Stories, Tales, Folk Lore, and More!
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The Hawk, the Kite, and the Pigeons [Back to Index]
The pigeons, terrified by the appearance of a Kite, called upon the Hawk to defend them. He at once consented. When they had admitted him into the cote, they found that he made more havoc and slew a larger number of them in one day than the Kite could pounce upon in a whole year.
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The Hawk and the Nightingale [Back to Index]
A NIGHTINGALE, sitting aloft upon an oak and singing according to his wont, was seen by a Hawk who, being in need of food, swooped down and seized him. The Nightingale, about to lose his life, earnestly begged the Hawk to let him go, saying that he was not big enough to satisfy the hunger of a Hawk who, if he wanted food, ought to pursue the larger birds. The Hawk, interrupting him, said: "I should indeed have lost my senses if I should let go food ready in my hand, for the sake of pursuing birds which are not yet even within sight."
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The Hen and the Swallow [Back to Index]
A HEN finding the eggs of a viper and carefully keeping them warm, nourished them into life. A Swallow, observing what she had done, said, "You silly creature! why have you hatched these vipers which, when they shall have grown, will inflict injury on all, beginning with yourself?"
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Heron and the Hummingbird [Back to Index]
Heron and Hummingbird were very good friends, even though one was tall and gangly and awkward and one was small and sleek and fast. They both loved to eat fish. The Hummingbird preferred small fish like minnows and Heron liked the large ones.
One day, Hummingbird said to his friend: "I am not sure there are enough fish in the world for both of our kind to eat. Why don't we have a race to see which of us should own the fish?"
Heron thought that was a very good idea. They decided that they would race for four days. The finish line was an old dead tree next to a far-away river. Whichever of them sat on top of the tree first on the fourth day of the race would own all the fish in the world.
They started out the next morning. The Hummingbird zipped along, flying around and around the Heron, who was moving steadily forward, flapping his giant wings. Then Hummingbird would be distracted by the pretty flowers along the way. He would flit from one to the other, tasting the nectar. When Hummingbird noticed that Heron was ahead of him, he hurried to catch up with him, zooming ahead as fast as he could, and leaving Heron far behind. Heron just kept flying steadily forward, flapping his giant wings.
Hummingbird was tired from all his flitting. When it got dark, he decided to rest. He found a nice spot to perch and slept all night long. But Heron just kept flying steadily forward all night long, flapping his giant wings.
When Hummingbird woke in the morning, Heron was far ahead. Hummingbird had to fly as fast as he could to catch up. He zoomed past the big, awkward Heron and kept going until Heron had disappeared behind him. Then Hummingbird noticed some pretty flowers nearby. He zip-zipped over to them and tasted their nectar. He was enjoying the pretty scenery and didn't notice Heron flap-flapping passed him with his great wings.
Hummingbird finally remembered that he was racing with Heron, and flew as fast as he could to catch up with the big, awkward bird. Then he zipped along, flying around and around the Heron, who kept moving steadily forward, flapping his giant wings.
For two more days, the Hummingbird and the Heron raced toward the far-distant riverbank with the dead tree that was the finish line. Hummingbird had a marvelous time sipping nectar and flitting among the flowers and resting himself at night. Heron stoically kept up a steady flap-flap-flapping of his giant wings, propelling himself forward through the air all day and all night.
Hummingbird woke from his sleep the morning of the fourth day, refreshed and invigorated. He flew zip-zip toward the riverbank with its dead tree. When it came into view, he saw Heron perched at the top of the tree! Heron had won the race by flying straight and steady through the night while Hummingbird slept.
So from that day forward, the Heron has owned all the fish in the rivers and lakes, and the Hummingbird has sipped from the nectar of the many flowers which he enjoyed so much during the race.
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How Ian Direach got the Blue Falcon [Synopsis] [Back to Index]
A king and a queen had a son, Ian, and when Ian was almost grown to a man, his mother died, and his father remarried. One day Ian went hunting and shot at a blue falcon, knocking off a feather. His stepmother cursed him until he found her the falcon. He cursed her to stand with one foot on the great hall and the other on the castle, and always face the wind, until he returned, and left.
He met with Gille Mairtean the fox, who tells him that the blue falcon is kept by the Giant of the Five Heads, and the Five Necks, and the Five Humps, and to seek service there tending animals. If he, above all, treats the birds kindly, the giant will let him care for the blue falcon, and then he can steal it, if he does not let any of its feathers touch anything in the house. In time the giant trusted him, but the falcon started by the doorpost, and the feather touching the post made it scream and brought back the giant. The giant tells him he may have the falcon if he brings him the White Sword of Light, owned by the Big Women of Dhiurradh.
Gille Mairtean turned himself into a boat and carried Ian to the island of Dhiurradh, and told him to seek service there, polishing gold and silver, which will let him, in time, steal the sword, but he must not let its sheath touch anything within the house. This succeeded until the tip of the sheath touched the doorpost, and it shrieked. The Big Women told him he may have the sword if he brings them the bay colt of the King of Erin.
Gille Mairtean turned himself into a boat, and carried Ian to the castle, where he served in the stable until he had a chance to steal the colt, which swished its tail against the door, and the king told him he must bring him the daughter of the king of the Franks.
Gille Mairtean turned himself into a boat and carried him to France. The boat ran himself into the cleft of a rock, and sent Ian to say he had been shipwrecked. The royal court came down to see the boat, and music came out of it. The princess said she must see the harp that played such music, and Ian and Gille Mairtean carried her off. She was angry, he explained why he needed to carry her off, and she said she would rather marry him.
They returned to the king, and Gille turned himself into a beautiful woman, and had Ian give him instead of the princess. After Ian received the bay colt, Gille bit the king, knocking him unconscious, and escaped, and they returned to the Big Women. Gille turned himself into a bay colt, and after Ian received the sword, threw all the Big Women, killing them. They returned to the giant, and Gille turned himself into a sword and, once Ian had received the blue falcon, cut off the giant's heads.
Gille warned Ian how to carry what he had brought back to the castle, to prevent his stepmother turning him into a bundle of sticks. He obeyed, and his stepmother was turned into a bundle of sticks herself. So Ian burned her, married the princess, and lived ever afterwards in friendship with Gille Mairtean the fox.
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How the Humming Bird Got Its Hum [Back to Index]
Once upon a time in the middle of the forest there lived a prince who lived with his father the king. They lived in a castle at the edge of a river.
The prince had a wonderful singing voice.
Usually he'd go out into the forest and sing. And usually the animals would get attracted to his voice.
Now the keeper of the animals did not like the animals going out into the forest. He had to do something about the prince.
For many years he had been thinking, and thinking, and thinking. Finally he thought of something.
After the prince was old enough his father asked him to marry Sabrina. The prince did not know what to say, but he did not want to hurt his father's feelings, and he did think that Sabrina was a nice girl. So he agreed.
Meanwhile the keeper of the animals watched the prince come out of the castle. He aimed his gun and fired at him and killed him.
The animals cried. The prince went into heaven. Two angels appeared out of nowhere and said "We will let you back on earth but we will have to make one small change".
Before his eyes he was back on earth but then he looked at himself, he was covered in feathers!
The angels had turned him into a hummingbird.
And that's how the hummingbird got its hum.
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How the Swan Got Its Long Neck [Back to Index]
There was this really large pond that ducks, and swans shared. It was in the shape of a swan , so the vain swans insisted that it should be called swan lake.
Many think that there isn't much difference between swans and ducks but there is.
Swans at first didn't have long necks but they had beautiful feathers, slender bodies, and they didn't paddle like ducks, they gracefully swam. The ducks however at this time were ugly, and bulky and just frantically kicked their short legs to swim. The swans wouldn't let the ducks swim with them, which angered the ducks since they too lived at that pond.
One day while the swans, and ducks were arguing about which group would swim first a flock of geese came over as they were passing by to see what all the fuss was about.
They listened, and found that the swans were vain and thought that since they were prettier, and more graceful that they should use the pond first. They also found that the ducks thought that they should use it because the last time the swans refused to let them have their turn.
Then a goose said,(more like honked) that they should share the pond since it was rather large. The swans unsurprisingly got mad at this so a fight broke out. The ducks were pulling at the swans feet, and the geese were honking and biting the swans necks, and pulled as hard as they could.
About an hour later the fight had ended. The ducks and geese stood there looking humorously at the swans. They had stretched the swans necks out so far that they couldn't hold their heads up. A few hours later the swans had finally shortened their necks at least to the point where they could steadily hold them. But after that day swans, ducks, and geese shared all the ponds in peace, and there were no taking turns.
But still today the swans have fairly long necks. The ducks however are no longer ugly,they to are pretty, and a little more graceful.
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The Jackal and the Partridge [Back to Index]
A Jackal and a Partridge swore eternal friendship; but the Jackal was very exacting and jealous. "You don't do half as much for me as I do for you," he used to say, "and yet you talk a great deal of your friendship. Now my idea of a friend is one who is able to make me laugh or cry, give me a good meal, or save my life if need be. You couldn't do that!"
"Let us see," answered the Partridge; "follow me at a little distance, and if I don't make you laugh soon you may eat me!"
So she flew on till she met two travellers trudging along, one behind the other. They were both footsore and weary, and the first carried his bundle on a stick over his shoulder, while the second had his shoes in his hand.
Lightly as a feather the Partridge settled on the first traveller's stick. He, none the wiser, trudged on, but the second traveller, seeing the bird sitting so tamely just in front of his nose, said to himself,
"What a chance for a supper!" and immediately flung his shoes at it, they being ready to hand. Whereupon the Partridge flew away, and the shoes knocked off the first traveller's turban.
"What a plague do you mean?" cried he, angrily turning on his companion. "Why did you throw your shoes at my head?"
"Brother!" replied the other mildly, "do not be vexed. I didn't throw them at you, but at a Partridge that was sitting on your stick."
"On my stick! Do you take me for a fool?" shouted the injured man, in a great rage. "Don't tell me such cock-and-bull stories. First you insult me, and then you lie like a coward; but I'll teach you manners!"
Then he fell upon his fellow-traveller without more ado, and they fought until they could not see out of their eyes, till their noses were bleeding, their clothes in rags, and the Jackal had nearly died of laughing.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the Partridge of her friend.
"Well," answered the Jackal, "you have certainly made me laugh, but I doubt if you could make me cry. It is easy enough to be a buffoon; it is more difficult to excite the higher emotions."
"Let us see," retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; "there is a huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into that hollow tree and watch me: if you don't weep scalding tears, you must have no feeling in you!"
The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who began fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she flew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogs smelt him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the huntsman came up, and seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by the tail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their hearts' content, and finally left him for dead.
By and by he opened his eyes--for he was only foxing--and saw the Partridge sitting on a branch above him.
"Did you cry?" she asked anxiously. "Did I rouse your higher emo---"
"Be quiet, will you!" snarled the Jackal; "I'm half dead with fear!"
So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry.
"Now is the time for friendship!" said he to the Partridge. "Get me a good dinner, and I will acknowledge you are a true friend."
"Very well!" replied the Partridge; "only watch me, and help yourself when the time comes."
Just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands' dinners to the harvest-field.
The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering along from bush to bush as if she were wounded.
"A wounded bird!--a wounded bird!" cried the women; "we can easily catch it!"
Whereupon they set off in pursuit, but the cunning Partridge played a thousand tricks, till they became so excited over the chase that they put their bundles on the ground in order to pursue it more nimbly. The Jackal, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and made off with a good dinner.
"Are you satisfied now?" asked the Partridge.
"Well," returned the Jackal, "I confess you have given me a very good dinner; you have also made me laugh--and cry--ahem! But, after all, the great test of friendship is beyond you--you couldn't save my life!"
"Perhaps not," acquiesced the Partridge mournfully, "I am so small and weak. But it grows late--we should be going home; and as it is a long way round by the ford, let us go across the river. My friend the crocodile will carry us over."
Accordingly, they set off for the river, and the crocodile kindly consented to carry them across, so they sat on his broad back and he ferried them over. But just as they were in the middle of the stream the Partridge remarked, "I believe the crocodile intends to play us a trick. How awkward if he were to drop you into the water!"
"Awkward for you too!" replied the Jackal, turning pale.
"Not at all! not at all! I have wings, you haven't."
On this the Jackal shivered and shook with fear, and when the crocodile, in a gruesome growl, remarked that he was hungry and wanted a good meal, the wretched creature hadn't a word to say.
"Pooh!" cried the Partridge airily, "don't try tricks on us,-- I should fly away, and as for my friend the Jackal, you couldn't hurt him. He is not such a fool as to take his life with him on these little excursions; he leaves it at home, locked up in the cupboard."
"Is that a fact?" asked the crocodile, surprised.
"Certainly!" retorted the Partridge. "Try to eat him if you like, but you will only tire yourself to no purpose."
"Dear me! how very odd!" gasped the crocodile; and he was so taken aback that he carried the Jackal safe to shore.
"Well, are you satisfied now?" asked the Partridge.
"My dear madam!" quoth the Jackal, "you have made me laugh, you have made me cry, you have given me a good dinner, and you have saved my life; but upon my honor I think you are too clever for a friend; so, good-bye!"
And the Jackal never went near the Partridge again.
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The Jackal and the Pea-Hen [Back to Index]
Once upon a time a Jackal and a Pea-hen swore eternal friendship. Every day they had their meals together, and spent hours in pleasant conversation.
Now, one day, the Pea-hen had juicy plums for dinner, and the Jackal, for his part, had as juicy a young kid; so they enjoyed themselves immensely. But when the feast was over, the Pea-hen rose gravely, and, after scratching up the ground, carefully sowed all the plum-stones in a row.
"It is my custom to do so when I eat plums," she said, with quite an aggravating air of complacent virtue; "my mother, good creature, brought me up in excellent habits, and with her dying breath bade me never be wasteful. Now these stones will grow into trees, the fruit of which, even if I do not live to see the day, will afford a meal to many a hungry peacock."
These words made the Jackal feel rather mean, so he answered loftily, "Exactly so! I always plant my bones for the same reason." And he carefully dug up a piece of ground, and sowed the bones of the kid at intervals.
After this, the pair used to come every day and look at their gardens; by and by the plum-stones shot into tender green stems, but the bones made never a sign.
"Bones do take a long time germinating," remarked the Jackal, pretending to be quite at his ease; "I have known them remain unchanged in the ground for months."
"My dear sir," answered the Pea-hen, with ill-concealed irony, "I have known them remain so for years!"
So time passed on, and every day, when they visited the garden, the self-complacent Pea-hen became more and more sarcastic, the Jackal more and more savage.
At last the plum-trees blossomed and bore fruit, and the Pea-hen sat down to a perfect feast of ripe juicy plums.
"He! he!" sniggered she to the Jackal, who, having been unsuccessful in hunting that day, stood by dinnerless, hungry, and in consequence very cross; "what a time those old bones of yours do take in coming up! But when they do, my! what a crop you'll have!"
The Jackal was bursting with rage, but she wouldn't take warning, and went on: "Poor dear! you do look hungry! There seems some chance of your starving before harvest. What a pity it is you can't eat plums in the meantime!"
"If I can't eat plums, I can eat the plum-eater!" quoth the Jackal; and with that he pounced on the Pea-hen, and gobbled her up.
Moral--It is never safe to be wiser than one's friends.
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A Jackdaw and Peacock Feathers [Back to Index]
A Jackdaw found a number of feathers that had fallen from Peacocks when they were molting. He tied them to his tail and strutted towards the Peacocks. When he came near them they discovered the cheat, and plucked away his borrowed plumes. The Jackdaw could do no better than go back to his companions, who had watched his behavior from a distance; but they were equally annoyed with him for the deception.
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A Jackdaw and Pigeons [Back to Index]
A jackdaw, seeing some Doves in a cote abundantly provided with food, painted himself white and joined them in order to share their plentiful maintenance. The Doves, as long as he was silent, supposed him to be one of themselves and admitted him to their cote. But when one day he forgot himself and began to chatter, they discovered his true character and drove him forth, pecking him with their beaks. Failing to obtain food among the Doves, he returned to the Jackdaws. They too, not recognizing him on account of his color expelled him from living with them. So desiring two ends, he obtained neither.
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The Kaha Bird [Back to Index]
Once upon a time there lived an old fisherman. Early in the morning he would go down to the river and sit there fishing all day. And in the evening, when he counted his catch, there never would be more than a fish or two. He sold the fish in the market and bought a little food for himself and his wife. And almost every day they went to bed half hungry.
One morning he went down to the river to fish, when suddenly a beautiful great bird with shiny silver plumage flew in from somewhere and sat down on the tree above him. This was not an ordinary bird---it was the magical Kaha bird herself, who often helped poor people when they were in trouble.
The Kaha watched the fisherman as he waited and waited until he caught a tiny little fish. Then she asked him: "What will you do with this fish, grandpa?"
"I'll take it to market and sell it, so I can buy a piece of bread for myself and my old wife."
The bird took pity on the old man. "You have worked and suffered long enough," she said to him. "I shall bring yon a big fish every night. You will get a lot of money for it, and you and your wife won't have to live in poverty any more."
At midnight the Kaha bird came flying with a large fish and dropped it in the old man's yard.
In the morning the old fisherman cut the big fish into pieces, fried them and took them to the market to sell.
From that day on the Kaha bird came every night and brought the old man a big fish. Little by little the old man, who had been so poor, became quite rich, and even bought himself a house with a garden.
One day, when he brought his fish to market, he heard the crier of the shah himself shouting for all to hear: "Our shah has heard about a marvelous, magical Kaha bird. Whoever tells him where to find this bird will get half of his kingdom and fifty bags of gold."
The old man jumped up from his place to tell the crier that he knew where the bird could be found. But then he thought: "This bird has saved me from poverty and hunger. How can I betray her?" And he sat down again.
"Still," he said to himself, "it would be nice to be the lord of half the kingdom," and he stood up again.
And so he argued with himself, getting up and sitting down, getting up and sitting down, until the crier saw him and dragged the old man to the palace, before the shah himself.
"This old man knows where to find the Kaha bird!" he cried.
And the shah said to the fisherman: "If you know about the Kaha bird, tell me where to find her. I've grown blind, and no known remedies have helped me. But a wise healer from a distant land has told me that if I wash my eyes in the blood of the Kaha bird, I will regain my sight at once. Help me to find the bird, and I will give you half my kingdom and fifty bags of gold!"
And the old man, overcome with greed, said: "Mighty Shah, the Kaha bird comes to my yard at midnight every night and brings me a big fish."
The shah rejoiced and told him: "Well, then, you must catch her for me!"
But the old man said: "No, the Kaha bird is large and strong. I'll never be able to catch her myself. To catch and hold her will take more than a hundred men."
"I'll send four hundred of my servants with you," said the shah. "Hide them under the tree where the bird sits down. They will know how to catch and hold her.
"No," said the old man. "You cannot catch her that way. You can't use force, you must be cunning. When she comes to me, I shall prepare a feast and then persuade her to come down on earth. Then we shall catch her."
The shah sent four hundred servants with the fisherman. He hid them under the branches of the tree where the Kaha bird always alighted. The servants sat and waited, without moving hand or foot.
And the old man spread a rug near the tree and set out all sorts of delicacies to tempt the Kaha bird. As soon as the bird came, he spoke to her: "My dear friend, dear Kaha bird! Thanks to you I have grown rich and happy, and yet I've never even asked you to dine with me. Come down and do me the honor of sharing my meal!"
At first the Kaha bird refused, but he begged her so sweetly and so cunningly, that she began to waver. For a moment she wondered: "Why is he begging me so much? What if he has some evil thing in mind?" But then she answered herself: "What can he do to me, he is so old and weak! Besides, I have done him so much good." And so, ashamed of her suspicions, she came down from the tree and sat down on the rug next to the old man.
He set all the fine dishes before her: "My dearest friend, beloved Kaha! Eat! Try this, and now try that! I have prepared it all myself with love and gratitude!"
But as soon as the Kaha bird began to peck at the food in the dish, he caught her by the feet and cried: "I have her! Come out, come out, quick!"
The shah's four hundred servants leaped out and rushed toward the bird. But the huge bird merely spread her wings and rose into the air, with the old man hanging onto her feet and shouting: "I have her, I have her!"
Then one of the shah's servants jumped up and caught the old man's feet to pull them down. But he, too, rose above the ground. A second servant caught him by the feet. A third caught the second. A fourth caught the third. A fifth caught the fourth, until the old man and all the shah's four hundred servants hung by one another's feet, while the Kaha bird rose higher and higher, right up into the clouds.
At this moment, the old man looked down, but he could no longer see the earth. "Oh-h!" he cried and everything turned dark before his eyes. His fingers loosed their hold on the bird's feet, and he plunged down and down and down. And with him, all the shah's four hundred servants. Down they came and smashed themselves to bits.
And the magical great Kaha bird returned to her kingdom in the clouds, and no man ever saw her again.
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The Kingfisher [Back to Index]
The kingfisher is a solitary bird that wants commonly by the waterside, and nestles in hollow banks to be out of reach of the fowlers. One of these birds happened to be foraging abroad for her young ones, and in the interim, comes a raging torrent, that washes away nest, birds and all. Upon her return, finding how 'twas with her, she brakes out into this exclamation: Unhappy creature that I am! to fly from the bare apprehension of one enemy, into the mouth of another.
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The Kites and the Swans [Back to Index]
The kites of olden times, as well as the Swans, had the privilege of song. But having heard the neigh of the horse, they were so enchanted with the sound, that they tried to imitate it; and, in trying to neigh, they forgot how to sing.
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The Laborer and the Nightingale [Back to Index]
A Laborer lay listening to a Nightingale's song throughout the summer night. So pleased was he with it that the next night he set a trap for it and captured it. "Now that I have caught thee," he cried, "thou shalt always sing to me."
"We Nightingales never sing in a cage." said the bird.
"Then I'll eat thee." said the Laborer. "I have always heard say that a nightingale on toast is dainty morsel."
"Nay, kill me not," said the Nightingale; "but let me free, and I'll tell thee three things far better worth than my poor body." The Laborer let him loose, and he flew up to a branch of a tree and said: "Never believe a captive's promise; that's one thing. Then again: Keep what you have. And third piece of advice is: Sorrow not over what is lost forever." Then the songbird flew away.
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The Language of the Birds [Back to Index]
Somewhere in a town in holy Russia, there lived a rich merchant with his wife. He had an only son, a dear, bright, and brave boy called Ivan. One lovely day Ivan sat at the dinner table with his parents. Near the window in the same room hung a cage, and a nightingale, a sweet-voiced, gray bird, was imprisoned within. The sweet nightingale began to sing its wonderful song with trills and high silvery tones. The merchant listened and listened to the song and said:
"How I wish I could understand the meaning of the different songs of all the birds! I would give half my wealth to the man, if only there were such a man, who could make plain to me all the different songs of the different birds."
Ivan took notice of these words and no matter where he went, no matter where he was, no matter what he did, he always thought of how he could learn the language of the birds.
Some time after this, the merchant's son happened to be hunting in a forest. The winds rose, the sky became clouded, the lightning flashed, the thunder roared loudly, and the rain fell in torrents. Ivan soon came near a large tree and saw a big nest in the branches. Four small birds were in the nest; they were quite alone, and neither father nor mother was there to protect them from the cold and wet. The good Ivan pitied them, climbed the tree and covered the little ones with his "kaftan," a long-skirted coat which the Russian peasants and merchants usually wear. The thunderstorm passed by and a big bird came flying and sat down on a branch near the nest and spoke very kindly to Ivan.
"Ivan, I thank you; you have protected my little children from the cold and rain and I wish to do something for thee. Tell me what you wish."
Ivan answered; "I am not in need; I have everything for my comfort. But teach me the birds' language."
"Stay with me three days and you shall know all about it."
Ivan remained in the forest three days. He understood well the teaching of the big bird and returned home more clever than before. One beautiful day soon after this Ivan sat with his parents when the nightingale was singing in his cage. His song was so sad, however, so very sad, that the merchant and his wife also became sad, and their son, their good Ivan, who listened very attentively, was even more affected, and the tears came running down his cheeks.
"What is the matter?" asked his parents; "what art you weeping about, dear son?"
"Dear parents," answered the son, "it is because I understand the meaning of the nightingale's song, and because this meaning is so sad for all of us."
"What then is the meaning? Tell us the whole truth; do not hide it from us," said the father and mother.
"Oh, how sad it sounds!" replied the son. "How much better would it be never to have been born!"
"Do not frighten us," said the parents, alarmed. "If you really understand the meaning of the song, tell us at once."
"Do you not hear for yourselves? The nightingale says: 'The time will come when Ivan, the merchant's son, shall become Ivan, the king's son, and his own father shall serve him as a simple servant.'"
The merchant and his wife felt troubled and began to distrust their son, their good Ivan. So one night they gave him a drowsy drink, and when he had fallen asleep they took him to a boat on the wide sea, spread the white sails, and pushed the boat from the shore.
For a long time the boat danced on the waves and finally it came near a large merchant vessel, which struck against it with such a shock that Ivan awoke. The crew on the large vessel saw Ivan and pitied him. So they decided to take him along with them and did so. High, very high, above in the sky they perceived cranes. Ivan said to the sailors:
"Be careful; I hear the birds predicting a storm. Let us enter a harbor or we shall suffer great danger and damage. All the sails will be torn and all the masts will be broken."
But no one paid any attention and they went farther on. In a short time the storm arose, the wind tore the vessel almost to pieces, and they had a very hard time to repair all the damage. When they were through with their work they heard many wild swans flying above them and talking very loud among themselves.
"What are they talking about?" inquired the men, this time with interest.
"Be careful," advised Ivan. "I hear and distinctly understand them to say that the pirates, the terrible sea robbers, are near. If we do not enter a harbor at once they will imprison and kill us."
The crew quickly obeyed this advice and as soon as the vessel entered the harbor the pirate boats passed by and the merchants saw them capture several unprepared vessels. When the danger was over, the sailors with Ivan went farther, still farther. Finally the vessel anchored near a town, large and unknown to the merchants. A king ruled in that town who was very much annoyed by three black crows. These three crows were all the time perching near the window of the king's chamber. No one knew how to get rid of them and no one could kill them. The king ordered notices to be placed at all crossings and on all prominent buildings, saying that whoever was able to relieve the king from the noisy birds would be rewarded by obtaining the youngest korolevna, the king's daughter, for a wife; but the one who should have the daring to undertake but not succeed in delivering the palace from the crows would have his head cut off. Ivan attentively read the announcement, once, twice, and once more. Finally he made the sign of the cross and went to the palace. He said to the servants:
"Open the window and let me listen to the birds."
The servants obeyed and Ivan listened for a while. Then he said:
"Show me to your sovereign king."
When he reached the room where the king sat on a high, rich chair, he bowed and said:
"There are three crows, a father crow, a mother crow, and a son crow. The trouble is that they desire to obtain thy royal decision as to whether the son crow must follow his father crow or his mother crow."
The king answered: "The son crow must follow the father crow."
As soon as the king announced his royal decision the crow father with the crow son went one way and the crow mother disappeared the other way, and no one has heard the noisy birds since. The king gave one-half of his kingdom and his youngest korolevna to Ivan, and a happy life began for him.
In the meantime his father, the rich merchant, lost his wife and by and by his fortune also. There was no one left to take care of him, and the old man went begging under the windows of charitable people. He went from one window to another, from one village to another, from one town to another, and one bright day he came to the palace where Ivan lived, begging humbly for charity. Ivan saw him and recognized him, ordered him to come inside, and gave him food to eat and also supplied him with good clothes, asking questions:
"Dear old man, what can I do for thee?" he said.
"If you art so very good," answered the poor father, wiyout knowing that he was speaking to his own son, "let me remain here and serve thee among thy faithful servants."
"Dear, dear father!" exclaimed Ivan, "you doubted the true song of the nightingale, and now you see that our fate was to meet according to the predictions of long ago."
The old man was frightened and knelt before his son, but his Ivan remained the same good son as before, took his father lovingly into his arms, and together they wept over their sorrow.
Several days passed by and the old father felt courage to ask his son, the korolevitch:
"Tell me, my son, how was it that you did not perish in the boat?"
Ivan Korolevitch laughed gayly.
"I presume," he answered, "that it was not my fate to perish at the bottom of the wide sea, but my fate was to marry the korolevna, my beautiful wife, and to sweeten the old age of my dear father."
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The Lark and Her Young Ones [Back to Index]
A LARK had made her nest in the early spring on the young green wheat. The brood had almost grown to their full strength and attained the use of their wings and the full plumage of their feathers, when the owner of the field, looking over his ripe crop, said, "The time has come when I must ask all my neighbors to help me with my harvest." One of the young Larks heard his speech and related it to his mother, inquiring of her to what place they should move for safety. "There is no occasion to move yet, my son," she replied; "the man who only sends to his friends to help him with his harvest is not really in earnest." The owner of the field came again a few days later and saw the wheat shedding the grain from excess of ripeness. He said, "I will come myself tomorrow with my laborers, and with as many reapers as I can hire, and will get in the harvest." The Lark on hearing these words said to her brood, "It is time now to be off, my little ones, for the man is in earnest this time; he no longer trusts his friends, but will reap the field himself."
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The Lark Burying Her Father [Back to Index]
The lark (according to an ancient legend) was created before the earth itself, and when her father died, as there was no earth, she could find no place of burial for him. She let him lie uninterred for five days, and on the sixth day, not knowing what else to do, she buried him in her own head. Hence she obtained her crest, which is popularly said to be her father's grave-hillock.
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A Lark in a Net [Back to Index]
A poor lark entered into a miserable expostulation with a bird-catcher that had taken her in his net, and was just about to put her to death. Alas (says she) what am I to dye for now? I am no thief; I have stolen neither gold, nor silver; but for making bold with one pitiful grain of corn am I now to suffer.
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The Magic Bowls [Back to Index]
A dove laid an egg in the hollow of a big tree in front of the blacksmith's house. When she flew away from her nest in search of food, the blacksmith's wife stole the egg. The dove came back to her nest and found the egg missing.
The dove knew at once that the blacksmith's wife must have taken it. So she went to the woman and pleaded, "Give me back my egg, please."
The blacksmith's wife pretended that she knew nothing about it and said, "What egg are you talking about? I didn't see any egg." The dove was heartbroken and flew about looking for help. On the way she met a pig, who asked, "Why are you crying, little bird?"
She said, "O pig, can you help me? Will you dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
"No, not I," grunted the pig, walking away.
She then met a hunter, who asked, "Why are you in tears, little bird?"
The bird said, "Will you shoot an arrow at the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
"Why should I? Leave me out of this," said the hunter, walking away.
The dove wept some more and flew on till she met a rat, who also asked why she was in tears. The dove said, "Will you gnaw and cut the bowstring of the hunter who wouldn't shoot the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
The rat too said, "Not I," and went his own way.
Next she met a cat, who asked, "What's the matter, little bird?"
"Will you catch the rat who wouldn't cut the bowstring of the hunter who wouldn't shoot the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
The cat would rather mind her own business.
The poor dove was beside herself with anger and grief. Her wails attracted the attention of a passing dog, who asked her what was bothering her. She said, "Will you bite the cat who wouldn't catch the rat who wouldn't cut the bowstring of the hunter who wouldn't shoot the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
"No, not I," said the dog and ran away.
The dove's wails grew louder and louder.
An old man with a long white beard came that way and asked the crying bird what the matter was. She said, "Grandfather, will you beat the dog who wouldn't bite the cat who wouldn't catch the rat who wouldn't cut the bowstring of the hunter who wouldn't shoot the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
The old man didn't want to do anything of the sort and shook his head and went his way.
The dove next went to the fire for help and asked it to burn the white beard of the old man, but the fire wouldn't do it. Next the dove went to the water and asked it to put out the fire which wouldn't burn the beard of the old man who refused to beat the dog who wouldn't bite the cat who wouldn't catch the rat who wouldn't cut the bowstring of the hunter who wouldn't shoot the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole the egg. Water too was unwilling to help.
Not long afterwards, the dove met an elephant and asked if he would stir up the water which wouldn't put out the fire which refused to burn the beard of the old man who wouldn't . . .
The elephant said, "No, not I."
Then the dove looked about and found a black ant, who also asked her what was troubling her.
"O ant! I know you can help me. Will you go into the elephant's trunk and bite him for not stirring up the water which wouldn't put out the fire which wouldn't burn the beard of the old man who wouldn't beat the dog who wouldn't bite the cat who wouldn't catch the rat who wouldn't cut the bowstring of the hunter who wouldn't shoot the pig who wouldn't dig up the yams of the blacksmith's wife who stole my egg?"
"Why not? Here I go," said the ant and crawled inside the elephant's trunk and bit it in the softest place, very hard. This made the elephant dash into the pool of water and stir it up. The water splashed and began to put out the fire, which went mad and burned the white beard of the old man, who beat the dog, who ran after the cat and bit her. The cat caught the rat, who gnawed the bowstring of the hunter's bow. The hunter tied on a new one and shot an arrow at the pig, who went and dug up all the yams of the blacksmith's wife.
The blacksmith's wife knew at once what she had to do and carefully put the dove's egg back in the nest in the hollow of the big tree.
That's how the dove got her egg back.
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The Magic Wild Geese [Back to Index]
An old man lived with his old wife; they had a daughter and a little son.
"Daughter, Daughter," said the mother, "we are going to work; we shall bring you back a bun, sew you a dress and buy you a kerchief. Be very careful, watch over your little brother, and do not leave the house".
The parents went away and the daughter forgot what they had told her; she put her brother on the grass beneath the window, ran out into the street, and became absorbed in games.
Some magic swan geese came and seized the little boy, and carried him off on their wings. The girl came back and found her brother gone. She gasped, and rushed to look in every corner, but could not find him. She called him, wept and lamented that her father and mother would scold her severely; still her little brother did not answer.
She ran into the open field; the swan geese flashed in the distance and vanished into the dark forest. The swan geese had long had a very bad reputation; they had done a great deal of damage and had stolen many little children. The girl had guessed that they had carried off her little brother, and so she rushed after them. She ran and ran and saw a stove.
"Stove, stove, tell me whither have the geese flown?"
"If you eat my cake of rye I will tell you."
"Oh, in my father's house we do not eat cakes of wheat!".
The stove did not tell her. She ran farther and saw an apple tree tree.
"Apple tree, apple tree, whither have the geese flown?"
"If you eat some of my wild apples, I will tell you".
" Oh, in my father's house we do not even eat sweet apples."
She ran farther and farther and saw a river of milk with shores of pudding.
"River of milk, and shores of pudding, whither have the geese flown?"
"If you eat my simple pudding with milk, I will tell you".
"Oh in my father's house we do not even eat cream."
She would have run in the fields and wandered in the woods for a long time, if she had not luckily to meet hedgehog. She wanted to nudge him, but she was afraid that he would prick her, when she asked:
"Hedgehog, hedgehog, have you not seen whither the geese have flown?"
"Thither", he said and showed her. She ran and saw a little hut that stood on chicken legs and turned round and round. In the little hut lay Baba Yaga with veined snout and clay legs, and the little brother was sitting on a bench, playing with golden apples. His sister saw him, crept near him and seized him, and carried him away. But the geese flew after her: if the robbers overtook her, where would she hide?
There flowed the river of milk and the shores of pudding.
"Little mother river, hide me!" she begged.
"If you eat my pudding." There was nothing to be done; she ate it and the river hid her beneath the shore, and the geese flew by.
She went out and said:
"Thank you", and ran on carrying her brother; and the geese turned back and flew toward her. What could she do in this trouble? There was the apple tree.
"Apple tree, apple tree, little mother, hide me!" she begged.
"If you eat my wild apple." She ate it quickly. The apple tree covered her with branches and leaves; and the geese flew by. She went out again and ran on with her brother. The geese saw her and flew after her. They now came quite close, they began to strike at her with their wings; at any moment they would tear her brother from her hands.
Luckily there was the stove on her path.
"Madam stove, hide me", she begged.
"If you eat my cake of rye." The girl quickly stuck the cake in her mouth, went into the the stove, and sat there. The geese whirred and whirred, quacked and quacked, and finally flew away without recovering their prey. The girl ran home, and it was a good thing that she came when she did, for soon afterward her mother and father arrived.
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The Nightingale [Back to Index]
In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, "Oh, is not that beautiful?" But when they returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they would hear it again, and exclaim "Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale's song!"
Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all. And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But when he came to the words, "the nightingale is the most beautiful of all," he exclaimed, "What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from books."
Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, "Pooh," which means nothing.
"There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale," said the emperor; "they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?"
"I have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; "she has not been presented at court."
"It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening." said the emperor; "the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself."
"I have never heard of her," said the cavalier; "yet I will endeavor to find her."
But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. "Your imperial majesty," said he, "cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art."
"But the book in which I have read this account," said the emperor, "was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended."
"Tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. There was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was unknown to the court.
At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, "Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale's song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me."
"Little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "I will obtain for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace." So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.
"Oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard it before."
"No, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl; "we are a long way from the place yet."
Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.
"Beautiful," said the young courtier again. "Now I hear it, tinkling like little church bells."
"No, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but I think we shall soon hear her now:" and presently the nightingale began to sing.
"Hark, hark! there she is," said the girl, "and there she sits," she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.
"Is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting, "I never imagined it would be a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed color at seeing so many grand people around her."
"Little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice, "our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him."
"With the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully.
"It sounds like tiny glass bells," said the lord-in-waiting, "and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a great success at court."
"Shall I sing once more before the emperor?" asked the nightingale, who thought he was present.
"My excellent little nightingale," said the courtier, "I have the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song."
"My song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird; but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor's wish.
The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor's eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to every one's heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. "I have seen tears in an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richest reward. An emperor's tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;" and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever.
"That singing is a lovely gift;" said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so thay they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact the nightingale's visit was most successful. She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.
The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said "nightin," and the other said "gale," and they understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. Eleven peddlers' children were named after her, but not of them could sing a note.
One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written "The Nightingale." "Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird," said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was written "The Emperor of Japan's nightingale is poor compared with that of the Emperor of China's."
"This is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the artificial bird received the title of "Imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief."
"Now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a duet it will be." But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes.
"That is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite perfect to my taste," so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins. Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.
"What strange conduct," said the emperor, when her flight had been discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature.
"But we have the best bird after all," said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power. "For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon another."
"This is exactly what we think," they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They all said "Oh!" and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said, "it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell what."
And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor's bed. The presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of "Little Imperial Toilet Singer," and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people.
The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most difficult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.
So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing with the bird, which they often did. The street-boys sang, "Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck," and the emperor himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing.
One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded "whizz." Then a spring cracked. "Whir-r-r-r" went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him.
Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, "Pooh!" and shook his head.
Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies'-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor's golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat at his heart.
"Do you remember this?" "Do you recollect that?" they asked one after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow.
"I know nothing about it," said the emperor. "Music! music!" he cried; "the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say." But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. "Music! music!" shouted the emperor. "You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!" But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note.
Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor's illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor's veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death himself listened, and said, "Go on, little nightingale, go on."
"Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said the bird.
So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.
"Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?"
"You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again."
And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned-they all believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside him, and sang.
"You must always remain with me," said the emperor. "You shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces."
"No; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird did very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant's cot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but you must promise me one thing."
"Everything," said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart.
"I only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it." So saying, the nightingale flew away.
The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, "Good morning."
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A Nightingale and a Bat [Back to Index]
As a nightingale was singing in a cage at a window, up comes a bat to her, and asks her why she did not sing in the day, as well as in the night. Why (says the nightingale) I was catch'd singing in the day, and so I took it for a warning. You should have thought of this then, says t'other, before you were taken; for as the case stands now, y'are in no danger to be snapt singing again.
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An Ostrich, Birds, and Beasts [Back to Index]
The ostrich is a creature that passes in common reputation, for half-bird, half-beast. This amphibious wretch happened to be taken twice the same day, in a battle betwixt the birds and the beasts, and as an enemy to both parties. The birds would have him to be a beast, and the beasts concluded him to be a bird; but upon shewing his feet to prove that he was no bird, and upon shewing his wings, and his beak, to prove that he was no beast, they were satisfied upon the whole matter, that though he seemed to be both, he was yet in truth neither the one, nor the other.
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The Owl [Back to Index]
Two or three hundred years ago, when people were far from being so crafty and cunning as they are nowadays, an extraordinary event took place in a little town. By some mischance one of the great owls, called horned owls, had come from the neighboring woods into the barn of one of the townsfolk in the night-time, and when day broke did not dare to venture forth again from her retreat, for fear of the other birds, which raised a terrible outcry whenever she appeared. In the morning when the man-servant went into the barn to fetch some straw, he was so mightily alarmed at the sight of the owl sitting there in a corner, that he ran away and announced to his master that a monster, the like of which he had ever set eyes on in his life, and which could devour a man without the slightest difficulty, was sitting in the barn, rolling its eyes about in its head. I know your kind, said the master, you have courage enough to chase a blackbird about the fields, but when you see a hen lying dead, you have to get a stick before you go near it. I must go and see for myself what kind of a monster it is, added the master, and went quite boldly into the granary and looked round him. When, however, he saw with his own eyes the strange grim creature, he was no less terrified than the servant had been. With two bounds he sprang out, ran to his neighbours, and begged them imploringly to lend him assistance against an unknown and dangerous beast, or else the whole town might be in danger if it were to break loose out of the barn, where it was shut up. A great noise and clamor arose in all the streets, the townsmen came armed with spears, hay-forks, scythes, and axes, as if they were going out against an enemy. Finally, the senators appeared with the burgomaster at their head. When they had drawn up in the market-place, they marched to the barn, and surrounded it on all sides. Thereupon one of the most courageous of them stepped forth and entered with his spear lowered, but came running out immediately afterwards with a shriek and as pale as death, and could not utter a single word. Yet two others ventured in, but they fared no better. At last one stepped forth, a great strong man who was famous for his warlike deeds, and said, you will not drive away the monster by merely looking at him, we must be in earnest here, but I see that you have all tuned into women, and not one of you dares to encounter the animal. He ordered them to give him some armor, had a sword and spear brought, and armed himself. All praised his courage, though many feared for his life. The two barn-doors were opened, and they saw the owl, which in the meantime had perched herself on the middle of a great cross-beam. He had a ladder brought, and when he raised it, and made ready to climb up, they all cried out to him that he was to bear himself bravely, and commended him to St. George, who slew the dragon. When he had just got to the top, and the owl perceived that he had designs on her, and was also bewildered by the crowd and the shouting, and knew not how to escape, she rolled her eyes, ruffled her feathers, flapped her wings, snapped her beak, and cried, tuwhit, tuwhoo, in a harsh voice. Strike home. Strike home. Screamed the crowd outside to the valiant hero. Any one who was standing where I am standing, answered he, would not cry, strike home. He certainly did plant his foot one rung higher on the ladder, but then he began to tremble, and half-fainting, went back again. And now there was no one left who dared to place himself in such danger. The monster, said they, has poisoned and mortally wounded the very strongest man among us, by snapping at him and just breathing on him. Are we, too, to risk our lives. They took counsel as to what they ought to do to prevent the whole town from being destroyed. For a long time everything seemed to be of no use, but at length the burgomaster found an expedient. My opinion, said he, is that we ought, out of the common purse, to pay for this barn, and whatsoever corn, straw, or hay it contains, and thus indemnify the owner, and then burn down the whole building and the terrible beast with it. Thus no one will have to endanger his life. This is no time for thinking of expense, and stinginess would be ill applied. All agreed with him. So they set fire to the barn at all four corners, and with it the owl was miserably burnt. Let any one who will not believe it, go thither and inquire for himself.
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The Partridge and the Fowler [Back to Index]
A FOWLER caught a Partridge and was about to kill it. The Partridge earnestly begged him to spare his life, saying, "Pray, master, permit me to live and I will entice many Partridges to you in recompense for your mercy to me." The Fowler replied, "I shall now with less scruple take your life, because you are willing to save it at the cost of betraying your friends and relations."
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The Peacock and the Crane [Back to Index]
A Peacock taunted a Crane with the dullness of her plumage. "Look at my brilliant colours," said she, "and see how much finer they are than your poor feathers." "I am not denying," replied the Crane, "that yours are far gayer than mine; but when it comes to flying I can soar into the clouds, whereas you are confined to the earth like any dunghill cockerel."
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The Peacock and Juno [Back to Index]
THE PEACOCK made complaint to Juno that, while the nightingale pleased every ear with his song, he himself no sooner opened his mouth than he became a laughingstock to all who heard him. The Goddess, to console him, said, "But you far excel in beauty and in size. The splendor of the emerald shines in your neck and you unfold a tail gorgeous with painted plumage." "But for what purpose have I," said the bird, "this dumb beauty so long as I am surpassed in song?' "The lot of each," replied Juno, "has been assigned by the will of the Fates--to thee, beauty; to the eagle, strength; to the nightingale, song; to the raven, favorable, and to the crow, unfavorable auguries. These are all contented with the endowments allotted to them."
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The Peasant and the Eagle [Back to Index]
A PEASANT found an Eagle captured in a trap, and much admiring the bird, set him free. The Eagle did not prove ungrateful to his deliverer, for seeing the Peasant sitting under a wall which was not safe, he flew toward him and with his talons snatched a bundle from his head. When the Peasant rose in pursuit, the Eagle let the bundle fall again. Taking it up, the man returned to the same place, to find that the wall under which he had been sitting had fallen to pieces; and he marveled at the service rendered him by the Eagle.
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The Pelican Girl [Back to Index]
A long time ago, in the land of the South People, it was time for Pelican Girl to become a woman.
A special dance and ceremony was planned, to celebrate the event in the proper way of the South People.
All the people of the village gathered for the dance, including Little Owl, the Snipe family, and Coyote and his grandson Hawk Chief. All the right ceremonies were carried out for Pelican Girl.
"This party is so cool, " said Pelican Girl to the Snipe sisters as they danced to the beat of the drum.
When the dance finally finished and the drums were quiet, the women of the village took Pelican Girl to the women's house. She had to stay there until the moon had become small and then grown full size again.
When the moon had finished its cycle the women took Pelican Girl out of the house to receive her beads of womanhood. They placed the beads around her neck, wrists and ankles.
Pelican Girl was told that for the next few weeks she must stay close to the village and she was not allowed to gather food or bend down to pick up anything. This was the custom of the South People when a young maiden became a woman.
As Pelican Girl sat outside her home the Snipe sisters walked by with their pack baskets.
"Where are you going?" asked Pelican Girl.
"We're going to pick berries. Come with us and we'll tell you all the latest gossip," answered the Snipe sisters.
Pelican Girl asked her mother if she could go, but her mother said no, because it was forbidden.
"I want to go! I want to go!" screamed Pelican Girl as she clenched her hands tightly and stamped her feet.
"It's OK," said the Snipe sisters to Pelican Girl's mother. "We'll pick the berries for her."
Finally her mother agreed. "OK, you can go but remember you're not allowed to pick any berries or bend over to lift anything off the ground."
All day Pelican Girl did as she was told. She carried her pack basket but did not pick any berries.
Late in the afternoon, the girls headed back to the village. Pelican Girl was tired and walked slowly behind the Snipe sisters. Too busy talking to notice, the Snipe sisters got further ahead until they disappeared out of site around a bend in the trail.
Just then, Pelican Girl saw in the middle of the trail, a big goose that looked like it had fallen from the sky.
"Wow, look at that," shouted Pelican Girl. She gently touched the goose with her foot.
"Maybe it had a heart attack or something?" she said. "Its feathers are so beautiful. My uncles could really use them."
Forgetting her promise not to pick up anything, Pelican Girl bent over, picked up the goose and put it in her pack basket.
As she walked along the trail Pelican Girl thought to herself "This basket is becoming really, really heavy."
Finally it became so heavy she had to put it down.
Just then she heard a strange noise and a man appeared in front of her basket.
"Little girl," he whispered. "I want those beads around your neck and your wrists and ankles."
Pelican Girl knew who it was.
It was Shoko, a powerful shaman from the North World where the fire-eaters lived. He had disguised himself as the goose so Pelican Girl would pick him up.
By breaking the custom of her people she had given him the power to carry her away to his land.
And that is what he did.
After Pelican Girl had removed her beads and thrown them to him, Shoko did a dance and spirited her off to the land of the North People where he hid her in a pit underneath a dance drum.
When the Snipe sisters returned to the village the people wanted to know what had happened to Pelican Girl.
The Snipe Girls were frightened. "We don't know," they said.
"We heard her say something about feathers, but when we went back to look, we couldn't find her," they cried.
So Coyote, the wise one, with some of the best trackers from the village and Pelican Girls mother, went to find her.
Coyote soon worked out what had happened.
"The people of the North World have taken her," he said. "We must go there and rescue her."
They ran along the trail towards the North World. When they reached the entrance to the North World valley, Coyote told everyone to stop.
Coyote knew that Shoko and the fighting men of the North World would be waiting for the South People to try and rescue Pelican Girl.
Coyote told Little Owl to take the shape of a bird and fly over the fighting men to give them a message.
Little Owl flew over where the fighting men were hiding and whispered to them "Coyote and the South People are not coming tonight. Go to sleep and rest."
All the fighting men listened to Little Owl and went back to their house to sleep.
Coyote changed his people into mice and told them to get into his sack, which he then carried into the village.
Coyote let the mouse people out of his sack. They went round the North People, tying their long hair together. Then they chewed through their bowstrings and the sinews that held the stone heads on their spears and arrows.
When their work was done they changed back to people and looked for Pelican Girl.
Coyote found her underneath the dance drum. She was very sick and could not move.
Coyote picked her up and silently carried her through the house. But he accidentally stepped on one of the sleeping North People.
"Ooops," said Coyote. "This can't be good."
The fighting man woke up and his shouts woke all the others.
But when the North People tried to stand up, they fell back again because their long hair had been tied together.
And they could not use their weapons either.
Coyote and the others escaped.
The North People had turned Pelican Girl into a fire-eater and Little Owl had to sing and dance for many days and nights to try and cure her. At last her body and spirit were cleansed and she was well again.
After time had passed, Pelican Girl married Coyote's grandson, Hawke Chief and she became one of the women who taught the young girls of the village how to behave when it came time for them to become women.
Thanks to Pelican Girl's experience, none of them ever made the mistake she did.
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