Part 18

After this intercourse had lasted some time, one night she did not make her appearance, which threw poor Henry into the greatest anxiety, for he feared she might, for the sake of her precious feathers, have been caught, or perhaps even killed. Then, for the first time, the door of his prison was opened; the count's superintendent entered, announced that he was free, and conducted him to the very same apartments which he had occupied in happier days.

Before Henry could recover from his surprise, the count himself entered, tenderly embraced him, and besought his forgiveness for all the suffering that had been inflicted on him.

The warder of the tower, it appeared, had remarked the golden duck, and heard with astonishment how she spoke with a human voice, and conversed with the prisoner; all of which he had disclosed to the count. The count thus discovered, by listening in secret to their conversation, the fraud which had imposed the false bride upon him instead of the true and beautiful one. Vain, however, were his efforts the following night to get the golden duck into his power; she escaped from all the attendants who endeavoured to catch her; and snares and nets and all the artifices they practised, and all the pains they took, were of no avail.

Then the count entreated the intercession of the brother. Since his hard fate had robbed him of such an amiable wife, he besought her at least in her present form to inhabit his castle. It was possible that his grief, his love, might move the offended fairy to restore her to her former shape.

Henry freely forgave the count, and promised to make his request known to his sister the next time she should visit him. Before, however, the duck's next visit, Adelheid expired, for the reproaches of her husband, and her own grief and remorse, had brought her to the grave. As soon as she was dead, the count banished Jutta to a remote place and forbade her ever to appear in his presence again. With Henry he lived on his former friendly terms.

Both lived in hopes of the reappearance of the golden duck. Long did they wait in vain, and they began to fear that the endeavours of the count to catch her had scared her from the place for ever, when one afternoon, as Henry was sitting alone in the dining-hall, she flew in at the window, and began gathering up the scattered crumbs on the table. How great was the brother's joy! He addressed her by the tenderest names, stroked her golden feathers, and inquired why she had remained so long absent.

Then Emma complained of the efforts to catch her, which the count's servants had made, and threatened never to return should such he repeated. The entreaty which Henry made in the count's name that she would dwell in the castle she decidedly rejected; and as she heard a noise in the adjoining chamber, she hastily flew away.

For a long time the youth hesitated whether he should tell the count of his sister's visit; as, however, he knew the strong affection of his friend, and feared he might not refrain from fresh attempts against the liberty of the golden duck, he resolved to say nothing about it. But the count had seen the duck fly past, and when Henry said nothing about it, he conceived mistrust of him, and laid a new plan to get possession of her.

The following morning, when Emma flew into her brother's chamber, the window was suddenly closed, the count having fastened a cord to it from above, and in a few moments he entered the room thinking he had now made sure of the much-desired prize. But the duck fluttered about, and made her exit through the keyhole.

Henry was much distressed, for he feared that he should now see his beloved sister no more, and heaped reproaches on the astonished count, who returned them to him so liberally, that they separated in mutual disgust, and Henry resolved to quit the city and wander through the wide world.

One day after he had long travelled he found himself in a thick fir wood, when suddenly a female form of great dignity stood before him, in whom Henry at once recognised the fairy who had so richly gifted his sister.

"Wherefore," said she, with a reproachful look, "didst thou leave the castle at the time when thy sister's ill fortune, of which thou wert the cause, was beginning to turn to good? Hasten back immediately, confirm the count in the remorse for his profligate life which is now awakening in him, and the golden duck will then be released from her enchantment. And not only shall she retain the wonderful gifts she has hitherto possessed, but thenceforth she shall no longer have to fear air and sun-light."

The fairy disappeared, and Henry returned full of hope to the castle. On his way thither he met several of the count's servants, who told him their lord had sent them out with commands not to return until they found him. For they added, since Henry's departure had left the count so lonely and forsaken, he had fallen sick through sorrow and longing after his friend.

When Henry entered the count's chamber, he found him lying on his bed really ill and unhappy. He comforted him with the fairy's promise, and the count solemnly vowed that he would never more return to his wild and sinful mode of life.

Scarcely had he uttered this solemn vow, when the window flew open of itself, the golden duck flew into the chamber, and, perching on the bed-post, said, "The period of my trials is completed. I may now return to my former figure and remain with you for ever."

Then the golden feathers dropped from her body; the long beak rounded into mouth and chin, above which gazed a pair of lovely eyes; before they could look round, a wondrously beautiful maiden stood before them, magnificently habited, and her joy at being re-united to her brother and her bridegroom drew the purest pearls from her eyes.

At the sight of her the count felt himself at once cured of his illness, and, a few days after, the nuptial feast was celebrated with all the pomp and magnificence befitting the high station and great wealth of the count.

GOLDY.

[From Justinus Kerner.]

Many a long year ago there lived in a great forest a poor herdsman, who had built himself a log cabin in the midst of it, where he dwelt with his wife and his six children, all of whom were boys. There was a draw-well by the house, and a little garden, and when their father was looking after the cattle the children carried out to him a cool draught from the well, or a dish of vegetables from the garden.

The youngest of the boys was called by his parents Goldy, for his locks were like gold, and although the youngest he was stronger and taller than all his brothers. When the children went out into the fields, Goldy always went first with a branch of a tree in his hand, and no otherwise would the other children go, for each feared lest some adventure should befall him; but when Goldy led them they followed cheerfully, one behind the other, through even the darkest thicket, although the moon might have already risen over the mountains.

One evening, on their return from their father, the children had amused themselves by playing in the wood, and Goldy especially had so heated himself in their games, that he was as rosy as the sky at sun-set.

"Let us return," said the eldest, "it seems growing dark."

"See," said the second, "there is the moon!"

At that moment a light appeared through the dark fir-trees, and a female form, shining like the moon, seated herself on the mossy stone, and span, with a crystal distaff, a fine thread, nodding her head towards Goldy, singing:--

"The snow-white finch, the gold rose, for thee; The king's crown lies in the lap of the sea!"

She was about to continue her song when the thread broke, and she was instantly extinguished like the flame of a candle. It being now quite dark, terror seized the children, and they ran about crying piteously, one here, and another there, over rock and pit, till they lost each other.

Many a day and night did Goldy wander in the thick forest, but could find neither his brothers nor his father's hut, nor yet the trace of a human foot, for the forest had become more dense; one hill seemed to rise above another, and pit after pit intercepted his path.

The blackberries, that grew in profusion, satisfied his hunger and slaked his thirst, otherwise he must have perished miserably. At last, on the third day--some say it was not until the sixth or seventh--the forest became less and less dense, and at last he got out of it, and found himself in a lovely green meadow.

Then his heart grew light, and he inhaled the pure fresh air.

Nets were spread over the meadow, for a bird-catcher lived there, who caught the birds which flew out of the wood, and carried them into the city for sale.

"That is just such a boy as I want," thought the bird-catcher, when he saw Goldy, who stood in the meadow close to the net, gazing with longing eyes into the blue sky; and then in jest he drew his net, and imprisoned within it the astonished boy, who could not comprehend what had befallen him. "That's the way we catch the birds that come out of the wood," said the bird-catcher, laughing heartily. "Your red feathers please me right well. So I have caught you, have I, my little fox? You had better stay with me, and I will teach you how to catch birds!"

Goldy was well content; he thought he should lead a merry life amongst the birds, especially as he abandoned all hope of again finding his father's hut.

"Let us see how much you have learnt," said the bird-catcher to him, some days after. Goldy drew the net, and caught a snow-white chaffinch.

"Confound you and this white chaffinch!" screamed the bird-catcher; "you are in league with the evil one!" and he drove him roughly from the meadow, at the same time treading under his feet, the white chaffinch which Goldy had handed over to him.

Goldy could not conceive what the bird-catcher meant; he returned sadly, but yet not despairingly, to the forest, with the intention of renewing his endeavours to find his father's hut. Day and night he wandered about, climbing over fragments of rock and old fallen trees, and often stumbled and fell over the old black roots which protruded in all directions from out of the ground.

On the third day, however, the forest once more became somewhat clearer, and he issued from it into a beautiful bright garden, full of the most delightful flowers, and as he had never before seen such he stood gazing full of admiration. The gardener no sooner perceived him--for Goldy stood beneath the sunflowers, and his locks glistened in the sunshine just like one of them--than he exclaimed: "Ha! he is just such a boy as I want!" and the garden-gate closed directly. Goldy was very well satisfied, for he thought he should lead a gay life amongst the flowers, and he had again lost the hope of getting back to his father's cottage.

"Off with you to the forest!" said the gardener to him one morning, "and fetch me the stem of a wild rose, that I may engraft cultivated roses on it."

Goldy went and returned with a rose-bush bearing the most beautiful golden-coloured roses imaginable, which looked exactly as if they were the work of the most skilful of goldsmiths, and prepared to adorn a monarch's table.

"Confound you, with these golden roses!" screamed the gardener; "you are in league with the evil one!" and he drove Goldy roughly out of the garden, as with plenty of abuse he trampled the golden roses on the ground.

Goldy knew not what the gardener could mean; but he went calmly back into the forest, and again set himself to seek after his father's cabin.

He walked on day and night, from tree to tree, from rock to rock. On the third day, the forest again became clearer and clearer, and he came to the shore of the blue sea. It lay before him without a boundary; the sun mirrored itself in the crystal surface, which glistened like liquid gold, and gay vessels with far-floating streamers floated on the waves. Some fishermen sat in a pretty bark on the shore, into which Goldy entered, and gazed with wonder out into the bright distance.

"We stand in need of just such a boy," said the fisherman, and off they pushed into the sea. Goldy was well pleased to go with them, for he thought it must be a golden life there amongst the bright waves, and he had quite lost all hope of again finding his father's hut.

The fishermen cast their nets, but took nothing.

"Let us see if you will have better luck," said an old fisherman with silver hair, addressing Goldy. With unskilful hands he let down the net into the deep, drew it up, and lo! he brought up in it--a crown of pure gold.

"Triumph!" cried the ancient fisherman, at the same time throwing himself at Goldy's feet. "I hail thee as our king! A hundred years ago, the last of our kings, having no heir, when he was about to die, cast his crown into the sea, and until the fortunate being destined by fate, should again draw up the crown from the deep, the throne, without an occupant, was to remain wrapt in gloom."

"Hail to our king!" cried all the fishermen, and they placed the crown on the boy's head. The tidings of Goldy and of the regained crown, resounded from vessel to vessel, and across the sea far into the land. The golden surface was soon crowded with gay barks and ships, adorned with festoons of flowers and branches; they all saluted with loud acclamations of joy the vessel in which was the Boy-king. He stood with the bright crown upon his head, at the prow of the vessel, and gazed calmly on the sun as it sank into the sea, whilst his golden locks waved in the refreshing evening breeze.

THE SERPENT PRINCE.

[Italian.]

There lived once a peasant's wife who would have given all she possessed to have a child, but yet she never had one.

One day her husband brought home a bundle of twigs from the wood, out of which crept a pretty little young serpent. When Sabatella, that was the peasant woman's name, saw the little serpent, she sighed deeply and said: "Even serpents have their offspring; I alone am so unfortunate as to remain childless!"

"Since you are childless," replied the little serpent, "take me in lieu of a child; you shall have no cause to repent, and I will love you more than a son."

When Sabatella heard the serpent speak, she was at first ready to go out of her wits from fright; but at length taking courage said: "If it be only for your kind words, I will love you as well as if you were my own child."

So saying, she showed the serpent a cupboard in the house for his bed, and she gave him a share, daily, of all she had to eat, and so the serpent grew; and when he was quite grown up, he said to the peasant, Cola Mattheo by name, whom he considered in the light of a father: "Dear Papa, I wish to marry."

"I am willing," said Mattheo; "we will look about for a serpent like yourself, and conclude the alliance at once."

"Why so," replied the serpent; "we shall then only become connected with vipers, and similar vermin. I greatly prefer to marry the king's daughter; so pray go forthwith, solicit the king for her, and say that a serpent wishes to have her for his wife."

Cola Mattheo, who was a simple-minded man, went without further delay to the king, and said: "The persons of messengers are always held sacred. Know, therefore, that a serpent desires to have your daughter for his wife; and I am come hither in my capacity of gardener to see whether I can graft a dove upon a serpent."

The king, perceiving that he was somewhat of a booby, in order to get rid of him, said: "Go home, and tell this serpent that if he can turn all the fruit in this garden into gold, I will give him my daughter in marriage," and laughing heartily, he dismissed the peasant.

When Cola Mattheo reported the king's answer, the serpent replied: "Go early in the morning and collect all the fruit kernels you can find throughout the city, and sow them in the royal garden; then you shall behold a wonder."

Cola Mattheo, who was a great simpleton, said nothing, but as soon as the sun with his golden besom had swept away the shades of night, he took his basket under his arm, went from street to street, carefully picking up every seed and kernel of peach, pomegranate, apricot, cherry, and all other fruits he could find. Then he sowed them in the royal garden as the serpent had desired him,--which he had no sooner done than he perceived the stems of the trees, together with their leaves, flowers, and fruit, all turn into shining gold; and the king, when he saw it, went almost out of his senses, and could not tell what to make of the affair.

But when Cola Mattheo was sent by the serpent to request the king to perform his promise, the king replied: "Not so fast! For if the serpent really desires to have my daughter in marriage, he must do something more; and, in fact, I should like him to change the walls and the paths in my garden into precious stones."

On this new demand being reported to the serpent, he said: "Go early in the morning and collect all the potsherds you can find on the ground; strew them in the paths and on the walls of the garden; then we shall soon make the king perform his promise."

And when the night had passed away, Cola Mattheo took a great basket and collected all the bits of broken pots, pans, jugs, cups and saucers, and all similar rubbish; and when he had done with them as the serpent desired him, the garden was suddenly covered with emeralds, rubies, chalcedonies, and carbuncles, so that its brilliancy dazzled all eyes, and astonished all hearts. The king was almost petrified at this spectacle, and knew not what had befallen him.

When, however, the serpent caused him to be again reminded of his promise, he answered: "All this is nothing yet. I must have this palace quite filled with gold."

When Cola brought this further put-off from the king, the serpent only said: "Go and take a bunch of green herbs, and sweep the floors of the palace with it; then we shall see what will happen."

Mattheo directly made a great bunch of purslain, marjoram, rue, and chervil, with which he swept the floors of the palace, and immediately the rooms were filled with gold in such quantities, that poverty must have fled at least a hundred houses off.

Now when the peasant went once more in the name of the serpent to demand the princess, the king found himself constrained at last to keep his promise. He called his daughter, and said: "My beloved Grannonia, in order to make sport of an individual who requested you in marriage, I required things of him which seemed impossible. As, however, I now find myself obliged to fulfil my promise--I entreat you, my dutiful daughter, not to bring my word to disgrace, but that you will resign yourself to what Heaven wills, and I am constrained to do."

"Do as you please, my lord and father," answered Grannonia, "for I will not depart one hair's breadth from what you desire."

On hearing this the king desired Cola Mattheo to conduct the serpent to his presence; who accordingly repaired to court in a carriage made entirely of gold, drawn by four elephants, also of gold. As they passed along, however, everybody fled before them, from terror at seeing such a dreadfully large serpent.

When the serpent reached the palace, the courtiers shuddered and trembled; even the very scullions ran away, and the king and queen shut themselves up in a remote chamber. Grannonia alone retained her self-possession; and although her royal parents called to her, saying: "Fly, fly, Grannonia!" she stirred not from the spot, and merely said: "I will not flee from the husband whom you have given me."

No sooner had the serpent entered the apartment, than he encircled Grannonia with his tail, kissed her, then drew her into another chamber, locked the door, and stripping off his skin, was transformed into a remarkably handsome young man, with golden locks and bright eyes, who immediately embraced Grannonia with the utmost tenderness, and paid her the most flattering attentions.

The king, on seeing the serpent lock himself into another room with the princess, said to his wife: "Heaven have pity on our poor daughter; for, unquestionably, all is over with her. This confounded serpent has, no doubt, by this time swallowed her up like the yolk of an egg." And they peeped through the keyhole to see what had happened.

But when they beheld the surprising elegance and beauty of the young man, and perceived the serpent skin, which had been thrown down on the ground, they burst open the door, rushed in, and seizing the skin, threw it into the fire, where it was instantly consumed. Whereupon the young man exclaimed: "Ah! you wretched people, what have you done to me!" and changing himself into a pigeon, he flew with such force against the window glass, that it broke, and he flew through, although very much injured.

Grannonia, who in one and the same moment beheld herself thus rejoicing and grieving, happy and unhappy, rich and poor, complained bitterly at this destruction of her happiness, this poisoning of her joy, this sad change of her fortune, all of which she laid to the charge of her parents, although these assured her they had not intended to do wrong. She, however, ceased not to bemoan herself until night drew in, and as soon as all the inmates of the palace were in their beds, she collected all her jewels, and went out at a back door, determined to search till she should again find her lost treasure. When she got beyond the city, guided by the moonshine, she met a fox, who offered to be her companion; to which Grannonia replied: "You are heartily welcome to me, neighbour, for I do not know the district very well."

They went on together a considerable way, and reached a forest, where the tops of the lofty trees met on high, and formed an agreeable canopy over their heads. As they were weary with walking, and wished to repose, they went under the thick leafy roof, where a rivulet sported with the fresh grass, sprinkling it with its clear drops.

They lay down on the mossy carpet, paid the debt of sleep to nature for the wear and tear of life, and did not wake until the sun with his wonted fire gave notice that men might resume their avocations; but after they had risen, they stood awhile listening to the song of the little birds, as Grannonia took infinite pleasure in hearing their twittering.

When the fox perceived this, he said: "If you understood, as I do, what they say, your pleasure would be infinitely greater."

Excited by his words--for curiosity as well as love of gossip is a natural gift in all women--Grannonia begged the fox to tell her what he had learned from the birds.

The fox allowed her to urge him for a considerable time, in order to awaken still greater curiosity for what he was going to relate; but at length he told her that the birds were conversing about a misfortune which had befallen the son of a king, who, having given offence to a wicked enchantress, had been doomed by her to remain for seven long years in the form of a serpent. The period of his enchantment arriving at its close, he had fallen in love with the daughter of a king, and having, on finding himself in a room alone with her, stripped off his serpent's skin, her parents had broken in upon them and had burnt the skin; whereupon the prince, by flying through a window in the form of a pigeon, had so severely injured himself, that the surgeons had no hope of his recovery.

Grannonia, on hearing the history of her beloved prince, immediately inquired whose son the prince might be, and if there were any means by which his cure could be effected. The fox replied, that those birds had said that he was the son of the King of Ballone-Grosso, and that no other means existed of stopping up the holes in his head, so that his reason should not evaporate through them, but to anoint the wounds with the blood of those very birds who had narrated the circumstance.