by Howard Pyle
Hui! if the king was pleased with the little black hen, you can guess how glad he was to have such a drake as that! All that the Master of Black Arts had to do was to ask for what he wanted, and he might have it if the king had it to give.
“Good!” says the Master of Black Arts; “then the princess has a necklace of carbuncles that I have taken a fancy to; if I may have that I will be satisfied.”
So the princess was sent for without waiting longer, and would she let the Master have the necklace of carbuncles that she wore around her neck?
“Yes, indeed!” says the princess, “that I will! I have grown sick and tired of it long ago.” So she took it off of her neck and gave it to the Master of Black Arts, and off he went with it.
When he came home he put the necklace into the mortar, just as he had done the ring, and ground it up and ground it up until it was as fine as the dust on the shelf. There! he thought, that is an end of the Clever Student at any rate.
Then he went back to his books, and it was not long before he found that he had been tricked again.
“I can make no more changes,” said the Student, “for I am nearly at the end of my arts. The Black Master will be wanting your ear-drop when he comes, but, instead of giving it to him, throw it against the wall as hard as you can. After that we shall have to trust to good Mother Luck.”
It was not long before the Master of Black Arts came with his basket on his arm, just as he had done twice before; he opened the basket, and there was a grey goose.
“Only a grey goose!” you say? Wait a moment, and you shall see that it was not like any grey goose in our town!
The Master of Black Arts stood the grey goose on the table; “Flickety-whickety!” said he.
“Cackle! cackle!” said the grey goose, and every time it said “cackle” a bright diamond dropped on the table.
When the king saw that he rubbed his hands and rubbed his hands, and could not say enough of thanks to the Master of Black Arts. And what would the Master have now? He had only to ask and it was his.
“Oh!” says the Master of Black Arts, “the princess has a pearl ear-drop that I have taken a liking to; if I may have that I will be quite satisfied.”
So the princess was sent for, and this time she was not so willing to let the Master have what he wanted. She wept and begged, and begged and wept; but it was all to no purpose; the Master of Black Arts wanted the pearl ear-drop, and the Master of Black Arts must have it — that was what the king said. So at last the princess took the pearl ear-drop out of her ear, but instead of giving it to the Master, she threw it against the wall as hard as she was able, just as the Clever Student had told her to do.
And then what do you think happened? Why, the Student turned himself into a ripe melon, so that when it struck the wall it burst open and the seeds that were inside were scattered all over the floor.
But the Master of Black Arts knew a trick as good as that. He changed himself into a great red cock, and began pecking away at the seeds, gobbling them up as fast as he could. By and by he looked around, and not another seed could he see, whereupon he hopped up on a chair and shutting his eyes and flapping his wings, he crowed “cock-a-doodle-do!”
But listen! One melon-seed had rolled into a crack in the floor, and the cock had not seen it. That was a bad thing for him, for while his eyes were shut and he was crowing “cock-a-doodle-do!” the Clever Student changed himself from the melon-seed into a great fox. Up he jumped — snip! snap! — and off flew the cock’s head, and there was an end of it and of the Master of Black Arts.
After that the Student turned himself into his own true shape again. Then he and the princess told the king all about the business, and when the king heard how fond the princess was of the lad, he said that there was only one thing to be done, and that was to call in the minister.
So the Student was married to his dear princess, and that is what comes of book-learning.
After the wedding was all over, and the fiddlers had gone home, the Clever Student set out for his father’s house in a fine coach drawn by six beautiful horses. There was the old man, making fagots in the forest back of the house, just as he had always done. At first he would not believe that the great lord in the coach was his own son. “No, no,” says he; “and is it becoming in a fine spark from the great town to come here and make sport of a poor old wood-chopper. I know very well that my son is nothing but a poor student.” But at last he got the whole matter through his head, and then he was so glad that he kissed his son on both cheeks, and asked him whether he had not always said that it was better for his boy to study books than to make fagots. For this is true: everything happens for the best when Luck strokes one the right way.
So the fagot-maker went back with his son to the fine house that the lad lived in, now that he had married a princess.
There everything was made easy for him, and he always had a warm corner to sit in back of the stove.
And that is the end of this story.
The Princess Golden Hair and the Great Black Raven
Once upon a time there was a king who had three daughters, the two elder were handsome enough, but the youngest, whose name was Golden-Hair, was the prettiest maiden to be found within the four ends of the earth.
One day the king went out hunting with all his people. Towards evening he found himself in the forest at a place where he had never been before, and where he was not able to tell the north from the south, nor the east from the west, for he was lost. He wandered up and down and here and there, but the farther he went the less able he was to find the road home again. As he wandered thus he came to a place where a great raven, as black as the soot in the chimney, and with eyes that glowed like two coals of fire, sat in the middle of the path in front of him.
“Whither away, king?” said the Great Black Raven.
“That I cannot tell,” said the king, “for I am lost.”
“See now,” said the Raven, “I will show you the way out of the forest, if you will give me your youngest daughter to be my wife.”
“Oh, no,” said the king, “I can never do such a thing as that, for my daughter is as dear to me as the apple of my eye.”
“Very well, then,” said the Raven, “off I go, and then there will be no getting out of the forest for you, but here you will have to stay as long as you live.”
Now one will do much before one will stay in a dark forest forever, and though it was a bad piece of business to be sure, the king promised at last that if the Raven would show him the way home again, it should have the Princess Golden-Hair for its wife, though it was a pity for the girl, and that was the truth. So the Raven flapped on ahead of the king, and showed him the way out of the forest.
“To-morrow,” it said, “I will come for my bride.”
Sure enough, when the next morning came, there was the Great Black Raven sitting outside of the castle gateway waiting for the Princess Golden-Hair to be sent to him.
But it was not the princess whom he got after all; for the king had bade them dress the swineherd’s daughter in the princess’s dress, and it was she who went to the Great Black Raven. “A Great Black Raven,” said the king to himself, “will never be able to tell a swineherd’s daughter from a real princess.”
Well, the Raven took the swineherd’s daughter on its back and away it flew over woods and meadows, hills and valleys, until by and by it came to a rude little hut that stood on the tip top of a great bleak hill. And not a living soul was there, only a great number of birds of different kinds.
In the hut was a table, and on the table stood a golden goblet of red wine, a silver cup of white wine, and an earthenware jug full of bitter beer.
“This is our home,” said the Raven; “and now will my dear one drink refreshment after her long journey?”
Yes, indeed; the swineherd’s daughter would do that, for she was weary after her ride through the air. So she went to the table and took a good drink of the beer, “for,” said she to herself, “the gol
den goblet and the silver cup are too fine for the likes of me.”
Then the Raven knew that she was no true princess to be contented with bitter beer out of an earthenware jug when she could have good red wine from a golden goblet. “Come,” said he, “home we go again, for you are not the bride I seek!” Therewith he took her upon his back once more, and away they flew over hill and valley till they had come back to the king’s castle again.
“See,” said the Raven, “this is not the one I want. Let me have my true bride or you will suffer for it.”
At this the king was frightened. “Very well,” said he, “come to-morrow and you shall have your true bride.”
Well, when the next morning came, there was the Raven waiting outside of the castle gateway. But, after all, it was not the princess that he got, for the king had ordered that the steward’s daughter should be dressed in the princess’s dress, “for surely,” said he to himself, “she is a good enough bride for a Great Black Raven.”
So the Raven took her on his back and away he flew till he had come to the little hut on top of the bleak hill. There stood the golden goblet, the silver cup, and the earthenware jug just as they had done before. And now would not the dear maiden drink a drop after her long journey?
Yes, indeed, that she would; so she took a good, hearty drink of the white wine in the silver cup, “for,” said she to herself, “silver is none too good for a steward’s daughter.”
But the Raven saw very well that she was no true princess, or she would never have been contented with the silver cup. “Come,” said he, “home we go again, for you are not the bride I seek.” So he took her on his back once more and away he flew to the king’s castle. “See how you treat me,” said he to the king, “you promise me one bride and give me another. To-morrow morning I will come for the true one again, and if I do not get her this time you will suffer for it, for I will pick out your eyes and tear down your castle about your ears! And away he flew.
And now the king was terribly frightened, and saw that there must be no trickery this time. So the next morning when the Raven came it was the Princess Golden-Hair herself whom he got and none other. Up he took her on his back and away he flew with her. As for the princess, she did nothing but weep and weep, so that when they came to the little hut on top of the bleak hill, she was glad enough to drink a drop for refreshment’s sake. She never looked at the earthen jug or the silver cup, but going straight to the golden goblet she wet her lips with the good red wine.
And then what do you think happened? Why, the hut grew and grew until it changed into a splendid castle all built of pure silver and gold, and all of the many birds outside changed into men and women servants. As for the Great Black Raven, it was a Raven no longer, but the handsomest prince in all the world, and the only thing black about him was the long curling locks of his hair. He kissed the Princess Golden-Hair and said: “Now, indeed, have I found my true bride and none other. You have freed me and my castle and all of my people from enchantment, which no one but a real princess could do. For my wicked stepmother laid spells upon us which could only be broken when a real princess drank out of the golden goblet.”
Then they were married, and a fine wedding they had of it, I can tell you.
Well, a year passed by, and the princess was as happy as the days were long; but at the end of the twelve months she began to long to see her father and her sisters again. So she spoke of her longing to the Raven prince, but he only shook his head. No; he would not hear of her going, for he felt that nothing but misfortune would come of it.
But the princess begged and begged so prettily that at last the prince said she might go if she would be contented to stay only three days. Then he gave her a napkin of the finest linen, and told her that whenever she wanted anything, she had only to spread the napkin and wish and it would be there. But there was one thing she must not wish for, and that was for him himself, for of that misfortune would come for sure and certain.
So off the princess went to her father’s house, and a fine sight she made of it, I can tell you; for she rode in a golden coach drawn by four milk-white horses, so that every one she passed stopped and looked after her, and the little boys cried “Hi!” and ran along beside.
Her father and her sisters wondered what fine lady it was that was coming to the castle, and when the coach stopped they came out to look. Dear, dear, but the king was glad to see her; as for her two sisters, they grew as green as grass with envy, for when they heard where she dwelt, and what a fine castle it was, all built of pure gold and silver, and what a handsome prince it was that she had for a husband, they were ready to burst with spite, for each felt that she might have had all this for herself if the Raven prince had only chosen her instead of Golden-Hair. So when the princess had told them all about what had happened, they only nodded and winked at one another as though they did not believe a word of it.
“Yes, yes,” said they, “it is all very well to talk about your handsome prince; but why did he not come along with you, we should like to know?”
The princess could not tell them that; but she could bring him quickly enough whenever she chose, for all that she had to do was to spread her napkin and wish and he would be there. She would show them that what she had said was true, had her prince not forbidden her.
But the envious sisters only jeered and laughed as though all that the princess said was the best jest in the world.
Now one can bear anything better than laughter. So the end of the matter was that the princess spread the linen napkin on the floor and wished that the Raven prince might be with them.
No sooner had she wished it than there he stood; but he looked at no one but her. “Did I not tell you that misfortune would come of it if you wished for me?” said he. “Now, I must leave you and go where you are not likely ever to see me again.”
Then the princess would have spoken, but he gave her no time for that. He snatched up the napkin, and, becoming a Raven once more, he flew through the open window and across the tree-tops and was gone. At the same time her golden coach vanished, and the coachman and footmen became so many birds and flew away, so that not one of her fine things was left.
The poor princess wept and cried for a whole day and a whole night. But at the end of that time she dried her eyes, and, tucking up her skirts, started off into the wide world to find her dear prince again.
Well, she travelled on and on and on for more days than she could count, and till she had been over nearly all the world, but in all that time she could learn no news of the prince nor of whither he had gone. At last one day, about nightfall, she came to a little hut in a deep forest, and in the hut sat an old woman with hair as white as snow.
“What do you want, child?” said the old woman; “do you not know that this is Death’s house, and that if he returns and finds you here he will kill you? I tell you that he spares neither the young nor the old, the plain nor the handsome. As for me, I am his grandmother.”
But all this was one to the princess, and went in at one ear and out of the other; she could no longer drag one foot after the other, so there she must stay even if Death should find her when he came home.
Then she told Death’s grandmother all that had happened to her, and Death’s grandmother took pity on her because she was so pretty and so tired. She gave the princess something to eat and then hid her in the tall clock that stood in the corner, so that Death might not find her when he came home.
By and by in came Death and hung up his great scythe behind the door. “Hu-u-u-u!” cried he, “I smell Christian blood in the house for sure.”
“Christian blood, indeed!” said his grandmother, “as though a Christian would come to this house if he had anywhere else to go! But now I think of it, a crow flew overhead to-day, and dropped a bone down the chimney. I threw it out as soon as I could, but perhaps that is what you smell.”
So Death said nothing more, but sat down to supper and ate heartily, for he had had a long journey that day.
“See,” said his grandmother, “I had a dream to-day. A princess is out in the world hunting for her Raven sweetheart, and cannot tell where to find him.”
“That is easy enough to tell,” said Death; “he lives in a great castle that stands at the end of the earth on a high hill of smooth glass.”
“That is good,” said Death’s grandmother, “but I dreamed that after she found where he lived, she was too weary to journey thither.”
“That is easy enough, too,” said Death; “out in the forest yonder stands my pale horse tied to an oak-tree. If she could only find the horse and loose the bridle and mount his back he would take her there quickly enough, for he can travel more rapidly than the north wind.”
“Yes, yes, that is all very well,” said Death’s grandmother, “but I had a third dream; I thought that when she came to the smooth hill of glass she did not know how to climb to the top; what is the answer to that?”
“Prut!” said Death, “that is easy to tell. Over by the glass hill are seven birds fighting in the tree-top for an old hat. If she will throw a stone in the midst of them they will drop the hat and fly away. It is Wish’s own hat, and if she will put it on her head and wish herself at the top of the hill, she will be there quickly enough, I can tell you.”
After that Death put on his cloak and took up his scythe and was off like a whirlwind, for he has little time to spare for talking, folks say. Then Death’s grandmother opened the clock, and the princess came out and thanked her and went her way.
She hunted here and there through the forest until, sure enough, she found Death’s great pale horse tied to an oak-tree. She loosened the bridle and mounted upon his back, and away they went till the chips and the stones flew behind them. So they soon came to the high hill of smooth glass that stood at the end of the earth, and there, on top of it, was the castle of the prince.