promised to make him as rich as he was now poor, provided he would give him his youngest daughter in marriage. The maiden, however, said "No," and would hear nothing at all about the matter; so the man went out again, spoke very civilly to the bear, and told him to call again next Thursday evening, and in the mean time he would try what could be done. During the week they tried to persuade the maiden, and told her all kinds of fine things as to the riches they were to have, and how well she herself would be provided for, till at last she consented. So she washed the two or three things she had, dressed herself as well as she could, and made herself ready for the journey.

When the bear returned the following Thursday evening, all was ready: the maiden took her bundle in her hand, seated herself on his back, and off they went. When they had gone a good way, the bear asked her: "Do you feel sad?"

No, that she did not in the least.

"Mind you hold fast by my shaggy coat," said the bear, "and then there will be nothing to fear."

Thus she rode on the bear's back far far away--indeed nobody can say precisely how far it was--and at last they arrived at a great rock. The bear knocked, and a door opened, through which they entered a large castle, in which were a great many rooms, all lighted with lamps, and glittering with gold and silver: there was also a grand saloon, and in the saloon stood a table covered with the most costly viands. The bear then gave her a silver bell, which he told her to ring when she wanted anything, and it would immediately be brought to her. Now after she had eaten and drunk, and towards evening grew tired, and wished to go to bed, she rang her bell, and immediately a door opened into a chamber, where there was as beautiful a bed as she could wish for, ready prepared for her; the pillows were covered with silk, and the curtains fringed with gold, and all her toilette utensils were of silver and gold. As soon, however, as she had extinguished the light, and lay down in her bed, some one came and lay down by her side, and this happened every night; but she could never see who it was, as the person never came till after the light was put out, and always went away before day-break.

Thus she lived for some time, contented and happy, till at length she felt so great a desire to see her parents, and brothers and sisters, that she grew quite dull and melancholy. Then the bear asked her one day why she was always so still and thoughtful.

"Ah!" replied she, "I feel so lonely here in the castle, for I so much wish to see my parents, and brothers and sisters, once more."

"That you can easily do," said the bear, "but you must promise me that you will never converse with your mother alone, but only when all the others are present; for she will try to take you by the hand and lead you into another room, in order to speak to you alone, but do not consent to it, for if you do, she will make both you and me unhappy."

The maiden said she would be very careful to do as he desired her.

The following Sunday the bear came to her, and said she might now begin her journey to her parents. She seated herself on his back, and they commenced their journey. After they had travelled a very long time, they came to a great white castle, and she saw her sisters going in and out, and all was so beautiful and grand, it was quite a pleasure to behold it.

"That is where your parents dwell," said the bear, "now do not forget what I have said to you, or you will make yourself and me very miserable."

She would not forget, repeated the maiden, and she entered the castle; the bear, however, went back again. When her parents saw their daughter, they were more delighted than it is possible to express. They could not thank her enough for what she had done for them, and they told how wonderfully comfortable they were now, and inquired how matters went with her. Oh, she also was very happy, returned the maiden, she had everything she could desire. What else she told them, I do not exactly know, but I believe it was no every-day tale that she told them. In the afternoon, when they had dined, it happened exactly as the bear had foretold; the mother wanted to talk with her daughter in private, but the maiden remembered what the bear had said, and would not go with her, but said: "Oh, we can say what we have got to say, quite as well here."

Now, how it happened, I cannot tell, but all I know is, that her mother persuaded her at last, and then she got the whole history from her. The maiden related how some one came into her bed every night, but that she had never seen who it was, and that made her so uneasy, and the day seemed very long to her, because she was always alone.

"Who knows!" said the mother, "surely it must be some wizard who sleeps by you; but if you will take my advice, when he is fast asleep, get up and strike a light, and see who it is; but be careful not to let any grease drop upon him."

In the evening the bear came to fetch the maiden home. When they had gone a good way he asked her if it had not happened as he had told her.

"Yes," she could not deny that it had.

"Have you listened to your mother's counsel?" said the bear; "if you have, you have ruined yourself and me, and our friendship is at an end."

"No," she had not done so, replied she.

Now when they had got home, and the maiden had gone to bed, the same happened as usual, some one came and lay down by her. During the night, however, when she heard that he was asleep, she rose and kindled a light, and then she saw lying in her bed the handsomest prince that can be imagined, and she immediately loved him so well, that she could not refrain from kissing him that very moment. But as she did this, she accidentally let three drops of oil fall from her lamp, upon his shirt, and thereupon he awoke.