by Howard Pyle
“Don’t shoot me, king’s son! Don’t shoot me!” cried she.
But the prince had no thought of shooting her, for he had never seen such a beautiful maiden in all of his days. “Very well,” said he, “I will not shoot, but, if I spare your life, will you promise to be my sweetheart and to marry me?”
“That may be as may be,” said the Swan Maiden. “For listen! I serve the witch with three eyes. She lives on the glass hill that lies beyond the seven high mountains, the seven deep valleys, and the seven wide rivers; are you man enough to go that far?”
“Oh, yes,” said the prince, “I am man enough for that and more too.”
“That is good,” said the Swan Maiden, and thereupon she jumped down from the pear-tree to the earth. Then she became a swan again, and bade the king’s son to mount upon her back at the roots of her wings. When he had done as she had told him, she sprang into the air and flew away, bearing him with her.
On flew the swan, and on and on, until, by and by, she said, “What do you see, king’s son?”
“I see the grey sky above me and the dark earth below me, but nothing else,” said he.
After that they flew on and on again, until, at last, the Swan Maiden said, “What do you see now, king’s son?”
“I see the grey sky above me and the dark earth below me, but nothing else,” said he.
So once more they flew on until the Swan Maiden said, for the third time, “And what do you see by now, king’s son?”
But this time the prince said, “I see the grey sky above me and the dark earth below me, and over yonder is a glass hill, and on the hill is a house that shines like fire.”
“That is where the witch with three eyes lives,” said the Swan Maiden; “and now listen: when she asks you what it is that you came for, ask her to give you the one who draws the water and builds the fire; for that is myself.”
So, when they had come to the top of the hill of glass, the king’s son stepped down to the ground, and the swan flew over the roof.
Rap! tap! tap! he knocked at the door, and the old witch herself came and opened it.
“And what do you want here?” said she.
“I want the one who draws the water and builds the fire,” said the prince.
At this the old witch scowled until her eyebrows met.
“Very well,” said she, “you shall have what you want if you can clean my stables to-morrow between the rise and the set of the sun. But I tell you plainly, if you fail in the doing, you shall be torn to pieces body and bones.”
But the prince was not to be scared away with empty words. So the next morning the old witch came and took him to the stables where he was to do his task. There stood more than a hundred cattle, and the stable had not been cleaned for at least ten long years.
“There is your work,” said the old witch, and then she left him.
Well, the king’s son set to work with fork and broom and might and main, but — prut! — he might as well have tried to bale out the great ocean with a bucket.
At noontide who should come to the stable but the pretty Swan Maiden herself.
“When one is tired, one should rest for a while,” said she; “come and lay your head in my lap.”
The prince was glad enough to do as she said, for nothing was to be gained by working at that task. So he laid his head in her lap, and she combed his hair with a golden comb till he fell fast asleep. When he awoke the Swan Maiden was gone, the sun was setting, and the stable was as clean as a plate. Presently he heard the old witch coming, so up he jumped and began clearing away a straw here and a speck there, just as though he was finishing the work.
“You never did this by yourself!” said the old witch, and her brows grew as black as a thunder-storm.
“That may be so, and that may not be so,” said the king’s son, “But you lent no hand to help; so now may I have the one who builds the fire and draws the water?”
At this the old witch shook her head. “No,” said she, “there is more to be done yet before you can have what you ask for. If you can thatch the roof of the stable with bird feathers, no two of which shall be of the same color, and can do it between the rise and the set of sun to-morrow, then you shall have your sweetheart and welcome. But if you fail your bones shall be ground as fine as malt in the mill.”
Very well; that suited the king’s son well enough. So at sunrise he arose and went into the fields with his gun; but if there were birds to be shot, it was few of them that he saw; for at noontide he had but two, and they were both of a color. At that time who should come to him but the Swan Maiden.
“One should not tramp and tramp all day with never a bit of rest,” said she; “come hither and lay your head in my lap for a while.”
The prince did as she bade him, and the maiden again combed his hair with a golden comb until he fell asleep. When he awoke the sun was setting, and his work was done. He heard the old witch coming, so up he jumped to the roof of the stable and began laying a feather here and a feather there, for all the world as though he were just finishing his task.
“You never did that work alone,” said the old witch.
“That may be so, and that may not be so,” said the prince; “all the same, it was none of your doing. So now may I have the one who draws the water and builds the fire?”
But the witch shook her head. “No,” said she, “there is still another task to do before that. Over yonder is a fir-tree; on the tree is a crow’s nest, and in the nest are three eggs. If you can harry that nest to-morrow between the rising and the setting of the sun, neither breaking nor leaving a single egg, you shall have that for which you ask.”
Very well; that suited the prince. The next morning at the rising of the sun he started off to find the fir-tree, and there was no trouble in the finding I can tell you, for it was more than a hundred feet high, and as smooth as glass from root to tip. As for climbing it, he might as well have tried to climb a moonbeam, for in spite of all his trying he did nothing but slip and slip. By and by came the Swan Maiden as she had come before.
“Do you climb the fir-tree?” said she.
“None too well,” said the king’s son.
“Then I may help you in a hard task,” said she.
She let down the braids of her golden hair, so that it hung down all about her and upon the ground, and then she began singing to the wind. She sang and sang, and by and by the wind began to blow, and, catching up the maiden’s hair, carried it to the top of the fir-tree, and there tied it to the branches. Then the prince climbed the hair and so reached the nest. There were the three eggs; he gathered them, and then he came down as he had gone up. After that the wind came again and loosed the maiden’s hair from the branches, and she bound it up as it was before.
“Now, listen,” said she to the prince: “when the old witch asks you for the three crow’s eggs which you have gathered, tell her that they belong to the one who found them. She will not be able to take them from you, and they are worth something, I can tell you.”
At sunset the old witch came hobbling along, and there sat the prince at the foot of the fir-tree. “Have you gathered the crow’s eggs?” said she.
“Yes,” said the prince, “here they are in my handkerchief. And now may I have the one who draws the water and builds the fire?”
“Yes,” said the old witch, “you may have her; only give me my crow’s eggs.”
“No,” said the prince, “the crow’s eggs are none of yours, for they belong to him who gathered them.”
When the old witch found that she was not to get her crow’s eggs in that way, she tried another, and began using words as sweet as honey. Come, come, there should be no hard feeling between them. The prince had served her faithfully, and before he went home with what he had come for he should have a good supper, for it is ill to travel on an empty stomach.
So she brought the prince into the house, and then she left him while she went to put the pot on the fire, and to sharpen the bread kn
ife on the stone door-step.
While the prince sat waiting for the witch, there came a tap at the door, and whom should it be but the Swan Maiden.
“Come,” said she, “and bring the three eggs with you, for the knife that the old witch is sharpening is for you, and so is the great pot on the fire, for she means to pick your bones in the morning.”
She led the prince down into the kitchen; there they made a figure out of honey and barley-meal, so that it was all soft and sticky; then the maiden dressed the figure in her own clothes and set it in the chimney-corner by the fire.
After that was done, she became a swan again, and, taking the prince upon her back, she flew away, over hill and over dale.
As for the old witch, she sat on the stone door-step, sharpening her knife. By and by she came in, and, look as she might, there was no prince to be found.
Then if anybody was ever in a rage it was the old witch; off she went, storming and fuming, until she came to the kitchen. There sat the woman of honey and barley-meal beside the fire, dressed in the maiden’s clothes, and the old woman thought that it was the girl herself. “Where is your sweetheart?” said she; but to this the woman of honey and barley-meal answered never a word.
“How now! are you dumb?” cried the old witch; “I will see whether I cannot bring speech to your lips.” She raised her hand — slap! — she struck, and so hard was the blow that her hand stuck fast to the honey and barley-meal. “What!” cried she, will you hold me?” — slap! — she struck with the other hand, and it too stuck fast. So there she was, and, for all that I know, she is sticking to the woman of honey and barley-meal to this day.
As for the Swan Maiden and the prince, they flew over the seven high mountains, the seven deep valleys, and the seven wide rivers, until they came near to the prince’s home again. The Swan Maiden lit in a great wide field, and there she told the prince to break open one of the crow’s eggs. The prince did as she bade him, and what should he find but the most beautiful little palace, all of pure gold and silver. He set the palace on the ground, and it grew and grew and grew until it covered as much ground as seven large barns. Then the Swan Maiden told him to break another egg, and he did as she said, and what should come out of it but such great herds of cows and sheep that they covered the meadow far and near. The Swan Maiden told him to break the third egg, and out of it came scores and scores of servants all dressed in gold-and-silver livery.
That morning, when the king looked out of his bedroom window, there stood the splendid castle of silver and gold. Then he called all of his people together, and they rode over to see what it meant. On the way they met such herds of fat sheep and cattle that the king had never seen the like in all of his life before; and when he came to the fine castle, there were two rows of servants dressed in clothes of silver and gold, ready to meet him. But when he came to the door of the castle, there stood the prince himself. Then there was joy and rejoicing, you may be sure! only the two elder brothers looked down in the mouth, for since the young prince had found the thief who stole the golden pears, their father’s kingdom was not for them. But the prince soon set their minds at rest on that score, for he had enough and more than enough of his own.
After that the prince and the Swan Maiden were married, and a grand wedding they had of it, with music of fiddles and kettle-drums, and plenty to eat and to drink. I, too, was there; but all of the good red wine ran down over my tucker, so that not a drop of it passed my lips, and I had to come away empty.
And that is all.
The Three Little Pigs and the Ogre
THERE were three nice, fat little pigs. The first was small, the second was smaller, and the third was the smallest of all. And these three little pigs thought of going out into the woods to gather acorns, for there were better acorns there than here.
“There’s a great ogre who lives over yonder in the woods,” says the barn-yard cock.
“And he will eat you up, body and bones,” says the speckled hen.
“And there will be an end of you,” says the black drake.
“If folks only knew what was good for them, they would stay at home and make the best of what they had there,” said the old grey goose who laid eggs under the barn, and who had never gone out into the world or had had a peep of it beyond the garden gate.
But no; the little pigs would go out into the world, whether or no; “for,” said they, “if we stay at home because folks shake their heads, we will never get the best acorns that are to be had;” and there was more than one barleycorn of truth in that chaff, I can tell you.
So out into the woods they went.
They hunted for acorns here and they hunted for acorns there, and by and by whom should the smallest of all the little pigs meet but the great, wicked ogre himself.
“Aha!” says the great, wicked ogre, “it is a nice, plump little pig that I have been wanting for my supper this many a day past. So you may just come along with me now.”
“Oh, Master Ogre,” squeaked the smallest of the little pigs in the smallest of voices— “oh, Master Ogre, don’t eat me! There’s a bigger pig back of me, and he will be along presently.”
So the ogre let the smallest of the little pigs go, for he would rather have a larger pig if he could get it.
By and by came the second little pig. “Aha!” says the great, wicked ogre, “I have been wanting just such a little pig as you for my supper for this many a day past. So you may just come along with me now.”
“Oh, Master Ogre,” said the middle-sized pig, in his middle-sized voice, “don’t take me for your supper; there’s a bigger pig than I am coming along presently. Just wait for him.”
Well, the ogre was satisfied to do that; so he waited, and by and by, sure enough, came the largest of the little pigs.
“And now,” says the great, wicked ogre, “I will wait no longer, for you are just the pig I want for my supper, and so you may march along with me.”
But the largest of the little pigs had his wits about him, I can tell you. “Oh, very well,” says he; “if I am the shoe that fits there is no use in hunting for another; only, have you a roasted apple to put in my mouth when I am cooked? for no one ever heard of a little pig brought on the table without a roast apple in its mouth.”
No; the ogre had no roasted apple.
Dear, dear! that was a great pity. If he would wait for a little while, the largest of the little pigs would run home and fetch one, and then things would be as they should.
Yes, the ogre was satisfied with that. So off ran the little pig, and the ogre sat down on a stone and waited for him.
Well, he waited and he waited and he waited and he waited, but not a tip of a hair of the little pig did he see that day, as you can guess without my telling you.
And Tommy Pfouce tells me that the great, wicked ogre is not the only one who has gone without either pig or roast apple, because when he could get the one he would not take it without the other.
“And now,” says the cock and the speckled hen and the black drake and the old grey goose who laid her eggs under the barn, and had never been out into the world beyond the garden gate— “and now perhaps you will run out into the world and among the ogres no more. Are there not good enough acorns at home?”
Perhaps there were; but that was not what the three little pigs thought. “See, now,” said the smallest of the three little pigs, “if one is afraid of the water, one will never catch any fish. I, for one, am going out into the woods to get a few acorns.”
So out into the woods he went, and there he found all of the acorns that he wanted. But, on his way home, whom should he meet but the great, wicked ogre.
“Aha!” says the ogre, “and is that you?”
Oh, yes, it was nobody else; but had the ogre come across three fellows tramping about in the woods down yonder?
No, the ogre had met nobody in the woods that day.
“Dear, dear,” says the smallest little pig, “but that is a pity, for those three fellows wer
e three wicked robbers, and they had just hidden a meal-bag full of money in that hole up in the tree yonder.”
You can guess how the ogre pricked up his ears at this, and how he stared till his eyes were as big as saucers.
“Just wait,” said he to the smallest little pig, “and I will be down again in a minute.” So he laid his jacket to one side and up the tree he climbed, for he wanted to find that bag of money, and he meant to have it.
“Do you find the hole?” said the smallest of the little pigs.
Yes; the ogre had found the hole.
“And do you find the money?” says the smallest of the little pigs.
No; the ogre could find no money.
“Then, good-bye,” says the smallest of the little pigs, and off he trotted home, leaving the ogre to climb down the tree again as he chose.
“And now, at least, you will go out into the woods no more,” says the cock, the speckled hen, the black drake, and the grey goose.
Oh, well, there was no telling what the three little pigs would do yet, they would have to wait and see.
One day it was the middle-sized little pig who would go out into the woods, for he also had a mind to taste the acorns there.
So out into the woods the middle-sized little pig went, and there he had all the acorns that he wanted.
But by and by the ogre came along. “Aha!” says he. “Now I have you for sure and certain.”
But the middle-sized little pig just stood and looked at a great rock just in front of him, with all of his might and main. “Sh-h-h-h-h-h!” says he, “I am not to be talked to or bothered now!”