Andrew Lang_Fairy Book 08 (32 page)

However, Sigurd persisted, and at length she gave way; but when
they came near the door she held her glove over him and Sigurd
was at once transformed into a bundle of wool. Helga tucked the
bundle under her arm and threw it on the bed in her room.

Almost at the same moment her father rushed in and hunted round
in every corner, crying out: 'This place smells of men. What's that
you threw on the bed, Helga?'

'A bundle of wool,' said she.

'Oh, well, perhaps it was that I smelt,' said the old man, and
troubled himself no more.

The following day Helga went out to play and took the bundle of
wool with her under her arm. When she reached the lake she held
her glove over it again and Sigurd resumed his own shape.

They played the whole day, and Sigurd taught Helga all sorts of
games she had never even heard of. As they walked home in the
evening she said: 'We shall be able to play better still to-morrow,
for my father will have to go to the town, so we can stay at home.'

When they were near the house Helga again held her glove over
Sigurd, and once more he was turned into a bundle of wool, and
she carried him in without his being seen.

Very early next morning Helga's father went to the town, and as
soon as he was well out of the way the girl held up her glove and
Sigurd was himself again. Then she took him all over the house to
amuse him, and opened every room, for her father had given her the
keys before he left; but when they came to the last room Sigurd
noticed one key on the bunch which had not been used and asked
which room it belonged to.'

Helga grew red and did not answer.

'I suppose you don't mind my seeing the room which it opens?'
asked Sigurd, and as he spoke he saw a heavy iron door and begged
Helga to unlock it for him. But she told him she dared not do so, at
least if she did open the door it must only be a very tiny chink; and
Sigurd declared that would do quite well.

The door was so heavy, that it took Helga some time to open it,
and Sigurd grew so impatient that he pushed it wide open and
walked in. There he saw a splendid horse, all ready saddled, and
just above it hung a richly ornamented sword on the handle of
which was engraved these words: 'He who rides this horse and
wears this sword will find happiness.'

At the sight of the horse Sigurd was so filled with wonder that he
was not able to speak, but at last he gasped out: 'Oh, do let me
mount him and ride him round the house! Just once; I promise not
to ask any more.'

'Ride him round the house! ' cried Helga, growing pale at the mere
idea. 'Ride Gullfaxi! Why father would never, never forgive me, if I
let you do that.'

'But it can't do him any harm,' argued Sigurd; 'you don't know how
careful I will be. I have ridden all sorts of horses at home, and have
never fallen off not once. Oh, Helga, do!'

'Well, perhaps, if you come back directly,' replied Helga, doubtfully;
'but you must be very quick, or father will find out!'

But, instead of mounting Gullfaxi, as she expected, Sigurd stood
still.

'And the sword,' he said, looking fondly up to the place where it
hung. 'My father is a king, but he has not got any sword so
beautiful as that. Why, the jewels in the scabbard are more splendid
than the big ruby in his crown! Has it got a name? Some swords
have, you know.'

'It is called "Gunnfjoder," the "Battle Plume,"' answered Helga, 'and
"Gullfaxi" means "Golden Mane." I don't suppose, if you are to get
on the horse at all, it would matter your taking the sword too. And
if you take the sword you will have to carry the stick and the stone
and the twig as well.'

'They are easily carried,' said Sigurd, gazing at them with scorn;
'what wretched dried-up things! Why in the world do you keep
them?'

'Bather says that he would rather lose Gullfaxi than lose them,'
replied Helga, 'for if the man who rides the horse is pursued he has
only to throw the twig behind him and it will turn into a forest, so
thick that even a bird could hardly fly through. But if his enemy
happens to know magic, and can throw down the forest, the man
has only to strike the stone with the stick, and hailstones as large as
pigeons' eggs will rain down from the sky and will kill every one for
twenty miles round.'

Having said all this she allowed Sigurd to ride 'just once' round the
house, taking the sword and other things with him. But when he
had ridden round, instead of dismounting, he suddenly turned the
horse's head and galloped away.

Soon after this Helga's father came home and found his daughter in
tears. He asked what was the matter, and when he heard all that
had happened, he rushed off as fast as he could to pursue Sigurd.

Now, as Sigurd happened to look behind him he saw the giant
coming after him with great strides, and in all haste he threw the
twig behind him. Immediately such a thick wood sprang up at once
between him and his enemy that the giant was obliged to run home
for an axe with which to cut his way through.

The next time Sigurd glanced round, the giant was so near that he
almost touched Gullfaxi's tail. In an agony of fear Sigurd turned
quickly in his saddle and hit the stone with the stick. No sooner
had he done this than a terrible hailstorm burst behind, and the giant
was killed on the spot.

But had Sigurd struck the stone without turning round, the hail
would have driven right into his face and killed him instead.

After the giant was dead Sigurd rode on towards his own home,
and on the way he suddenly met his stepmother's little dog, running
to meet him, with tears pouring down its face. He galloped on as
hard as he could, and on arriving found nine men-servants in the act
of tying Queen Ingiborg to a post in the courtyard of the palace,
where they intended to burn her.

Wild with anger Prince Sigurd sprang from his horse and, sword in
hand, fell on the men and killed them all. Then he released his
stepmother, and went in with her to see his father.

The king lay in bed sick with sorrow, and neither eating nor
drinking, for he thought that his son had been killed by the queen.
He could hardly believe his own eyes for joy when he saw the
prince, and Sigurd told him all his adventures.

After that Prince Sigurd rode back to fetch Helga, and a great feast
was made which lasted three days; and every one said no bride was
ever seen so beautiful as Helga, and they lived happily for many,
many years, and everybody loved them.

(From Islandische Mahrchen.)

Once upon a time there lived a respectable young tailor called
Labakan, who worked for a clever master in Alexandria. No one
could call Labakan either stupid or lazy, for he could work
extremely well and quickly—when he chose; but there was
something not altogether right about him. Sometimes he would
stitch away as fast as if he had a red-hot needle and a burning
thread, and at other times he would sit lost in thought, and with
such a queer look about him that his fellow-workmen used to say,
'Labakan has got on his aristocratic face today.'

On Fridays he would put on his fine robe which he had bought with
the money he had managed to save up, and go to the mosque. As
he came back, after prayers, if he met any friend who said
'Good-day,' or 'How are you, friend Labakan?' he would wave his
hand graciously or nod in a condescending way; and if his master
happened to say to him, as he sometimes did, 'Really, Labakan, you
look like a prince,' he was delighted, and would answer, 'Have you
noticed it too?' or 'Well, so I have long thought.'

Things went on like this for some time, and the master put up with
Labakan's absurdities because he was, on the whole, a good fellow
and a clever workman.

One day, the sultan's brother happened to be passing through
Alexandria, and wanted to have one of his state robes altered, so he
sent for the master tailor, who handed the robe over to Labakan as
his best workman.

In the evening, when every one had left the workshop and gone
home, a great longing drove Labakan back to the place where the
royal robe hung. He stood a long time gazing at it, admiring the
rich material and the splendid embroidery in it. At last he could
hold out no longer. He felt he must try it on, and lo! and behold, it
fitted as though it had been made for him.

'Am not I as good a prince as any other?' he asked himself, as he
proudly paced up and down the room. 'Has not the master often
said that I seemed born to be a prince?'

It seemed to him that he must be the son of some unknown
monarch, and at last he determined to set out at once and travel in
search of his proper rank.

He felt as if the splendid robe had been sent him by some kind fairy,
and he took care not to neglect such a precious gift. He collected
all his savings, and, concealed by the darkness of the night, he
passed through the gates of Alexandria.

The new prince excited a good deal of curiosity where ever he
went, for his splendid robe and majestic manner did not seem quite
suitable to a person travelling on foot. If anyone asked questions,
he only replied with an important air of mystery that he had his own
reasons for not riding.

However, he soon found out that walking made him ridiculous, so
at last he bought a quiet, steady old horse, which he managed to get
cheap.

One day, as he was ambling along upon Murva (that was the horse's
name), a horseman overtook him and asked leave to join him, so
that they might both beguile the journey with pleasant talk. The
newcomer was a bright, cheerful, good-looking young man, who
soon plunged into conversation and asked many questions. He told
Labakan that his own name was Omar, that he was a nephew of Elfi
Bey, and was travelling in order to carry out a command given him
by his uncle on his death bed. Labakan was not quite so open in his
confidences, but hinted that he too was of noble birth and was
travelling for pleasure.

The two young men took a fancy to each other and rode on
together. On the second day of their journey Labakan questioned
Omar as to the orders he had to carry out, and to his surprise heard
this tale.

Elfi Bey, Pacha of Cairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest
childhood, and the boy had never known his parents. On his
deathbed Elfi Bey called Omar to him, and then told him that he
was not his nephew, but the son of a great king, who, having been
warned of coming dangers by his astrologers, had sent the young
prince away and made a vow not to see him till his twenty-second
birthday.

Elfi Bey did not tell Omar his father's name, but expressly desired
him to be at a great pillar four days' journey east of Alexandria on
the fourth day of the coming month, on which day he would be
twenty-two years old. Here he would meet some men, to whom he
was to hand a dagger which Elfi Bey gave him, and to say 'Here am
I for whom you seek.'

If they answered: 'Praised be the Prophet who has preserved you,'
he was to follow them, and they would take him to his father.

Labakan was greatly surprised and interested by this story, but after
hearing it he could not help looking on Prince Omar with envious
eyes, angry that his friend should have the position he himself
longed so much for. He began to make comparisons between the
prince and himself, and was obliged to confess that he was a
fine-looking young man with very good manners and a pleasant
expression.

At the same time, he felt sure that had he been in the prince's place
any royal father might have been glad to own him.

These thoughts haunted him all day, and he dreamt them all night.
He woke very early, and as he saw Omar sleeping quietly, with a
happy smile on his face, a wish arose in his mind to take by force or
by cunning the things which an unkind fate had denied him.

The dagger which was to act as a passport was sticking in Omar's
girdle. Labakan drew it gently out, and hesitated for a moment
whether or not to plunge it into the heart of the sleeping prince.
However, he shrank from the idea of murder, so he contented
himself with placing the dagger in his own belt, and, saddling
Omar's swift horse for himself, was many miles away before the
prince woke up to realise his losses.

For two days Labakan rode on steadily, fearing lest, after all, Omar
might reach the meeting place before him. At the end of the second
day he saw the great pillar at a distance. It stood on a little hill in
the middle of a plain, and could be seen a very long way off.
Labakan's heart beat fast at the sight. Though he had had some
time in which to think over the part he meant to play his conscience
made him rather uneasy. However, the thought that he must
certainly have been born to be a king supported him, and he bravely
rode on.

The neighbourhood was quite bare and desert, and it was a good
thing that the new prince had brought food for some time with him,
as two days were still wanting till the appointed time.

Towards the middle of the next day he saw a long procession of
horses and camels coming towards him. It halted at the bottom of
the hill, and some splendid tents were pitched. Everything looked
like the escort of some great man. Labakan made a shrewd guess
that all these people had come here on his account; but he checked
his impatience, knowing that only on the fourth day could his
wishes be fulfilled.

The first rays of the rising sun woke the happy tailor. As he began
to saddle his horse and prepare to ride to the pillar, he could not
help having some remorseful thoughts of the trick he had played
and the blighted hopes of the real prince. But the die was cast, and
his vanity whispered that he was as fine looking a young man as the
proudest king might wish his son to be, and that, moreover, what
had happened had happened.