The Selected Children’s Fictions, Folk Tales and Fairy Tales of Andrew Lang 9781474430159

Citation preview

TheSelected Selected The Children’s Fictions, Folk Tales Children Folk Tales ’s Fictions, and Fairy Tales of and Andrew Fairy Tales Lang of Andrew Lang

The Selected Children’s Fictions, Folk Tales and Fairy Tales of Andrew Lang

e d i t e d by Andrew Teverson

For Dominic Teverson and Tristan Teverson

Edinburgh University Press is one ofTeverson, the leading university presses in the UK. © Andrew 2019 We publish academic books and journals in our selected subject areas across the humanities and social sciences, combining Edinburgh Universitycutting-edge Press Ltd scholarship with high editorial and production to produce academic worksEntry, of lasting importance. The Tun –values Holyrood Road, 12(2f ) Jackson’s For more information visit our website: Edinburgh eh8 edinburghuniversitypress.com 8pj © in this edition Edinburgh University Press, 2021 www.euppublishing.com CoverTypeset image: illustration by Richard Doyle from in 11 pt Garamond Original Andrew Lang’sThomas The Princess Nobody by Isambard at corvo Cover design: Stuart Dalziel Printed and bound in Edinburgh University Press Ltd Thebook Tun is– available Holyroodfrom Road A CIP record for this the British Library 12(2f ) Jackson’s Entry EH83 (hardback) 8PJ isbn 978Edinburgh 1 4744 0021 isbn 978 1 4744 0022 0 (webready PDF) Typeset in 111pt Garamond Original isbn 978 4744 0449 5 (epub) by Isambard Thomas at corvo and printed and bound in Great Britain The right of Andrew Teverson, A CIP recordtofor book isasavailable the British Library be this identified Editor offrom this work has been asserted in accordance 978 1 4744 3014 2 (hardback) with theISBN Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, 978 1and 4744 3015 9Rights (webready PDF) 2003 and the ISBN Copyright Related Regulations ISBN 978 4744 3016 6 (epub) (SI1No. 2498). The right of Andrew Teverson be identified as Editor NEW INFO TO BEtoSUPPLIED of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and the Copyright and Related Rights Regulations 2003 (SI No. 2498).

Contents

List List of of Figures figures

7 7

Introduction

9 9

A Note on the Texts

3127

Further FurtherReading reading

3937

Acknowledgements

4341

S C O T T I S H F OL K TA L E S ‘Scottish Nursery Tales’, St. Andrews University Magazine (April 1863)

45

I I C H I L DR E N ’ S F IC T ION S The Princess Nobody: A Tale of Fairy Land (1884) The Gold of Fairnilee (1888) Prince Prigio (1889) Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia (1893)

59

I

47 45

6159 7573 107 111 151 155

I I I T R A DI T ION S R E T OL D ‘The Terrible Head’, The Blue Fairy Book (1889) ‘The Story of Sigurd’, The Red Fairy Book (1890) ‘The Fleece of Gold’, Tales of Troy and Greece (1907)

235 229

Explanatory Notes notes Explanatory

257 251

213 215 211 227 221

List of Figures

Figure 1, page 8. Andrew Lang, undated photograph. Figure 2, page 35. 33. Manuscript page, The Gold of Fairnilee. 69. Figure 3, page 71. Illustration from The Princess Nobody (1884) by Richard Doyle. 87. Figure 4, page 89. Illustration from The Gold of Fairnilee (1888) by E. A. [Eliza Anne] Lemann, 112. Figure 5, page 116. Illustration from Prince Prigio (1889) by Gordon Browne. 176. Figure 6, page 180. ‘But there they remained’, illustration from Prince Ricardo (1893) by Gordon Browne. 181. Figure 7, page 185. ‘It’s only me’, illustration from Prince Ricardo (1893) by Gordon Browne. 213. Figure 8, page 217. Illustration from ‘The Terrible Head’ (1889) by H. J. [Henry Justice] Ford. 246. Figure 9, page 252. ‘How the Serpent that Guarded the Golden Fleece was Slain’, illustration from ‘The Fleece of Gold’ (1907) by H. J. Ford.



Introduction

Introduction

I

n 1883, the publisher Charles Longman, a founding member of the prominent publishing house Longmans, Green and Co., spotted a commercial opportunity. The painter Richard Doyle, known to his friends as ‘Dicky’, had just died, and Longman was in possession of the plates for a series of images made by Doyle in the late 1860s depicting the comical antics of elves and fairies in richly imagined fantasy landscapes. These images had already been published by Longman with some success. In 1870, he had issued the complete series of sixteen colour plates as a lavish artist’s book titled In Fairyland: A Series of Pictures from the Elf-World. This had sold well, was swiftly reprinted, and went into a second edition in 1875. But In Fairyland had been for a limited circle of buyers. The ‘immense’ size of the volume (14 ⅞ × 10 ⅞ inches to accommodate Doyle’s large colour plates) combined with its ‘high price of a guinea and a half ’, positioned it as an ‘art book’ for connoisseurs rather than a work that would be widely accessible to the growing market for children’s books in late Victorian Britain.1 The combination of text and image in the earlier publication had also proved problematic: William Allingham, the writer Longman had commissioned to compose a narrative poem to accompany Doyle’s images, wasn’t given an

Figure 1. Andrew Lang, undated photograph (c. 1875). Reproduced courtesy of the University of St Andrews Library, in the Andrew Lang Collection, MS38244/4.

99

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

opportunity to consult with Doyle, and Doyle had proceeded to add an alternative ‘prose description’ that conflicted with Allingham’s verses.2 By 1883, therefore, the time seemed ripe for Longman to reissue the prints in a format designed to appeal more directly to buyers of children’s books, and with a more effective integration of text and image. With this end in mind, he turned to one of his regular authors, the Scottish intellectual and public man of letters, Andrew Lang. In retrospect, Lang may seem the obvious choice for this project. By the end of his life Lang had become, in Roger Lancelyn Green’s term, ‘The Master of Fairy Land’, and a prolific writer for the young – an author of six full-length works for children, and editor of the wildly popular Coloured Fairy Book series as well as a number of spinoff anthology series, including the True Story Books (1893 and 1895), the Animal Story Books (1896 and 1899), and the Books of Romance (1902 and 1905).3 But in 1883, when Longman issued his invite, all these achievements were in the future. At forty years of age, Lang was widely respected in Britain and the United States as a classical scholar, a poet, a journalist, and an academic folklorist, but he had never written for children, and his views on the topic of modern fairy-tale writing would not have encouraged many to expect that he was likely to write a fairy tale himself.4 Thus when Lang announced the project to his friends, he did so in anticipation of their surprise. To the American writer Brander Matthews, for instance, he reports, in a letter of 9 February 1884 that he has been engaged in an activity that is ‘even odder’ than writing as a scholar about fairy tales – namely, composing a ‘fairy tale’ of his own.5 Longman’s choice of Lang as author of The Princess Nobody was an astute one, however. Lang was a household name as a writer of daily ‘leaders’ in newspapers and a considerable cultural authority; he was also well known for his scholarly interest in popular tradition, folk lore and fairy tales.6 Perhaps most importantly for Longman, he had an impressive track record in writing quickly and voluminously to commercial briefs. Lang was accordingly commissioned to both write a story to accompany Doyle’s images, and to manipulate the images in whatever way he pleased to make the story viable - and the result was Lang’s first work of fiction for children, The Princess Nobody. To tell the story of The Princess Nobody Lang drew upon the narratives from tradition he knew well as a scholar and had been writing about for decades. A king and a queen long for a child – as they do in Charles Perrault’s ‘Petit Poucet’ and in the Scottish tale, ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’, which Lang had collected ‘as a boy’ from his great aunt Margaret Craig.7 One day the king is visited by a moustachioed

10

s e l e c t e idnfti crto i odn uocf ta ino d rne w l a n g

dwarf who says he will help the couple conceive a child if the king will give him ‘NIENTE’ in return. The king agrees to this bargain, not knowing what NIENTE means, and shortly after leaves the kingdom to fight alongside his allies, the giants, in a war against the ghosts. In his absence, the queen gives birth to a child, and not wanting to christen her before the king’s return, gives her the temporary name Niente – Niente meaning ‘nothing’ in Italian just as ‘Nicht, Nought Nothing’ offers three figurations of absence in Lang’s Scotch dialect tale. Meanwhile the King’s wars have concluded, and he returns home, learns the Princess’s name, and realises that he has inadvertently promised her to the dwarf. As in the story of ‘Rumpelstiltskin’, the dwarf returns to claim his prize when the princess has grown up, but by this point the King has consulted the Queen of the Water Fairies, who organises a compromise: the dwarf will not have her, but the princess must also ‘vanish clean away’ (p. 64) and be carried to fairyland, where she will be hidden by the water fairies. This plan is duly effected, and the distraught parents, having lost their daughter, propose to recover her in the conventional fashion, by offering to give their ‘daughter for a wife to any prince who will only find her and bring her home’ (p. 64). A number of questers come forward to answer this call, including the unlikely hero, Prince Comical, who is ‘old and odd’ (p. 65), but also kind and good hearted. After Prince Comical has rescued a Daddylong-legs who is being tormented by ‘three bad little boys’ (p. 65), he earns the assistance of insect and bird helpers, and a complicated series of transitions and exchanges follows, designed primarily to incorporate and explicate the pictures of Doyle: the Daddy-long-legs introduces the prince to a Black Beetle, the Black Beetle guides him to Mushroom Land and tells him how to secure the services of the Blue Bird (a ruse that recalls Perseus’s theft of the eye of the Graii), and the Blue Bird takes him to the Queen of Mushroom Land who knows the location of the Princess Nobody. Prince Comical is then, like Perrault’s ‘Riquet à la Houppe’, transformed into a handsome young man by the queen, and he and the princess are ‘married in the Church of the Elves’ (p. 68). The story could end here – indeed, Lang’s narrator concedes at this point that readers ‘might think … they had nothing to do but go home again’ (p. 68); but Lang adds a second movement to the narrative, probably motivated by the need to include further illustrations by Doyle. In this second movement, the prince becomes preoccupied with learning the princess’s true name, and having learned it by eavesdropping on her whilst she is singing, breaks her injunction against uttering it aloud, and so loses her for a second time. This necessitates a further

11 11

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

quest involving a bat ridden by Puck, a visit to the King and Queen of Fairy Land, and a return to the Queen of the Water Fairies, who forgives the prince for breaking fairy law, and tells him how he can be reunited with the princess. In writing this second part of Princess Nobody Lang draws upon a further set of narrative traditions to structure his story, including Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy’s fairy tale ‘L’Îe de la félicité’ (1690, ‘The Island of Happiness’) in which a prince and princess forget about the passage of time on a utopian island, the classical story of ‘Cupid and Psyche’ from Lucius Apuleius’s Metamorphoses, in which Psyche ignores an injunction not to look upon her lover causing their separation, and a set of traditional tales that involve prohibitions against speaking the true name of the beloved. These latter tales had been a subject of Lang’s attention in his recent anthropological study, Custom and Myth, published in the same year as The Princess Nobody.8 Here Lang cites the Welsh and Zulu instances of this traditional motif in support of his argument that such stories originated as cautionary illustrations of the consequences of breaking a customary law. Lang’s reuse of this motif in The Princess Nobody exemplifies the fruitful intersection of scholarship and creativity that would become characteristic of all his work for children, both as a writer and an anthologist. Despite the pragmatic and commercial origin of The Princess Nobody, Lang appears to have enjoyed the process of writing the book, for in his verse preface he dedicates the story to ‘the babes at Branxholm Park’ (the children of Charles John Grieve and Lang’s sister-in-law Elizabeth Willing Alleyne) and promises that if his ‘nonsense hits the mark’ and the children ‘[t]hink tales of Fays and Giants stark, / Not wholly out of date’ he will ‘prate’ another time on a similar theme (p. 61). In fact, this slim volume sparked a decade of furious activity from Lang in the field of children’s literature. In 1888, he published his fairy romance, The Gold of Fairnilee, the following year saw the appearance of his comic fantasy novel, Prince Prigio (1889), as well as the first of his fairy tale anthologies, The Blue Fairy Book, and in 1893 he issued the sequel to Prince Prigio, and the second instalment in what would become The Chronicles of Pantouflia, Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia. Lang then capped this productive decade in 1895 with the publication of his collected children’s fictions, My Own Fairy Book, which brought together The Gold of Fairnilee, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo.9 The Gold of Fairnilee, Lang’s second work for children, was also the result of a publisher’s commission. In this case, it was the enterprising Bristol based publisher of popular fictions, J. W. Arrowsmith (whom Lang had earlier described in a letter to Henry Rider Haggard as ‘the

12

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

shilling dreadful man’) that ‘tempted’ Lang with the idea of popular children’s adventure story.10 Lang responded by composing ‘a Child’s Romance’ set in his native Border country that drew upon the ballads and folklore of the Scottish borders, in particular, the ballads collected by Walter Scott in The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (1802) and the rhymes and stories gathered by the Scottish folklorist Robert Chambers in Popular Rhymes of Scotland (1826). Lang completed the work swiftly. On 27 November 1887 he announced to his friend and fellow author Robert Louis Stevenson that he had been working on the book, and by 22 December, less than a month later, he was able to report that he had finished his ‘infantile romance, and found the military chest and mess plate of a Roman regiment in the Catrail’.11 Despite the apparent ease of composition, however, Lang worried incessantly about the book, telling Stevenson that he could ‘neither write romance, nor for children’, and expressing his concern to Brander Matthews that it would ‘frighten kids into fits’.12 The story is set in the aftermath of the Battle of Flodden in 1513, and follows the fortunes of two young people: Randal, the scion of the Scottish Border clan of Ker who live in the house of Fairnilee (a location Lang was intimately familiar with from childhood ramblings in the area), and Jean, who is accidentally abducted from an English family over the border and grows up as Randal’s companion. In the opening chapters, the reader learns that Randal’s father has died fighting the English at Flodden, and that Randal, possibly as a result of the trauma of his father’s violent death, has become preoccupied with visiting a magical wishing well which he believes will, like the magical well in the ballad of ‘Tamlane’, allow transit to fairy land. On a fateful night (the night of St John’s Eve, on which malignant spirits and witches were held to have power at the midnight hour) Randal visits the well and disappears into the land of the fairies. But the fairy realm in The Gold of Fairnilee turns out to be a place very different from Randal’s idealised imagining and much closer to the fairy realm from the Border ballad tradition – a place of danger, illusion, and entrapment, where history, seasonal change, and human life, stalls, and from which Randal, like Kai in Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Snow Queen’, must be rescued by his companion Jean and brought back to the real world to find his place there. The novel concludes when it is discovered that Randal has returned from fairy land with a bottle filled with a magical liquid that enables his nurse, well informed by folklore, to discover fairy treasure beneath the earth. This treasure permits Randal to provide for his people during a time of famine.

13 13

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

In his correspondence with friends, it is the discovery of the treasure that preoccupies Lang most. To Brander Matthews, for instance, Lang writes proudly that the treasure in his story is ‘[f ]ound out by a new dodge … none of your charts, and sherds, and cyphers’. ‘At least,’ he adds, ‘I never saw the dodge before.’13 But though Lang was pleased with the ‘dodge’ of using a magical fairy ointment to allow his characters to see buried treasure, he remained sceptical about the novel’s success. On three occasions in letters to Henry Rider Haggard he expresses the view that Haggard would have been able to make ‘more of the Scotch treasure, much to Arrowsmith’s advantage’, and to Austin Dobson he worries that the novel ‘won’t suit children’ because it is ‘not facetious, nor of today’.14 Posterity has been kinder to the novel, however. Roger Lancelyn Green, Lang’s biographer, describes it as ‘perhaps the best prose work of [Lang’s] whole career’, noting that ‘Andrew Lang, the poet with the wistful, melancholy soul, can nowhere be seen more clearly than in this simple little tale’.15 Likewise, Eleanor De Selms Langstaff and Eric Montenyohl in their respective studies of Lang’s work present it as ‘one of Lang’s finest artistic performances’.16 The strength of the novel rests in large part upon the fact that, despite Lang’s insistence that it is not ‘of today’ and consists only of, as he writes to Haggard, ‘a lot of childish reminiscences of old times in a better place than 1 Marloes Road’ (his London address) – the fiction has an immediacy and currency that invest its landscapes and stories with pressing significance and atmosphere.17 Of all Lang’s fictions, both for children and adults, The Gold of Fairnilee is his most personal, because it draws upon the scenes of his Scottish childhood, and the most urgent, dealing as it does with Scottish history and the legacy of the conflicts between Scotland and England. As such it is also the fiction that comes closest to fulfilling the description of the ideal modern fairy tale offered by Lang in an 1893. This fairy tale, article for The Illustrated London News published in 1892. Lang writes, does not indulge in unnecessary ‘word painting’ and it is not saccharine or moralising; rather it is ‘wide awake, and it goes to the point and comes to business’ whilst unobtrusively teaching ‘the true lessons of our wayfaring in a world of perplexities and obstructions’.18 Almost as soon as Lang completed The Gold of Fairnilee he was working on a new project for children: the first of the Pantouflia series – Prince Prigio. The differences between The Gold of Fairnilee and the novels that constitute Lang’s Chronicles of Pantouflia are striking. Where The Gold of Fairnilee is a serious, atmospheric, and occasionally eerie novel, as well as an intensely personal fiction for Lang, Prince Prigio is a comical, self-conscious fiction, artfully remote, and energised by its

14

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

intellectual playfulness. The sources of inspiration upon which Lang draws are also significantly different – the Border Minstrelsy of Fairnilee dissipates as an influence, and in its place are comic, burlesque fantasies such as William Makepeace Thackeray’s The Rose and the Ring (1855), and the international, specifically French and Middle Eastern, fairy tales that Lang was collating for The Blue Fairy Book, published in the same year as Prince Prigio. This shift in style may be explained in part by Lang’s suggestion to Austin Dobson, cited above, that ‘facetious’ novels are more likely to appeal to children than earnest Romance. Having failed (or so he felt) to write a fiction that children would like, Lang endeavoured to write something that would appeal more to the tastes of the modern child, and this was Prince Prigio. Prince Prigio is the first instalment of a comical, dynastic trilogy concerning the lives and loves of the royal family of an imaginary central European state known as Pantouflia. The Pantouflian royal family, as Lang’s 1895 preface to the novels in My Own Fairy Book records, are a people who prefer sedentary ways to swashbuckling valour, hence their heraldic crest of ‘a Dormouse, dormant, proper, on a field vert’ (i.e. lying down on a green background) and their family motto, ‘Anything for a Quiet Life’ (p. 112). As descendants of the famous fairy tale character Cinderella I (whose slipper – or pantoufle, in French – is memorialised in the country’s name) the family belong to a fairy court in which magical occurrences are normal. The queen, however, is an ardent rationalist who refuses to believe in such things as fairies, as, initially, is her son Prigio – at least until he is woken, like Sleeping Beauty, from his dream of reason as a result of falling in love.19 The novel opens with the long awaited birth of Prince Prigio (pronounced like ‘bridge-ee-o’ according to Lang), and the traditional fairy tale scenario in which fairies are invited to his christening to bestow gifts – though the Queen resolutely refuses to believe in these fairies.20 Each of the fairies gives Prigio a magical item – a sword of sharpness, seven-league boots a cap of darkness, a flying carpet – except the final fairy who curses Prigio to be ‘too clever’ (p. 115). So begins a story which, on the one hand, celebrates cleverness (the original in a current vogue for ‘geek chic’), but on the other advocates the virtue, important for Lang, of practicing modesty and humility – a virtue that the initially arrogant Prigio must learn in the course of the story. Prigio grows up with a scientific education, and his fairy things are put away in a ‘lumber room’ by his mother. But despite his denial of magic, the final fairy’s curse nonetheless makes itself felt, as Prigio’s superior manner alienates the other members of the court – in particular

15 15

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

his father, King Grognio, who fears that Prigio will use his intelligence to usurp the throne. When a Firedrake threatens the Kingdom, therefore, Grognio seizes his chance to send Prigio out to fight it, knowing that in stories the eldest son is invariably defeated. As a prolific reader, however, Prigio is well aware of the repeated narrative pattern in fairy tales whereby the oldest son is destined to fail and the youngest succeed, and therefore refuses the task, allowing his more intrepid, but less clever brothers take up the challenge in his place. The brothers are duly killed by the Firedrake, and Prigio, more despised than ever, is abandoned by his court. This inverse banishment, however, sets the scene for the prince’s conversion, for whilst alone he discovers his ‘fairy properties’ in a garret room, learns about their magic (to comic effect), and falls in love with the English ambassador’s daughter, Rosalind. It is love, finally, that persuades Prigio to venture forth and defeat the Firedrake – a task which he fulfils with all the ingenuity of a colonial diplomat by creating mutual enmity between the Firedrake and an ice-cold Remora, and allowing these enemies to neutralise one another. This feat achieved, however, a false claimant, Benson the butler, steals the evidence Prigio has gathered for his kill, and endeavours to claim the reward that the king has promised for the defeat of the Firedrake, this being marriage to the Lady Molinda, five thousand purses, and the position of Crown Prince. But Benson is thwarted when Prigio returns to the body of the Firedrake using his magic carpet, and reappears with its hooves. In traditional stories of this type (ATU 300 ‘The Dragon Slayer’), the false claimant would, at this point, usually face terrible consequences. Thus in Jacob and Wilhelm Grimms’ ‘The Two Brothers’ the deceiving marshal is ‘torn apart by four oxen’, and in Giovan Francesco Straparola’s ‘Cesarino, the Dragon-Slayer’ a peasant who endeavours to make false claims about the dragon’s death has his head struck from his body.21 Lang resists the convention, however, and Benson is merely ‘entertained with sherry and sandwiches’ before being ‘sent back to his master’ (p. 144); an illustration of Lang’s abhorrence of arbitrary cruelty in fairy tales, and his determination to avoid it in his own adaptations.22 Prigio’s trials do not end with the defeat of the Firedrake. The king remains suspicious of his eldest son and insists that he accepts the reward for killing the Firedrake, including marriage to Lady Molinda, a proposition that Prigio must refuse because of his love for Rosalind. For this refusal, the king orders Prigio’s execution by hanging, and the ever resourceful Prigio must bargain for his life by offering to recover his dead brothers. He achieves this final feat by using a magical, reanimating elixir known as ‘Water from the Fountain of Lions’ – a motif Lang has

16

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

borrowed from the Arabian Nights story of ‘Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Paribanou’, an abbreviated version of which he had also included in The Blue Fairy Book.23 With the return of the brothers, all the siblings are married to their respective sweethearts, and the novel concludes with Rosalind persuading Prigio to use the magic wishing cap to ‘wish to be no cleverer than other people’ so he will be more liked (p. 153). Prigio consents to this, but instead wishes only to ‘seem no cleverer than other people’ (p. 153) – a device that, according to Leonora Lang, had been suggested by her niece, Thyra Blanche Alleyne.24 Prigio would prove the most popular of Lang’s children’s fictions. Its first reader, Leonora Lang, reported that she preferred it to The Gold of Fairnilee on the grounds that it was ‘not poetical,’ and seven years after its publication Lang was able to report to the ballad collector Francis James Child that ‘[e]very one pleases me by liking Prigio’ – though he also complains that ‘no one has ever heard of him’.25 Longer term, the book was read widely by children in the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, amongst them C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and the musician Ralph Vaughan Williams, who was read the novel aloud by his mother and, according to his wife Ursula Vaughan Williams, absorbed from it and similar works ‘the varied cadences of English prose’.26 Lang himself was sufficiently satisfied with the book to return, four years after the publication of Prince Prigio with a sequel, Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia, the story of Prigio and Rosalind’s son. Lang’s central conceit in this second instalment is that Ricardo is the antithesis of his father Prigio, just as Prigio in turn had been the antithesis of King Grognio in the earlier novel. Prigio is clever and learned, Ricardo neglects his books and is ignorant of the basic facts of geography and history; Prigio is a rationalist who, initially at least, has resisted magic, Ricardo is entirely dependent on the ‘fairy things’ he has inherited from his father, to the extent that he has not developed his natural abilities. Thus where Prigio must learn the value of magic and the virtue of concealing his cleverness, Ricardo must learn to relinquish magic and to depend more upon his own intelligence. The novel begins with King Prigio endeavouring to enforce this lesson upon Ricardo by having the ‘fairy things’ substituted for identical but non-magical items that have ‘all the look of age’ (a metaphor, perhaps, for Lang’s own modern fairy tales). Much of the drama and comedy of the novel stems from this substitution. When Ricardo travels to Rome in a bid to install the exiled Charles Edward Stuart (Bonnie Prince Charlie) on the British throne and oust the ‘Elector of Hanover’, he is foiled because the magic carpet he has brought to transport James

17 17

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

to England will not work. This results in a duel with Charles, in which Ricardo is wounded. Being gentlemen, the princes subsequently resolve their quarrel, but Ricardo must return home having failed in his quest. Further adventures follow: Ricardo sallies out to conquer the villainous yellow dwarf, who had remained undefeated at the end of Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy’s seventeenth century fairy tale ‘La Nain jaune’ (‘The Yellow Dwarf ’); he also does battle with the notorious ‘Giant who does not know when he has had Enough’, who, like the brigand Orrilo in Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, is able to reassemble his body parts after they have been sliced off. This latter adventure leads to the novel’s denouement, for during the encounter with the giant, the Princess Jaqueline, Ricardo’s companion of obscure origin, is abducted by the giant and handed, for safe keeping, to the ‘Earthquaker’, who lives inside a volcano in the legendary city of Manoa in South America. Ricardo and Prigio travel to Manoa, and Prigio rescues Jaqueline by dropping onto the head of the Earthquaker all the heavy ignorance of the world which he fetches from the moon using a flying horse. The novel then concludes, in scenes reminiscent of the imperial adventure stories of Lang’s friend and occasional collaborator Henry Rider Haggard, with the conversion of the Incas to Lutheranism, and the revelation that Ricardo’s companion, and future bride, Jaqueline, is a lost Inca Princess that Ricardo had rescued, in an earlier adventure, from ritual sacrifice, but whose origins had been forgotten because of Ricardo’s poor geography and Jaqueline’s amnesia. Jaqueline is thus revealed as a South American protagonist, though beyond the revelation of her true identity, the princess’s cultural difference from Ricardo is not thematised in the narrative, and in all representations of her – both the textual accounts and the illustrations by Gordon Browne – she appears as a conventional European heroine. Jaqueline’s cultural origins are thus introduced into the narrative to serve the cause of romance, and perhaps to extend the narrative’s implicit account of European conquest, but the tangible reality of her cultural and ethnic difference is carefully elided by Lang and Browne. Following the publication of Prince Ricardo Lang turned away from children’s writing for a period. From 1893 until 1907 Lang focused primarily upon writing biographies, histories and literary criticism – and increasingly in this period too, his role as editor of the fairy books became more administrative and his personal creative contributions less frequent. This shift may have been occasioned in part by Lang’s mounting disillusionment with his creative work and its financial viability. Repeatedly in his letters he expresses his concern that his publishers are not representing his fiction effectively, and in 1893 these observa-

18

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

tions become pointed and bitter. To Anna Hills in December 1893, for instance, he complains that Prince Ricardo ‘was sold to certain failure, thanks to a muddle of circumstances’; and in December 1895 he voices his frustration to Hills that My Own Fairy Book had never been advertised by Arrowsmith, and that he had not himself been informed when it was published.27 Late in 1906, however, after a thirteen year hiatus, Lang informed his sister, Jeanie Lang Blackie that he would be returning to fiction with ‘a Greek and Trojan book for children’. ‘The type writer is an enthusiastic student of it,’ Lang noted, adding ‘I mainly stick to the Greek of Homer and several other authors, but I had to invent a point or two, where the old Greek poems are lost’.28 The result of Lang’s enthusiastic typing was his Tales of Troy and Greece, published in 1907, which includes a novella length version of the story of Ulysses, and shorter versions of the stories of Theseus, Jason and Perseus. The collection is part classical adaptation – an extension of Lang’s earlier work translating Homer into English prose – and part boy’s adventure story. In this late adventure book the satire and self-consciousness of the Chronicles of Pantouflia is notably absent: Lang takes his subject entirely seriously, elevating his prose with the rhythms of classical verse, and infusing each episode with the stature he has borrowed from his classical sources. The narrative included in this selected works to represent Tales of Troy and Greece is ‘The Fleece of Gold’, which adapts the story of Jason and the Argonauts from a number of sources, but primarily the third century BCE ancient Greek epic poem, the Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes. In Lang’s hands, the story has been simplified for children, and some of the more indelicate and violent passages in Apollonius tastefully removed. The episode in which the Argonauts arrive at the island of Lemnos enter into sexual relationships with the women they find there, for instance, is, unsurprisingly, omitted by Lang. Lang has also transformed Apollonius’s complex, and occasionally flawed, Jason – a figure riddled by self-doubt and capable of serious strategic errors and moral failings – into a more straightforward hero, less troubling to the Edwardian nursery and more representative of the ‘boy’s own’ adventure story market that Lang was writing for. The stories in Tales of Troy and Greece were widely read by children at the turn of the twentieth century, and the collection went into several editions, including two shorter editions that appeared in 1909 under the titles Tales of Troy and Tales of the Greek Seas. As models of retold myths, they have been influential. Roger Lancelyn Green drew inspiration from them, as well as from Charles Kingsley’s collection The Heroes

19 19

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

(1855), in the composition of his 1958 collection Tales of the Greek Heroes, which also includes a version of ‘The Quest of the Golden Fleece’.29 Green’s narratives in turn have had a significant influence upon a later generation of writers, including the author of the Percy Jackson series Rick Riordan, who notes in his introduction to a reissue of Tales of the Greek Heroes that he ‘probably never would have written [his] own books about a modern-day demigod, Percy Jackson’ if it had not been for Green’s stories.30 Thus, directly and indirectly, the impact of Lang’s innovative adaptations of myths and tales continues to be felt throughout the twentieth century and into the twenty-first. Lang’s interest in children’s writing having been reignited by Tales of Troy and Greece, he also returned, in 1907, to his Pantouflia sequence, publishing the final instalment of the trilogy, and the last of his children’s novels, Tales of a Fairy Court. This third Pantouflia book operates in the mode of an epic resumé, recounting stories, not yet told, from the childhood and early adulthood of Prigio. Included in the novel, which is in truth little more than a loose collation of picaresque adventures, is a tale concerning Prigio’s father, who has dealings with a giant at Prigio’s birth, and a set of stories concerning Prigio’s adventures after the defeat of the Firedrake. These latter episodes focus upon a ‘Fairy Timepiece’ which enables Prigio to travel firstly to the future, where he encounters ‘Motors, things he had never dreamed of … rushing up to the palace door full of tourists in black goggles, with red Travellers’ Guides in their hands’, and then to the past, where he is accused of practicing witchcraft by James VI of Scotland and the Scottish theologian, and scholar of the University of St. Andrews, Andrew Melville.31 Roger Lancelyn Green in his commentary on Lang’s fictions finds such episodes jarring. This adventure in ‘a Scottish historical setting’, Green notes, ‘detracts greatly from the verisimilitude’ – as had the ‘adventure with Prince Charlie’ in Prince Ricardo that Green had found ‘so alien as to seem a disfigurement’.32 J. R. R. Tolkien too, in unpublished notes from one of the manuscripts of his essay ‘On Fairy-stories’, is critical of Lang’s integration of the real world (‘Terra Factalis’) and the fantastical world (‘Terra Mirabilis’) in both Prince Ricardo and Tales of a Fairy Court. Beginning with a reflection upon Prince Prigio, Tolkien writes: Its satirical elements are kept at bounds. It has the right heartbeats at the happy turn. And it has a very neat semi-satirical semi-magical ending which is much appreciated by myself and my children. But it has the germ of the many faults which destroyed Ricardo and still more Tales from the Fairy Court: Preaching! Worse – too much magic, wishing caps, seven-leagued boots, invisibility cloaks, magic spy glasses, and

20

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

much else. There is also the magic of an altogether wrong kind … Too much real history, Terra Factalis and Terra Mirabilis cannot be arranged in geographical sequence or their histories chronologically aligned with some place in time.33

Writing to his friend Anna Hills during the composition of Tales of a Fairy Court in 1906 Lang expresses his own doubts about the final instalment of Pantouflia. ‘I am doing some pot boiling “Tales of a Fairy Court”’, he tells Hills. ‘They amuse nobody but me, and me but slightly.’34 Lang’s verdicts upon his own fictions are, as Marysa Demoor observes, invariably over-critical and self-deprecatory.35 In the case of Tales of a Fairy Court, however, it is possible to detect Lang’s waning interest in certain passages of the book. There is much to interest the student of Pantouflia in this final volume, not least, another iteration of the story of ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’ that preoccupied Lang throughout his career, and that may be identified as one of his major literary and cultural influences. But the structure of the novel is overly loose, with some of the episodes, notably the final story, appearing arbitrary and inconclusive. There are also narrative discontinuities that frustrate the reader. Prigio’s father, King Grognio, for instance, who is venial and intolerant in Prince Prigio, is inexplicably transformed into a cunning adventurer and generous parent in Tales of a Fairy Court. It is in part for these reasons that Tales of a Fairy Court is the only substantial children’s fiction by Lang not to be represented in this volume, though keen readers of Lang’s work should not be discouraged from hunting out the book. Lang died on 20 July 1912 having had a profound impact on children’s writing in Britain. The scholar Ruth Bottigheimer has described Lang’s Coloured Fairy Books as an imaginative ‘mother lode’ for twentieth-century authors of fairy tales for children, and several major cultural figures of the early- to mid-twentieth century bear witness to this, including Tolkien, who in his influential essay ‘On Fairy-stories’, first given in abbreviated form as a lecture in the Andrew Lang series at the University of St Andrews in March 1939, notes that he was ‘one of the children whom Andrew Lang was addressing’ having been ‘born at about the same time as the Green Fairy Book’.36 Of the numerous collections of fairy tales available in mid twentieth century Britain, Tolkien observes, ‘none probably rival either the popularity, or the inclusiveness, or the general merits of the twelve books of twelve colours which we owe to Andrew Lang and to his wife.37 Lang’s children’s novels too, though never attaining the same prominence as the fairy anthologies, were widely read and enjoyed for many decades after his death. Green reports, for instance, that ‘[t]he book-

21 21

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

shops at Christmas 1943 displayed whole shelves of the latest reprint of Chronicles of Pantouflia – shelves that were not full for many days; while 1945 had exhausted the newly-illustrated edition of Prince Prigo some months before the year’s end’.38 Likewise, the British Children’s writer Gillian Avery, born in 1926, recalls that ‘Prince Prigio was well known in [her] childhood’ and had been widely available ‘in a school edition which [was] used as a class book in reading lessons’.39 Despite their initial popularity, however, Lang’s own fictions have, in more recent decades, suffered neglect. From the 1950s onwards, The Chronicles of Pantouflia, The Gold of Fairnilee and The Princess Nobody gradually dropped out of the catalogue of books that commonly appeared in children’s libraries, and Lang became associated almost entirely with his fairy tale anthologies – a legacy he would not have relished. We may speculate as to the reasons for this neglect. Lang’s preference for romantic escapism may have appeared inadequate to deal with the modern world in a period following two world wars. Equally, his clever, but remote style, his preoccupation with Victorian fairy-folk, his obscure scholarly references, may have combined to make his fiction seem stilted to generations of later twentieth-century readers. This is to some extent confirmed by the reservations about Lang’s original work that are expressed by Tolkien in ‘On Fairy-stories’, in which he objects to the frequency with which Lang writes, not with his child audience to the fore, but with ‘an eye on the other grown-ups present’.40 ‘I will not accuse Andrew Lang of sniggering,’ Tolkien writes, ‘[b]ut certainly he smiled to himself, and certainly too often he had an eye on the faces of other clever people over the heads of his child-audience – to the very grave detriment of the Chronicles of Pantouflia’.41 Tolkien’s judgements on Lang have proved influential, and may to some small degree have contributed to the eclipse of his writing. But Tolkien’s assessment of Lang is also of its time, and it is arguable that aesthetic tastes have shifted again in recent decades in directions more favourable to Lang and his work. Self-consciousness in children’s fiction, and in particular, the knowing, analytical interrogation of the conventions of fairy tales, has become common following the vogue for reimagined fairy tales initiated by writers such as Angela Carter, A. S. Byatt and Emma Donoghue (the latter of whom cites the influence of Lang’s Fairy Books in the dedication to her collection of interlinked, reworked fairy tales Kissing the Witch, 1997).42 Equally, the practice of addressing adult readers on one level and children on another has been presented more affirmatively in recent children’s fiction as a means of engaging the interest and intelligence of both parties in different ways,

22

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

not as a sly communication ‘over children’s heads’. Salman Rushdie, for instance, whose self-consciously ‘clever’ children’s fictions bear some comparison to Lang’s, imagines his novels Haroun and the Sea of Stories (1990), and Luka and the Fire of Life (2010) to be ‘messages in bottles’ that provide one set of meanings for the child reader and another for the adult. Rushdie writes: A child may read these books and, I hope, derive from them the pleasures and satisfactions that children seek from books. The same child may read them again when he or she is grown, and see a different book, with adult satisfactions instead of (or as well as) the earlier ones.43

Lang’s prescience as a writer of self-conscious fairy tales is further illustrated by a comparison between Prince Prigio and A. S. Byatt’s ‘Story of the Eldest Princess’ in her 1994 collection The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. Byatt’s tale begins in a kingdom that is suffering from a strange affliction: the sky is inexplicably changing from blue to green. The people of the kingdom are not sure how this change in the sky’s colour will affect them, but it is nevertheless decided that a quest is needed to arrest the transformation, and the eldest daughter of the king is selected as the most appropriate person to attempt this quest. The Eldest Princess, however, is a voracious reader, and knows, from her reading of stories, that she is destined to fail, and her youngest sister to succeed. So instead of completing the quest, she decides to depart from the path that has been set for her and give assistance to some creatures she meets on the way, each of which has been damaged by the stories that are told about it. Eventually, the Eldest Princess and the creatures she has rescued arrive at a house deep in the woods where they find an Old Woman who heals by telling stories. The old Woman tells the Eldest princess that she is ‘a born storyteller’ because she ‘had the sense to see [she was] caught in a story, and the sense to see that [she could] change it to another one’.44 The similarities to Lang’s narrative in Prince Prigio are revealing, as are the differences. Anticipating Byatt by over a hundred years, Lang’s Prince Prigio is a metafictional fairy tale that plays self-consciously with narrative convention to create its artistic effects. In this respect at least, Lang is in the vanguard of postmodern experiments with fairy tale scripts such as Byatt’s. Simultaneously, however, Lang’s treatment of fairy tales tropes is noticeably distinct from Byatt’s. Lang uses the disruption of readers’ expectations primarily for comic effect, as the Shrek films (2001–10) later would. By contrast, Byatt is asking readers to understand how our perceptions of social roles and gender codes are

23 23

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

shaped by the powerful and repeated cultural formations that may be found in traditional stories. This distinction is especially apparent in the outcome that is offered to the disruptive protagonists in each of the stories. Byatt’s princess walks out of her ‘inconvenient story’ and goes her own way, never to return to ‘the Road’,45 but Prince Prigio, having initially refused his quest, comes to accept the existence of magic – and by implication the conventional fairy-tale pattern – which opens the way to a reinstatement of the fairy tale ending: he completes a quest, kills the Firedrake, inherits the kingdom and marries his beloved, at which point normative social roles are re-established. In Prince Prigio, therefore, the disruption of the conventional narrative is formal and playful, but never becomes political. Byatt’s story, on the other hand, has a defined socio-political objective – to interrogate the conventional narrative pattern in which the obedient conformist princess takes her expected place in a patriarchal order. The conservatism in Lang’s disruption of conventional fairy tale narratives is apparent in other episodes in his fiction too. Lang’s principled refusal to enact the usual fairy-tale punishment upon Benson the butler, for instance, is not the prelude to an interrogation of the hierarchical social structure that keeps Benson in servitude. On the contrary, the novel ultimately reinforces this structure by ensuring that Benson’s aspirations to change his class position are ridiculed, and that he is returned to his rightful place, as a servant to the English ambassador. For all his experiments with form, convention and genre, therefore, Lang’s fictions remain ideologically conservative, endorsing hierarchical class structures, normative gender relations, and (in his depictions of non-European peoples) a world outlook conditioned by Eurocentric and imperial assumptions. It would be for a later generation to make use of the formal experiment Lang pioneered as a rewriter of fairy tales to challenge the ideological systems of thinking that such traditional fictions had been used to uphold and reinforce. …

This selection of Lang’s children’s fictions incorporates the bulk of his original writing in this domain. The Princess Nobody, The Gold of Fairnilee, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo are printed in full, and of his novels, only Tales of a Fairy Court is omitted. Also included in this selection is an article by Lang, published in April 1863 in the St. Andrews University Magazine (his second published piece), in which there appears two stories, ‘Rashin Coatie’ and ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’, that Lang

24

s e l e c t e di nf itcrt o i odn uocf tainodnr e w l a n g

had collected from his Great Aunt, Margaret Craig.46 These two stories, though they cannot be accounted original works by Lang, represent his major contribution to the archive of Scottish storytelling, as well as a significant influence upon his own writings, and it is for this reason that they find their place in these pages. This volume also includes three stories that represent Lang’s shorter works for children: ‘The Fleece of Gold’ from Lang’s Tales of Troy and Greece, and two stories taken from Lang’s Coloured Fairy Books: ‘The Terrible Head’ from The Blue Fairy Book (1889) and ‘The Story of Sigurd’ from the Red Fairy Book (1890), both of which are original contributions by Lang to the Coloured Fairy Books. In each case, these stories continue Lang’s lifelong practice of appropriating and adapting the narratives of tradition. ‘The Fleece of Gold’ reworks the myth of Jason and the Argonauts, ‘The Terrible Head’ adapts the Greek story of Perseus, primarily from the Bibliotheca of Apollodorus (2.4.1–6), and ‘The Story of Sigurd’ reformulates a section of the late thirteenth century Icelandic prose narrative, the Völsunga Saga which Lang had read in the translation made by William Morris and Eiríkr Magnússon in 1870.47 In the two stories from the Coloured Fairy Books, Lang’s objective in adapting his source texts was to re-present the source myths as if they were fairy tales by simplifying plots, removing locations, and replacing personal names with abstracted and generic character identifications – hence in ‘The Terrible Head’ Perseus becomes ‘the boy’, the Gorgons are ‘The Dreadful Women’, and the nymphs of the Garden of the Hesperides are transformed into the ‘Three Fairies of the Garden’. Lang does this in part to make these mythic narratives seem less alien in a collection of fairy tales, but he also transforms myths into fairy tales as a narrative experiment designed to support the argument he advanced as an academic folklorist – that complex mythologies have evolved from primitive folktales. If it is possible to strip myths back until they resemble fairy tales, Lang hypothesises in these adaptations, is it not also reasonable to assume that these myths may have begun their existence as fairy tales? This surmise is to the fore in Lang’s comments on ‘The Story of Sigurd’ in his long introduction to the first limited edition of The Red Fairy Book. ‘Perhaps we should apologise for turning back into a fairy tale the splendid Saga of Sigurd,’ Lang writes, ‘but it was once, doubtless, a Märchen, like the rest, and owes its grandeur to the tragic imagination of some nameless poet of the North’.48 Read together, Lang’s original fictions for children emerge as a highly eclectic body of work, diverse in style, genre and form. The Princess Nobody is a picture book, written to supply a narrative for the fairy

25 25

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

paintings of Richard Doyle, The Gold of Fairnilee is an atmospheric historical romance that draws upon the balladry of the Scottish Borders, The Chronicles of Pantouflia are extravagant comic fantasies set in an imaginary fairy kingdom, and the stories in Tales of Troy and Greece are earnest adaptations of classical Greek hero myths. Lang’s fictional oeuvre thus traverses a broad fictional terrain, encompassing the high heroism of classical myth, the mock-heroic understatement of Pantouflia, the eerie fairy activities of Fairnilee, and the extravagant hijinks of the fairy-folk in The Princess Nobody. Diverse as they are in style and genre, however, these fictions also share some common themes that unite them as a coherent body of work: in each case Lang is concerned with traditional narrative inheritances – with the fairy tale, the ballad, the folk tale and the myth – and in each case Lang seeks to explore how these inheritances from the past can be reconstituted to form the groundwork for new fictions in the present. In his children’s fictions, we may conclude, Lang is, at one and the same time, a traditionalist and a modernist – concerned with the weight of long-established narrative convention, but willing to experiment with established narrative models to produce the works of the future. Above all, however, Lang’s children’s fictions are united by a shared concern to promote the value and virtue of knowledge – especially the knowledge that is to be found in old traditions. This is especially apparent in the resolutions of Lang’s narratives, most of which depend upon a character’s knowledge of stories, and his or her ability to apply this knowledge to a present situation. In The Gold of Fairnilee it is the old nurse’s familiarity with fairy lore that enables her to understand the potential uses to which Randal’s fairy bottle can be put; Prince Prigio defeats the Firedrake and the Remora by employing a strategy he has learned from Cyrano de Bergerac’s seventeenth century novel Les États et Empires du Soleil (The States and Empires of the Sun) (see p. 130 and p. 278, n. 13); and in Prince Ricardo, Prigio overcomes the Earthquaker by drawing upon his knowledge of the events of Ludovico Ariosto’s sixteenth century epic poem Orlando Furioso (see p. 202 and p. 290, n. 71). For each of these protagonists, and for Lang’s readers, the lesson is unmistakable. ‘Knowledge is Power,’ as Lang writes in Prince Ricardo, ‘and you mostly get knowledge that is really worth having out of good old books which people do not usually read’ (p. 202). It is hard to think of a better introduction to Lang’s own fairy books – not often read these days – but valuable for the insights they supply into late Victorian fairy writing, and more valuable still as pioneering experiments with fantasy literature that anticipate modern developments in the genre.

26

a note on the texts

A Note on the Texts

‘Scottish Nursery Tales’.

T

The textheoftext thisofarticle is taken fromfrom its first publication in the this article is taken its and first only and only publication in St. Andrews University 1863, April pp.172–9, it is signed the St. AndrewsMagazine, University April Magazine, 1863,where pp. 172–9, where with theitpseudonym ‘W.’ in this are two Scottish is signed with theIncluded pseudonym ‘W.’article Included in this articlefolk are tales Scottish that Lang, in tales his later the‘Cinderella Diffusion ofand Tales’, two folk thatessay Lang,‘Cinderella in his laterand essay the claimed toof have collected ‘as atoboy’ from his Great Craig Diffusion Tales’, claimed have collected ‘as aAunt, boy’ Margaret from his Great of Darliston in Morayshire, Scotland. See Folk-LoreScotland. 4:4 (1893), 429. Aunt, Margaret Craig of Darliston in Morayshire, Seep.FolkElsewhere Lang p.  also notes that Margaret Craig hadthat ‘written down’ the Lore 4:4 (1893), 429. Elsewhere Lang also notes Margaret Craig tales‘written for him.down’ See ‘A Travelled and Myth (London: had theFar tales for him.Tale,’ See ‘ACustom Far Travelled Tale,’ Custom Longmans, Green and Co., 1884), p. 89. modified and Myth (London: Longmans, Green andLang Co., subsequently 1884), p. 89. Lang suband republished these in a variety locations, without the sequently modified andstories republished theseofstories in a but variety of locaaccompanying critical commentary. Both Coatie’Both and ‘Rashin ‘Nicht, tions, but without the accompanying critical‘Rashin commentary. Nought,and Nothing’ republished Lang under hisby own name in Coatie’ ‘Nicht, were Nought, Nothing’bywere republished Lang under Revue Celtique 3 (1876–8), pp. 365–78; and aspp. 365–78; part of a collection of tales his own name in Revue Celtique 3 (1876–8), and as part of a titled ‘English andtitled Scotch Fairy Tales’ in the journal Folklore 1:3 journal (1890), collection of tales ‘English and Scotch Fairy Tales’ in the pp. 289–312. The pp. 289–312. story ‘Nicht,The Nought, Nothing’ was Nothing’ additionally Folklore 1:3 (1890), story ‘Nicht, Nought, was in theinessay Tale’ which appeared in ­apublished dditionallyin­pfull ublished full ‘A in Far the Travelled essay ‘A Far Travelled Tale’ which Lang’s anthropological study Custom andCustom Myth (1884). appeared in Lang’s anthropological study and Myth (1884). Lang’s later republications of the stories show that he continued to edit and adapt the text over time; in particular, significant changes have been made to the text of the stories between their publication in the St. Andrews University Magazine and later republications in Revue Celtique and Folklore. These editorial interventions take two broad forms. First, Lang significantly reduced the Scotch dialect for the reissue of the sto-

29 27

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

ries in Revue Celtique, systematically replacing dialect words and phrases with their Standard English equivalents. In some passages this has the effect of eliminating the use of dialect altogether. Second, editorial interventions have also been made in the stories to produce a more streamlined and literary text. These latter changes are of three kinds. First, Lang has removed certain clauses, sometimes whole sentences, to make the narratives more economical; second, he has added occasional details with a view to explicating plot developments; and third, he has regularised idiosyncratic phrasing (‘birdie’ becomes ‘bird’, ‘the morn’ is changed to ‘tomorrow’, and the idiomatic description of the giant’s journey - ‘He travelled and travelled, and better travelled, till he came to a big stone’ – is reduced to the more functional formulation: ‘He travelled until he came to a big stone’). This manipulation of the text is likely to have been conducted with a view to making the tales readily available to the international readership of Revue Celtique and Folklore; but Lang’s alterations also have the effect of removing some of their distinctive character, and certainly of distancing the tales further from the Celtic sources Lang attributes them to in ‘Cinderella and the Diffusion of Tales’ (p. 429), where he speculates that Margaret Craig may have inherited the tales from ‘the Celtic figure of Miss Nelly McWilliam’ – a ‘family heroine’ with a romantic connection to the Jacobite uprising of 1745. The present edition, therefore, seeks to reintroduce the first text of these stories as they appeared prior to Lang’s later editorial interventions, and in the form that may be assumed to be closer to the tales as they were originally presented to Lang by Margaret Craig. ‘Rashin Coatie’ and ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’ have become familiar fictions in popular culture, frequently reprinted, retold and anthologised. In Katharine Briggs’ authoritative Dictionary of British Folk-Tales in the English Language, Lang’s narratives are used to represent the occurrence of these tale types in Scotland (though Briggs uses the later version of the stories, with dialect reduced). See Briggs, A Dictionary of British Folk-Tales in the English Language (London: Routledge, 1970), vol. 1, part A, pp. 424–6 and 456–8. The stories have also been reissued in diverse formats: Joseph Jacobs included anglicised versions of the texts in his English Fairy Tales (1890) and More English Fairy Tales (1894), ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’ is adapted in Flora Annie Steel’s popular collection English Fairy Tales (1918), and the Scottish author Naomi Mitchison used the story – albeit substantially reimagined – as the basis of her play for children Nix, Nought, Nothing (1928). Lang’s youthful act of collection, in these respects, has resulted in a significant contribution to the canon of Scottish folk and fairy tale.

30 28

s e l eac tn e do t f iec toi onn to h f ea n td e r exwt sl a n g

The original text of this article contains some minor typographical errors, which have been silently corrected here.

The Princess Nobody: A Tale of Fairy Land. The source text used for the present volume is the first edition, published by Longmans, Green and Co. in 1884. The original publication takes the form of a picture book, with illustrations taken from Richard Doyle’s In Fairyland: A Series of Pictures from the Elf-World (1870). These illustrations are not reproduced substantially in the present edition, though samples of them may be seen in figure 3 (p. 71) and in the cover illustration. Princess Nobody was not republished in Lang’s lifetime, but has subsequently been republished in Roger Lancelyn Green (ed.) Modern Fairy Stories (London: Dent, 1955, with alternative illustrations by E. H. Shepard), Gillian Avery (ed.) The Gold of Fairnilee and Other Stories (London: Gollancz, 1967, without illustrations) and Jack Zipes (ed.) Victorian Fairy Tales (London: Routledge, 1987, with five of Doyle’s illustrations). The narrative was also adapted and considerably abbreviated as a children’s picture book by the London publisher Kaye and Ward in 1973 with new illustrations by William Stobbs (no author is specified).

The Gold of Fairnilee, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo. The copy texts used for the present volume are the first editions of these novels published by J. W. Arrowsmith of Bristol in 1888, 1889 and 1893 respectively. All three novels were republished by Lang in 1895 in his anthology for J. W. Arrowsmith titled My Own Fairy Book. The text of the novels that appears in My Own Fairy Book is substantially the same as the first editions, though where adjustments have been made for typographic errors, these have been incorporated into the present edition. Some changes of formatting have also been made to the texts in My Own Fairy Book, but in the main the present edition favours the original formatting. For instance, the present edition retains the italicisation of the verses that appear in the first edition of The Gold of Fairnilee, rather than the quotation marks (without italics) used in the text of My Own Fairy Book, on the grounds that the presentation of verses in italics appears less cluttered. After Lang’s death The Gold of Fairnilee was republished by Arrowsmith in 1933, Gollancz in 1967 (as The Gold of Fairnilee and

31 29

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Other Stories), and Puffin Classics in 1992 (Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales, ed. Gordon Jarvie), which was reissued by Penguin Classics in 2008 as Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales: From Burns to Buchan. Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo appeared again after Lang’s death in The Chronicles of Pantouflia (1932) along with Lang’s 1907 sequel Tales of a Fairy Court (not included in the present edition). There have also been numerous subsequent reissues of these novels, amongst them those by the publishers Thomas Crowell (Prince Prigio, 1901), Little Brown (Prince Prigio, 1942), G. G. Harrap (Prince Prigio, 1945), J. M. Dent (Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo, 1961), Garland Classics of Children’s Literature (Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia, 1976), Talisman (Prince Prigio, 1979), Godine (Chronicles of Pantouflia, 1981) and Methuen (The Chronicles of Pantouflia, 1982).

‘The Terrible Head’ and ‘The Story of Sigurd’. The texts are presented here as they appear in the first editions of, respectively, The Blue Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1889), pp. 182–92 and The Red Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1890), pp. 357–67. These ‘Coloured Fairy Books’ went into a number of new impressions during Lang’s lifetime, and have been republished several times since his death, notably by Dover Books between 1965 and 1968. On two occasions the fairy books have been reedited and adapted. In 1949 and 1950 respectively Longmans issued new editions of the Blue and Red fairy books edited by Mary Gould Davis in which significant changes have been made to the texts of the collected stories and their arrangement. In Gould Davis’s version of ‘The Terrible Head’, for instance, passages have been shortened, syntax has been simplified, and some of the more gruesome episodes in Lang’s text have been moderated to make the story acceptable reading for the 1940s nursery. Thus where Lang writes: ‘he drew the Sword of Sharpness and struck once, and the Terrible Head was cut from the shoulders of the creature, and the blood leaped out and struck him like a blow’ (see p. 222), Gould Davis has more simply: ‘he drew the Sword of Sharpness and struck once, and the Terrible Head was cut from her shoulders’. See Andrew Lang, The Blue Fairy Book, ed. Mary Gould Davis (New York: Longmans, Green and Co., 1949), p. 209. New editions of the Blue and Red fairy books were also issued by Kestrel Books (a Penguin imprint) in 1975 and 1976 respectively, with notes and introductions by Brian Alderson. Alderson has also made

32 30

s e l eac tn e do t f iec toi onn to h f ea n td e r exwt sl a n g

alterations to Lang’s texts, and in the case of ‘The Story of Sigurd’ omits the narrative altogether on the grounds that he believes it to be ‘out of place’ in Lang’s collection. See Andrew Lang, The Red Fairy Book, ed. Brian Alderson (Harmondsworth: Kestrel, 1976), p. 369. As a result of such changes and omissions neither the Gould Davis or Alderson editions can be regarded as reliable reflections of the intentions of Lang and his collaborators. ‘The Terrible Head’ and ‘The Story of Sigurd’ are included in the present selection as examples of original compositions by Lang that appear in the Coloured Fairy anthologies.

‘The Fleece of Gold’. The text in the present volume is as it appears in the first edition of Lang’s collection Tales of Troy and Greece (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1907), pp. 172–200. Lang notes in his afterword to Tales of Troy and Greece that the story was ‘first published in an American magazine’ and had ‘also appeared in America in a little volume’ published by Henry Altemus & Co (p. 288). For the latter see Andrew Lang, The Story of the Golden Fleece (Philadelphia: Henry Altemus & Co., 1903), with illustrations by Mills Thompson. Lang notes that the story as it appears in Tales of Troy and Greece is ‘reprinted by permission of Messrs. Altemus, with some changes and corrections’. The narratives in Tales of Troy and Greece were subsequently reissued in various formats. Longmans republished the stories in two shorter volumes in 1909 (Tales of Troy and Tales of the Greek Seas), and the complete collection has been reissued by several publishing houses, including Faber and Faber (1962 and 2017) and Wordsworth (1995). The Manuscript Texts This edition has been prepared with reference to the manuscripts of The Gold of Fairnilee, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo in the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, MS-2379. These manuscripts are handwritten by Lang and include extensive corrections and annotations. In the main, Lang’s corrections and annotations comprise additions of text in the margins or on additional inserted leaves; deletions of text, ranging from individual words to substantial sections; and substitutions of words, phrases, and proper names (in particular, Lang can be seen testing and changing character names throughout the manuscripts). The manuscripts also omit material which appears in the final

33 31

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

published text and, conversely, include material that does not appear in the final published text, suggesting that they were subject to further stages of revision. Dominant characteristics of each manuscript are as follows:

The Gold of Fairnilee. The manuscript consists of 130 pages handwritten in black ink with annotations and corrections in black ink or pencil. A cover sheet has been added, reading ‘Original MSS, The Gold of Fairnilee, Andrew Lang’, and the title page has been signed by Lang and gives his home address, ‘1, Marloes Road, London, W’ (see figure 2). At some point, the manuscript has been fixed into a binding, since the top left of each page (facing the manuscript) has been pierced, and the bottom left corner is torn where it has been removed from its binding. Because of the tearing, some words are not visible, so where the manuscript is quoted in the present edition the probable missing words have been indicated in square brackets. The text of the manuscript shows Lang experimenting with names, characters and settings. Notably, Lang has changed the dating of the story in the course of writing from 1713 to 1513 (MS p. 8), suggesting that he had briefly entertained the possibility of setting the story im-

Figure 2. Page 1 of Lang’s manuscript of The Gold of Fairnilee. Lang has made various changes to the text in his annotations: the spelling of Fairnilee has been altered (‘Fairnielea’ is rejected), the chapter title has been adjusted to ‘The Old House’ from ‘Randal and Jean’, and various amendments have been made to phrasing. Comparison of the manuscript with the final published text also reveals that further changes were made to the text at a later date. For instance, ‘the House’ in the opening line of the manuscript has become ‘the old Scotch house’ by the time the novel was published. This addition, along with other alterations to the manuscript text, shows Lang intensifying his emphasis on the novel’s Scottish location. This manuscript page also includes a substantial section of writing that has been removed by the time of publication. This section reads (going on to MS p.2): ‘What makes us feel strange when we go into an old empty house? It seems as if something were living in it still, some kind of shadows of the people [who] once had their home there. [Now] there is nothing: nothing but darkness, and damp, and the thistles growing in the stone staircases, and the ivy flapping like a curtain across the window’. The reproduction is courtesy of the Harry Ransom Center, The University of Texas at Austin.

34 32

selected fiction of andrew lang

35

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

mediately prior to the first Jacobite rebellion of 1715. The manuscript also shows that Lang had planned a subplot designed to reveal the true identity of Jean. On MS p. 77 there is mention of a ‘curious golden ball’ being found round her neck as a baby that Lady Ker suspects ‘might be the cause of Jean finding out her own family in England’. Of interest too in the manuscript is evidence that Lang, during revision, removed a passage in which moralising becomes too overt. On MS pp. 45–6 the following authorial comment, made about Randal’s visit to the Wishing Well, appears: It was wrong of Randal to go, as his mother had forbidden it. Good hardly ever comes of children doing what is forbidden. If good did come of Randal’s disobedience in the end, it was after much sorrow and trouble. And the things that happened to him are so very unlikely to happen to any child who reads this [book] that he will certainly find it better always to do as he is bid.

In removing this passage prior to publication, Lang was working in conformity with the recommendation he would later make to writers of modern fairy tales, that ‘little episodic sermons’ should be avoided. See Lang, ‘Modern Fairy Tales’, Illustrated London News (3 December 1893), 714. 1892), p. p. 714.

Prince Prigio. The manuscript consists of 162 pages handwritten in black ink with extensive annotations and corrections throughout in black ink or pencil. The title page is signed by Lang, and gives his address as Castlecliff, St Andrews. Annotations show Lang making changes to characterisation. Notably, Alphonso and Enrico (named Henrico in MS) are initially presented as cowardly rather than foolishly brave (MS, pp. 19–21), and King Grognio (called Coloroso in MS) is intelligent, rather than stupid, and, like his wife, disbelieves in fairies (MS, pp. 9–10). The name of the monster has also been changed in the manuscript from ‘Nanaboulélé’ to ‘Firedrake’, and the title of the novel has been adjusted from ‘Prince Prigio, or the Nanaboulélé and the Clever Prince’ to ‘Prince Prigio’ (MS p. 1). Lang had taken the name Nanaboulélé from a South African story titled ‘Semumu et Semumunyané’ collected by Édouard Jacottet and published in the Revue des Traditions Populaires 3 (1888), pp. 654–62. It is not clear why Lang eventually decided to replace the name with

36 34

s e l eac tn e do t f iec toi onn to h f ea n td e r exwt sl a n g

‘Firedrake’, but possibly the substitution was made at the suggestion of his publisher on the grounds that ‘Firedrake’ would market better to a British readership. The change of name has been made within the text of the manuscript, with all instances of Nanaboulélé being crossed through and replaced by ‘Firedrake’ in pencil annotation. Nanaboulélé is initially used throughout the manuscript, suggesting that the change was made at a late stage of composition. Also of note is the inclusion of a prophecy in the manuscript of Prince Prigio, according to which Thomas the Rhymer predicts (in an obscure verse) Prigio’s defeat of the Firedrake and Remora. These passages have been crossed through in manuscript (MS pp. 1–2 and p. 67, reverse).

Prince Ricardo. The manuscript consists of 299 handwritten pages with annotations and corrections in black ink and pencil. A cover sheet identifies the papers as ‘The Original Manuscript of “Prince Ricardo” by Andrew Lang’ sent from J. W. Arrowsmith Ltd. in Bristol. The title page has been signed by Lang and gives his London address (1, Marloes Road). Lang restarts page numbering each chapter, so manuscript pages for Prince Ricardo are identified by chapter and page number. Compared to the manuscripts of The Gold of Fairnilee and Prince Prigio annotations of Prince Ricardo are relatively light, but here as elsewhere Lang can be seen experimenting with character names (Jaqueline is initially named Emmiline), and with plot details. In particular, Lang has taken some efforts to work out which of the ‘fairy things’ Ricardo needs at which point to make the plot work. Amongst the most notable changes, Lang makes a retrospective addition to his account of the Giant who does not Know when he has had Enough, in order to emphasise that the insatiable appetite implied in the giant’s name is for ‘punishment’, not for ‘fighting’ (MS chapter 8, p. 14). Possibly Lang has made this correction in fulfilment of his determination not to replicate the excessive violence of the traditional tale (see p. 259, n. 22). Manuscripts of the other fictions republished in this selection of Lang’s writings have not survived. Following his death, Lang left instructions that all his papers, including letters and manuscripts, were to be destroyed. Lang’s wife, Leonora Lang, along with many of his friends and family members, complied. See Marysa Demoor, Andrew Lang

37 35

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

(1844–1912): Late Victorian Humanist and Journalistic Critic, 2 vols (Diss. Ghent University, 1983), vol. 2, p. xiv. As a result of Lang’s instruction, the surviving manuscripts described above provide a relatively rare insight into his compositional and editorial methods.

Abbreviations and Conventions In the critical materials accompanying this edition, common tale types are identified using the indexing system developed by Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson, revised by Hans-Jörg Uther in 2004 as The Types of International Folktales (3 parts, FF Communications 284, Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia Academia Scientiarum Fennica). As is conventional in folk-narrative studies, these tale type citations are prefaced by the acronym ATU (for Aarne, Thompson, Uther). Likewise, common story motifs have occasionally been identified with reference to the citation index developed by Stith Thompson in the six volume Motif-Index of Folk-Literature (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1955–8), now available electronically at https://sites.ualberta.ca/~urban/Projects/ English/Motif_Index.htm. Finally, where pertinent, tales in the Kinder- und Hausmärchen (Children’s and Household Tales) of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm will be identified using the standard abbreviation of Kinder- und Hausmärchen – KHM – combined with the number of the story in the final edition to be published in the Grimms’ lifetime (1857). Andrew Lang did not in general give the year when dating his correspondence. Internal evidence has therefore been used to identify the most probable year of the letters cited in notes and other critical materials. Where a date or year for a letter is speculative, it is given in square brackets in citations. In dating and citing letters, this edition makes use of the catalogue of Lang’s letters prepared by Marysa Demoor in her unpublished PhD thesis, Andrew Lang (1844–1912): Late Victorian Humanist and Journalistic Critic: with a Descriptive Checklist of the Lang Letters, 2 vols (Diss. Ghent University, 1983).

38 36

further reading

Further Further Reading reading

T

he following critical materials are recommended as further reading on Lang’s writing for children. For a bibliography of critical materials on Lang’s work more generally, see the listing supplied by Sharin Schroeder at The Andrew Lang Site, https://andrewlang.org/ bibliography/. For a full listing of Lang’s writings see Roger Lancelyn Green, Andrew Lang: A Critical Biography with a Short-title Bibliography of the Works of Andrew Lang (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946). Avery, Gillian, ‘Introduction’, The Gold of Fairnilee and Other Stories, Gollancz Revivals (London: Gollancz, 1967).

Burne, Glenn, ‘Andrew Lang’s The Blue Fairy Book: Changing the Course of History’, Touchstones: Reflections on the Best in Children’s Association.,1987). 1987). Literature (West Lafayette: Children’s Literature Association, Day, Andrea, ‘“Almost wholly the work of Mrs. Lang”: Nora Lang, Literary Labour and the Fairy Books’, Women’s Writing (September 2017) https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09699082.2017.1 371938. Demoor, Marysa, Andrew Lang (1844–1912): Late Victorian Humanist and Journalistic Critic: with a Descriptive Checklist of the Lang Letters, unpublished PhD thesis, 2 vols (Diss. Ghent University, 1983).

39 37

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Dorson, Richard, The British Folklorists: A History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968). Green, Roger Lancelyn, ‘Andrew Lang and the Fairy Tale’, Review of 227–31. English Studies 20:79 (1944), pp. 227–31. ———, Andrew Lang: A Critical Biography (Leicester: Edmund ———,  Andrew Lang: A Critical Biography (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946). Ward, 1946). ———, ‘Introduction’, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo (London: ———, ‘Introduction’, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo (London: Dent, 1961), pp. xi-xiv. Dent, 1961), pp. xi–xiv. Hillard, Molly Clark, ‘Trysting Genres: Andrew Lang’s Fairy Tale Hillard, Molly Clark, ‘Trystingand Genres: AndrewonLang’s Fairy Methodologies’, Romanticism Victorianism the Net 64,Tale Special Methodologies’, Romanticism and Victorianism on the NetMethod’, 64, Special Edition, ‘The Andrew Lang Effect: Network, Discipline, ed. Edition,Hensley ‘The Andrew Lang Clark Effect:Hillard Network, Discipline, Method’, ed. Nathan and Molly (2013) https://www.erudit. Nathan Hensley and Molly Clark Hillard (2013) https://www.erudit. org/en/journals/ravon/2013–n64–ravon01452. org/en/journals/ravon/2013–n64–ravon01452. ———, Spellbound: The Fairy Tale and the Victorians (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2014). ———, Spellbound: The Fairy Tale and the Victorians (Columbus: Ohio State Press, 2014). Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books’, Hines, Sara,University ‘Collecting the Empire: Marvels & Tales 24:1 (2010), pp. 39–56. Hines, Sara, ‘Collecting the Empire: Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books’, ———, ‘Narrating Scotland: Andrew Lang’s Fairy Book Collection, Marvels & Tales 24:1 (2010), pp. 39–56. The Gold of Fairnilee, and “A Creefull of Celtic Stories”,’ in Folklore ———, ‘Narrating Scotland: Andrew Lang’s Fairy Book Collection, and Nationalism in Europe During the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. The Gold of Fairnilee, “A Creefull Celtic Stories”,’ in Folklore Timothy Baycroft andand David Hopkin of (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 207–25. and Nationalism in Europe During the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Langstaff, Eleanor de Selms, Andrew Lang (Boston: Twayne, 1978). Timothy Baycroft and David Hopkin (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 207–25. Lathey, Gillian. The Role of Translators in Children’s Literature (London: Langstaff, Eleanor de Selms, Andrew Lang (Boston: Twayne, 1978). Routledge, 2010). Lathey, Gillian. The Role of Translators in Children’s Literature (London: Montenyohl, Eric, ‘Andrew Lang and the Fairy Tale’, unpublished Routledge, 2010). PhD thesis (Diss. Indiana University, 1986). Montenyohl, Eric, ‘Andrew Lang and the Fairy Tale’, unpublished PhD Sands-O’Connor, Karen, ‘Primitive Minds: Anthropology, Children thesis (Diss. Indiana University, 1986). and Savages in Andrew Lang and Rudyard Kipling’, in Childhood in Sands-O’Connor, Minds: Children Edwardian Fiction:Karen, World ‘Primitive Enough and Time, Anthropology, eds, Adrienne Gavin and and Savages in Andrew Lang and Rudyard Kipling’, in Childhood in Andrew Humphries (London: Palgrave, 2009), pp. 177–90. Edwardian Fiction: World Enough and Time, eds, Adrienne Gavin and Schroeder, Sharin, ‘Genre Problems: Andrew Lang and J. R. R. Andrew Humphries (London: Palgrave, 2009), pp. 177–90. Tolkien on (Fairy) Stories and (Literary) Belief ’, in Informing the Schroeder, Sharin, ‘Genre Problems: Andrew Lang J. R. R. Tolkien Inklings: George MacDonald and the Victorian Roots and of Modern on (Fairy) andPartridge (Literary)and Belief ’, in Jeffrey Informing the Inklings: Fantasy, ed.Stories Michael Kirstin Johnson (Hampden, George MacDonald and thepp. Victorian CT: Winged Lion, 2018), 149–79.Roots of Modern Fantasy, ed.

40 38

s e l e c tfe u d rf t i cht e i orn ro ef aa d n di n r egw l a n g

MichaelJan, Partridge andLang’, Kirstin CT: Winged Susina, ‘Andrew in Jeffrey British Johnson Children’s(Hampden, Writers, 1880–1914, Lion, 2018),ofpp. 149–79. Dictionary Literary Biography 141, ed. Laura M. Zaidman (Detroit, MI: Gale, 1994), pp. 173–185. Susina, Jan, ‘Andrew Lang’, in British Children’s Writers, 1880–1914, ———, ‘“Like the fragments of coloured glass in a kaleidoscope”: Dictionary of Literary Biography 141, ed. Laura M. Zaidman (Detroit, Andrew Lang Mixes Up Richard Doyle’s In Fairyland’, Marvels & Tales MI: Gale, 1994), pp. 173–85. 17.1 (2003), pp. 100–119. ———, ‘“Like the fragments of coloured glass in a kaleidoscope”: Teverson, Andrew, ‘“A Shy and Fugitive People”: Andrew Lang and Andrew Lang Mixes Up Richard Doyle’s In Fairyland ’, Marvels & Tales the Fairies’, The Bottle Imp 20 (2016) https://www.thebottleimp.org. 17.1 (2003), pp. 100–19. uk/2016/12/a-shy-and-fugitive-people-andrew-lang-and-the-fairies/. Teverson, Andrew, ‘“A Shy and Fugitive People”: Andrew Lang and Wilson, Leigh, ‘“There the facts are”: Andrew Lang, Facts and Fantasy,’ the Fairies’, The Bottle Imp 20 (2016) https://www.thebottleimp.org. Journal of Literature and Science 6 (2013), pp. 29–43. uk/2016/12/a-shy-and-fugitive-people-andrew-lang-and-the-fairies/. Yoshino, Yuki, ‘Writing the Borders: Fairies and Ambivalent National Wilson, Leigh, ‘“There the facts are”: Andrew Lang, Facts and Fantasy,’ Identity in Andrew Lang‘s The Gold of Fairnilee’, in The Enclave of My Journal of Literature and Science 6 (2013), pp. 29–43. Nation: Cross-Currents in Irish and Scottish Studies, ed. Shane Anthony Yoshino, Yuki, ‘Writing the Borders: Fairies and Ambivalent National Alcobia-Murphy and Margaret Maxwell (Aberdeen: AHRC RIISS, Identitypp. in227–41. Andrew Lang‘s The Gold of Fairnilee’, in The Enclave of My 2008), Nation: Cross-Currents in Irish and Scottish Studies, ed. Shane Anthony Zipes, Jack ‘Introduction’, Victorian Fairy Tales: The Revolt of the Fairies Alcobia-Murphy and Margaret Maxwell (Aberdeen: AHRC RIISS, and Elves, ed. Jack Zipes (London: Routledge, 1987), pp. xiii–xxix. 2008), pp. 227–41. Zipes, Jack ‘Introduction’, Victorian Fairy Tales: The Revolt of the Fairies and Elves, ed. Jack Zipes (London: Routledge, 1987), pp. xiii–xxix.

41 39

selected fiction of andrew lang

42

Acknowledgements

T

he editor would like to thank the Humanities Research Fund at Kingston University for providing financial support for archival work, the archivists and staff at the Harry Ransom Centre and University of St. Andrews Special Collections Library for their assistance and expertise, Isambard Thomas for designing and setting the book, Helen Blair for initial consultation on design, Brooks and Gao in Streatham for the excellent coffee that fuelled this editorial work, Michelle Houston at Edinburgh University Press for commissioning the book and seeing it to publication, my friends and collaborators on an earlier volume of Lang’s work, Alex Warwick and Leigh Wilson, who started with me on this journey, and Simone Coxall for reading the manuscript and all the other support she has given during this project. Quotations from Lang’s manuscripts of The Gold of Fairnilee, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo, and the image of the manuscript page from The Gold of Fairnilee (figure 2), are reproduced courtesy of the Harry Ransom Center at The University of Texas at Austin. The photograph of Lang reproduced in figure 1 is courtesy of The University of St. Andrews Library. Figures 3, 8 and 9 are reproduced by permission of the British Library from respectively The Princess Nobody (shelfmark 12805.w.15), The Blue Fairy Book (RB.23.b.6921) and Tales of Troy and Greece (4503. de.39)

43 41

selected fiction of andrew lang

44

‘scottish nursery tales’

‘Scottish Nursery Tales’

(St. Andrews University Magazine, April 1863)

Preface

T

he literature of the Nursery has, within the last hundred years, undergone no small alteration, and the ancient potentates thereof – the giants and the fairies – have been dethroned. The old Nursery Tales, such as Cinderella, the Yellow Dwarf, and the Princess Frutilla, which we got through the Contes des Fées of the Countess D’Aulnoy,1 have almost passed away. Even Jack the Giant-Killer has partly lost his ancient popularity; and I believe that many of the degenerate children of the present day could not pass an examination in Hop o’ my Thumb, or answer the question, ‘Who killed Cock-Robin?’2 The versions of these stories now in circulation do not come up to the more full, true, and particular accounts contained in older editions. The big flaming illustrations swamp the letter-press, very different from the little black wood-cuts3 that added the element of the mysterious to these dear old Tales. Besides, I think children are becoming so dreadfully sagacious, that they can’t believe in a pumpkin being turned into a coach and four, or that little Jack could kill a giant who was eighteen feet high, had three heads, and was about four yards round the middle. Moreover a new, and, in my opinion, most objectionable, species of literature has usurped the abandoned throne of the Marquis of Carabbas,4 for works are actually in circulation which attempt, by cunningly devised pictures, and alluring anecdotes, to instil Geology, and Botany, and Chemistry, et id genus omne,5 into the youthful mind.6 Here, for instance, are the

47 45

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

names of two of the picture-books now, or lately, popular – ‘The Instructive Picture-Book, or Lessons in the Geographical Distribution of Animals;’ ‘The New Picture-Book, or Lessons in Numbers, Form, Thinking, and Speaking.’7 One comfort is that children are very far from reading these books, and there is little danger of the land being over-run by a brood of precocious historians, logicians, and rhetoricians. But while Nursery Tales have been almost banished from the Nursery, they have become the legitimate prey of scientific men, philologists, and antiquarians. In fact, there seems to have been a sort of barter – the children getting the science in exchange for the stories. These stories – I mean the traditional Nursery Tales – have become, in the hands of such men as Dasent and the two Grimms, no small proof of the common eastern origin of the Aryan Race.8 The Indo-European race, as it poured westward from its first home in the central plain of Iran, bore with it a stock of common traditions, which each tribe, as it separated from the main stream, and settled down in its selected home, moulded partially to the bent of its own mind, while it left the essential features unchanged. We find, for instance, in all the traditions and mythology of the Aryan tribes in Europe, a common supernatural machinery. The shoes of swiftness, the cap of darkness, (the German Nebel-Cappe), and the sword of sharpness, were possessed not less by Perseus than by Jack the Giant-Killer, and by the King of the Golden Mountains.9 Perseus gets the information he wants from the Graii, just as Short-Shanks does from the old hags,10 namely by ‘snapping up’ the one eye they had among the three, and refusing to return it, till he is told what he wishes to know. Hercules, the Lad in the ‘Master-Maid,’ and the Laddie in the Scottish story of ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing,’ have all an Augean stable to clean.11 But the most widely diffused of all these myths, and the one which has undergone least change in its essential features is that which in Greek is the fable of Cupid and Psyche.12 No one can read the Greek fable, Grimms’ story of the ‘Lady and the Lion,’ the tale in the Norse collection called ‘East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon,’ our own ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ and the ‘Black Bull o’ Norroway,’13 without seeing striking and essential points of resemblance. To take another influence, the German story of ‘Rumpel-stilts-kin,’ the Irish ‘Trit-a-Trot,’ and our own Scottish ‘Whuppity Stoory’14 are radically the same. The younger son who wins the princess and half the kingdom, the bad stepmother, the much-enduring younger daughter of whom Cinderella is the English type, have representatives in the nursery traditions of all nations. We find them in our own Scottish Nursery Tales, too, in the remains that have been

48 46

s ‘e sl c e cot te d c t ino u n rosf earnyd rte a w l leasn’g t ifsi h

collected by Mr Robert Chambers.15 But the time for collecting the Scottish Tales has almost gone by; very few are the people now alive who remember them in their entirety; nurses and grandmothers no longer tell them to the children, in pleasant conclave round the nursery-fire; they have receded before the march of civilization and instructive picture-books. But they were good old tales in their day, and those in the Chambers’s collection yield to none, Norse or German, for freshness and interest. As an old writer says16 – ‘They have been the revivers of drowsy age at midnight, old and young have with such tales chimed matins till the cock crew in the morning; batchelors and maides have compassed the Christmas fire-block till the curfew-bell rang candle out; the old shepheard and the young plow-boy, after their day’s labour, have carol’d out the same to make them merry with; and who but they have made long nightes seem short, and heavy toyles easie?’ And since this is the case, and since, if not preserved now, they never will be preserved, I present my readers with two North-country tales, which I believe have never before been published.17 The first of them, ‘Rashin Coatie,’ Mr Chambers, if I mistake not, mentions that he could not obtain for his printed collection;18 it is the story of the Scottish Cinderella, and is, as I have already said, entitled

Rashin Coatie There was a King and a Queen, as mony ane’s been, few have we seen, and as few may we see. The Queen, she deeit, and left a bonny little lassie; she had naething to gie to the wee lassie but a little red calfy, and she telt the lassie whatever she wanted the calf would gie her. The King married again; she was an ill-natured wife, wi’ three ugly dochters of her ain. They did na like the little lassie, because she was bonny; they took awa’ a’ her braw claes that her ain mither had gien her, and put a rashin coatie* on her, and gart her sit in the kitchen-neuk, and a’ body c’ad her Rashin Coatie. She did na get ony-thing to eat, but what the rest left, but she did na care, for she went to her red calfy, and it gave her everything she asked for. She got good meat from the calfy, but her ill-natured stepmother gar’t the calfy be killed, because it was good to Rashin Coatie. She was very sorry for the calfy, and sat down and grat. The calfy said to her,

*

A coat made of rushes

49 47

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘Tak me up bane by bane, And pit me aneth yon gray stane,

And whatever you want, come and seek it frae me and I will give you it.’ Yule time cam, and a’ the rest put on their braw claes, and was gaen awa to the kirk. Rashin Coatie said ‘Oh I wad like to gang to the kirk too,’ but they said ‘What would you do at the kirk, you nasty thing? You maun bide at hame and mak the dinner.’ When they were awa to the kirk, Rashin Coatie did na ken how to mak the dinner, but she went out to the grey stone, and she tell’t the calfy that she couldna make the dinner, and she wanted to win to the kirk. The calfy gave her braw claes, and bade her go into the house, and say ‘Every peat gar ither burn, Every spit gar ither turn, Every pot gar ither play, Till I come frae the kirk this gude Yule day.’

Rashin Coatie put on the braw claes that the calfy gave her, and went awa to the kirk, and she was the grandest and the brawest lady there. There was a young prince in the kirk, and he fell in love with her. She cam awa afore the blessing, and she was hame afore the rest, and had aff her braw claes and on her rashin coatie, and the calfy had covered the table, and the dinner was ready, and a’ thing in good order when the rest came hame. The three sisters said to Rashin Coatie, ‘Oh lassie, if you had only seen the braw bonny lady, that was in kirk the day, that the young prince fell in love with.’ She said, ‘Oh, I wish you would let me gang to the kirk the morn,’ for they used to gang three days after ither to the kirk. They said, ‘What would the like o’ you do at the kirk, nasty thing – the kitchen-neuk is good enough for you.’ The next day they went awa and left her, but she went back to her calfy, and he bade her repeat the same words as before, and he gave her brawer claes, and she went back to the kirk, and a’ body was looking at her, and wondering where sic a grand lady cam frae; and as for the young prince, he fell more deeply in love with her than ever, and bade somebody watch where she went back to. But she was back afore onybody saw her, and had aff her braw claes and on her rashin coatie, and the calfy had the table covered and a’ thing reading for the dinner. The next day the calfy dressed her in far brawer claes than ever, and she went back to the kirk. The young prince was there, and he put a guard at the door to keep her, but she jumped ower their heads, and lost ane of her beautiful satin slippers. She got hame afore the rest, and had on the rashin coatie, and the

50 48

s ‘e sl c e cotte d c t ino u n rosf earnyd rte a w l leasn’g t ifsi h

calfy had a’ things ready. The young prince put out a proclamation that he would marry whaever that slipper wad fit. A’ the ladies o’ the land went to try on the slipper, and wi’ the rest, the three sisters, but nane o’ them wad it fit, for they had ugly broad feet. The henwife took in her daughter and cut her heels and her taes, and the slipper was forced on her, and the prince must marry her, for he had to keep his promise. As he rode along wi’ her ahint him to be married, there was a birdy began to sing, and aye it sang, ‘Minched fit, and pinched fit, Beside the king she rides, But braw fit, and bonny fit, In the kitchen-neuk she bides.’

The Prince said, ‘What’s that the birdy sings?’ but the henwife said, ‘Nasty leein’ thing, never mind what it says;’ but the birdy sang aye the same words. The Prince said, ‘Oh there must be some one that the slipper has not been tried on;’ but they said, ‘There’s nae ane but a puir dirty thing that sits in the kitchen-neuk and wears a rashin coatie.’ But the Prince was determined to try it on Rashin Coatie; but when they brought the slipper she said, ‘What would they do trying the slipper on me?’ and she ran awa to the grey stane, and the calfy dressed her brawer than ever, and she went to the Prince, and the slipper jumped out o’ his pocket, and jumped on her foot, and the Prince married her, and they lived happy a’ their days. Much as this story resembles ‘Cinderella,’ yet the differences, such as the red calf enacting the part of the fairy godmother, the kirk-going instead of the ball; and the introduction of that favourite character in Scottish tales, the henwife, render it almost impossible that it can be a copy of the English tale. It is rather a form of a common tradition, moulded by a ruder and more simple people than the French of the time of Louis XIV.,19 whose version of the story, with all its machinery of balls and coaches, and elaborately-attired ‘Jeamses,’20 we find still existing in ‘Cinderella, or the Glass Slipper.’ The next tale bears striking resemblances to several of the stories in the ‘Tales from the Norse.’21 It is entitled –

51 49

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Nicht, Nought, Nothing There once lived a King and a Queen. There were lang married, and had nae bairnies; but at last the Queen had a bairny, when the King was awa in far countries. The Queen determined not to christen the bairny until the King would come back, and she said we will ca’ him ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing,’ until his father comes hame; but it was lang afore he could return, and the boy had grown a nice little laddie. At length the King was on his way back; but he had a big river to cross, and there was a spate, and he could not get ower the water; but a giant came up to him and said, ‘If you will give me “Nicht, Nought, Nothing,” I will carry you over on my back.’ The King never had heard that his son was called ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing,’ and so he promised him. When the king got home, he was very happy to see his Queen again and his young son. She tauld him that she hadna given their son ony name but Nicht, Nought, Nothing, until he would come hame himsel’. The poor king was in a terrible case; he said, ‘What have I done? I promised to give the Giant who carried me over the river on his back, Nicht, Nought, Nothing.’ The King and Queen were sad and sorry; but they said, ‘When the Giant comes we will give him the hen-wife’s bairn; he will never ken the difference.’ The next day the Giant cam to claim the King’s promise, and he sent for the hen-wife’s bairn, and the Giant went away with the bairn on his back. He travelled and travelled, and better travelled, till he came to a big stone, and there he sat down to rest himsel’. He said, ‘Hidge, Hodge, on my back, what time o’ day is it?’ The puir little bairny said, ‘It’s the time my mither, the hen-wife, used to tak’ up the eggs to the Queen’s breakfast.’ The Giant was very angry, and dashed the bairny on the stane, and killed it. He then went back to the King’s house, and demanded Nicht, Nought, Nothing. This time they gave the Giant the gardener’s son, and off he went till he cam’ to the big stone,22 and there he sat down again to rest himsel’. Then he said, ‘Hidge, Hodge, on my back, what time o’ day is it?’ The laddie said, ‘It’s the time o’ day that my father, the gardener, used to tak’ up the fruit to the Queen’s denner.’ The Giant was in a terrible rage, and he dashed the bairn on the stone and killed him, and went back to the King’s house, and said he would destroy them a’ if they did not give him Nicht, Nought, Nothing, this time. They were very sorry to give him to the Giant; but they had to do it, and off he went with the laddie on his back till he came to the big stone, and there he sat down to rest himsel’. Then he said to the laddie, ‘Hidge, Hodge, on my back, what time o’ day is it?’ and Nicht, Nought, Nothing said, ‘It is the time that my father the King, and my mother,

52 50

s ‘e sl c e cot te d c t ino u n rosf earnyd rte a w l leasn’g t ifsi h

the Queen, will be sitting down to supper.’ The Giant said, ‘I’ve got the richt ane noo,’ and took Nicht, Nought, Nothing to his ain house, and brought him up till he was a big man. The Giant had a bonny dochter, and she and Nicht, Nought, Nothing grew very fond of each other. The Giant said one day to Nicht, Nought, Nothing, ‘I’ve wark for you the morn; there is a stable seven miles long, and seven miles broad, and it hasna been cleaned for seven years, and you must clean it the morn, or I will have you for my supper.’ The Giant’s dochter went out next morning with Nicht, Nought, Nothing’s breakfast, and she found him in a terrible state, for he said he had been working a’ the morning, but he could make nothing o’ the work, for aye, as he cleaned out a bit, it aye fell in again. The Giant’s dochter said she would help him, and she cried a’ the beasts o’ the field, and a’ the birds o’ the air to come and help to clean the stable. In a minute they a’ cam’, and there never was such a multitude of birds and beasts seen, and they a’ set to work, and carried awa’ everything that was in the stable, and make it a’ clean afore the Giant cam’ hame. He said, ‘Shame for the wit that helped you; but I’ve a waur job for you the morn,’ and he tauld Nicht, Nought, Nothing that there was a loch, seven miles long, and seven miles broad, and seven miles deep, and he maun drain it the next day, or else he would have him for his supper. Nicht, Nought, Nothing began early next morning, and was trying to lave the water with a pail; but the loch was never getting any less, and he didna ken what to do; but the Giant’s daughter23 cam’ out again with his breakfast, and she said she would soon get the loch dried; and she called on all the fish in the sea to come and drink the water, and they very soon made the loch dry. When the Giant came home and saw the work done, he was in a rage, and said, ‘I’ve a waur job for you the morn; there’s a tree seven miles high, and there’s no branch on it till you get to the top, and when you get there, there’s a nest, and you maun tak’ a’ the eggs down without breaking one, or else I will have you for my supper.’ Nicht, Nought, Nothing went out the next day and tried to climb the tree, but he couldna get up far when he aye fell down again. The Giant’s daughter cam’ out with his breakfast this morning too, and at first she didna ken how to help him; but she first cut aff a’ her fingers and then a’ her toes, and made steps o’ them, and fixed them on the tree, and he clamb the tree, and got to the top of it, and got a’ the eggs safe down till he came to the bottom, and then ane was broken. The Giant’s daughter advised him to run away, and she would follow him. He travelled and better travelled till he cam’ to a King’s palace, and the King and Queen took him in, and he lived with them, and they were very kind to him. The Giant’s daughter left

53 51

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

her father’s house, and he pursued her, and was drowned, and then a’ his money was hers, and she followed Nicht, Nought, Nothing, and she cam’ to the King’s palace, where he was, and she went up into a tree to watch for him. The gardener told his daughter to go out into the garden for a drink o’ water for him. She went to the well, and saw the shadow of the lady in the water, and thocht it was hersel’, and cam’ back and said, ‘Do you think I would draw water for you, and me sae bonny and me sae braw.’ The gardener’s wife then went out, and she came back and said the same. The gardener then went out himsel’ and he took the lady down from the tree, and took her in on his arm. The gardener said there was to be a great wedding in the palace, as the king’s daughter was going to be married to a fine young man, who had come to the palace, - and he said to the giant’s daughter, ‘Come wi’ me out to the garden, and you will see the young man sleeping in the garden-chair.’ She went out and she saw Nicht, Nought, Nothing sleeping in the garden-chair, and she cried ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing, wauken, wauken, and speak to me,’ but he wadna wauken, and syne she cried ‘I cleaned the stable, I laved the loch, and I clamb the tree, a’ for the love o’ thee, and ye wunna wauken and speak to me.’ The King and the Queen were walking in the garden, and they heard the noise, and cam up to the bonny young lady, and they speared at her what she wanted, and she said ‘I canna get Nicht, Nought, Nothing to wauken and speak to me, for a’ that I did for him.’ The King and the Queen were greatly astonished when she spake of Nicht, Nought, Nothing, and asked who he was, and she said ‘That’s him sitting in the garden-chair,’ and they ran to him and kissed him, and called him their ain dear son, and he waukened and he told them that he was brought up by the Giant, and the King and Queen told him that they were his father and mother, and he told them how kind the Giant’s daughter had been to him, and how much she had done for him. They then took her in their arms and kissed her, and said she would now be their daughter, as their son would marry her, and so he did, and they lived happy a’ their days. This story is some places bears a strong resemblance to the ‘Master-Maid’ in the Tales from the Norse, especially where the Giant’s daughter assists Nicht, Nought, Nothing in his three labours. It strikes me that there is a part of the story lost – where we are told that the giant was drowned. In the Norse tale the Master-Maid leaves a magical ocean in her track, by which the Giant is forced to turn back; probably something of the same kind was originally included in the Scottish story. The place where the Giant’s daughter climbs the tree over the well may be found, almost

54 52

s ‘e sl c e cotte d c t ino u n rosf earnyd rte a w l leasn’g t ifsi h

word for word the same, in ‘The Lassie and her God-mother.’24 When the maid in that story comes to fetch the water, and mistakes the lovely face in the well for her own, she uses almost the very words of the gardener’s daughter, ‘If I’m so pretty I’m far too good to go and fetch water.’ Other points of resemblance with Norse and German Nursery Tales may be found in this story, but we have pointed out enough to show how this and such-like stories are in their main points common to many separate nations. Who knows what farther proofs might be found if some one would but collect the many old Scottish Tales, which it will soon be impossible to recover? There is still plenty of room for research, and an energetic and painstaking collector would find much to reward him. W25

Glossary a’ body : everybody aff : off ahint : behind ain : own ane : one ane’s : a one has aneth : underneath awa : away aye : always, continually bairn : child bairnies : children bane : bone bide : stay bonny : pretty braw : fine c’ad : called calfy : calf cam : came claes : clothes clamb : climbed deeit : died denner : dinner

55 53

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

dochters : daughters fit : foot, but with the double meaning frae : from gaen : gone gang : go gart / gar’t / gar : made, compelled gie : give gien : given grat : cried gude : good hadna : had not hame : home hasna : has not hidge, hodge : nonsense phrase, though ‘hodge’ in Scotch dialect suggests a difficult burden ither : other ken : know kirk : church lang : long lassie : girl lave : to empty out water leein’ : lying loch : lake mak : make maun : must minched : minced, chopped up mither : mother mony : many morn, the : in the morning na : not nae : no nane : none neuk : nook nicht : nought, nothing noo : now onybody : anybody ower : over pit : put puir : poor richt : right, correct sic : such

56 54

s ‘e sl c e cot te d c t ino u n rosf earnyd rte a w l leasn’g t ifsi h

spake : spoke speared : inquired, asked stane : stone syne : thereupon taes : toes tauld : told telt : told thocht : thought wadna : would not wark : work wauken : waken waur : worse whaever : whoever yon : yonder, that

57 55

selected fiction of andrew lang

58

the princess nobody

The Princess Nobody: A Tale of Fairy Land After the Drawings by Richard Doyle1 (1884)

Ballade of Dedication. To all you babes at Branxholm Park,2 This book I dedicate; A book for winter evenings dark, Too dark to ride or skate. I made it up out of my pate, And wasted midnight oil, Interpreting each cut and plate— The works of Dicky Doyle! When weary winter comes, and hark! The Teviot3 roars in ‘spate’; When half you think you’ll need the Ark,4 The flood’s so fierce and great; Think of the Prince and of his mate, Their triumph and their toil, And mark them drawn in all their state— The works of Dicky Doyle!

Now, if my nonsense hits the mark— If Wynnie, Pop, and Kate, Think tales of Fays and Giants stark, Not wholly out of date— Another time, perchance, I’ll prate, And keep a merry coil,5 Though ne’er I’ll match the drawings great— The works of Dicky Doyle! ENVOY. Girls, may you ne’er know fear nor hate; Boys, field like Mr. Royle!6 And, please, don’t say I desecrate The works of Dicky Doyle!

61 59

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

CHAPTER I. The Princess Nobody. Once upon a time, when Fairies were much more common than they are now, there lived a King and a Queen. Their country was close to Fairy Land, and very often the little Elves would cross over the border, and come into the King’s fields and gardens. The girl-fairies would swing out of the bells of the fuschias, and loll on the leaves, and drink the little drops of dew that fell down the stems. Here you may see all the Fairies making themselves merry at a picnic on a fuschia, and an ugly little Dwarf is climbing up the stalk.7 Now the King and Queen of the country next to Fairy Land were very rich, and very fond of each other; but one thing made them unhappy. They had no child,8 neither boy nor girl, to sit on the Throne when they were dead and gone. Often the Queen said she wished she had a child, even if it were no bigger than her thumb; and she hoped the Fairies might hear her and help her. But they never took any notice. One day, when the King had been counting out his money all day (the day when the tributes were paid in), he grew very tired. He took off his crown, and went into his garden. Then he looked all round his kingdom, and said, ‘Ah! I would give it all for a BABY!’ No sooner had the King said this, than he heard a little squeaking voice near his foot: ‘You shall have a lovely Baby, if you will give me what I ask.’ The King looked down, and there was the funniest little Dwarf that ever was seen. He had a high red cap like a flower. He had a big moustache, and a short beard that curled outwards. His cloak was red, like his cap, and his coat was green, and he rode on a green Frog. Many people would have been frightened, but the King was used to Fairies. ‘You shall have a beautiful Baby, if you will give me what I ask,’ said the Dwarf again. ‘I’ll give you anything you like,’ said the King. ‘Then promise to give me NIENTE,’9 said the Dwarf. ‘Certainly,’ said the King (who had not an idea what NIENTE meant). ‘How will you take it?’ ‘I will take it,’ said the Dwarf, ‘in my own way, on my own day.’ With that he set spurs to his Frog, which cleared the garden path at one bound, and he was soon lost among the flowers. Well, next day, a dreadful war broke out between the Ghosts and the Giants, and the King had to set forth and fight on the side of his friends the Giants.

62 60

s e l etch t eed pf ri ci tni o a nodbr o e wd y lang c ne sosf n

A long, long time he was away; nearly a year. At last he came back to his own country, and he heard all the church bells ringing merrily. ‘What can be the matter?’ said the King, and hurried to his Palace, where all the Courtiers rushed out and told him the Queen had got a BABY. ‘Girl or a boy?’ says the King. ‘A Princess, your Majesty,’ says the Nurse, with a low curtsey, correcting him. Well, you may fancy how glad the King was, though he would have preferred a boy. ‘What have you called her?’ he asked. ‘Till your Majesty’s return, we thought it better not to christen the Princess,’ said the Nurse, ‘so we have called her by the Italian name for Nothing: NIENTE; the Princess Niente, your Majesty.’ When the King heard that, and remembered that he had promised to give NIENTE to the Dwarf, he hid his face in his hands and groaned. Nobody knew what he meant, or why he was sad, so he thought it best to keep it to himself. He went in and kissed the Queen, and comforted her, and looked at the BABY. Never was there a BABY so beautiful; she was like a Fairy’s child, and so light, she could sit on a flower and not crush it. She had little wings on her back; and all the birds were fond of her. The peasants and common people (who said they ‘could not see why the first Royal baby should be called “Ninety”’) always spoke of her as the Princess Nobody. Only the Courtiers called her Niente. The Water Fairy was her Godmother, but (for a Fairy reason) they concealed her real name, and of course, she was not christened Niente. Here you may see her sitting teaching the little Birds to sing. They are all round her in a circle, each of them singing his very best. Great fun she and all her little companions had with the Birds; here they are, riding on them, and tumbling off when the Bird kicks. And here, again, you may observe the baby Princess riding a Parrot, while one of her Maids of Honour teases an Owl. Never was there such a happy country; all Birds and Babies, playing together, singing, and as merry as the day was long. Well, this joyful life went on till the Princess Niente was growing quite a big girl; she was nearly fourteen. Then, one day, came a tremendous knock at the Palace gates. Out rushed the Porter, and saw a little Dwarf, in a red cap, and a red cloak, riding a green Frog. ‘Tell the King he is wanted,’ said the Dwarf. The Porter carried this rude message, and the King went trembling to the door. ‘I have come to claim your promise; you give me NIENTE,’ said

63 61

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

the Dwarf, in his froggy voice. Now the King had spoken long ago about his foolish promise, to the Queen of the Water Fairies, a very powerful person, and Godmother of his child. ‘The Dwarf must be one of my people, if he rides a Frog,’ the Queen of the Water Fairies had said. ‘Just send him to me, if he is troublesome.’ The King remembered this when he saw the Dwarf, so he put a bold face on it. ‘That’s you, is it?’ said the King to the Dwarf. ‘Just you go to the Queen of the Water Fairies; she will have a word to say to you.’ When the Dwarf heard that, it was his turn to tremble. He shook his little fist at the King; he half-drew his sword. ‘I’ll have NIENTE yet,’ he said, and he set spurs to his Frog, and bounded off to see the Queen of the Water Fairies. It was night by the time the Dwarf reached the stream where the Queen lived, among the long flags and rushes and reeds of the river. Here you see him by the river; how tired his Frog looks! He is talking to the Water Fairy. Well, he and the Water Fairy had a long talk, and the end of it was that the Fairy found only one way of saving the Princess. She flew to the King, and said, ‘I can only help you by making the Princess vanish clean away. I have a bird here on whose back she can fly away in safety. The Dwarf will not get her, but you will never see her again, unless a brave Prince can find her where she is hidden, and guarded by my Water Fairies.’ Then the poor mother and father cried dreadfully, but they saw there was no hope. It was better that the Princess should vanish away, than that she should be married to a horrid rude Dwarf,10 who rode on a Frog. So they sent for the Princess, and kissed her, and embraced her, and wept over her, and (gradually she faded out of their very arms, and vanished clean away) then she flew away on the bird’s back.

CHAPTER II. In Mushroom Land. Now all the Kingdom next Fairy Land was miserable, and all the people were murmuring, and the King and Queen were nearly melted in tears. They thought of all ways to recover their dear daughter, and at last the Queen hit on a plan. ‘My dear,’ she said to the King, ‘let us offer to give our daughter for a wife, to any Prince who will only find her and bring her home.’

64 62

s e l etch t eed pf ri ci tni o e wd y lang c ne sosf annodbr o

‘Who will want to marry a girl he can’t see?’ said the King. ‘If they have not married pretty girls they can see, they won’t care for poor Niente.’ ‘Never mind; we can only try,’ said the Queen. So she sent out messengers into all the world, and sent the picture of the Princess everywhere, and proclaimed that the beautiful Princess Niente, and no less than three-quarters of the Kingdom would be given to the Prince that could find the Princess and bring her home. And there was to be a great tournament, or sham fight, at the Palace, to amuse all the Princes before they went on the search. So many Princes gathered together, all full of hope; and they rode against each other with spears and swords, and knocked each other about, and afterwards dined, and danced, and made merry. Some Fairy Knights, too, came over the border, and they fought with spears, riding Beetles and Grasshoppers, instead of horses. Here is a picture of a ‘joust,’ or tournament, between two sets of Fairy Knights. By all these warlike exercises, they increased their courage till they felt brave enough to fight all the Ghosts, and all the Giants, if only they could save the beautiful Princess. Well, the tournaments were over, and off all the Princes went into Fairy Land. What funny sights they saw in Fairy Land! They saw a great Snail race, the Snails running so fast, that some of the Fairy jockeys fell off on the grass. They saw a Fairy boy dancing with a Squirrel, and they found all the birds, and all the beasts, quite friendly and kind, and able to talk like other people. This was the way in old times, but now no beasts talk, and no birds, except Parrots only. Now among all this gallant army of Princes, one was ugly, and he looked old, and odd, and the rest laughed at him, and called him the Prince Comical.11 But he had a kind heart. One day, when he was out walking alone, and thinking what he could do to find the Princess, he saw three bad little boys teasing a big Daddy Long Legs. They had got hold of one of his legs, and were pulling at it with all their might. When the Prince Comical saw this, he ran up and drove the bad boys away, and rubbed the limb of the Daddy Long Legs, till he gave up groaning and crying. Then the Daddy Long Legs sat up, and said in a weak voice, ‘You have been very kind to me; what can I do for you?’ ‘Oh, help me,’ said the Prince, ‘to find the Princess Niente! You fly everywhere; don’t you know where she is?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said the Daddy Long Legs, mournfully. ‘I have never flown so far. But I know that you are all in a very dangerous part of Fairy Land. And I will take you to an aged Black Beetle, who can give you the best advice.’

65 63

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

So saying, the Daddy Long Legs walked off with the Prince till they came to the Black Beetle. ‘Can you tell this Prince,’ said the Daddy Long Legs, ‘where the Princess Niente is hidden?’ ‘I know it is in Mushroom Land,’ said the Beetle; ‘but he will want a guide.’ ‘Will you be my guide?’ asked the Prince. ‘Yes,’ said the Beetle; ‘but what about your friends, the other Princes?’ ‘Oh, they must come too; it would not be fair to leave them behind,’ said the Prince Comical. He was the soul of honour; and though the others laughed at him, he would not take advantage of his luck, and run away from them. ‘Well, you are a true Knight,’ said the Black Beetle; ‘but before we go into the depths of Mushroom Land, just you come here with me.’ Then the Black Beetle pointed out to the Prince a great smooth round red thing, a long way off. ‘That is the first Mushroom in Mushroom Land,’ said the Beetle. ‘Now come with me, and you shall see, what you shall see.’ So the Prince followed the Beetle, till they came to the Mushroom. ‘Climb up and look over,’ said the Beetle. So the Prince climbed up, and looked over. There he saw a crowned King, sound asleep. Here is the Prince Comical (you see he is not very handsome!); and here is the King so sound asleep. ‘Try to waken him,’ said the Beetle; ‘just try.’ So the Prince tried to waken the King, but it was of no use. ‘Now, take warning by that,’ said the Black Beetle, ‘and never go to sleep under a Mushroom in Mushroom country. You will never wake, if you do, till the Princess Niente is found again.’ Well, the Prince Comical said he would remember that, and he and the Beetle went off and found the other Princes. They were disposed to laugh at being led by a Black Beetle; but one of them, who was very learned, reminded them that armies had been led before by Woodpeckers, and Wolves, and Humming Birds.12 So they all moved on, and at night they were very tired. Now there were no houses, and not many trees, in Mushroom Land, and when night came all the Princes wanted to lie down under a very big Mushroom. It was in vain that the Black Beetle and Prince Comical warned them to beware.

66 64

s e l etch t eed pf ri ci tni o a nodbr o e wd y lang c ne sosf n

As they marched through Mushroom Land the twilight came upon them, and the Elves began to come out for their dance, for Elves only dance at dusk, and they could not help joining them, which was very imprudent, as they had plenty to do the next day, and it would have been wiser if they had gone to sleep. The Elves went on with their play till midnight, and exactly at midnight the Elves stopped their play, and undressed, and got up into the boughs of a big tree and went to sleep. You may wonder how the Elves know when it is midnight, as there are no clocks in Mushroom Land, of course. But they cannot really help knowing, as it is exactly at twelve that the Mushrooms begin to grow, and the little Mushrooms come up. Now the Elves covered every branch of the tree, as you see in the picture, and the Fairies did not know where to lie down. At last they decided to lie down under a very big Mushroom. ‘Nonsense,’ they said. ‘You may sleep out in the open air, if you like; we mean to make ourselves comfortable here.’ So they all lay down under the shelter of the Mushroom, and Prince Comical slept in the open air. In the morning he wakened, feeling very well and hungry, and off he set to call his friends. But he might as well have called the Mushroom itself. There they all lay under its shade; and though some of them had their eyes open, not one of them could move. The Prince shook them, dragged them, shouted at them, and pulled their hair. But the more he shouted and dragged, the louder they snored; and the worst of it was, that he could not pull them out of the shadow of the Magic Mushroom. So there he had to leave them, sound asleep. The Prince thought the Elves could help him perhaps, so he went and asked them how to waken his friends. They were all awake, and the Fairies were dressing the baby-Elves. But they only said, ‘Oh! it’s their fault for sleeping under a Mushroom. Anybody would know that is a stupid thing to do. Besides, we have no time to attend to them, as the sun will be up soon, and we must get these Babies dressed and be off before then.’ ‘Why, where are you going to?’ said the Prince. ‘Ah! nobody knows where we go to in the day time,’ said the Elves. And nobody does. ‘Well, what am I to do now?’ said the Prince to the Black Beetle. ‘I don’t know where the Princess is,’ said the Beetle; ‘but the Blue Bird is very wise, and he may know. Now your best plan will be to steal two of the Blue Bird’s eggs, and not give them back till he tells you all he can.’

67 65

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

So off they set for the Blue Bird’s nest; and, to make a long story short, the Prince stole two of the eggs, and would not give them back, till the Bird promised to tell him all it knew. And the end of it was, that the Bird carried him to the Court of the Queen of Mushroom Land. She was sitting, in her Crown, on a Mushroom, and she looked very funny and mischievous. Here you see the Prince, with his hat off, kissing the Queen’s hair, and asking for the Princess. ‘Oh, she’s quite safe,’ said the Queen of Mushroom Land; ‘but what a funny boy you are. You are not half handsome enough for the Princess Niente.’ The poor Prince blushed. ‘They call me Prince Comical,’ said he; ‘I know I’m not half good enough!’ ‘You are good enough for anything,’ said the Queen of Mushroom Land; ‘but you might be prettier.’ Then she touched him with her wand, and he became as handsome a Prince as ever was seen,13 in a beautiful red silk doublet, slashed with white, and a long gold-coloured robe. ‘Now you will do for my Princess Niente,’ said the Queen of Mushroom Land. ‘Blue Bird’ (and she whispered in the Bird’s ear), ‘take him away to the Princess Niente.’ So they flew, and they flew, all day and all night, and next day they came to a green bower, all full of Fairies, and Butterflies, and funny little people. And there, with all her long yellow hair round her, there sat the Princess Niente. And the Prince Charming laid his Crown at her feet, and knelt on one knee, and asked the Princess to be his love and his lady. And she did not refuse him, so they were married in the Church of the Elves, and the Glowworm sent his torches, and all the bells of all the flowers made a merry peal. And soon they were to travel home, to the King and the Queen.

CHAPTER III. Lost and Found. Now the Prince had found the Princess, and you might think that they had nothing to do but go home again. The father and mother of the Princess were wearying very much to hear about her. Every day they climbed to the bartizan14 of the Castle, and looked across the plain, hoping to see dust on the road, and some brave Prince riding back with their daughter. But she never came, and their hair grew grey with

68 66

s e l etch t eed pf ri ci tni o e wd y lang c ne sosf annodbr o

sorrow and time. The parents of the other Princes, too, who were all asleep under the Mushroom, were alarmed about their sons, and feared that they had all been taken prisoners, or perhaps eaten up by some Giant. But Princess Niente and Prince Charming were lingering in the enchanted land,15 too happy to leave the flowers, the brooks, and the Fairies. The faithful Black Beetle often whispered to the Prince that it was time to turn homewards, but the Prince paid no more attention to his ally than if he had been an Ear-wig. So there, in the Valley Magical, the Prince and Princess might be wandering to this day but for a very sad accident. The night they were married, the Princess had said to the Prince, ‘Now you may call me Niente, or any pet name you like; but never call me by my own name.’16 ‘But I don’t know it,’ said the Prince. ‘Do tell me what it is?’ ‘Never,’ said the Princess; ‘you must never seek to know it.’ ‘Why not?’ said the Prince. ‘Something dreadful will happen,’ said the Princess, ‘if ever you find out my name, and call me by it.’ And she looked quite as if she could be very angry. Now ever after this, the Prince kept wondering what his wife’s real name could be, till he made himself quite unhappy. ‘Is it Margaret?’ he would say, when he thought the Princess was off her guard; or, ‘is it Joan?’ ‘Is it Dorothy?’ ‘It can’t be Sybil, can it?’17 But she would never tell him. Now, one morning, the Princess awoke very early, but she felt so happy that she could not sleep. She lay awake and listened to the Birds singing, and then she watched a Fairy-boy teasing a Bird, which sang (so the boy said) out of tune, and another Fairy-baby riding on a Fly. At last the Princess, who thought the Prince was sound asleep, began to croon softly a little song she had made about him and her. She had never told him about the song, partly because she was shy, and partly for another reason. So she crooned and hummed to herself, Oh, hand in hand with Gwendoline, While yet our locks are gold, He’ll fare among the forests green, And through the gardens old; And when, like leaves that lose their green, Our gold has turned to grey, Then, hand in hand with Gwendoline, He’ll fade and pass away!

69 67

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘Oh, Gwendoline is your name, is it?’ said the Prince, who had been wide awake, and listening to her song. And he began to laugh at having found out her secret, and tried to kiss her. But the Princess turned very, very cold, and white like marble, so that the Prince began to shiver, and he sat down on a fallen Mushroom, and hid his face in his hands, and, in a moment, all his beautiful hair vanished, and his splendid clothes, and his gold train, and his Crown. He wore a red cap, and common clothes, and was Prince Comical once more. But the Princess arose, and she vanished swiftly away. Opposite you see the poor Prince crying, and the Princess vanishing away. Thus he was punished for being curious and prying. It is natural, you will say, that a man should like to call his wife by her name. But the Fairies would not allow it, and, what is more, there are still some nations who will not allow a woman to mention the name of her husband.18 Well, here was a sad state of things! The Princess was lost as much as ever, and Prince Charming was changed back into Prince Comical. The Black Beetle sighed day and night, and mingled his tears with those of the Prince. But neither of them knew what to do. They wandered about the Valley Magical, and though it was just as pretty as ever, it seemed quite ugly and stupid to them. The worst of it was, that the Prince felt so foolish. After winning the greatest good fortune, and the dearest bride in the world, he had thrown everything away. He walked about crying, ‘Oh, Gwen – I mean oh, Niente! dear Niente! return to your own Prince Comical, and all will be forgiven!’ It is impossible to say what would have happened; and probably the Prince would have died of sorrow and hunger (for he ate nothing), if the Black Beetle had not one day met a Bat, which was the favourite charger of Puck.19 Now Puck, as all the world knows, is the Jester at the Court of Fairy Land. He can make Oberon and Titania – the King and Queen – laugh at the tricks he plays, and therefore they love him so much that there is nothing they would not do for him. So the Black Beetle began to talk about his master, the Prince, to the Bat Puck commonly rode; and the Bat, a good-natured creature, told the whole story to Puck. Now Puck was also in a good humour, so he jumped at once on his Bat’s back, and rode off to consult the King and Queen of Fairy Land. Well, they were sorry for the Prince – he had only broken one little Fairy law after all – and they sent Puck back to tell him what he was to do. This was to find the Blue Bird again, and get the Blue Bird to guide him to the home of the Water Fairy, the Godmother of the Princess. Long and far the Prince wandered, but at last he found the Blue Bird once more. And the Bird (very good-naturedly) promised to fly

70 68

s e l etch t eed pf ri ci tni o a nodbr o e wd y lang c ne sosf n

in front of him till he led him to the beautiful stream, where the Water Fairy held her court. So they reached it at last, and then the Blue Bird harnessed himself to the chariot of the Water Fairy, and the chariot was the white cup of a Water Lily. Then he pulled, and pulled at the chariot (here he is dragging along the Water Fairy), till he brought her where the Prince was waiting. At first, when she saw him, she was rather angry. ‘Why did you find out my God-daughter’s name?’ she said; and the Prince had no excuse to make. He only turned red, and sighed. This rather pleased the Water Fairy. ‘Do you love the Princess very much?’ said she. ‘Oh, more than all the world,’ said the Prince. ‘Then back you go, to Mushroom Land, and you will find her in the old place. But perhaps she will not be pleased to forgive you at first.’ Figure 3. The protagonists of The Princess Nobody (1884) kiss across a mushroom. This illustration by Richard Doyle first appeared in his In Fairyland: A Series of Pictures from the Elf-World (1870). Lang adapted Doyle’s illustrations freely to suit the narrative of The Princess Nobody, omitting some images and resituating others. This ‘cut up’ approach to Doyle’s imagery mirrors Lang’s collage-like treatment of traditional tales. Reproduced by permission of the British Library (shelfmark 12805.w.15

71 69

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

The Prince thought he would chance that, but he did not say so. He only bowed very low, and thanked the Water Fairy. Then off he set, with the Blue Bird to guide him, in search of Mushroom Land. At long and at last he reached it, and glad he was to see the little sentinel on the border of the country. All up and down Mushroom Land the Prince searched, and at last he saw his own Princess, and he rushed up, and knelt at her feet, and held out his hands to ask pardon for having disobeyed the Fairy law. But she was still rather cross, and down she jumped, and ran round the Mushroom, and he ran after her. So he chased her for a minute or two, and at last she laughed, and popped up her head over the Mushroom, and pursed up her lips into a cherry. And he kissed her across the Mushroom,20 and knew he had won back his own dear Princess, and they felt even happier than if they had never been parted. ‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,’21 and so do Stories. The Prince has his Princess once again, and I can tell you they did not wait long, this time, in the Valley Magical. Off they went, straight home, and the Black Beetle guided them, flying in a bee-line. Just on the further border of Mushroom Land, they came to all the Princes fast asleep. But when the Princess drew near, they all wakened, and jumped up, and they slapped the fortunate Prince on the back, and wished him luck, and cried, ‘Hullo, Comical, old chap; we hardly knew you! Why, you’ve grown quite handsome!’ And so he had; he was changed into Prince Charming again, but he was so happy he never noticed it, for he was not conceited. But the Princess noticed it, and she loved him all the better. Then they all made a procession, with the Black Beetle marching at the head; indeed, they called him ‘Black Rod’22 now, and he was quite a Courtier. So with flags flying, and music playing, they returned to the home of the Princess. And the King and Queen met them at the park gates, and fell on the neck of the Prince and Princess, and kissed them, and laughed, and cried for joy, and kissed them again. You may be sure the old Nurse was out among the foremost, her face quite shining with pleasure, and using longer words than the noblest there. And she admired the Prince very much, and was delighted that ‘her girl,’ as she called the Princess, had got such a good husband. So here we leave them, and that country remained always happy, and so it has neither history nor geography. Therefore you won’t find it on any map, nor can you read about it in any book but this book. Lastly, here is a picture of the Prince and Princess at home, sitting on a beautiful Rose, as a Fairy’s God-child can do if she pleases.

72 70

s e l etch t eed pf ri ci tni o e wd y lang c ne sosf annodbr o

As to the Black Beetle, he was appointed to a place about the Court, but he never married, he had no children, and there are no other Black Beetles, consequently, in the country where the Prince and Princess became King and Queen. ERANT OLIM REX QUIDAM ET REGINA.23 Apuleius. Au Temps jadis! as Perrault says,24 In half-forgotten Fairy days,— ‘There lived a King once, and a Queen, As few there are, as more have been,’— Ah, still we love the well-worn phrase, Still love to tread the ancient ways, To break the fence, to thread the maze, To see the beauty we have seen, Au Temps jadis! Here’s luck to every child that strays In Fairy Land among the Fays; That follows through the forest green Prince Comical and Gwendoline; That reads the tales we used to praise, Au Temps jadis!

73 71

selected fiction of andrew lang

74

the gold of fairnilee

The Gold of Fairnilee

Dedication. To Jeanie Lang, Larra.1 Dear Jeanie, For you, far away on the other side of the world, I made this little tale of our own country. Your father and I have dug for treasure in the Camp of Rink,2 with our knives, when we were boys. We did not find it: the story will tell you why. Are there Fairies as well as Bunyips3 in Australia? I hope so. Yours always, A.L.

75 73

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

CHAPTER I. The Old House. You may still see the old Scotch house4 where Randal was born, so long ago. Nobody lives there now. Most of the roof has fallen in, there is no glass in the windows, and all the doors are open. They were open in the days of Randal’s father – nearly four hundred years have passed since then – and everyone who came was welcome to his share of beef and broth and ale. But now the doors are not only open, they are quite gone, and there is nobody within to give you a welcome. So there is nothing but emptiness in the old house where Randal lived with Jean, three hundred and sixty years or so before you were born. It is a high old house, and wide, with the broken slates still on the roof. At the corners5 there are little round towers, like pepper-boxes, with sharp peaks. The stems of the ivy that covers the walls are as thick as trees. There are many trees crowding all round, and there are hills round it too; and far below you hear the Tweed6 whispering all day. The house is called Fairnilee, which means ‘the Fairies’ Field;’ for people believed in fairies, as you shall hear, when Randal was a boy, and even when my father was a boy. Randal was all alone in the house when he was a little fellow – alone with his mother, and Nancy the old nurse,7 and Simon Grieve8 the butler, who wore a black velvet coat and a big silver chain. Then there were the maids, and the grooms, and the farm folk, who were all friends of Randal’s. He was not lonely, and he did not feel unhappy, even before Jean came, as you shall be told. But the grown-up people were sad and silent at Fairnilee. Randal had no father; his mother, Lady Ker,9 was a widow. She was still quite young, and Randal thought her the most beautiful person in the world. Children think these things about their mothers, and Randal had seen no ladies but his mother only. She had brown hair and brown eyes and red lips, and a grave kind face, which looked serious under her great white widow’s cap with the black hood over it. Randal never saw his mother cry; but when he was a very little child indeed, he had heard her crying in the night: this was after his father went away.

76 74

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

CHAPTER II. How Randal’s Father Came Home. Randal remembered his father’s going to fight the English,10 and how he came back again. It was a windy August evening when he went away: the rain had fallen since morning. Randal had watched the white mists driven by the gale down through the black pine-wood that covers the hill opposite Fairnilee. The mist looked like armies of ghosts, he thought, marching, marching through the pines, with their white flags flying and streaming. Then the sun came out red at evening, and Randal’s father rode away with all his men. He had a helmet on his head, and a great axe hanging from his neck by a chain, and a spear in his hand. He was riding his big horse, Sir Hugh, and he caught Randal up to the saddle and kissed him many times before he clattered out of the courtyard. All the tenants and men about the farm rode with him, all with spears and a flag embroidered with a crest in gold. His mother watched them from the tower till they were out of sight. And Randal saw them ride away, not on hard, smooth roads like ours, but along a green grassy track, the water splashing up to their stirrups where they crossed the marshes. Then the sky turned as red as blood, in the sunset, and next it grew brown, like the rust on a sword; and the Tweed below, when they rode the ford, was all red and gold and brown. Then time went on; that seemed a long time to Randal. Only the women were left in the house, and Randal played with the shepherd’s children. They sailed boats in the mill-pond, and they went down to the boat-pool and watched to see the big copper-coloured salmon splashing in the still water. One evening Randal looked up suddenly from his play. It was growing dark. He had been building a house with the round stones and wet sand by the river. He looked up, and there was his own father! He was riding all alone, and his horse, Sir Hugh, was very lean and lame, and scarred with the spurs. The spear in his father’s hand was broken, and he had no sword; and he looked neither to right nor to left. His eyes were wide open, but he seemed to see nothing. Randal cried out to him, ‘Father! Father!’ but he never glanced at Randal. He did not look as if he heard him, or knew he was there, and suddenly he seemed to go away, Randal did not know how or where. Randal was frightened. He ran into the house, and went to his mother. ‘Oh, mother,’ he said, ‘I have seen father! He was riding all alone, and he would not look at me. Sir Hugh was lame!’ ‘Where has he gone?’ said Lady Ker, in a strange voice.

77 75

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘He went away out of sight,’ said Randal. ‘I could not see where he went.’ Then his mother told him it could not be, that his father would not have come back alone. He would not leave his men behind him in the war. But Randal was so sure, that she did not scold him. She knew he believed what he said. He saw that she was not happy. All that night, which was the Fourth of September, in the year 1513, the day of Flodden fight,11 Randal’s mother did not go to bed. She kept moving about the house. Now she would look from the tower window up Tweed; and now she would go along the gallery and look down Tweed from the other tower. She had lights burning in all the windows. All next day she was never still. She climbed, with two of her maids, to the top of the hill above Yair, on the other side of the river, and she watched the roads down Ettrick and Yarrow.12 Next night she slept little, and rose early. About noon, Randal saw three or four men riding wearily, with tired horses. They could scarcely cross the ford of Tweed, the horses were so tired. The men were Simon Grieve the butler, and some of the tenants. They looked very pale; some of them had their heads tied up, and there was blood on their faces. Lady Ker and Randal ran to meet them. Simon Grieve lighted from his horse, and whispered to Randal’s mother. Randal did not hear what he said, but his mother cried, ‘I knew it! I knew it!’ and turned quite white. ‘Where is he?’ she said. Simon pointed across the hill. ‘They are bringing the corp,’ he said. Randal knew the ‘corp’ meant the dead body. He began to cry. ‘Where is my father?’ he said, ‘where is my father?’ His mother led him into the house. She gave him to the old nurse, who cried over him, and kissed him, and offered him cakes, and made him a whistle with a branch of plane tree, So in a short while Randal only felt puzzled. Then he forgot, and began to play. He was a very little boy. Lady Ker shut herself up in her own room – her ‘bower,’ the servants called it. Soon Randal heard heavy steps on the stairs, and whispering. He wanted to run out, and his nurse caught hold of him, and would not have let him go, but he slipped out of her hand, and looked over the staircase.

78 76

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

They were bringing up the body of a man stretched on a shield. It was Randal’s father. He had been slain at Flodden, fighting for the king. An arrow had gone through his brain, and he had fallen beside James IV.,13 with many another brave knight, all the best of Scotland, the Flowers of the Forest.14 What was it Randal saw, when he thought he met his father in the twilight, three days before? He never knew. His mother said he must have dreamed it all. The old nurse used to gossip about it to the maids. ‘He’s an unco’ bairn, oor Randal; I wush he may na be fey.’ She meant that Randal was a strange child, and that strange things would happen to him.15

CHAPTER III. How Jean was brought to Fairnilee. The winter went by very sadly. At first the people about Fairnilee expected the English to cross the Border and march against them. They drove their cattle out on the wild hills, and into marshes where only they knew the firm paths, and raised walls of earth and stones – barmkyns, they called them – round the old house; and made many arrows to shoot out of the narrow windows at the English. Randal used to like to see the arrow-making beside the fire at night. He was not afraid; and said he would show the English what he could do with his little bow. But weeks went on and no enemy came. Spring drew near, the snow melted from the hills. One night Randal was awakened by a great noise of shouting; he looked out of the window, and saw bright torches moving about. He heard the cows ‘routing,’ or bellowing, and the women screaming. He thought the English had come. So they had; not the English army, but some robbers from the other side of the Border. At that time the people on the south side of Scotland and the north side of England used to steal each other’s cows time about.16 When a Scotch squire, or ‘laird,’ like Randal’s father, had been robbed by the neighbouring English, he would wait his chance and drive away cattle from the English side. This time most of Randal’s mother’s herds were seized, by a sudden attack in the night, and were driven away through the Forest to England. Two or three of Lady Ker’s men were hurt by the English, but old Simon Grieve took a prisoner. He did this in a curious way. He shot an arrow after the robbers as they rode off, and the arrow pinned an Englishman’s leg to

79 77

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

the saddle, and even into his horse. The horse was hurt and frightened, and ran away right back to Fairnilee, where it was caught, with the rider and all, for of course he could not dismount. They treated him kindly at Fairnilee, though they laughed at him a good deal. They found out from him where the English had come from. He did not mind telling them, for he was really a gipsy from Yetholm,17 where the gipsies live, and Scot or Southron18 was all one to him. When old Simon Grieve knew who the people were that had taken the cows, he was not long in calling the men together, and trying to get back what he had lost. Early one April morning, a grey morning, with snow in the air, he and his spearmen set out, riding down through the Forest, and so into Liddesdale.19 When they came back again, there were great rejoicings at Fairnilee. They drove most of their own cows before them, and a great many other cows that they had not lost; cows of the English farmers. The byres and yards were soon full of cattle, lowing and roaring, very uneasy, and some of them with marks of the spears that had goaded them across many a ford, and up many a rocky pass in the hills. Randal jumped downstairs to the great hall, where his mother sat. Simon Grieve was telling her all about it. ‘Sae we drave oor ain kye hame, my lady,’ he said, ‘and aiblins some orra anes that was na oor ain. For-bye we raikit a’ the plenishing oot o’ the ha’ o’ Hardriding,20 and a bonny burden o’ tapestries, and plaids, and gear we hae, to show for our ride.’* Then he called to some of his men, who came into the hall, and cast down great piles of all sorts of spoil and booty, silver plate, and silken hangings, and a heap of rugs, and carpets, and plaids, such as Randal had never seen before, for the English were much richer than the Scotch. Randal threw himself on the pile of rugs and began to roll on it. ‘Oh, mother,’ he cried suddenly, jumping up and looking with wide-open eyes, ‘there’s something living in the heap! Perhaps it’s a doggie, or a rabbit, or a kitten.’ Then Randal tugged at the cloths, and then they all heard a little shrill cry. ‘Why, it’s a bairn!’ said Lady Ker, who had sat very grave all the time, pleased to have done the English some harm; for they had killed her husband, and were all her deadly foes. ‘It’s a bairn!’ she cried, and * ‘We drove our own cattle home, and perhaps some others that were not ours. And we took all the goods out of the hall at Hardriding, and a pretty load of tapestries, and rugs, and other things we have to show for our ride.’

80 78

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

pulled out of the great heap of cloaks and rugs a little beautiful child, in its white nightdress, with its yellow curls all tangled over its blue eyes.21 Then Lady Ker and the old nurse could not make too much of the pretty English child that had come here in such a wonderful way. How did it get mixed up with all the spoil? and how had it been carried so far on horseback without being hurt? Nobody ever knew. It came as if the fairies had sent it. English it was, but the best Scot could not hate such a pretty child. Old Nancy Dryden ran up to the old nursery with it, and laid it in a great wooden tub full of hot water, and was giving it warm milk to drink, and dandling it, almost before the men knew what had happened. ‘Yon bairn will be a bonny mate for you, Maister Randal,’ said old Simon Grieve. ‘’Deed, I dinna think her kin will come speering* after her at Fairnilee. The Red Cock’s crawing ower Hardriding Ha’ this day,22 and when the womenfolk come back frae the wood, they’ll hae other thing to do for-bye looking for bairns.’ When Simon Grieve said that the Red Cock was crowing over his enemies’ home, he meant that he had set it on fire after the people who lived in it had run away. Lady Ker grew pale when she heard what he said. She hated the English, to be sure, but she was a woman with a kind heart. She thought of the dreadful danger that the little English girl had escaped, and she went upstairs and helped the nurse to make the child happy.

CHAPTER IV. Randal and Jean. The little girl soon made everyone at Fairnilee happy. She was far too young to remember her own home, and presently she was crawling up and down the long hall and making friends with Randal. They found out that her name was Jane Musgrave,23 though she could hardly say Musgrave; and they called her Jean, with their Scotch tongues, or ‘Jean o’ the Kye,’ because she came when the cows were driven home again. Soon the old nurse came to like her near as well as Randal, ‘her ain bairn’ (her own child), as she called him. In the summer days, Jean, as she grew older, would follow Randal about like a little doggie. They went fishing together, and Randal would pull the trout out of Caddon Burn, or the Burn of Peel;24 and Jeanie would be very proud of him, and *

Asking.

81 79

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

very much alarmed at the big, wide jaws of the yellow trout. And Randal would plait helmets with green rushes for her and him, and make spears of bulrushes, and play at tilts and tournaments. There was peace in the country; or if there was war, it did not come near the quiet valley of the Tweed and the hills that lie round Fairnilee. In summer they were always on the hills and by the burnsides. You cannot think, if you have not tried, what pleasant company a burn is. It comes out of the deep, black wells in the moss, far away on the tops of the hills, where the sheep feed, and the fox peers from his hole, and the ravens build in the crags. The burn flows down from the lonely places, cutting a way between steep, green banks, tumbling in white waterfalls over rocks, and lying in black, deep pools below the waterfalls. At every turn it does something new, and plays a fresh game with its brown waters. The white pebbles in the water look like gold: often Randal would pick one out and think he had found a gold-mine, till he got it into the sunshine, and then it was only a white stone, what he called a ‘chucky-stane;’ but he kept hoping for better luck next time. In the height of summer, when the streams were very low, he and the shepherd’s boys would build dams of stones and turf across a narrow part of the burn, while Jean sat and watched them on a little round knoll. Then, when plenty of water had collected in the pool, they would break the dam and let it all run downhill in a little flood; they called it a ‘hurly gush.’ And in winter they would slide on the black, smooth ice of the boat-pool, beneath the branches of the alders. Or they would go out with Yarrow, the shepherd’s dog, and follow the track of wild creatures in the snow. The rabbit makes marks like , and the hare makes marks like ; but the fox’s track is just as if you had pushed a piece of wood through the snow – a number of cuts in the surface, going straight along. When it was very cold, the grouse and black-cocks would come into the trees near the house, and Randal and Jean would put out porridge for them to eat. And the great white swans floated in from the frozen lochs on the hills, and gathered round open reaches and streams of the Tweed. It was pleasant to be a boy then in the North. And at Hallow E’en they would duck for apples in tubs of water, and burn nuts in the fire, and look for the shadow of the lady Randal was to marry, in the mirror; but he only saw Jean looking over his shoulder. The days were very short in winter, so far North, and they would soon be driven into the house. Then they sat by the nursery fire; and those were almost the pleasantest hours, for the old nurse would tell them old Scotch stories of elves and fairies, and sing them old songs.

82 80

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

Jean would crawl close to Randal and hold his hand, for fear the Red Etin,25 or some other awful bogle, should get her: and in the dancing shadows of the firelight she would think she saw Whuppity Stoorie,26 the wicked old witch with the spinning-wheel; but it was really nothing but the shadow of the wheel that the old nurse drove with her foot – birr, birr27 – and that whirred and rattled as she span and told her tale. For people span their cloth at home then, instead of buying it from shops; and the old nurse was a great woman for spinning. She was a great woman for stories, too, and believed in fairies, and ‘bogles,’ as she called them. Had not her own cousin, Andrew Tamson, passed the Cauldshiels Loch one New Year morning? And had he not heard a dreadful roaring, as if all the cattle on Faldonside Hill were routing at once? And then did he not see a great black beast roll down the hillside, like a black ball, and run into the loch, which grew white with foam, and the waves leaped up the banks like a tide rising? What could that be except the kelpie that lives in Cauldshiels Loch,28 and is just a muckle big water bull? ‘And what for should there no be water kye, if there’s land kye?’ Randal and Jean thought it was very likely there were ‘kye,’ or cattle, in the water. And some Highland people think so still, and believe they have seen the great kelpie come roaring out of the lake; or Shellycoat,29 whose skin is all crusted like a rock with shells, sitting beside the sea. The old nurse had other tales, that nobody believes any longer, about Brownies.30 A Brownie was a very useful creature to have in a house. He was a kind of fairy-man, and he came out in the dark, when everybody had gone to bed, just as mice pop out at night. He never did anyone any harm, but he sat and warmed himself at the kitchen fire. If any work was unfinished he did it, and made everything tidy that was left out of order. It is a pity there are no such bogles now! If anybody offered the Brownie any payment, even if it was only a silver penny or a new coat, he would take offence and go away. Other stories the old nurse had, about hidden treasures and buried gold. If you believed her, there was hardly an old stone on the hillside but had gold under it. The very sheep that fed upon the Eildon Hills,31 which Randal knew well, had yellow teeth because there was so much gold under the grass. Randal had taken two scones, or rolls, in his pocket for dinner, and ridden over to the Eildon Hills. He had seen a rainbow touch one of them, and there he hoped he would find the treasure that always lies at the tail of the rainbow. But he got very soon tired of digging for it with his little dirk, or dagger. It blunted the dagger, and he found nothing. Perhaps he had not marked quite the right place, he

83 81

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

thought. But he looked at the teeth of the sheep, and they were yellow; so he had no doubt that there was a gold-mine under the grass, if he could find it. The old nurse knew that it was very difficult to dig up fairy gold. Generally something happened just when people heard their pick-axes clink on the iron pot that held the treasure. A dreadful storm of thunder and lightning would break out; or the burn would be flooded, and rush down all red and roaring, sweeping away the tools and drowning the digger; or a strange man, that nobody had ever seen before, would come up, waving his arms, and crying out that the Castle was on fire. Then the people would hurry up to the Castle, and find that it was not on fire at all. When they returned, all the earth would be just as it was before they began, and they would give up in despair. Nobody could ever see the man again that gave the alarm. ‘Who could he be, nurse?’ Randal asked. ‘Just one of the good folk,32 I’m thinking; but it’s no weel to be speaking o’ them.’ Randal knew that the ‘good folk’ meant the fairies. The old nurse called them the good folk for fear of offending them. She would not speak much about them, except now and then, when the servants had been making merry. ‘And is there any treasure hidden near Fairnilee, nursie?’ asked little Jean. ‘Treasure, my bonny doo! Mair than a’ the men about the toon could carry away frae morning till nicht. Do ye no ken the auld rhyme?— Atween the wet ground and the dry The gold of Fairnilee doth lie.33

And there’s the other auld rhyme – Between the Camp o’ Rink And Tweed water clear, Lie nine kings’ ransoms For nine hundred year!’

Randal and Jean were very glad to hear so much gold was near them as would pay nine kings’ ransoms. They took their small spades and dug little holes in the Camp of Rink, which is a great old circle of stonework,34 surrounded by a deep ditch, on the top of a hill above the house. But Jean was not a very good digger, and even Randal grew tired. They thought they would wait till they grew bigger, and then find the gold.

84 82

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

CHAPTER V. The Good Folk. ‘Everybody knows there’s fairies,’ said the old nurse one night when she was bolder than usual. What she said we will put in English, not Scotch as she spoke it. ‘But they do not like to be called fairies. So the old rhyme35 runs: If ye call me imp or elf, I warn you look well to yourself; If ye call me fairy, Ye’ll find me quite contrary; If good neighbour you call me, Then good neighbour I will be; But if you call me kindly sprite, I’ll be your friend both day and night.

So you must always call them “good neighbours” or “good folk,” when you speak of them.’ ‘Did you ever see a fairy, nurse?’ asked Randal. ‘Not myself, but my mother knew a woman – they called her Tibby Dickson, and her husband was a shepherd, and she had a bairn, as bonny a bairn as ever you saw.36 And one day she went to the well to draw water, and as she was coming back she heard a loud scream in her house. Then her heart leaped, and fast she ran and flew to the cradle; and there she saw an awful sight – not her own bairn, but a withered imp, with hands like a mole’s, and a face like a frog’s, and a mouth from ear to ear, and two great staring eyes.’ ‘What was it?’ asked Jeanie, in a trembling voice. ‘A fairy’s bairn that had not thriven,’ said nurse; ‘and when their bairns do not thrive, they just steal honest folks’ children and carry them away to their own country.’ ‘And where’s that?’ said Randal. ‘It’s under the ground,’ said nurse, ‘and there they have gold and silver and diamonds; and there’s the Queen of them all, that’s as beautiful as the day. She has yellow hair down to her feet, and she has blue eyes, like the sky on a fine day, and her voice like all the mavises37 singing in the spring. And she is aye dressed in green, and all her court in green; and she rides a white horse with golden bells on the bridle.’ ‘I would like to go there and see her,’ said Randal. ‘Oh, never say that, my bairn; you never know who may hear you! And if you go there, how will you come back again? and what will your mother do, and Jean here, and me that’s carried you many a time in weary arms when you were a babe?’

85 83

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘Can’t people come back again?’ asked Randal. ‘Some say “Yes,” and some say “No.” There was Tam Hislop, that vanished away the day before all the lads and your own father went forth to that weary war at Flodden, and the English, for once, by guile, won the day.38 Well, Tam Hislop, when the news came that all must arm and mount and ride, he could nowhere be found. It was as if the wind had carried him away. High and low they sought him, but there was his clothes and his jack,* and his sword and his spear, but no Tam Hislop. Well, no man heard more of him for seven whole years, not till last year, and then he came back: sore tired he looked, ay, and older than when he was lost. And I met him by the well, and I was frightened; and “Tam,” I said, “where have ye been this weary time?” “I have been with them that I will not speak the name of,” says he. “Ye mean the good folk,” said I. “Ye have said it,” says he. Then I went up to the house, with my heart in my mouth, and I met Simon Grieve. “Simon,” I says, “here’s Tam Hislop come home from the good folk.” “I’ll soon send him back to them,” says he. And he takes a great rung† and lays it about Tarn’s shoulders, calling him coward loon, that ran away from the fighting. And since then Tam has never been seen about the place. But the Laird’s man, of Gala,39 knows them that say he was in Perth the last seven years, and not in Fairyland at all. But it was Fairyland he told me, and he would not lie to his own mother’s half-brother’s cousin.’ Randal did not care much for the story of Tam Hislop. A fellow who would let old Simon Grieve beat him could not be worthy of the Fairy Queen. Randal was about thirteen now, a tall boy, with dark eyes, black hair, a brown face with the red on his cheeks. He had grown up in a country where everything was magical and haunted; where fairy knights rode on the leas after dark, and challenged men to battle. Every castle had its tale of Redcap, the sly spirit, or of the woman of the hairy hand.40 Every old mound was thought to cover hidden gold. And all was so lonely; the green hills rolling between river and river, with no men on them, nothing but sheep, and grouse, and plover. No wonder that Randal lived in a kind of dream. He would lie and watch the long grass till it looked like a forest, and he thought he could see elves dancing between the green grass stems, that were like fairy trees. He kept wishing that he, too, might meet the Fairy Queen, and be taken into that other world where everything was beautiful.

86 84

*

Jack, a kind of breastplate.

†

Rung, a staff.

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

CHAPTER VI. The Wishing Well.41 ‘Jean,’ said Randal one midsummer day, ‘I am going to the Wishing Well.’ ‘Oh, Randal,’ said Jean, ‘it is so far away!’ ‘I can walk it,’ said Randal, ‘and you must come, too; I want you, Jeanie. It’s not so very far.’ ‘But mother says it is wrong to go to Wishing Wells,’ Jean answered. ‘Why is it wrong?’ said Randal, switching at the tall foxgloves with a stick. ‘Oh, she says it is a wicked thing, and forbidden by the Church. People who go to wish there, sacrifice to the spirits of the well; and Father Francis told her that it was very wrong.’ ‘Father Francis is a shaveling,’42 said Randal. ‘I heard Simon Grieve say so.’ ‘What’s a shaveling, Randal?’ ‘I don’t know: a man that does not fight, I think. I don’t care what a shaveling says: so I mean just to go and wish, and I won’t sacrifice anything. There can’t be any harm in that!’ ‘But, oh Randal, you’ve got your green doublet on!’ ‘Well! why not?’ ‘Do you not know it angers the fair – I mean the good folk, – that anyone should wear green on the hill but themselves?’ ‘I cannot help it,’ said Randal. ‘If I go in and change my doublet, they will ask what I do that for. I’ll chance it, green or grey, and wish my wish for all that.’ ‘And what are you going to wish?’ ‘I’m going to wish to meet the Fairy Queen! Just think how beautiful she must be! dressed all in green, with gold bells on her bridle, and riding a white horse shod with gold! I think I see her galloping through the woods and out across the hill, over the heather.’ ‘But you will go away with her, and never see me any more,’ said Jean. ‘No, I won’t; or if I do, I’ll come back, with such a horse, and a sword with a gold handle. I’m going to the Wishing Well. Come on!’ Jean did not like to say ‘No,’ and off they went. Randal and Jean started without taking anything with them to eat. They were afraid to go back to the house for food. Randal said they would be sure to find something somewhere. The Wishing Well was on the top of a hill between Yarrow and Tweed. So they took off their shoes,

87 85

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

and waded the Tweed at the shallowest part, and then they walked up the green grassy bank on the other side, till they came to the burn of Peel. Here they passed the old square tower of Peel, and the shepherd dogs came out and barked at them. Randal threw a stone at them, and they ran away with their tails between their legs. ‘Don’t you think we had better go into Peel, and get some bannocks43 to eat on the way, Randal?’ said Jean. But Randal said he was not hungry; and, besides, the people at Peel would tell the Fairnilee people where they had gone. ‘We’ll wish for things to eat when we get to the Wishing Well,’ said Randal. ‘All sorts of good things – cold venison pasty, and everything you like.’ So they began climbing the hill, and they followed the Peel burn. It ran in and out, winding this way and that, and when they did get to the top of the hill, Jean was very tired and very hungry. And she was very disappointed. For she expected to see some wonderful new country at her feet, and there was only a low strip of sunburnt grass and heather, and then another hill-top! So Jean sat down, and the hot sun blazed on her, and the flies buzzed about her and tormented her. ‘Come on, Jean,’ said Randal; ‘it must be over the next hill!’ So poor Jean got up and followed him, but he walked far too fast for her. When she reached the crest of the next hill, she found a great cairn, or pile of grey stones; and beneath her lay, far, far below, a deep valley covered with woods, and a stream running through it that she had never seen before. That stream was the Yarrow. Randal was nowhere in sight, and she did not know where to look for the Wishing Well. If she had walked straight forward through the trees she would have come to it; but she was so tired, and so hungry, and so hot, that she sat down at the foot of the cairn and cried as if her heart would break. Then she fell asleep. When Jean woke, it was as dark as it ever is on a midsummer night in Scotland. Figure 4. E. A. [Eliza Anne] Lemann, from The Gold of Fairnilee (1888). Jean searches for Randal after he has disappeared near the fairy well. Lemann was later to illustrate the fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen for the publisher Edward Arnold, and was also popular as an illustrator of Christmas cards. Her illustrations for Lang’s novel have a contemporary, pre-Raphaelite flavour.

88 86

selected fiction of andrew lang

89

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

It was a soft, cloudy night; not a clear night with a silver sky. Jeanie heard a loud roaring close to her, and the red light of a great fire was in her sleepy eyes. In the firelight she saw strange black beasts, with horns, plunging and leaping and bellowing, and dark figures rushing about the flames. It was the beasts that made the roaring. They were bounding about close to the fire, and sometimes in it, and were all mixed in the smoke. Jeanie was dreadfully frightened, too frightened to scream. Presently she heard the voices of men shouting on the hill below her. The shouts and the barking of dogs came nearer and nearer. Then a dog ran up to her, and licked her face, and jumped about her. It was her own sheepdog, Yarrow. He ran back to the men who were following him, and came again with one of them. It was old Simon Grieve, very tired, and so much out of breath that he could scarcely speak. Jean was very glad to see him, and not frightened any longer. ‘Oh, Jeanie, my doo’,’ said Simon, ‘where hae ye been? A muckle gliff ye hae gien us, and a weary spiel up the weary braes.’44 Jean told him all about it: how she had come with Randal to see the Wishing Well, and how she had lost him, and fallen asleep. ‘And sic a nicht for you bairns to wander on the hill,’ said Simon. ‘It’s the nicht o’ St. John,45 when the guid folk hae power. And there’s a’ the lads burning the Bel fires, and driving the nowt (cattle) through them: nae less will serve them. Sic a nicht!’ This was the cause of the fire Jean saw, and of the noise of the cattle. On midsummer’s night the country people used to light these fires, and drive the cattle through them. It was an old, old custom come down from heathen times. Now the other men from Fairnilee had gathered round Jean. Lady Ker had sent them out to look for Randal and her on the hills. They had heard from the good wife at Peel that the children had gone up the burn, and Yarrow had tracked them till Jean was found.

90 88

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

CHAPTER VII. Where is Randal? Jean was found, but where was Randal? She told the men who had come out to look for her, that Randal had gone on to look for the Wishing Well. So they rolled her up in a big shepherd’s plaid, and two of them carried Jean home in the plaid, while all the rest, with lighted torches in their hands, went to look for Randal through the wood. Jean was so tired that she fell asleep again in her plaid before they reached Fairnilee. She was wakened by the men shouting as they drew near the house, to show that they were coming home. Lady Ker was waiting at the gate, and the old nurse ran down the grassy path to meet them. ‘Where’s my bairn?’ she cried as soon as she was within call. The men said, ‘Here’s Mistress Jean, and Randal will be here soon; they have gone to look for him.’ ‘Where are they looking?’ cried nurse. ‘Just about the Wishing Well.’ The nurse gave a scream, and hobbled back to Lady Ker. ‘Ma bairn’s tint (lost)!’ she cried, ‘ma bairn’s tint! They’ll find him never. The good folk have stolen him away from that weary Wishing Well!’ ‘Hush, nurse,’ said Lady Ker, ‘do not frighten Jean.’ She spoke to the men, who had no doubt that Randal would soon be found and brought home. So Jean was put to bed, where she forgot all her troubles; and Lady Ker waited, waited, all night, till the grey light began to come in, about two in the morning. Lady Ker kept very still and quiet, telling her beads, and praying. But the old nurse would never be still, but was always wandering out, down to the river’s edge, listening for the shouts of the shepherds coming home. Then she would come back again, and moan and wring her hands, crying for ‘her bairn.’ About six o’clock, when it was broad daylight and all the birds were singing, the men returned from the hill. But Randal did not come with them. Then the old nurse set up a great cry, as the country people do over the bed of someone who has just died. Lady Ker sent her away, and called Simon Grieve to her own room. ‘You have not found the boy yet?’ she said, very stately and pale. ‘He must have wandered over into Yarrow; perhaps he has gone as far

91 89

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

as Newark, and passed the night at the castle, or with the shepherd at Foulshiels.’46 ‘No, my Lady,’ said Simon Grieve, ‘some o’ the men went over to Newark, and some to Foulshiels, and other some down to Sir John Murray’s at Philiphaugh;47 but there’s never a word o’ Randal in a’ the country-side.’ ‘Did you find no trace of him?’ said Lady Ker, sitting down suddenly in the great armchair. ‘We went first through the wood, my Lady, by the path to the Wishing Well. And he had been there, for the whip he carried in his hand was lying on the grass. And we found this.’ He put his hand in his pouch, and brought out a little silver crucifix, that Randal used always to wear round his neck on a chain. ‘This was lying on the grass beside the Wishing Well, my Lady –’ Then he stopped, for Lady Ker had swooned away. She was worn out with watching and with anxiety about Randal. Simon went and called the maids, and they brought water and wine, and soon Lady Ker came back to herself, with the little silver crucifix in her hand. The old nurse was crying, and making a great noise. ‘The good folk have taken ma bairn,’ she said, ‘this nicht o’ a’ the nichts in the year, when the fairy folk – preserve us frae them! – have power. But they could nae take the blessed rood o’ grace;48 it was beyond their strength. If gipsies, or robber folk frae the Debatable Land,49 had carried away the bairn, they would hae taken him, cross and a’. But the guid folk have gotten him, and Randal Ker will never, never mair come hame to bonny Fairnilee.’ What the old nurse said was what everybody thought. Even Simon Grieve shook his head, and did not like it. But Lady Ker did not give up hope. She sent horsemen through all the country-side: up Tweed to the Crook, and to Talla; up Yarrow, past Catslack Tower, and on to the Loch of Saint Mary; up Ettrick to Thirlestane and Buccleugh, and over to Gala, and to Branxholme in Teviotdale; and even to Hermitage Castle, far away by Liddel water.50 They rode far and rode fast, and at every cottage and every tower they asked ‘had anyone seen a boy in green?’ But nobody had seen Randal through all the country-side. Only a shepherd lad, on Foulshiels hill, had heard bells ringing in the night, and a sound of laughter go past him, like a breeze of wind over the heather. Days went by, and all the country was out to look for Randal. Down in Yetholme they sought him, among the gipsies; and across the Eden

92 90

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

in merry Carlisle; and through the Land Debatable, where the robber Armstrongs and Grahames51 lived; and far down Tweed, past Melrose, and up Jed water, far into the Cheviot hills. But there never came any word of Randal. He had vanished as if the earth had opened and swallowed him. Father Francis came from Melrose Abbey,52 and prayed with Lady Ker, and gave her all the comfort he could. He shook his head when he heard of the Wishing Well, but he said that no spirit of earth or air could have power for ever over a Christian soul. But, even when he spoke, he remembered that, once in seven years, the fairy folk have to pay a dreadful tax, one of themselves, to the King of a terrible country of Darkness;53 and what if they had stolen Randal, to pay the tax with him! This was what troubled good Father Francis, though, like a wise man, he said nothing about it, and even put the thought away out of his own mind. But you may be sure that the old nurse had thought of this tax on the fairies too, and that she did not hold her peace about it, but spoke to everyone that would listen to her, and would have spoken to the mistress if she had been allowed. But when she tried to begin, Lady Ker told her that she had put her own trust in Heaven, and in the Saints. And she gave the nurse such a look when she said that, ‘if ever Jean heard of this, she would send nurse away from Fairnilee, out of the country,’ that the old woman was afraid, and was quiet. As for poor Jean, she was perhaps the most unhappy of them all. She thought to herself, if she had refused to go with Randal to the Wishing Well, and had run in and told Lady Ker, then Randal would never have started to find the Wishing Well. And she put herself in great danger, as she fancied, to find him. She wandered alone on the hills, seeking all the places that were believed to be haunted by fairies. At every Fairy Knowe, as the country people called the little round green knolls in the midst of the heather, Jean would stoop her ear to the ground, trying to hear the voices of the fairies within. For it was believed that you might hear the sound of their speech, and the trampling of their horses, and the shouts of the fairy children. But no sound came, except the song of the burn flowing by, and the hum of gnats in the air, and the gock, gock, the cry of the grouse, when you frighten him in the heather. Then Jeanie would try another way of meeting the fairies, and finding Randal. She would walk nine times round a Fairy Knowe, beginning from the left side, because then it was fancied that the hill-side would open, like a door, and show a path into Fairyland. But the hill-side

93 91

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

never opened, and she never saw a single fairy; not even old Whuppity Stoorie sit with her spinning-wheel in a green glen, spinning grass into gold, and singing her fairy song:–54 I once was young and fair, My eyes were bright and blue, As if the sun shone through, And golden was my hair. Down to my feet it rolled Ruddy and ripe like corn, Upon an autumn morn, In heavy waves of gold. Now am I grey and old, And so I sit and spin, With trembling hand and thin, This metal bright and cold. I would give all the gain, These heaps of wealth untold Of hard and glittering gold, Could I be young again!

CHAPTER VIII. The Ill Years.55 So autumn came, and all the hill-sides were golden with the heather; and the red coral berries of the rowan trees hung from the boughs, and were wet with the spray of the waterfalls in the burns. And days grew shorter, and winter came with snow, but Randal never came back to Fairnilee. Season after season passed, and year after year. Lady Ker’s hair grew white like snow, and her face thin and pale – for she fasted often, as was the rule of her Church; all this was before the Reformation.56 And she slept little, praying half the night for Randal’s sake. And she went on pilgrimages to many shrines of the Saints: to St. Boswell and St. Rule’s, hard by the great Cathedral of St. Andrew’s on the sea.57 Nay, she went across the Border as far as the Abbey of St. Alban’s, and even to St. Thomas’s shrine of Canterbury,58 taking Jean with her. Many a weary mile they rode over hill and dale, and many an adventure they had, and ran many dangers from robbers, and soldiers disbanded from the wars.

94 92

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

But at last they had to come back to Fairnilee; and a sad place it was, and silent without the sound of Randal’s voice in the hall, and the noise of his hunting-horn in the woods. None of the people wore mourning for him, though they mourned in their hearts. For to put on black would look as if they had given up all hope. Perhaps most of them thought they would never see him again, but Jeanie was not one who despaired. The years that had turned Lady Ker’s hair white, had made Jean a tall, slim lass – ‘very bonny,’ everyone said; and the country people called her the Flower of Tweed. The Yarrow folk had their Flower of Yarrow,59 and why not the folk of Tweedside? It was now six years since Randal had been lost, and Jeanie was grown a young woman, about seventeen years old. She had always kept a hope that if Randal was with the Fairy Queen he would return perhaps in the seventh year. People said on the country-side that many a man and woman had escaped out of Fairyland after seven years’ imprisonment there. Now the sixth year since Randal’s disappearance began very badly, and got worse as it went on. Just when spring should have been beginning, in the end of February, there came the most dreadful snowstorm. It blew and snowed, and blew again, and the snow was as fine as the dust on a road in summer. The strongest shepherds could not hold their own against the tempest, and were ‘smoored’ (or smothered) in the waste. The flocks moved down from the hill-sides, down and down, till all the sheep on a farm would be gathered together in a crowd, under the shelter of a wood in some deep dip of the hills. The storm seemed as if it would never cease; for thirteen days the snow drifted and the wind blew. There was nothing for the sheep to eat, and if there had been hay enough, it would have been impossible to carry it to them. The poor beasts bit at the wool on each other’s backs, and so many of them died that the shepherds built walls with the dead bodies to keep the wind and snow away from those that were left alive. There could be little work done on the farm that spring; and summer came in so cold and wet that the corn could not ripen, but was levelled to the ground. Then autumn was rainy, and the green sheaves lay out in the fields, and sprouted and rotted; so that little corn was reaped, and little flour could be made that year. Then in winter, and as spring came on, the people began to starve. They had no grain, and there were no potatoes in those days, and no rice; nor could corn be brought in from foreign countries. So men and women and children might be seen in the fields, with white pinched faces, gathering nettles to make soup, and digging for roots that were often little better than

95 93

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

poison. They ground the bark of the fir trees, and mixed it with the little flour they could get; and they ate such beasts as never are eaten except in time of famine. It is said that one very poor woman and her daughter always looked healthy and plump in these dreadful times, till people began to suspect them of being witches. And they were taken, and charged before the Sheriff with living by witchcraft, and very likely they would have been burned. So they confessed that they had fed ever since the famine began – on snails!60 But there were not snails enough for all the country-side, even if people had cared to eat them. So many men and women died, and more were very weak and ill. Lady Ker spent all her money in buying food for her people. Jean and she lived on as little as they could, and were as careful as they could be. They sold all the beautiful silver plate, except the cup that Randal’s father used to drink out of long ago. But almost everything else was sold to buy corn. So the weary year went on, and Midsummer Night came round – the seventh since the night when Randal was lost. Then Jean did what she had always meant to do. In the afternoon she slipped out of the house of Fairnilee, taking a little bread in a basket, and saying that she would go to see the farmer’s wife at Peel, which was on the other side of Tweed. But her mind was to go to the Wishing Well. There she would wish for Randal back again, to help his mother in the evil times. And if she, too, passed away as he had passed out of sight and hearing, then at least she might meet him in that land where he had been carried. How strange it seemed to Jean to be doing everything over again that she had done seven years before! Then she had been a little girl, and it had been hard work for her to climb up the side of the Peel burn. Now she walked lightly and quickly, for she was tall and wellgrown. Soon she reached the crest of the first hill, and remembered how she had sat down there and cried, when she was a child, and how the flies had tormented her. They were buzzing and teasing still; for good times or bad make no difference to them, as long as the sun shines. Then she reached the cairn at the top of the next hill, and far below her lay the forest, and deep within it ran Yarrow, glittering like silver. Jean paused a few moments, and then struck into a green path which led through the wood. The path wound beneath dark pines; their topmost branches were red in the evening light, but the shade was black beneath them. Soon the path reached a little grassy glade, and there among cold, wet grasses was the Wishing Well. It was almost hidden by the grass, and looked very black, and cool, and deep. A tiny trickle of

96 94

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

water flowed out of it, flowed down to join the Yarrow. The trees about it had scraps of rags and other things pinned to them, offerings made by the country people to the spirit of the well.61

CHAPTER IX. The White Roses. Jeanie sat down beside the well. She wished her three wishes: to see Randal, to win him back from Fairyland, and to help the people in the famine. Then she knelt on the grass, and looked down into the well-water. At first she saw nothing but the smooth black water, with little waves trembling in it. Then the water began to grow bright within, as if the sun was shining far, far below. Then it grew as clear as crystal, and she saw through it, like a glass, into a new country – a beautiful country with a wide green plain, and in the midst of the plain a great castle, with golden flags floating from the tops of all the towers. Then she heard a curious whispering noise that thrilled and murmured, as if the music of all the trees that the wind blows through the world were in her ears, as if the noise of all the waves of every sea, and the rustling of heather-bells on every hill, and the singing of all birds were sounding, low and sweet, far, far away. Then she saw a great company of knights and ladies, dressed in green, ride up to the castle; and one knight rode apart from the rest, on a milk-white steed.62 They all went into the castle gates; but this knight rode slowly and sadly behind the others, with his head bowed on his breast. Then the musical sounds were still, and the castle and the plain seemed to wave in the water. Next they quite vanished, and the well grew dim, and then grew dark and black and smooth as it had been before. Still she looked, and the little well bubbled up with sparkling foam, and so became still again, like a mirror, till Jeanie could see her own face in it, and beside her face came the reflection of another face, a young man’s, dark, and sad, and beautiful. The lips smiled at her, and then Jeanie knew it was Randal. She thought he must be looking over her shoulder, and she leaped up with a cry, and glanced round. But she was all alone, and the wood about her was empty and silent. The light had gone out of the sky, which was pale like silver, and overhead she saw the evening star. Then Jeanie thought all was over. She had seen Randal as if it had been in a glass, and she hardly knew him: he was so much older, and his

97 95

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

face was so sad. She sighed, and turned to go away over the hills, back, to Fairnilee. But her feet did not seem to carry her the way she wanted to go. It seemed as if something within her were moving her in a kind of dream. She felt herself going on through the forest, she did not know where. Deeper into the wood she went, and now it grew so dark that she saw scarce anything; only she felt the fragrance of briar roses, and it seemed to her that she was guided towards these roses. Then she knew there was a hand in her hand, though she saw nobody, and the hand seemed to lead her on. And she came to an open place in the forest, and there the silver light fell clear from the sky, and she saw a great shadowy rose tree, covered with white wild roses.63 The hand was still in her hand, and Jeanie began to wish for nothing so much in the world as to gather some of these roses. She put out her hand and she plucked one, and there before her stood a strange creature – a dwarf, dressed in yellow and red, with a very angry face.64 ‘Who are you,’ he cried, ‘that pluck my roses without my will?’ ‘And who are you?’ said Jeanie, trembling, ‘and what right have you on the hills of this world?’ Then she made the holy sign of the cross, and the face of the elf grew black, and the light went out of the sky. She only saw the faint glimmer of the white flowers, and a kind of shadow standing where the dwarf stood. ‘I bid you tell me,’ said Jeanie, ‘whether you are a Christian man, or a spirit that dreads the holy sign,’ and she crossed him again. Now all grew dark as the darkest winter’s night. The air was warm and deadly still, and heavy with the scent of the fairy flowers. In the blackness and the silence, Jeanie made the sacred sign for the third time. Then a clear fresh wind blew on her face, and the forest boughs were shaken, and the silver light grew and gained on the darkness, and she began to see a shape standing where the dwarf had stood. It was far taller than the dwarf, and the light grew and grew, and a star looked down out of the night, and Jean saw Randal standing by her. And she kissed him, and he kissed her, and he put his hand in hers, and they went out of the wood together. They came to the crest of the hill and the cairn. Far below them they saw the Tweed shining through an opening among the trees, and the lights in the farm of Peel, and they heard the nightbirds crying, and the bells of the sheep ringing musically as they wandered through the fragrant heather on the hills.

98 96

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

CHAPTER X. Out of Fairyland. You may fancy, if you can, what joy there was in Fairnilee when Randal came home. They quite forgot the hunger and the hard times, and the old nurse laughed and cried over her bairn that had grown into a tall, strong young man. And to Lady Ker it was all one as if her husband had come again, as he was when first she knew him long ago; for Randal had his face, and his eyes, and the very sound of his voice. They could hardly believe he was not a spirit, and they clasped his hands, and hung on his neck, and could not keep their eyes off him. This was the end of all their sorrow, and it was as if Randal had come back from the dead; so that no people in the world were ever so happy as they were next day, when the sun shone down on the Tweed and the green trees that rustle in the wind round Fairnilee. But in the evening, when the old nurse was out of the way, Randal sat between his mother and Jean, and they each held his hands, as if they could not let him go, for fear he should vanish away from them again. And they would turn round anxiously if anything stirred, for fear it should be the two white deer that sometimes were said to come for people escaped from Fairyland, and then these people must rise and follow them, and never return any more. But the white deer never came for Randal. So he told them all his adventures, and all that had happened to him since that midsummer night, seven long years ago. It had been with him as it was with Jean. He had gone to the Wishing Well, and wished to see the Fairy Queen and Fairyland.65 And he had seen the beautiful castle in the well, and a beautiful woman’s face had floated up to meet his on the water. Then he had gathered the white roses, and then he heard a great sound of horses’ feet, and of bells jingling, and a lady rode up, the very lady he had seen in the well. She had a white horse, and she was dressed in green, and she beckoned to Randal to mount on her horse, with her before him on the pillion. And the bells on the bridle rang, and the horse flew faster than the wind. So they rode and rode through the summer night, and they came to a desert place, and living lands were left far behind. Then the Fairy Queen showed him three paths,66 one steep and narrow, and beset with briars and thorns: that was the road to goodness and happiness, but it was little trodden or marked with the feet of people that had come and gone. And there was a wide smooth road that went through fields of lilies, and that was the path of easy living and pleasure.

99 97

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

The third path wound about the wild hill-side, through ferns and heather, and that was the way to Elfland, and that way they rode. And still they rode through a country of dark night, and they crossed great black rivers, and they saw neither sun nor moon, but they heard the roaring of the sea. From that country they came into the light, and into the beautiful garden that lies round the castle of the Fairy Queen. There they lived in a noble company of gallant knights and fair ladies. All seemed very mirthful, and they rode, and hunted, and danced; and it was never dark night, nor broad daylight, but like early summer dawn before the sun has risen. There Randal said that he had quite forgotten his mother and Jean, and the world where he was born, and Fairnilee. But one day he happened to see a beautiful golden bottle of a strange shape, all set with diamonds, and he opened it. There was in it a sweet-smelling water, as clear as crystal, and he poured it into his hand, and passed his hand over his eyes. Now this water had the power to destroy the ‘glamour’ in Fairyland, and make people see it as it really was. And when Randal touched his eyes with it, lo, everything was changed in a moment. He saw that nothing was what it had seemed. The gold vanished from the embroidered curtains, the light grew dim and wretched like a misty winter day. The Fairy Queen, that had seemed so happy and beautiful in her bright dress, was a weary, pale woman in black, with a melancholy face and melancholy eyes. She looked as if she had been there for thousands of years, always longing for the sunlight and the earth, and the wind and rain. There were sleepy poppies twisted in her hair, instead of a golden crown. And the knights and ladies were changed. They looked but half alive; and some, in place of their gay green robes, were dressed in rusty mail, pierced with spears and stained with blood. And some were in burial robes of white, and some in dresses torn or dripping with water, or marked with the burning of fire. All were dressed strangely in some ancient fashion; their weapons were old-fashioned, too, unlike any that Randal had ever seen on earth. And their festivals were not of dainty meats, but of cold, tasteless flesh, and of beans, and pulse, and such things as the old heathens, before the coming of the Gospel, used to offer to the dead. It was dreadful to see them at such feasts, and dancing, and riding, and pretending to be merry with hollow faces and unhappy eyes. And Randal wearied of Fairyland, which now that he saw it clearly looked like a great unending stretch of sand and barren grassy country, beside a grey sea where there was no tide. All the woods were of black cypress trees and poplar, and a wind from the sea drove a sea-mist

100 98

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

through them, white and cold, and it blew through the open courts of the fairy castle. So Randal longed more and more for the old earth he had left, and the changes of summer and autumn, and the streams of Tweed, and the hills, and his friends. Then the voice of Jeanie had come down to him, sounding from far away. And he was sent up by the Fairy Queen in a fairy form, as a hideous dwarf, to frighten her away from the white roses in the enchanted forest. But her goodness and her courage had saved him, for he was a christened knight, and not a man of the fairy world. And he had taken his own form again beneath her hand, when she signed him with the Cross, and here he was, safe and happy, at home at Fairnilee.

CHAPTER XI. The Fairy Bottle. We soon grow used to the greatest changes, and almost forget the things that we were accustomed to before. In a day or two, Randal had nearly forgotten what a dull life he had lived in Fairyland, after he had touched his eyes with the strange water in the fairy bottle. He remembered the long, grey sands, and the cold mist, and the white faces of the strange people, and the gloomy queen, no more than you remember the dream you dreamed a week ago. But he did notice that Fairnilee was not the happy place it had been before he went away. Here, too, the faces were pinched and white, and the people looked hungry. And he missed many things that he remembered: the silver cups, and plates, and tankards. And the dinners were not like what they had been, but only a little thin soup, and some oatmeal cakes, and trout taken from the Tweed. The beef and ale of old times were not to be found, even in the houses of the richer people. Very soon Randal heard all about the famine; you may be sure the old nurse was ready to tell him all the saddest stories. Full many a place in evil case Where joy was wont afore, oh! Wi’ Humes that dwell in Leader braes, And Scotts that dwell in Yarrow! And the old woman would croon her old prophecies, and tell them how Thomas the Rhymer, that lived in Ercildoune,67 had foretold all this. And she would wish they could find these hidden treasures that

101 99

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

the rhymes were full of, and that maybe were lying – who knew? – quite near them on their own lands. ‘Where is the Gold of Fairnilee?’ she would cry; ‘and, oh, Randal! can you no dig for it, and find it, and buy corn out of England for the poor folk that are dying at your doors? Atween the wet ground and the dry The Gold o’ Fairnilee doth lie. There it is, with the sun never glinting on it; there it may bide till the Judgment-day, and no man the better for it. Atween the Camp o’ Rink And Tweed-water clear, Lie nine kings’ ransoms For nine hundred year.’ ‘I doubt it’s fairy gold, nurse,’ said Randal, ‘and would all turn black when it saw the sun. It would just be like this bottle, the only thing I brought with me out of Fairyland.’ Then Randal put his hand in his velvet pouch, and brought out a and was made of curious small bottle.* It was shaped like this, something that none of them had ever seen before. It was black, and you could see the light through it, and there were green and yellow spots and streaks on it. ‘That ugly bottle looked like gold and diamonds when I found it in Fairyland,’ said Randal, ‘and the water in it smelled as sweet as roses. But when I touched my eyes with it, a drop that ran into my mouth was as salt as the sea, and immediately everything changed: the gold bottle became this glass thing, and the fairies became like folk dead, and the sky grew grey, and all turned waste and ugly.68 That’s the way with fairy gold, nurse; and if you found it, even, it would all be dry leaves and black bits of coal before the sun set.’ ‘Maybe so, and maybe no,’ said the old nurse. ‘The Gold o’ Fairnilee may no be fairy gold, but just wealth o’ this world that folk buried here lang syne.69 But noo, Randal, ma bairn, I maun gang out and see ma sister’s son’s dochter, that’s lying sair sick o’ the kin-cough (whooping cough) at Rink, and take her some of the physic that I gae you and Jean when you were bairns.’ So the old nurse went out, and Randal and Jean began to be sorry for the child she was going to visit. For they remembered the taste of the physic that the old nurse made by boiling the bark of elder-tree branch*

102 100

In bottles like this, the old Romans used to keep their tears for their dead friends

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

es; and I remember it too, for it was the very nastiest thing that ever was tasted, and did nobody any good after all. Then Randal and Jean walked out, strolling along without much noticing where they went, and talking about the pleasant days when they were children.

CHAPTER XII. At the Catrail.70 They had climbed up the slope of a hill, and they came to a broad old ditch, beneath the shade of a wood of pine trees. Below them was a wide marsh, all yellow with marsh flowers, and above them was a steep slope made of stones. Now the dry ditch, where they sat down on the grass, looking towards the Tweed, with their backs to the hill, was called the Catrail. It ran all through that country, and must have been made by men very long ago. Nobody knows who made it, nor why. They did not know in Randal’s time, and they do not know now. They do not even know what the name Catrail means, but that is what it has always been called. The steep slope of stone above them was named the Camp of Rink; it is a round place, like a ring, and no doubt it was built by the old Britons, when they fought against the Romans, many hundreds of years ago.71 The stones of which it is built are so large that we cannot tell how men moved them. But it is a very pleasant, happy place on a warm summer day, like the day when Randal and Jean sat there, with the daisies at their feet, and the wild doves cooing above their heads, and the rabbits running in and out among the ferns. Jean and Randal talked about this and that, chiefly of how some money could be got to buy corn and cattle for the people. Randal was in favour of crossing the Border at night, and driving away cattle from the English side, according to the usual custom. ‘Every day I expect to see a pair of spurs in a dish for all our dinner,’72 said Randal. That was the sign the lady of the house in the Forest used to give her men, when all the beef was done, and more had to be got by fighting. But Jeanie would not hear of Randal taking spear and jack,73 and putting himself in danger by fighting the English. They were her own people after all, though she could not remember them and the days before she was carried out of England by Simon Grieve. ‘Then,’ said Randal, ‘am I to go back to Fairyland, and fetch more gold like this ugly thing?’ and he felt in his pocket for the fairy bottle.

103 101

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

But it was not in his pocket. ‘What have I done with my fairy treasure?’ cried Randal, jumping up. Then he stood still quite suddenly, as if he saw something strange. He touched Jean on the shoulder, making a sign to her not to speak. Jean rose quietly, and looked where Randal pointed, and this was what she saw. She looked over a corner of the old grassy ditch, just where the marsh and the yellow flowers came nearest to it. Here there stood three tall grey stones, each about as high as a man. Between them, with her back to the single stone, and between the two others facing Randal and Jean, the old nurse was kneeling. If she had looked up, she could hardly have seen Randal and Jean, for they were within the ditch, and only their eyes were on the level of the rampart. Besides, she did not look up; she was groping in the breast of her dress for something, and her eyes were on the ground. ‘What can the old woman be doing?’ whispered Randal. ‘Why, she has got my fairy bottle in her hand!’ Then he remembered how he had shown her the bottle, and how she had gone out without giving it back to him. Jean and he watched, and kept very quiet. They saw the old nurse, still kneeling, take the stopper out of the black strange bottle, and turn the open mouth gently on her hand. Then she carefully put in the stopper, and rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. Then she crawled along in their direction, very slowly, as if she were looking for something in the grass. Then she stopped, still looking very closely at the grass. Next she jumped to her feet with a shrill cry, clapping her hands; and then she turned, and was actually running along the edge of the marsh, towards Fairnilee. ‘Nurse!’ shouted Randal, and she stopped suddenly, in a fright, and let the fairy bottle fall. It struck on a stone, and broke to pieces with a jingling sound, and the few drops of strange water in it ran away into the grass. ‘Oh, ma bairns, ma bairns, what have you made me do?’ cried the old nurse pitifully. ‘The fairy gift is broken, and maybe the Gold of Fairnilee, that my eyes have looked on, will ne’er be seen again.’

104 102

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

CHAPTER XIII. The Gold of Fairnilee. Randal and Jean went to the old woman and comforted her, though they could not understand what she meant. She cried and sobbed, and threw her arms about; but, by degrees, they found out all the story. When Randal had told her how all he saw in Fairyland was changed after he had touched his eyes with the water from the bottle, the old woman remembered many tales that she had heard about some charm known to the fairies, which helped them to find things hidden, and to see through walls and stones. Then she had got the bottle from Randal, and had stolen out, meaning to touch her eyes with the water, and try whether that was the charm and whether she could find the treasure spoken of in the old rhymes. She went Between the Camp o’ Rink And Tweed-water clear, and to the place which lay Between the wet land and the dry, that is, between the marsh and the Catrail. Here she had noticed the three great stones, which made a kind of chamber on the hill-side, and here she had anointed her eyes with the salt water of the bottle of tears. Then she had seen through the grass, she declared, and through the upper soil, and she had beheld great quantities of gold. And she was running with the bottle to tell Randal, and to touch his eyes with the water that he might see it also. But, out of Fairyland, the strange water only had its magical power while it was still wet on the eyelashes. This the old nurse soon found; for she went back to the three standing stones, and looked and saw nothing, only grass and daisies. And the fairy bottle was broken, and all the water spilt. This was her story, and Randal did not know what to believe. But so many strange things had happened to him, that one more did not seem impossible. So he and Jean took the old nurse home, and made her comfortable in her room, and Jean put her to bed, and got her a little wine and an oat-cake. Then Randal very quietly locked the door outside, and put the key in his pocket. It would have been of no use to tell the old nurse to be quiet about what she thought she had seen. By this time it was late and growing dark. But that night there would be a moon. After supper, of which there was very little, Lady Ker went to bed.

105 103

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

But Randal and Jean slipped out into the moonlight. They took a sack with them, and Randal carried a pickaxe and a spade. They walked quickly to the three great stones, and waited for a while to hear if all was quiet. Then Jean threw a white cloak round her, and stole about the edges of the camp and the wood. She knew that if any wandering man came by, he would not stay long where such a figure was walking. The night was cool, the dew lay on the deep fern; there was a sweet smell from the grass and from the pine wood. In the meantime, Randal was digging a long trench with his pickaxe, above the place where the old woman had knelt, as far as he could remember it. He worked very hard, and when he was in the trench up to his knees, his pickaxe struck against a stone. He dug round it with the spade, and came to a layer of black burnt ashes of bones. Beneath these, which he scraped away, was the large flat stone on which his pick had struck. It was a wide slab of red sandstone, and Randal soon saw that it was the lid of a great stone coffin, such as the ploughshare sometimes strikes against when men are ploughing the fields in the Border country. Randal had seen these before, when he was a boy, and he knew that there was never much in them, except ashes and one or two rough pots of burnt clay. He was much disappointed. It had seemed as if he was really coming to something, and, behold, it was only an old stone coffin! However, he worked on till he had cleared the whole of the stone coffin-lid. It was a very large stone chest, and must have been made, Randal thought, for the body of a very big man. With the point of his pickaxe he raised the lid. In the moonlight he saw something of a strange shape. He put down his hand, and pulled it out. It was an image, in metal, about a foot high, and represented a beautiful woman, with wings on her shoulders, sitting on a wheel. Randal had never seen an image like this; but in an old book, which belonged to the Monks of Melrose, he had seen, when he was a boy, a picture of such a woman. The Monks had told him that she was Fortune,74 with her swift wings that carry her from one person to another, as luck changes, and with her wheel that she turns with the turning of chance in the world. The image was very heavy. Randal rubbed some of the dirt and red clay off, and found that the metal was yellow. He cut it with his knife; it was soft. He cleaned a piece, which shone bright and unrusted in the

106 104

s e lte h c tee dg foi lc tdi oon f o ff aa inrd n r ei wl el ea n g

moonlight, and touched it with his tongue. Then he had no doubt any more. The image was gold! Randal knew now that the old nurse had not been mistaken. With the help of the fairy water she had seen THE GOLD OF FAIRNILEE. He called very softly to Jeanie, who came glimmering in her white robes through the wood, looking herself like a fairy. He put the image in her hand, and set his finger on his lips to show that she must not speak. Then he went back to the great stone coffin, and began to grope in it with his hands. There was much earth in it that had slowly sifted through during the many years that it had been buried. But there was also a great round bowl of metal and a square box. Randal got out the bowl first. It was covered with a green rust, and had a lid; in short, it was a large ancient kettle, such as soldiers use in camp. Randal got the lid off, and, behold, it was all full of very ancient gold coins, not Greek, nor Roman, but like this, such as were used in Briton before Julius Cæsar came.75 The square box was of iron, and was rusted red. On the lid, in the moonshine, Jeanie could read the letters S. P. Q. R.,76 but she did not know what they meant. The box had been locked, and chained, and clamped with iron bars. But all was so rusty that the bars were easily broken, and the lid torn off. Then the moon shone on bars of gold, and on great plates and dishes of gold and silver, marked with letters, and with what Randal thought were crests. Many of the cups were studded with red and green and blue stones. And there were beautiful plates and dishes, purple, gold, and green; and one of these fell, and broke into a thousand pieces, for it was of some strange kind of glass. There were three gold sword-hilts, carved wonderfully into the figures of strange beasts with wings, and heads like lions.77 Randal and Jean looked at it and marvelled, and Jean sang in a low, sweet voice: ‘Between the Camp o’ Rink And Tweed-water clear, Lie nine kings’ ransoms For nine hundred year.’

Nobody ever saw so much treasure in all broad Scotland. Jean and Randal passed the rest of the night in hiding what they had found. Part they hid in the secret chamber of Fairnilee, of which only Jean and Lady Ker and Randal knew the secret. The rest they stowed away in various places. Then Randal filled the earth into the trench, and

107 105

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

cast wood on the place, and set fire to the wood, so that next day there was nothing there but ashes and charred earth.78 You will not need to be told what Randal did, now that he had treasure in plenty. Some he sold in France, to the king, Henry II.,79 and some in Rome, to the Pope; and with the money which they gave him he bought corn and cattle in England, enough to feed all his neighbours, and stock the farms, and sow the fields for next year. And Fairnilee became a very rich and fortunate house, for Randal married Jean, and soon their children were playing on the banks of the Tweed, and rolling down the grassy slope to the river, to bathe on hot days. And the old nurse lived long and happy among her new bairns, and often she told them how it was she who really found the Gold of Fairnilee. You may wonder what the gold was, and how it came there? Probably Father Francis, the good Melrose Monk, was right. He said that the iron box and the gold image of Fortune, and the kettle full of coins, had belonged to some regiment of the Roman army: the kettle and the coins, they must have taken from the Britons; the box and all the plate were their own, and brought from Italy. Then they, in their turn, must have been defeated by some of the fierce tribes beyond the Roman wall, and must have lost all their treasure. That must have been buried by the victorious enemy; and they, again, must have been driven from their strong camp at Rink, either by some foes from the north, or by a new Roman army from the south. So all the gold lay at Fairnilee for many hundred years, never quite forgotten, as the old rhyme showed, but never found till it was discovered, in their sore need, by the old nurse and Randal and Jean. As for Randal and Jean, they lived to be old, and died on one day, and they are buried at Dryburgh in one tomb, and a green tree grows over them; and the Tweed goes murmuring past their grave, and past the grave of Sir Walter Scott.80 THE END.

108 106

prince prigio

Prince Prigio Dedicated To Alma, Thyra, Edith, Rosalind, Norna, Cecily, and Violet1

To Children. [Introduction to Prince Prigio, Prince Ricardo and The Gold of Fairnilee in My Own Fairy Book, 1895].

The Author of this book is also the Editor of the Blue, Red, Green and Yellow Fairy Books.2 He has always felt rather an impostor, because so many children seem to think that he made up these books out of his own head. Now he only picked up a great many old fairy tales, told in French, German, Greek, Chinese, Red Indian, Russian, and other languages, and had them translated and printed, with pictures. He is glad that children like them, but he must confess that they should be grateful to old forgotten people, long ago, who first invented these tales, and who knew more about fairies than we can hope to do. My Own Fairy Book, which you now have in your hands, was made up altogether out of his own head by the Author, of course with the help of the Historical Papers in the kingdom of Pantouflia.3 About that ancient kingdom very little is known. The natives speak German; but the Royal Family, as usual, was of foreign origin. Just as England has had Norman, Scottish, and, at present, a line of German monarchs, so the kings of Pantouflia are descended from an old Greek family, the Hypnotidæ,4 who came to Pantouflia during the Crusades. They wanted, they explained, not to be troubled with the Crusades, which they thought very injudicious and tiresome. The Crest of the regal house is

111 107

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

a Dormouse, dormant, proper, on a field vert,5 and the Motto, when translated out of the original Greek, means, Anything for a Quiet Life. It may surprise the young reader that princes like Prigio and Ricardo, whose feet were ever in the stirrup, and whose lances were always in rest, should have descended from the family of the Hypnotidæ, who were remarkably lazy and peaceful. But these heroes doubtless inherited the spirit of their great ancestress, whose story is necessary to be known. On leaving his native realm during the Crusades, in search of some secure asylum, the founder of the Pantouflian monarchy landed in the island of Cyprus, where, during the noon-tide heat, he lay down to sleep in a cave.6 Now in this cave dwelt a dragon of enormous size and unamiable character. What was the horror of the exiled prince when he was aroused from slumber by the fiery breath of the dragon, and felt its scaly coils about him! ‘Oh, hang your practical jokes!’ exclaimed the prince, imagining that some of his courtiers were playing a prank on him. ‘Do you call this a joke?’ asked the dragon, twisting its forked tail into a line with his royal highness’s eye. ‘Do take that thing away,’ said the prince, ‘and let a man have his nap peacefully.’’ ‘KISS ME!’ cried the dragon, which had already devoured many gallant knights for declining to kiss it. ‘Give you a kiss,’ murmured the prince; ‘oh, certainly, if that’s all! Anything for a quiet life.’ So saying, he kissed the dragon, which instantly became a most beautiful princess; for she had lain enchanted as a dragon, by a wicked magician, till somebody should be bold enough to kiss her. ‘My love! my hero! my lord! how long I have waited for thee; and now I am eternally thine own!’ So murmured, in the most affectionate accents, the Lady Dragonissa, as she was now called. Though wedded to a bachelor life, the prince was much too wellbred to make any remonstrance. The Lady Dragonissa, a female of extraordinary spirit, energy, and ambition, took command of him and of his followers, conducted them up the Danube, seized a principality whose lord had gone crusading, set her husband on the throne, and became in course of time the mother of a little prince, who, again, was great, great, great, great-grandfather of our Prince Prigio. From this adventurous Lady Dragonissa, Prince Prigio derived his character for gallantry. But her husband, it is said, was often heard to

112 108

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

remark, by a slight change of his family motto: ‘Anything for a Quiet Wife!’ You now know as much as the Author does of the early history of Pantouflia. As to the story called The Gold of Fairnilee, such adventures were extremely common in Scotland long ago, as may be read in many of the works of Sir Walter Scott7 and of the learned in general. Indeed, Fairnilee is the very place where the fairy queen appointed to meet her lover, Thomas the Rhymer.8 With these explanations, the Author leaves to the judgment of young readers his Own Fairy Book.

Preface to the First Edition (1889) IN compiling the following History from the Archives of Pantouflia, the Editor has incurred several obligations to the Learned. The Return of Benson (chapter xii.) is the fruit of the research of the late Mr. ALLEN QUATERMAIN,9 while the final wish of Prince Prigio was suggested by the invention or erudition of a Lady.10 A study of the Firedrake11 in South Africa — where he is called the Nanaboulélé, a difficult word — has been published in French (translated from the Basuto language) by M. PAUL SÉBILLOT, in the Revue des Traditione Populaires.12 For the Remora, the Editor is indebted to the Voyage à la Lune of M. CYRANO DE BERGÉRAC.13

CHAPTER I. How the Fairies were not Invited to Court. Once upon a time there reigned in Pantouflia a king and a queen. With almost everything else to make them happy, they wanted one thing: they had no children.14 This vexed the king even more than the queen, who was very clever and learned, and who had hated dolls when she was a child. However, she, too in spite of all the books she read and all the pictures she painted, would have been glad enough to be the mother of a little prince. The king was anxious to consult the fairies, but the queen would not hear of such a thing. She did not believe in fairies: she said that they had never existed; and that she maintained, though The History of the Royal Family was full of chapters about nothing else.

113 109

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Well, at long and at last they had a little boy, who was generally regarded as the finest baby that had ever been seen. Even her majesty herself remarked that, though she could never believe all the courtiers told her, yet he certainly was a fine child – a very fine child. Now, the time drew near for the christening party, and the king and queen were sitting at breakfast in their summer parlour talking over it. It was a splendid room, hung with portraits of the royal ancestors. There was Cinderella, the grandmother of the reigning monarch, with her little foot in her glass slipper thrust out before her.15 There was the Marquis de Carabas,16 who, as everyone knows, was raised to the throne as prince consort after his marriage with the daughter of the king of the period. On the arm of the throne was seated his celebrated cat, wearing boots. There, too, was a portrait of a beautiful lady, sound asleep: this was Madame La Belle au Bois-dormant,17 also an ancestress of the royal family. Many other pictures of celebrated persons were hanging on the walls. ‘You have asked all the right people, my dear?’ said the king. ‘Everyone who should be asked,’ answered the queen. ‘People are so touchy on these occasions,’ said his majesty. ‘You have not forgotten any of our aunts?’ ‘No; the old cats!’ replied the queen; for the king’s aunts were old-fashioned, and did not approve of her, and she knew it. ‘They are very kind old ladies in their way,’ said the king; ‘and were nice to me when I was a boy.’ Then he waited a little, and remarked: ‘The fairies, of course, you have invited?18 It has always been usual, in our family, on an occasion like this; and I think we have neglected them a little of late.’ ‘How can you be so absurd?’ cried the queen. ‘How often must I tell you that there are no fairies? And even if there were – but, no matter; pray let us drop the subject.’ ‘They are very old friends of our family, my dear, that’s all,’ said the king timidly. ‘Often and often they have been godmothers to us. One, in particular, was most kind and most serviceable to Cinderella I., my own grandmother.’ ‘Your grandmother!’ interrupted her majesty. ‘Fiddle-de-dee! If anyone puts such nonsense into the head of my little Prigio – ’ But here the baby was brought in by the nurse, and the queen almost devoured it with kisses. And so the fairies were not invited! It was an extraordinary thing, but none of the nobles could come to the christening party when they learned that the fairies had not been asked.

114 110

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

Some were abroad; several were ill; a few were in prison among the Saracens; others were captives in the dens of ogres. The end of it was that the king and queen had to sit down alone, one at each end of a very long table, arrayed with plates and glasses for a hundred guests – for a hundred guests who never came! ‘Any soup, my dear?’ shouted the king, through a speaking-trumpet; when, suddenly, the air was filled with a sound like the rustling of the wings of birds. Flitter, flitter, flutter, went the noise; and when the queen looked up, lo and behold! on every seat was a lovely fairy, dressed in green, each with a most interesting-looking parcel in her hand. Don’t you like opening parcels? The king did, and he was most friendly and polite to the fairies. But the queen, though she saw them distinctly, took no notice of them. You see, she did not believe in fairies, nor in her own eyes, when she saw them. So she talked across the fairies to the king, just as if they had not been there; but the king behaved as politely as if they were real – which, of course, they were. When dinner was over, and when the nurse had brought in the baby, all the fairies gave him the most magnificent presents. One offered a purse which could never be empty; and one a pair of seven-leagued boots; and another a cap of darkness, that nobody might see the prince when he put it on; and another a wishing-cap; and another a carpet, on which, when he sat, he was carried wherever he wished to find himself.19 Another made him beautiful for ever; and another, brave; and another, lucky: but the last fairy of all, a cross old thing, crept up and said, ‘My child, you shall be too clever!’ This fairy’s gift would have pleased the queen, if she had believed in it, more than anything else, because she was so clever herself. But she took no notice at all; and the fairies went each to her own country, and none of them stayed there at the palace, where nobody believed in them, except the king, a little. But the queen tossed all their nice boots and caps, carpets, purses, swords, and all, away into a dark lumber-room20; for, of course, she thought that they were all nonsense, and merely old rubbish out of books, or pantomime ‘properties.’21

CHAPTER II. Prince Prigio and his Family. Well, the little prince grew up. I think I’ve told you that his name was Prigio – did I not? Well, that was his name. You cannot think how clever

115 111

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

he was. He argued with his nurse as soon as he could speak, which was very soon. He argued that he did not like to be washed, because the soap got into his eyes. However, when he was told all about the pores of the skin, and how they could not be healthy if he was not washed, he at once ceased to resist, for he was very reasonable. He argued with his father that he did not see why there should be kings who were rich, while beggars were poor; and why the king – who was a little greedy – should have poached eggs and plum-cake at afternoon tea, while many other persons went without dinner. The king was so surprised and hurt

Figure 5. Gordon Browne, from Prince Prigio (1889). Browne’s illustration complements Lang’s text by refusing the conventional depiction of chivalric heroism and presenting Prigio as a sedentary but intrepid reader. It is invariably Prigio’s reading and knowledge that enable him to overcome challenges.

116 112

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

at these remarks that he boxed the prince’s ears, saying, ‘I’ll teach you to be too clever, my lad.’ Then he remembered the awful curse of the oldest fairy, and was sorry for the rudeness of the queen. And when the prince, after having his ears boxed, said that ‘force was no argument,’ the king went away in a rage. Indeed, I cannot tell you how the prince was hated by all! He would go down into the kitchen, and show the cook how to make soup. He would visit the poor people’s cottage, and teach them how to make the beds, and how to make plum-pudding out of turnip-tops, and venison cutlets out of rusty bacon.22 He showed the fencing-master how to fence, and the professional cricketer how to bowl, and instructed the rat-catcher in breeding terriers.23 He set sums to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and assured the Astronomer Royal that the sun does not go round the earth – which, for my part, I believe it does. The young ladies of the Court disliked dancing with him, in spite of his good looks, because he was always asking, ‘Have you read this?’ and ‘Have you read that?’ – and when they said they hadn’t, he sneered; and when they said they had, he found them out. He found out all his tutors and masters in the same horrid way; correcting the accent of his French teacher, and trying to get his German tutor not to eat peas with his knife.24 He also endeavoured to teach the queen-dowager, his grandmother, an art with which she had long been perfectly familiar!25 In fact, he knew everything better than anybody else; and the worst of it was that he did: and he was never in the wrong, and he always said, ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’ And, what was more, he had! As time went on, Prince Prigio had two younger brothers, whom everybody liked. They were not a bit clever, but jolly. Prince Alphonso, the third son, was round, fat, good-humoured, and as brave as a lion. Prince Enrico, the second, was tall, thin, and a little sad, but never too clever. Both were in love with two of their own cousins (with the approval of their dear parents); and all the world said, ‘What nice, unaffected princes they are!’ But Prigio nearly got the country into several wars by being too clever for the foreign ambassadors. Now, as Pantouflia was a rich, lazy country, which hated fighting, this was very unpleasant, and did not make people love Prince Prigio any better.

117 113

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

CHAPTER III. About the Firedrake.26 Of all the people who did not like Prigio, his own dear papa, King Grognio,27 disliked him most. For the king knew he was not clever, himself. When he was in the counting-house, counting out his money, and when he happened to say, ‘Sixteen shillings and fourteen and twopence are three pounds, fifteen,’ it made him wild to hear Prigio whisper, ‘One pound, ten and twopence’ – which, of course, it is.28 And the king was afraid that Prigio would conspire, and get made king himself – which was the last thing Prigio really wanted. He much preferred to idle about, and know everything without seeming to take any trouble. Well, the king thought and thought. How was he to get Prigio out of the way, and make Enrico or Alphonso his successor? He read in books about it; and all the books showed that, if a king sent his three sons to do anything, it was always the youngest who did it, and got the crown.29 And he wished he had the chance. Well, it arrived at last. There was a very hot summer! It began to be hot in March. All the rivers were dried up. The grass did not grow. The corn did not grow. The thermometers exploded with heat. The barometers stood at SET FAIR.30 The people were much distressed, and came and broke the palace windows – as they usually do when things go wrong in Pantouflia. The king consulted the learned men about the Court, who told him that probably a FIREDRAKE was in the neighbourhood. Now, the Firedrake is a beast, or bird, about the bigness of an elephant. Its body is made of iron, and it is always red-hot. A more terrible and cruel beast cannot be imagined; for, if you go near it, you are at once broiled by the Firedrake. But the king was not ill-pleased: ‘for,’ thought he, ‘of course my three sons must go after the brute, the eldest first; and, as usual, it will kill the first two, and be beaten by the youngest. It is a little hard on Enrico, poor boy; but anything to get rid of that Prigio!’ Then the king went to Prigio, and said that his country was in danger, and that he was determined to leave the crown to whichever of them would bring him the horns (for it has horns) and tail of the Firedrake.31 ‘It is an awkward brute to tackle,’ the king said, ‘but you are the oldest, my lad; go where glory waits you! Put on your armour, and be off with you!’ This the king said, hoping that either the Firedrake would roast

118 114

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

Prince Prigio alive (which he could easily do, as I have said; for he is all over as hot as a red-hot poker), or that, if the prince succeeded, at least his country would be freed from the monster. But the prince, who was lying on the sofa doing sums in compound division for fun, said in the politest way: ‘Thanks to the education your majesty has given me, I have learned that the Firedrake, like the siren, the fairy, and so forth, is a fabulous animal which does not exist. But even granting, for the sake of argument, that there is a Firedrake, your majesty is well aware that there is no kind of use in sending me. It is always the eldest son who goes out first and comes to grief on these occasions, and it is always the third son that succeeds. Send Alphonso’ (this was the youngest brother), ‘and he will do the trick at once. At least, if he fails, it will be most unusual, and Enrico can try his luck.’ Then he went back to his arithmetic and his slate, and the king had to send for Prince Alphonso and Prince Enrico. They both came in very warm; for they had been whipping tops,32 and the day was unusually hot. ‘Look here,’ said the king, ‘just you two younger ones look at Prigio! You see how hot it is, and how coolly he takes it, and the country suffering; and all on account of a Firedrake, you know, which has apparently built his nest not far off. Well, I have asked that lout of a brother of yours to kill it, and he says – ’ ‘That he does not believe in Firedrakes,’ interrupted Prigio. ‘The weather’s warm enough without going out hunting!’ ‘Not believe in Firedrakes!’ cried Alphonso. ‘I wonder what you do believe in! Just let me get at the creature!’ for he was as brave as a lion. ‘Hi! Page, my chain-armour, helmet, lance, and buckler! A Molinda! A Molinda!’ which was his war-cry. The page ran to get the armour; but it was so uncommonly hot that he dropped it, and put his fingers in his mouth, crying! ‘You had better put on flannels, Alphonso, for this kind of work,’ said Prigio. ‘And if I were you, I’d take a light garden-engine,33 full of water, to squirt at the enemy.’ ‘Happy thought!’ said Alphonso. ‘I will!’ And off he went, kissed his dear Molinda, bade her keep a lot of dances for him (there was to be a dance when he had killed the Firedrake), and then he rushed to the field! But he never came back any more! Everyone wept bitterly – everyone but Prince Prigio; for he thought it was a practical joke, and said that Alphonso had taken the opportuni-

119 115

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

ty to start off on his travels and see the world. ‘There is some dreadful mistake, sir,’ said Prigio to the king. ‘You know as well as I do that the youngest son has always succeeded, up to now. But I entertain great hopes of Enrico!’ And he grinned; for he fancied it was all nonsense, and that there were no Firedrakes. Enrico was present when Prigio was consoling the king in this unfeeling way. ‘Enrico, my boy,’ said his majesty, ‘the task awaits you, and the honour. When you come back with the horns and tail of the Firedrake, you shall be crown prince; and Prigio shall be made an usher at the Grammar School – it is all he is fit for.’ Enrico was not quite so confident as Alphonso had been. He insisted on making his will; and he wrote a poem about the pleasures and advantages of dying young. This is part of it: The violet is a blossom sweet, That droops before the day is done – Slain by thine overpowering heat, O Sun! And I, like that sweet purple flower, May roast, or boil, or broil, or bake, If burned by thy terrific power, Firedrake!34

This poem comforted Enrico more or less, and he showed it to Prigio. But the prince only laughed, and said that the second line of the last verse was not very good; for violets do not ‘roast, or boil, or broil, or bake.’ Enrico tried to improve it, but could not. So he read it to his cousin, Lady Kathleena, just as it was; and she cried over it (though I don’t think she understood it); and Enrico cried a little, too. However, next day he started, with a spear, a patent refrigerator, and a lot of the bottles people throw at fires to put them out. But he never came back again! After shedding torrents of tears, the king summoned Prince Prigio to his presence. ‘Dastard!’ he said. ‘Poltroon! Your turn, which should have come first, has arrived at last. You must fetch me the horns and the tail of the Firedrake. Probably you will be grilled, thank goodness; but who will give me back Enrico and Alphonso?’ ‘Indeed, your majesty,’ said Prigio, ‘you must permit me to correct your policy. Your only reason for dispatching your sons in pursuit of

120 116

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

this dangerous but I believe fabulous animal, was to ascertain which of us would most worthily succeed to your throne, at the date – long may it be deferred! – of your lamented decease. Now, there can be no further question about the matter. I, unworthy as I am, represent the sole hope of the royal family. Therefore to send me after the Firedrake were* both dangerous and unnecessary. Dangerous, because, if he treats me as you say he did my brothers – my unhappy brothers, – the throne of Pantouflia will want an heir. But, if I do come back alive – why, I cannot be more the true heir than I am at present; now can I? Ask the Lord Chief Justice, if you don’t believe me.’ These arguments were so clearly and undeniably correct that the king, unable to answer them, withdrew into a solitary place where he could express himself with freedom, and give rein to his passions.

CHAPTER IV. How Prince Prigio was Deserted by Everybody. Meanwhile, Prince Prigio had to suffer many unpleasant things. Though he was the crown prince (and though his arguments were unanswerable), everybody shunned him for a coward. The queen, who did not believe in Firedrakes, alone took his side. He was not only avoided by all, but he had most disagreeable scenes with his own cousins, Lady Molinda and Lady Kathleena. In the garden Lady Molinda met him walking alone, and did not bow to him. ‘Dear Molly,’ said the prince, who liked her, ‘how have I been so unfortunate as to offend you?’ ‘My name, sir, is Lady Molinda,’ she said, very proudly; ‘and you have sent your own brother to his grave!’ ‘Oh, excuse me,’ said the prince, ‘I am certain he has merely gone off on his travels. He’ll come back when he’s tired: there are no Firedrakes; a French writer says they are ‘purement fabuleux,’35 purely fabulous, you know.’ ‘Prince Alphonso has gone on his travels, and will come back when he is tired! And was he then – tired – of me?’ cried poor Molinda, bursting into tears, and forgetting her dignity. ‘Oh! I beg your pardon, I never noticed; I’m sure I am very sorry,’ cried the prince, who, never having been in love himself, never thought of other people. And he tried to take Molinda’s hand, but she snatched *

Subjunctive mood! He was a great grammarian!

121 117

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

it from him and ran away through the garden to the palace, leaving Prince Prigio to feel foolish, for once, and ashamed. As for Lady Kathleena, she swept past him like a queen, without a word. So the prince, for all his cleverness, was not happy. After several days had gone by, the king returned from the solitary place where he had been speaking his mind. He now felt calmer and better; and so at last he came back to the palace. But on seeing Prince Prigio, who was lolling in a hammock, translating Egyptian hieroglyphs into French poetry for his mother, the king broke out afresh, and made use of the most cruel and impolite expressions. At last, he gave orders that all the Court should pack up and move to a distant city; and that Prince Prigio should be left alone in the palace by himself. For he was quite unendurable, the king said, and he could not trust his own temper when he thought of him. And he grew so fierce, that even the queen was afraid of him now. The poor queen cried a good deal; Prigio being her favourite son, on account of his acknowledged ability and talent. But the rest of the courtiers were delighted at leaving Prince Prigio behind. For his part, he, very good-naturedly, showed them the best and shortest road to Falkenstein, the city where they were going; and easily proved that neither the chief secretary for geography, nor the general of the army, knew anything about the matter – which, indeed, they did not. The ungrateful courtiers left Prigio with hoots and yells, for they disliked him so much that they forgot he would be king one day. He therefore reminded them of this little fact in future history, which made them feel uncomfortable enough, and then lay down in his hammock and went to sleep. When he wakened, the air was cold and the day was beginning to grow dark. Prince Prigio thought he would go down and dine at a tavern in the town, for no servants had been left with him. But what was his annoyance when he found that his boots, his sword, his cap, his cloak – all his clothes, in fact, except those he wore, – had been taken away by the courtiers, merely to spite him! His wardrobe had been ransacked, and everything that had not been carried off had been cut up, burned, and destroyed. Never was such a spectacle of wicked mischief. It was as if hay had been made of everything he possessed. What was worse, he had not a penny in his pocket to buy new things; and his father had stopped his allowance of fifty thousand pounds a month. Can you imagine anything more cruel and unjust than this conduct? for it was not the prince’s fault that he was so clever. The cruel fairy had made him so. But, even if the prince had been born clever (as may have

122 118

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

happened to you), was he to be blamed for that? The other people were just as much in fault for being born so stupid; but the world, my dear children, can never be induced to remember this. If you are clever, you will find it best not to let people know it – if you want them to like you. Well, here was the prince in a pretty plight. Not a pound in his pocket, not a pair of boots to wear, not even a cap to cover his head from the rain; nothing but cold meat to eat, and never a servant to answer the bell.

CHAPTER V. What Prince Prigio found in the Garret. The prince walked from room to room of the palace; but, unless he wrapped himself up in a curtain, there was nothing for him to wear when he went out in the rain. At last he climbed up a turret-stair in the very oldest part of the castle, where he had never been before; and at the very top was a little round room, a kind of garret.36 The prince pushed in the door with some difficulty – not that it was locked, but the handle was rusty, and the wood had swollen with the damp. The room was very dark; only the last grey light of the rainy evening came through a slit of a window, one of those narrow windows that they used to fire arrows out of in old times. But in the dusk the prince saw a heap of all sorts of things lying on the floor and on the table. There were two caps; he put one on – an old, grey, ugly cap it was, made of felt. There was a pair of boots; and he kicked off his slippers, and got into them. They were a good deal worn, but fitted as if they had been made for him. On the table was a purse with just three gold coins – old ones, too – in it; and this, as you may fancy, the prince was very well pleased to put in his pocket. A sword, with a sword-belt, he buckled about his waist; and the rest of the articles, a regular collection of odds and ends, he left just where they were lying. Then he ran downstairs, and walked out of the hall door.

CHAPTER VI. What Happened to Prince Prigio in Town. By this time the prince was very hungry. The town was just three miles off; but he had such a royal appetite, that he did not like to waste it on bad cookery, and the people of the royal town were bad cooks.

123 119

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘I wish I were in “The Bear,” at Gluckstein,’37 said he to himself; for he remembered that there was a very good cook there. But, then, the town was twenty-one leagues away – sixty-three long miles!38 No sooner had the prince said this, and taken just three steps, than he found himself at the door of the ‘Bear Inn’ at Gluckstein! ‘This is the most extraordinary dream,’ said he to himself; for he was far too clever, of course, to believe in seven-league boots. Yet he had a pair on at that very moment, and it was they which had carried him in three strides from the palace to Gluckstein! The truth is, that the prince, in looking about the palace for clothes, had found his way into that very old lumber-room where the magical gifts of the fairies had been thrown by his clever mother, who did not believe in them. But this, of course, the prince did not know. Now you should be told that seven-league boots only take those prodigious steps when you say you want to go a long distance. Otherwise they would be very inconvenient – when you only want to cross the room, for example. Perhaps this has not been explained to you by your governess? Well, the prince walked into ‘The Bear,’ and it seemed odd to him that nobody took any notice of him. And yet his face was as well known as that of any man in Pantouflia; for everybody had seen it, at least in pictures. He was so puzzled by not being attended to as usual, that he quite forgot to take off his cap. He sat down at the table, however, and shouted ‘Kellner!’39 at which all the waiters jumped, and looked round in every direction, but nobody came to him. At first he thought they were too busy, but presently another explanation occurred to him. ‘The king,’ he said to himself, ‘has threatened to execute anybody who speaks to me, or helps me in any way. Well, I don’t mean to starve in the midst of plenty, anyhow; here goes!’ The prince rose, and went to the table in the midst of the room, where a huge roast turkey had just been placed. He helped himself to half the breast, some sausages, chestnut stuffing, bread sauce, potatoes, and a bottle of red wine – Burgundy. He then went back to a table in a corner, where he dined very well, nobody taking any notice of him. When he had finished, he sat watching the other people dining, and smoking his cigarette. As he was sitting thus, a very tall man, an officer in the uniform of the Guards, came in, and, walking straight to the prince’s table, said: ‘Kellner, clean this table, and bring in the bill of fare.’ With these words, the officer sat down suddenly in the prince’s lap, as if he did not see him at all. He was a heavy man, and the prince,

124 120

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

enraged at the insult, pushed him away and jumped to his feet. As he did so, his cap dropped off. The officer fell on his knees at once, crying: ‘Pardon, my prince, pardon! I never saw you!’ This was more than the prince could be expected to believe. ‘Nonsense! Count Frederick von Matterhorn,’ he said; ‘you must be intoxicated. Sir! you have insulted your prince and your superior officer. Consider yourself under arrest! You shall be sent to a prison to-morrow.’ On this, the poor officer appealed piteously to everybody in the tavern. They all declared that they had not seen the prince, nor even had an idea that he was doing them the honour of being in the neighbourhood of their town. More and more offended, and convinced that there was a conspiracy to annoy and insult him, the prince shouted for the landlord, called for his bill, threw down his three pieces of gold without asking for change, and went into the street. ‘It is a disgraceful conspiracy,’ he said. ‘The king shall answer for this! I shall write to the newspapers at once!’ He was not put in a better temper by the way in which people hustled him in the street. They ran against him exactly as if they did not see him, and then staggered back in the greatest surprise, looking in every direction for the person they had jostled. In one of these encounters, the prince pushed so hard against a poor old beggar woman that she fell down. As he was usually most kind and polite, he pulled off his cap to beg her pardon, when, behold, the beggar woman gave one dreadful scream, and fainted! A crowd was collecting, and the prince, forgetting that he had thrown down all his money in the tavern, pulled out his purse. Then he remembered what he had done, and expected to find it empty; but, lo, there were three pieces of gold in it! Overcome with surprise, he thrust the money into the woman’s hand, and put on his cap again. In a moment the crowd, which had been staring at him, rushed away in every direction, with cries of terror, declaring that there was a magician in the town, and a fellow who could appear and disappear at pleasure! By this time, you or I, or anyone who was not so extremely clever as Prince Prigio, would have understood what was the matter. He had put on, without knowing it, not only the seven-league boots, but the cap of darkness, and had taken Fortunatus’s purse,40 which could never be empty, however often you took all the money out. All those and many other delightful wares the fairies had given him at his christening, and the prince had found them in the dark garret. But the prince was so

125 121

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

extremely wise, and learned, and scientific, that he did not believe in fairies, nor in fairy gifts. ‘It is indigestion,’ he said to himself: ‘those sausages were not of the best; and that Burgundy was extremely strong. Things are not as they appear.’ Here, as he was arguing with himself, he was nearly run over by a splendid carriage and six, the driver of which never took the slightest notice of him. Annoyed at this, the prince leaped up behind, threw down the two footmen, who made no resistance, and so was carried to the door of a magnificent palace. He was determined to challenge the gentleman who was in the carriage; but, noticing that he had a very beautiful young lady with him, whom he had never seen before, he followed them into the house, not wishing to alarm the girl, and meaning to speak to the gentleman when he found him alone. A great ball was going on; but, as usual, nobody took any notice of the prince. He walked among the guests, being careful not to jostle them, and listening to their conversation.41 It was all about himself! Everyone had heard of his disgrace, and almost everyone cried ‘Serve him right!’ They said that the airs he gave himself were quite unendurable – that nothing was more rude than to be always in the right – that cleverness might be carried far too far – that it was better even to be born stupid (‘Like the rest of you,’ thought the prince); and, in fact, nobody had a good word for him. Yes, one had! It was the pretty lady of the carriage. I never could tell you how pretty she was. She was tall, with cheeks like white roses blushing: she had dark hair, and very large dark-grey eyes, and her face was the kindest in the world! The prince first thought how nice and good she looked, even before he thought how pretty she looked. She stood up for Prince Prigio when her partner would speak ill of him. She had never seen the prince, for she was but newly come to Pantouflia; but she declared that it was his misfortune, not his fault, to be so clever. ‘And, then, think how hard they made him work at school! Besides,’ said this kind young lady, ‘I hear he is extremely handsome, and very brave; and he has a good heart, for he was kind, I have heard, to a poor boy, and did all his examination papers for him, so that the boy passed first in everything.42 And now he is Minister for Education, though he can’t do a line of Greek prose!’ The prince blushed at this, for he knew his conduct had not been honourable. But he at once fell over head and ears in love with the young lady, a thing he had never done in his life before, because – he said – ‘women were so stupid!’ You see he was so clever!

126 122

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

Now, at this very moment – when the prince, all of a sudden, was as deep in love as if he had been the stupidest officer in the room – an extraordinary thing happened! Something seemed to give a whirr! in his brain, and in one instant he knew all about it! He believed in fairies and fairy gifts, and understood that his cap was the cap of darkness, and his shoes the seven-league boots, and his purse the purse of Fortunatus! He had read about those things in historical books: but now he believed in them.

CHAPTER VII. The Prince Falls in Love. He understood all this, and burst out laughing, which nearly frightened an old lady near him out of her wits. Ah! how he wished he was only in evening dress, that he might dance with the charming young lady. But there he was, dressed just as if he were going out to hunt, if anyone could have seen him. So, even if he took off his cap of darkness, and became visible, he was no figure for a ball. Once he would not have cared, but now he cared very much indeed. But the prince was not clever for nothing. He thought for a moment, then went out of the room, and, in three steps of the seven-league boots, was at his empty, dark, cold palace again. He struck a light with a flint and steel, lit a torch, and ran upstairs to the garret. The flaring light of the torch fell on the pile of ‘rubbish,’ as the queen would have called it, which he turned over with eager hands. Was there – yes, there was another cap! There it lay, a handsome green one with a red feather. The prince pulled off the cap of darkness, put on the other, and said: ‘I wish I were dressed in my best suit of white and gold, with the royal Pantouflia diamonds!’ In one moment there he was in white and gold, the greatest and most magnificent dandy in the whole world, and the handsomest man! ‘How about my boots, I wonder,’ said the prince; for his seven-league boots were stout riding-boots, not good to dance in, whereas now he was in elegant shoes of silk and gold. He threw down the wishing cap, put on the other – the cap of darkness – and made three strides in the direction of Gluckstein. But he was only three steps nearer it than he had been, and the seven-league boots were standing beside him on the floor! ‘No,’ said the prince; ‘no man can be in two different pairs of boots at one and the same time! That’s mathematics!’

127 123

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

He then hunted about in the lumber-room again till he found a small, shabby, old Persian carpet, the size of a hearthrug. He went to his own room, took a portmanteau in his hand, sat down on the carpet, and said: ‘I wish I were in Gluckstein.’ In a moment there he found himself; for this was that famous carpet which Prince Hussein bought long ago, in the market at Bisnagar,43 and which the fairies had brought, with the other presents, to the christening of Prince Prigio. When he arrived at the house where the ball was going on, he put the magical carpet in the portmanteau, and left it in the cloak-room, receiving a numbered ticket in exchange. Then he marched in all his glory (and, of course, without the cap of darkness) into the room where they were dancing. Everybody made place for him, bowing down to the ground, and the loyal band struck up The Prince’s March! Heaven bless our Prince Prigio! What is there he doesn’t know? Greek, Swiss, German (High and Low), And the names of the mountains in Mexico, Heaven bless the prince!

He used to be very fond of this march, and the words – some people even said he had made them himself. But now, somehow, he didn’t much like it. He went straight to the Duke of Stumpfelbahn,44 the Hereditary Master of the Ceremonies, and asked to be introduced to the beautiful young lady. She was the daughter of the new English Ambassador, and her name was Lady Rosalind. But she nearly fainted when she heard who it was that wished to dance with her, for she was not at all particularly clever; and the prince had such a bad character for snubbing girls, and asking them difficult questions. However, it was impossible to refuse, and so she danced with the prince, and he danced very well. Then they sat out in the conservatory, among the flowers, where nobody came near them; and then they danced again, and then the Prince took her down to supper. And all the time he never once said, ‘Have you read this?’ or ‘Have you read that?’ or, ‘What! you never heard of Alexander the Great?’ or Julius Cæsar, or Michael Angelo, or whoever it might be – horrid, difficult questions he used to ask. That was the way he used to go on: but now he only talked to the young lady about herself; and she quite left off being shy or frightened, and asked him all about his own country, and about the Firedrake-shooting, and said how fond she was of hunting herself. And the prince said:

128 124

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

‘Oh, if you wish it, you shall have the horns and tail of a Firedrake to hang up in your hall, to-morrow evening!’ Then she asked if it was not very dangerous work, Firedrake hunting; and he said it was nothing, when you knew the trick of it: and he asked her if she would but give him a rose out of her bouquet; and, in short, he made himself so agreeable and unaffected, that she thought him very nice indeed. For, even a clever person can be nice when he likes – above all, when he is not thinking about himself. And now the prince was thinking of nothing in the world but the daughter of the English ambassador, and how to please her. He got introduced to her father too, and quite won his heart; and, at last, he was invited to dine next day at the Embassy. In Pantouflia, it is the custom that a ball must not end while one of the royal family goes on dancing. This ball lasted till the light came in, and the birds were singing out of doors, and all the mothers present were sound asleep. Then nothing would satisfy the prince, but that they all should go home singing through the streets; in fact, there never had been so merry a dance in all Pantouflia. The prince had made a point of dancing with almost every girl there: and he had suddenly become the most beloved of the royal family. But everything must end at last; and the prince, putting on the cap of darkness and sitting on the famous carpet, flew back to his lonely castle.

CHAPTER VIII. The Prince is Puzzled. Prince Prigio did not go to bed. It was bright daylight, and he had promised to bring the horns and tail of a Firedrake as a present to a pretty lady. He had said it was easy to do this; but now, as he sat and thought over it, he did not feel so victorious. ‘First,’ he said, ‘where is the Firedrake?’ He reflected for a little, and then ran upstairs to the garret. ‘It should be here!’ he cried, tossing the fairies’ gifts about; ‘and, by George, here it is!’ Indeed, he had found the spyglass of carved ivory which Prince Ali, in the Arabian Nights, bought in the bazaar in Schiraz.45 Now, this glass was made so that, by looking through it, you could see anybody or anything you wished, however far away. Prigio’s first idea was to look at his lady. ‘But she does not expect to be looked at,’ he thought; ‘and I won’t!’ On the other hand, he determined to look at the Firedrake; for,

129 125

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

of course, he had no delicacy about spying on him, the brute. The prince clapped the glass to his eye, stared out of the window, and there, sure enough, he saw the Firedrake. He was floating about in a sea of molten lava, on the top of a volcano. There he was, swimming and diving for pleasure, tossing up the flaming waves, and blowing fountains of fire out of his nostrils, like a whale spouting! The prince did not like the looks of him. ‘With all my cap of darkness, and my shoes of swiftness, and my sword of sharpness, I never could get near that beast,’ he said; ‘and if I did stalk him, I could not hurt him. Poor little Alphonso! poor Enrico! what plucky fellows they were! I fancied that there was no such thing as a Firedrake: he’s not in the Natural History books, and I thought the boys were only making fun, and would be back soon, safe and sound. How horrid being too clever makes one! And now, what am I to do?’ What was he to do, indeed? And what would you have done? Bring the horns and tail he must, or perish in the adventure. Otherwise, how could he meet his lady? – why, she would think him a mere braggart! The prince sat down, and thought and thought; and the day went on, and it was now high noon. At last he jumped up and rushed into the library, a room where nobody ever went except himself and the queen. There he turned the books upside down, in his haste, till he found an old one, by a French gentleman, Monsieur Cyrano de Bergerac.46 It was an account of a voyage to the moon, in which there is a great deal of information about matters not generally known; for few travellers have been to the moon. In that book, Prince Prigio fancied he would find something he half remembered, and that would be of use to him. And he did! So you see that cleverness, and minding your book, have some advantages, after all. For here the prince learned that there is a very rare beast, called a Remora,47 which is at least as cold as the Firedrake is hot! ‘Now,’ thought he, ‘if I can only make these two fight, why the Remora may kill the Firedrake, or take the heat out of him, at least, so that I may have a chance.’ Then he seized the ivory glass, clapped it to his eye, and looked for the Remora. Just the tip of his nose, as white as snow and as smooth as ice, was sticking out of a chink in a frozen mountain, not far from the burning mountain of the Firedrake. ‘Hooray!’ said the prince softly to himself; and he jumped like mad into the winged shoes of swiftness, stuck on the cap of darkness, girdled himself with the sword of sharpness, and put a good slice of bread, with some cold tongue, in a wallet, which he slung on his back. Never you

130 126

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

fight, if you can help it, except with plenty of food to keep you going and in good heart. Then off he flew, and soon he reached the volcano of the Firedrake.

CHAPTER IX. The Prince and the Firedrake. It was dreadfully hot, even high up in the air, where the prince hung invisible. Great burning stones were tossed up by the volcano, and nearly hit him several times. Moreover, the steam and smoke, and the flames which the Firedrake spouted like foam from his nostrils, would have daunted even the bravest man. The sides of the hill, too, were covered with the blackened ashes of his victims, whom he had roasted when they came out to kill him. The garden-engine of poor little Alphonso was lying in the valley, all broken and useless. But the Firedrake, as happy as a wild duck on a lonely loch, was rolling and diving in the liquid flame, all red-hot and full of frolic. ‘Hi!’ shouted the prince. The Firedrake rose to the surface, his horns as red as a red crescentmoon, only bigger, and lashing the fire with his hoofs and his blazing tail. ‘Who’s there?’ he said in a hoarse, angry voice. ‘Just let me get at you!’ ‘It’s me,’ answered the prince. It was the first time he had forgotten his grammar, but he was terribly excited. ‘What do you want?’ grunted the beast. ‘I wish I could see you’; and, horrible to relate, he rose on a pair of wide, flaming wings, and came right at the prince, guided by the sound of his voice. Now, the prince had never heard that Firedrakes could fly; indeed, he had never believed in them at all, till the night before. For a moment he was numb with terror; then he flew down like a stone to the very bottom of the hill, and shouted: ‘Hi!’ ‘Well,’ grunted the Firedrake, ‘what’s the matter? Why can’t you give a civil answer to a civil question?’ ‘Will you go back to your hole and swear, on your honour as a Firedrake, to listen quietly?’ ‘On my sacred word of honour,’ said the beast, casually scorching an eagle that flew by into ashes. The cinders fell, jingling and crackling, round the prince in a little shower.

131 127

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Then the Firedrake dived back, with an awful splash of flame, and the mountain roared round him. The prince now flew high above him, and cried: ‘A message from the Remora. He says you are afraid to fight him.’ ‘Don’t know him,’ grunted the Firedrake. ‘He sends you his glove,’ said Prince Prigio, ‘as a challenge to mortal combat, till death do you part.’ Then he dropped his own glove into the fiery lake. ‘Does he?’ yelled the Firedrake. ‘Just let me get at him!’ and he scrambled out, all red-hot as he was. ‘I’ll go and tell him you’re coming,’ said the prince; and with two strides he was over the frozen mountain of the Remora.

CHAPTER X. The Prince and the Remora. If he had been too warm before, the prince was too cold now. The hill of the Remora was one solid mass of frozen steel, and the cold rushed out of it like the breath of some icy beast, which indeed it was. All around were things like marble statues of men in armour: they were the dead bodies of the knights, horses and all, who had gone out of old to fight the Remora, and who had been frosted up by him. The prince felt his blood stand still, and he grew faint; but he took heart, for there was no time to waste. Yet he could nowhere see the Remora. ‘Hi!’ shouted the prince. Then, from a narrow chink at the bottom of the smooth, black hill, – a chink no deeper than that under a door, but a mile wide, – stole out a hideous head! It was as flat as the head of a skate-fish, it was deathly pale, and two chill-blue eyes, dead-coloured like stones, looked out of it. Then there came a whisper, like the breath of the bitter east wind on a winter day: ‘Where are you, and how can I come to you?’ ‘Here I am!’ said the prince from the top of the hill. Then the flat, white head set itself against the edge of the chink from which it had peeped, and slowly, like the movement of a sheet of ice, it slipped upwards and curled upwards, and up, and up! There seemed no end to it at all; and it moved horribly, without feet, holding on by its own frost to the slippery side of the frozen hill. Now all the lower part of the black hill was covered with the horrid white thing coiled about it

132 128

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

in smooth, flat, shiny coils; and still the head was higher than the rest; and still the icy cold came nearer and nearer, like Death. The prince almost fainted: everything seemed to swim; and in one moment more he would have fallen stiff on the mountain-top, and the white head would have crawled over him, and the cold coils would have slipped over him and turned him to stone. And still the thing slipped up, from the chink under the mountain. But the prince made a great effort; he moved, and in two steps he was far away, down in the valley where it was not so very cold. ‘Hi!’ he shouted, as soon as his tongue could move within his chattering teeth. There came a clear, hissing answer, like frozen words dropping round him: ‘Wait till I come down. What do you want?’ Then the white folds began to slide, like melting ice, from the black hill. Prince Prigio felt the air getting warmer behind him, and colder in front of him. He looked round, and there were the trees beginning to blacken in the heat, and the grass looking like a sea of fire along the plains; for the Firedrake was coming! The prince just took time to shout, ‘The Firedrake is going to pay you a visit!’ and then he soared to the top of a neighbouring hill, and looked on at what followed.

CHAPTER XI. The Battle. It was an awful sight to behold! When the Remora heard the name of the Firedrake, his hated enemy, he slipped with wonderful speed from the cleft of the mountain into the valley. On and on and on he poured over rock and tree, as if a frozen river could slide downhill; on and on, till there were miles of him stretching along the valley – miles of the smooth-ribbed, icy creature, crawling and slipping forwards. The green trees dropped their leaves as he advanced; the birds fell down dead from the sky, slain by his frosty breath! But, fast as the Remora stole forward, the Firedrake came quicker yet, flying and clashing his fiery wings. At last they were within striking distance; and the Firedrake, stooping from the air, dashed with his burning horns and flaming feet slap into the body of the Remora.

133 129

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Then there rose a steam so dreadful, such a white yet fiery vapour of heat, that no one who had not the prince’s magic glass could have seen what happened. With horrible grunts and roars the Firedrake tried to burn his way right through the flat body of the Remora, and to chase him to his cleft in the rock. But the Remora, hissing terribly, and visibly melting away in places, yet held his ground; and the prince could see his cold white folds climbing slowly up the hoofs of the Firedrake – up and up, till they reached his knees, and the great burning beast roared like a hundred bulls with the pain. Then up the Firedrake leaped, and hovering on his fiery wings, he lighted in the midst of the Remora’s back, and dashed into it with his horns. But the flat, cruel head writhed backwards, and, slowly bending over on itself, the wounded Remora slid greedily to fasten again on the limbs of the Firedrake. Meanwhile, the prince, safe on his hill, was lunching on the loaf and the cold tongue he had brought with him. ‘Go it, Remora! Go it, Firedrake! you’re gaining. Give it him, Remora!’ he shouted in the wildest excitement. Nobody had ever seen such a battle; he had it all to himself, and he never enjoyed anything more. He hated the Remora so much, that he almost wished the Firedrake could beat it; for the Firedrake was the more natural beast of the pair. Still, he was alarmed when he saw that the vast flat body of the Remora was now slowly coiling backwards, backwards, into the cleft below the hill; while a thick wet mist showed how cruelly it had suffered. But the Firedrake, too, was in an unhappy way; for his legs were now cold and black, his horns were black also, though his body, especially near the heart, glowed still like red-hot iron. ‘Go it, Remora!’ cried the prince: ‘his legs are giving way; he’s groggy on his pins! One more effort, and he won’t be able to move!’ Encouraged by this advice, the white, slippery Remora streamed out of his cavern again, more and more of him uncoiling, as if the mountain were quite full of him. He had lost strength, no doubt: for the steam and mist went up from him in clouds, and the hissing of his angry voice grew fainter; but so did the roars of the Firedrake. Presently they sounded more like groans; and at last the Remora slipped up his legs above the knees, and fastened on his very heart of fire. Then the Firedrake stood groaning like a black bull, knee-deep in snow; and still the Remora climbed and climbed. ‘Go it now, Firedrake!’ shouted the prince; for he knew that if the Remora won, it would be too cold for him to draw near the place, and cut off the Firedrake’s head and tail. ‘Go it, Drake! he’s slackening!’ cried the prince again; and the brave

134 130

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

Firedrake made one last furious effort, and rising on his wings, dropped just on the spine of his enemy. The wounded Remora curled back his head again on himself, and again crawled, steaming terribly, towards his enemy. But the struggle was too much for the gallant Remora. The flat, cruel head moved slower; the steam from his thousand wounds grew fiercer; and he gently breathed his last just as the Firedrake, too, fell over and lay exhausted. With one final roar, like the breath of a thousand furnaces, the Firedrake expired. The prince, watching from the hill-top, could scarcely believe that these two awful scourges of Nature, which had so long devastated his country, were actually dead. But when he had looked on for half-anhour, and only a river ran where the Remora had been, while the body of the Firedrake lay stark and cold, he hurried to the spot. Drawing the sword of sharpness, he hacked off, at two blows, the iron head and the tail of the Firedrake. They were a weary weight to carry; but in a few strides of the shoes of swiftness he was at his castle, where he threw down his burden, and nearly fainted with excitement and fatigue. But the castle clock struck half-past seven; dinner was at eight, and the poor prince crawled on hands and knees to the garret. Here he put on the wishing-cap; wished for a pint of champagne, a hot bath, and his best black velvet and diamond suit. In a moment these were provided; he bathed, dressed, drank a glass of wine, packed up the head and tail of the Firedrake, sat down on the flying carpet, and knocked at the door of the English ambassador as the clocks were striking eight in Gluckstein. Punctuality is the politeness of princes! and a prince is polite, when he is in love! The prince was received at the door by a stout porter and led into the hall, where several butlers met him, and he laid the mortal remains of the Firedrake under the cover of the flying carpet. Then he was led upstairs; and he made his bow to the pretty lady, who, of course, made him a magnificent courtesy. She seemed prettier and kinder than ever. The prince was so happy, that he never noticed how something went wrong about the dinner. The ambassador looked about, and seemed to miss someone, and spoke in a low voice to one of the servants, who answered also in a low voice, and what he said seemed to displease the ambassador. But the prince was so busy in talking to his lady, and in eating his dinner too, that he never observed anything unusual. He had never been at such a pleasant dinner!

135 131

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

CHAPTER XII. A Terrible Misfortune. When the ladies left, and the prince and the other gentlemen were alone, the ambassador appeared more gloomy than ever. At last he took the prince into a corner, on pretence of showing him a rare statue. ‘Does your royal highness not know,’ he asked, ‘that you are in considerable danger?’ ‘Still?’ said the prince, thinking of the Firedrake. The ambassador did not know what he meant, for he had never heard of the fight, but he answered gravely: ‘Never more than now.’ Then he showed the prince two proclamations, which had been posted all about the town. Here is the first: TO ALL LOYAL SUBJECTS. Whereas, Our eldest son, Prince Prigio, hath of late been guilty of several high crimes and misdemeanours. First: By abandoning the post of danger against the Firedrake, whereby our beloved sons, Prince Alphonso and Prince Enrico, have perished, and been overdone by that monster. Secondly: By attending an unseemly revel in the town of Gluckstein, where he brawled in the streets. Thirdly: By trying to seduce away the hearts of our loyal subjects in that city, and to blow up a party against our crown and our peace. This is to give warning, That whoever consorts with, comforts, aids, or abets the said Prince Prigio, is thereby a partner in his treason; and That a reward of FIVE THOUSAND PURSES will be given to whomsoever brings the said prince, alive, to our Castle of Falkenstein. GROGNIO R. And here is the second proclamation:

136 132

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

REWARD. THE FIREDRAKE. Whereas, Our dominions have lately been devastated by a Firedrake (the Salamander Furiosus of Buffon);48 This is to advise all, That whosoever brings the horns and tail of the said Firedrake to our Castle of Falkenstein, shall receive FIVE THOUSAND PURSES, the position of Crown Prince, with the usual perquisites, and the hand of the king’s niece, the Lady Molinda. GROGNIO R. ‘H’m,’ said the prince; ‘I did not think his majesty wrote so well;’ and he would have liked to say, ‘Don’t you think we might join the ladies.’ ‘But, sir,’ said the ambassador, ‘the streets are lined with soldiers; and I know not how you have escaped them. Here, under my roof, you are safe for the moment; but a prolonged stay – excuse my inhospitality – could not but strain the harmonious relations which prevail between the Government of Pantouflia and that which I have the honour to represent.’ ‘We don’t want to fight; and no more, I think, do you,’ said the prince, smiling. ‘Then how does your royal highness mean to treat the proclamations?’ ‘Why, by winning these ten thousand purses. I can tell you £1,000,000 is worth having,’ said the prince. ‘I’ll deliver up the said prince, alive, at Falkenstein this very night; also the horns and tail of the said Firedrake. But I don’t want to marry my Cousin Molly.’ ‘May I remind your royal highness that Falkenstein is three hundred miles away? Moreover, my head butler, Benson, disappeared from the house before dinner, and I fear he went to warn Captain Kopzoffski49 that you are here!’ ‘That is nothing,’ said the prince; ‘but, my dear Lord Kelso, may I not have the pleasure of presenting Lady Rosalind with a little gift, a Philippine50 which I lost to her last night, merely the head and tail of a Firedrake which I stalked this morning?’ The ambassador was so astonished that he ran straight upstairs, forgetting his manners, and crying: ‘Linda! Linda! come down at once; here’s a surprise for you!’ Lady Rosalind came sweeping down, with a smile on her kind face.

137 133

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

She guessed what it was, though the prince had said nothing about it at dinner. ‘Lead the way, your royal highness!’ cried the ambassador; and the prince, offering Lady Rosalind his arm, went out into the hall, where he saw neither his carpet nor the horns and tail of the Firedrake! He turned quite pale, and said: ‘Will you kindly ask the servants where the little Persian prayer-rug and the parcel which I brought with me have been placed?’ Lord Kelso rang the bell, and in came all the servants, with William, the under-butler, at their head. ‘William,’ said his lordship, ‘where have you put his royal highness’s parcel and his carpet?’ ‘Please, your lordship,’ said William, ‘we think Benson have took them away with him.’ ‘And where is Benson?’ ‘We don’t know, your lordship. We think he have been come for!’ ‘Come for – by whom?’ William stammered, and seemed at a loss for a reply. ‘Quick! answer! what do you know about it?’ William said at last, rather as if he were making a speech: ‘Your royaliness, and my lords and ladies, it was like this. His royaliness comed in with a rug over his arm, and summat under it. And he lays it down on that there seat, and Thomas shows him into the droring-room. Then Benson says: “Dinner’ll be ready in five minutes; how tired I do feel!” Then he takes the libbuty of sitting hisself down on his royaliness’s rug, and he says, asking your pardon, “I’ve had about enough of service here. I’m about tired, and I thinks of bettering myself. I wish I was at the king’s court, and butler.” But before the words was out of his mouth, off he flies like a shot through the open door, and his royaliness’s parcel with him. I run to the door, and there he was, flying right hover the town, in a northerly direction. And that’s all I know; for I would not tell a lie, not if it was hever so. And me, and Thomas – as didn’t see it, – and cook, we thinks as how Benson was come for. And cook says as she don’t wonder at it, neither; for a grumblinger, more ill-conditioneder – ’ ‘Thank you, William,’ said Lord Kelso; ‘that will do; you can go, for the present.’

138 134

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

CHAPTER XIII. Surprises. The prince said nothing, the ambassador said nothing, Lady Rosalind said never a word till they were in the drawing-room. It was a lovely warm evening, and the French windows were wide open on the balcony, which looked over the town and away north to the hills. Below them flowed the clear, green water of the Gluckthal. And still nobody said a word. At last the prince spoke: ‘This is a very strange story, Lord Kelso!’ ‘Very, sir!’ said the ambassador. ‘But true,’ added the prince; ‘at least, there is no reason in the nature of things why it shouldn’t be true.’ ‘I can hardly believe, sir, that the conduct of Benson, whom I always found a most respectable man, deserved – ’ ‘That he should be “come for,”’ said the prince. ‘Oh, no; it was a mere accident, and might have happened to any of us who chanced to sit down on my carpet.’ And then the prince told them, shortly, all about it: how the carpet was one of a number of fairy properties, which had been given him at his christening; and how so long a time had gone by before he discovered them; and how, probably, the carpet had carried the butler where he had said he wanted to go, namely – to the king’s Court at Falkenstein. ‘It would not matter so much,’ added the prince, ‘only I had relied on making my peace with his majesty, my father, by aid of those horns and that tail. He was set on getting them; and if the Lady Rosalind had not expressed a wish for them, they would to-day have been in his possession.’ ‘Oh, sir, you honour us too highly,’ murmured Lady Rosalind; and the prince blushed and said: ‘Not at all! Impossible!’ Then, of course, the ambassador became quite certain that his daughter was admired by the crown prince, who was on bad terms with the king of the country; and a more uncomfortable position for an ambassador – however, they are used to them. ‘What on earth am I to do with the young man?’ he thought. ‘He can’t stay here for ever; and without his carpet he can’t get away, for the soldiers have orders to seize him as soon as he appears in the street. And in the meantime Benson will be pretending that he killed the Firedrake

139 135

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

– for he must have got to Falkenstein by now, – and they will be for marrying him to the king’s niece, and making my butler crown prince to the kingdom of Pantouflia! It is dreadful!’ Now all this time the prince was on the balcony, telling Lady Rosalind all about how he got the Firedrake done for, in the most modest way; for, as he said: ‘I didn’t kill him: and it is really the Remora, poor fellow, who should marry Molly; but he’s dead.’ At this very moment there was a whizz in the air: something shot past them, and, through the open window, the king, the queen, Benson, and the mortal remains of the Firedrake were shot into the ambassador’s drawing-room!

CHAPTER XIV. The King Explains. The first who recovered his voice and presence of mind was Benson. ‘Did your lordship ring for coffee?’ he asked, quietly; and when he was told ‘Yes,’ he bowed and withdrew, with majestic composure. When he had gone, the prince threw himself at the king’s feet, crying: ‘Pardon, pardon, my liege!’ ‘Don’t speak to me, sir!’ answered the king, very angrily; and the poor prince threw himself at the feet of the queen. But she took no notice of him whatever, no more than if he had been a fairy; and the prince heard her murmur, as she pinched her royal arms: ‘I shall waken presently; this is nothing out of the way for a dream. Dr. Rumpfino ascribes it to imperfect nutrition.’ All this time, the Lady Rosalind, as pale as a marble statue, was leaning against the side of the open window. The prince thought he could do nothing wiser than go and comfort her, so he induced her to sit down on a chair in the balcony, – for he felt that he was not wanted in the drawing-room; – and soon they were talking happily about the stars, which had begun to appear in the summer night. Meanwhile, the ambassador had induced the king to take a seat; but there was no use in talking to the queen. ‘It would be a miracle,’ she said to herself, ‘and miracles do not happen; therefore this has not happened. Presently, I shall wake up in my own bed at Falkenstein.’ Now, Benson, William, and Thomas brought in the coffee, but the

140 136

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

queen took no notice. When they went away, the rest of the company slipped off quietly, and the king was left alone with the ambassador; for the queen could hardly be said to count. ‘You want to know all about it, I suppose?’ said his majesty, in a sulky voice. ‘Well, you have a right to it, and I shall tell you. We were just sitting down to dinner at Falkenstein, rather late, – hours get later every year, I think – when I heard a row in the premises, and the captain of the guard, Colonel McDougal, came and told us that a man had arrived with the horns and tail of the Firedrake, and was claiming the reward. Her majesty and I rose and went into the outer court, where we found, sitting on that carpet with a glass of beer in his hand, a respectable-looking upper servant, whom I recognised as your butler. He informed us that he had just killed the beast, and showed us the horns and tail, sure enough; there they are! The tail is like the iron handle of a pump, but the horns are genuine. A pair were thrown up by a volcano, in my great-grandfather’s time, Giglio I.*51 Excellent coffee this, of yours!’ The ambassador bowed. ‘Well, we asked him where he killed the Firedrake, and he said in a garden near Gluckstein. Then he began to speak about the reward, and the “perkisits,” as he called them, which it seems he had read about in my proclamation. Rather a neat thing; drew it up myself,’ added his majesty. ‘Very much to the point,’ said the ambassador, wondering what the king was coming to. ‘Glad you like it,’ said the king, much pleased. ‘Well, where was I? Oh, yes; your man said he had killed the creature in a garden, quite near Gluckstein. I didn’t much like the whole affair: he is an alien, you see; and then there was my niece, Molinda – poor girl, she was certain to give trouble. Her heart is buried, if I may say so, with poor Alphonso. But the queen is a very remarkable woman – very remarkable – ’ ‘Very!’ said the Ambassador, with perfect truth. ‘“Caitiff!” she cries to your butler;’ his majesty went on, ‘“perjured knave, thou liest in thy throat! Gluckstein is a hundred leagues from here, and how sayest thou that thou slewest the monster, and camest hither in a few hours’ space?” This had not occurred to me, – I am a plain king, but I at once saw the force of her majesty’s argument. “Yes,” said I; “how did you manage it?” But he – your man, I mean – was not a bit put out. “Why, your majesty,” says he, “I just sat down on that there * The History of this Prince may be read in a treatise called The Rose and the Ring, by M. A. TITMARSH. London, 1855.

141 137

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

bit of carpet, wished I was here, and here I ham. And I’d be glad, having had the trouble, – and my time not being my own, – to see the colour of them perkisits, according to the proclamation.” On this her majesty grew more indignant, if possible. “Nonsense!” she cried; “a story out of the Arabian Nights is not suited for a modern public, and fails to win aesthetic credence.” These were her very words.’ ‘Her majesty’s expressions are ever choice and appropriate,’ said the Ambassador. ‘“Sit down there, on the carpet, knave,” she went on; “ourself and consort” – meaning me – “will take our places by thy side, and I shall wish us in Gluckstein, at thy master’s! When the experiment has failed, thy head shall from thy shoulders be shorn!” So your man merely said, “Very well, mum,52 – your majesty, I mean,” and sat down. The queen took her place at the edge of the carpet; I sat between her and the butler, and she said, “I wish we were in Gluckstein!” Then we rose, flew through the air at an astonishing pace, and here we are! So I suppose the rest of the butler’s tale is true, which I regret; but a king’s word is sacred, and he shall take the place of that sneak, Prigio. But as we left home before dinner, and as yours is over, may I request your lordship to believe that I should be delighted to take something cold?’ The ambassador at once ordered a sumptuous collation, to which the king did full justice; and his majesty was shown to the royal chamber, as he complained of fatigue. The queen accompanied him, remarking that she was sound asleep, but would waken presently. Neither of them said ‘Good-night’ to the prince. Indeed, they did not see him again, for he was on the balcony with Lady Rosalind. They found a great deal to say to each other, and at last the prince asked her to be his wife; and she said that if the king and her father gave their permission – why, then she would! After this she went to bed; and the prince, who had not slept at all the night before, felt very sleepy also. But he knew that first he had something that must be done. So he went into the drawing-room, took his carpet, and wished to be – now, where do you suppose? Beside the dead body of the Firedrake! There he was in a moment; and dreadful the body looked, lying stark and cold in the white moonshine. Then the prince cut off its four hoofs, put them in his wallet, and with these he flew back in a second, and met the ambassador just as he came from ushering the king to bed. Then the prince was shown his own room, where he locked up the hoofs, the carpet, the cap of darkness, and his other things in an iron box; and so he went to bed and dreamed of his Lady Rosalind.

142 138

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

CHAPTER XV. The King’s Cheque. When they all wakened next morning, their first ideas were confused. It is often confusing to waken in a strange bed, much more so when you have flown through the air, like the king, the queen, and Benson the butler. For her part, the queen was the most perplexed of all; for she did undeniably wake, and yet she was not at home, where she had expected to be. However, she was a determined woman, and stood to it that nothing unusual was occurring. The butler made up his mind to claim the crown princeship and the hand of the Lady Molinda; because, as he justly remarked to William, here was such a chance to better himself as might not soon come in his way again. As for the king, he was only anxious to get back to Falkenstein, and have the whole business settled in a constitutional manner. The ambassador was not sorry to get rid of the royal party; and it was proposed that they should all sit down on the flying carpet, and wish themselves at home again. But the queen would not hear of it: she said it was childish and impossible; so the carriage was got ready for her, and she started without saying a word of good-bye to anyone. The king, Benson, and the prince were not so particular, and they simply flew back to Falkenstein in the usual way, arriving there at 11.35 – a week before her majesty. The king at once held a Court; the horns and tail of the monster were exhibited amidst general interest, and Benson and the prince were invited to state their claims. Benson’s evidence was taken first. He declined to say exactly where or how he killed the Firedrake. There might be more of them left, he remarked, – young ones, that would take a lot of killing, – and he refused to part with his secret. Only he claimed the reward, which was offered, if you remember, not to the man who killed the beast, but to him who brought its horns and tail. This was allowed by the lawyers present to be very sound law; and Benson was cheered by the courtiers, who decidedly preferred him to Prigio, and who, besides, thought he was going to be crown prince. As for Lady Molinda, she was torn by the most painful feelings; for, much as she hated Prigio, she could not bear the idea of marrying Benson. Yet one or the other choice seemed certain. Unhappy lady! Perhaps no girl was ever more strangely beset by misfortune! Prince Prigio was now called on to speak. He admitted that the reward was offered for bringing the horns and tail, not for killing the monster. But were the king’s intentions to go for nothing? When a sub-

143 139

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

ject only meant well, of course he had to suffer; but when a king said one thing, was he not to be supposed to have meant another? Any fellow with a waggon could bring the horns and tail; the difficult thing was to kill the monster. If Benson’s claim was allowed, the royal prerogative of saying one thing and meaning something else was in danger. On hearing this argument, the king so far forgot himself as to cry, ‘Bravo, well said!’ and to clap his hands, whereon all the courtiers shouted and threw up their hats. The prince then said that whoever had killed the monster could, of course, tell where to find him, and could bring his hoofs. He was ready to do this himself. Was Mr. Benson equally ready? On this being interpreted to him – for he did not speak Pantouflian – Benson grew pale with horror, but fell back on the proclamation. He had brought the horns and tail, and so he must have the perquisites, and the Lady Molinda! The king’s mind was so much confused by this time, that he determined to leave it to the Lady Molinda herself. ‘Which of them will you have, my dear?’ he asked, in a kind voice. But poor Molinda merely cried. Then his majesty was almost driven to say that he would give the reward to whoever produced the hoofs by that day week. But no sooner had he said this than the prince brought them out of his wallet, and displayed them in open Court. This ended the case; and Benson, after being entertained with sherry and sandwiches in the steward’s room, was sent back to his master. And I regret to say that his temper was not at all improved by his failure to better himself. On the contrary, he was unusually cross and disagreeable for several days; but we must, perhaps, make some allowance for his disappointment. But if Benson was irritated, and suffered from the remarks of his fellow-servants, I do not think we can envy Prince Prigio. Here he was, restored to his position indeed, but by no means to the royal favour. For the king disliked him as much as ever, and was as angry as ever about the deaths of Enrico and Alphonso. Nay, he was even more angry; and, perhaps, not without reason. He called up Prigio before the whole Court, and thereon the courtiers cheered like anything, but the king cried: ‘Silence! McDougal, drag the first man that shouts to the serpent-house in the zoological gardens, and lock him up with the rattlesnakes!’ After that the courtiers were very quiet. ‘Prince,’ said the king, as Prigio bowed before the throne, ‘you are restored to your position, because I cannot break my promise. But your

144 140

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

base and malevolent nature is even more conspicuously manifest in your selfish success than in your previous dastardly contempt of duty. Why, confound you!’ cried the king, dropping the high style in which he had been speaking, and becoming the father, not the monarch, – ‘why, if you could kill the Firedrake, did you let your poor little brothers go and be b – b – b – broiled? Eh! what do you say, you sneak? “You didn’t believe there were any Firedrakes?” That just comes of your eternal conceit and arrogance! If you were clever enough to kill the creature – and I admit that – you were clever enough to know that what everybody said must be true. “You have not generally found it so?” Well, you have this time, and let it be a lesson to you; not that there is much comfort in that, for it is not likely you will ever have such another chance’ – exactly the idea that had occurred to Benson. Here the king wept, among the tears of the lord chief justice, the poet laureate (who had been awfully frightened when he heard of the rattlesnakes), the maids of honour, the chaplain royal, and everyone but Colonel McDougal, a Scottish soldier of fortune, who maintained a military reserve. When his majesty had recovered, he said to Prigio (who had not been crying, he was too much absorbed): ‘A king’s word is his bond. Bring me a pen, somebody, and my cheque-book.’ The royal cheque-book, bound in red morocco, was brought in by eight pages, with ink and a pen. His majesty then filled up and signed the following satisfactory document –

(Ah! my children, how I wish Mr. Arrowsmith53 would do as much for me!): ‘There!’ said his majesty, crossing his cheque and throwing sand over it, for blotting-paper had not yet been invented; ‘there, take that, and be off with you!’

145 141

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Prince Prigio was respectfully but rapidly obeying his royal command, for he thought he had better cash the royal cheque as soon as possible, when his majesty yelled: ‘Hi! here! come back! I forgot something; you’ve got to marry Molinda!’

CHAPTER XVI. A Melancholy Chapter. The prince had gone some way, when the king called after him. How he wished he had the seven-league boots on, or that he had the cap of darkness in his pocket! If he had been so lucky, he would now have got back to Gluckstein, and crossed the border with Lady Rosalind. A million of money may not seem much, but a pair of young people who really love each other could live happily on less than the cheque he had in his pocket. However, the king shouted very loud, as he always did when he meant to be obeyed, and the prince sauntered slowly back again. ‘Prigio!’ said his majesty, ‘where were you off to? Don’t you remember that this is your wedding-day? My proclamation offered, not only the money (which you have), but the hand of the Lady Molinda, which the Court chaplain will presently make your own. I congratulate you, sir; Molinda is a dear girl.’ ‘I have the highest affection and esteem for my cousin, sir,’ said the prince, ‘but – ’ ‘I’ll never marry him!’ cried poor Molinda, kneeling at the throne, where her streaming eyes and hair made a pretty and touching picture. ‘Never! I despise him!’ ‘I was about to say, sir,’ the prince went on, ‘that I cannot possibly have the pleasure of wedding my cousin.’ ‘The family gibbet, I presume, is in good working order?’ asked the king of the family executioner, a tall gaunt man in black and scarlet, who was only employed in the case of members of the blood royal. ‘Never better, sire,’ said the man, bowing with more courtliness than his profession indicated. ‘Very well,’ said the king; ‘Prince Prigio, you have your choice. There is the gallows, here is Lady Molinda. My duty is painful, but clear. A king’s word cannot be broken. Molly, or the gibbet!’ The prince bowed respectfully to Lady Molinda: ‘Madam, my cousin,’ said he, ‘your clemency will excuse my answer, and you will not misinterpret the apparent discourtesy of my conduct.

146 142

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

I am compelled, most unwillingly, to slight your charms, and to select the Extreme Rigour of the Law. Executioner, lead on! Do your duty; for me, Prigio est pret;’54 – for this was his motto, and meant that he was ready. Poor Lady Molinda could not but be hurt by the prince’s preference for death over marriage to her, little as she liked him. ‘Is life, then, so worthless? and is Molinda so terrible a person that you prefer those arms,’ and she pointed to the gibbet, ‘to these?’ – here she held out her own, which were very white, round and pretty: for Molinda was a good-hearted girl, she could not bear to see Prigio put to death; and then, perhaps, she reflected that there are worse positions than the queenship of Pantouflia. For Alphonso was gone – crying would not bring him back. ‘Ah, Madam!’ said the prince, ‘you are forgiving – ’ ‘For you are brave!’ said Molinda, feeling quite a respect for him. ‘But neither your heart nor mine is ours to give. Since mine was another’s, I understand too well the feeling of yours! Do not let us buy life at the price of happiness and honour.’ Then, turning to the king, the prince said: ‘Sir, is there no way but by death or marriage? You say you cannot keep half only of your promise; and that, if I accept the reward, I must also unite myself with my unwilling cousin. Cannot the whole proclamation be annulled, and will you consider the bargain void if I tear up this flimsy scroll?’ And here the prince fluttered the cheque for £1,000,000 in the air. For a moment the king was tempted; but then he said to himself: ‘Never mind, it’s only an extra penny on the income-tax.’ Then, ‘Keep your dross,’ he shouted, meaning the million; ‘but let me keep my promise. To chapel at once, or – ’ and he pointed to the executioner. ‘The word of a king of Pantouflia is sacred.’ ‘And so is that of a crown prince,’ answered Prigio; ‘and mine is pledged to a lady.’ ‘She shall be a mourning bride,’ cried the king savagely, ‘unless’ – here he paused for a moment – ‘unless you bring me back Alphonso and Enrico, safe and well!’ The prince thought for the space of a flash of lightning. ‘I accept the alternative,’ he said, ‘if your majesty will grant me my conditions.’ ‘Name them!’ said the king. ‘Let me be transported to Gluckstein, left there unguarded, and if, in three days, I do not return with my brothers safe and well, your

147 143

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

majesty shall be spared a cruel duty. Prigio of Pantouflia will perish by his own hand.’ The king, whose mind did not work very quickly, took some minutes to think over it. Then he saw that by granting the prince’s conditions, he would either recover his dear sons, or, at least, get rid of Prigio, without the unpleasantness of having him executed. For, though some kings have put their eldest sons to death, and most have wished to do so, they have never been better loved by the people for their Roman virtue. ‘Honour bright?’ said the king at last. ‘Honour bright!’ answered the prince, and, for the first time in many months, the royal father and son shook hands. ‘For you, madam,’ said Prigio in a stately way to Lady Molinda, ‘in less than a week I trust we shall be taking our vows at the same altar, and that the close of the ceremony which finds us cousins will leave us brother and sister.’ Poor Molinda merely stared; for she could not imagine what he meant. In a moment he was gone; and having taken, by the king’s permission, the flying carpet, he was back at the ambassador’s house in Gluckstein.

CHAPTER XVII. The Black Cat and the Brethren! Who was glad to see the prince, if it was not Lady Rosalind? The white roses of her cheeks turned to red roses in a moment, and then back to white again, they were so alarmed at the change. So the two went into the gardens together, and talked about a number of things; but at last the prince told her that, before three days were over, all would be well, or all would be over with him. For either he would have brought his brothers back, sound and well, to Falkenstein, or he would not survive his dishonour. ‘It is no more than right,’ he said; ‘for had I gone first, neither of them would have been sent to meet the monster after I had fallen. And I should have fallen, dear Rosalind, if I had faced the Firedrake before I knew you.’ Then when she asked him why, and what good she had done him, he told her all the story; and how, before he fell in love with her, he didn’t believe in fairies, or Firedrakes, or caps of darkness, or anything nice and impossible, but only in horrid useless facts, and chemistry, and

148 144

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

geology, and arithmetic, and mathematics, and even political economy. And the Firedrake would have made a mouthful of him, then. So she was delighted when she heard this, almost as much delighted as she was afraid that he might fail in the most difficult adventure. For it was one thing to egg on a Remora to kill a Firedrake, and quite another to find the princes if they were alive, and restore them if they were dead! But the prince said he had his plan, and he stayed that night at the ambassador’s. Next morning he rose very early, before anyone else was up, that he might not have to say ‘Good-bye’ to Lady Rosalind. Then he flew in a moment to the old lonely castle, where nobody went for fear of ghosts, ever since the Court retired to Falkenstein. How still it was, how deserted; not a sign of life, and yet the prince was looking everywhere for some living thing. He hunted the castle through in vain, and then went out to the stable-yard; but all the dogs, of course, had been taken away, and the farmers had offered homes to the poultry. At last, stretched at full length in a sunny place, the prince found a very old, half-blind, miserable cat. The poor creature was lean, and its fur had fallen off in patches; it could no longer catch birds, nor even mice, and there was nobody to give it milk. But cats do not look far into the future; and this old black cat – Frank was his name – had got a breakfast somehow, and was happy in the sun. The prince stood and looked at him pityingly, and he thought that even a sick old cat was, in some ways, happier than most men. ‘Well,’ said the prince at last, ‘he could not live long anyway, and it must be done. He will feel nothing.’ Then he drew the sword of sharpness, and with one turn of his wrist cut the cat’s head clean off.55 It did not at once change into a beautiful young lady, as perhaps you expect; no, that was improbable, and, as the prince was in love already, would have been vastly inconvenient. The dead cat lay there, like any common cat. Then the prince built up a heap of straw, with wood on it, and there he laid poor puss, and set fire to the pile. Very soon there was nothing of old black Frank left but ashes! Then the prince ran upstairs to the fairy cupboard, his heart beating loudly with excitement. The sun was shining through the arrow-shot window; all the yellow motes were dancing in its rays. The light fell on the strange heaps of fairy things – talismans and spells. The prince hunted about here and there, and at last he discovered six ancient water-vessels of black leather, each with a silver plate on it, and on the plate letters engraved. This was what was written on the plates:

149 145

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

AQVA. DE. FONTE. LEONVM.*56 ‘Thank heaven!’ said the prince. ‘I thought they were sure to have brought it!’ Then he took one of the old black-leather bottles, and ran downstairs again to the place where he had burned the body of the poor old sick cat. He opened the bottle, and poured a few drops of the water on the ashes and the dying embers. Up there sprang a tall, white flame of fire, waving like a tongue of light; and forth from the heap jumped the most beautiful, strong, funny, black cat that ever was seen! It was Frank as he had been in the vigour of his youth; and he knew the prince at once, and rubbed himself against him and purred. The prince lifted up Frank and kissed his nose for joy; and a bright tear rolled down on Frank’s face, and made him rub his nose with his paw in the most comical manner. Then the prince set him down, and he ran round and round after his tail; and, lastly, cocked his tail up, and marched proudly after the prince into the castle. ‘Oh, Frank!’ said Prince Prigio, ‘no cat since the time of Puss in Boots was ever so well taken care of as you shall be. For, if the fairy water from the Fountain of Lions can bring you back to life – why, there is a chance for Alphonso and Enrico!’ Then Prigio bustled about, got ready some cold luncheon from the store-room, took all his fairy things that he was likely to need, sat down with them on the flying carpet, and wished himself at the mountain of the Firedrake. ‘I have the king now,’ he said; ‘for if I can’t find the ashes of my brothers, by Jove! I’ll! –’ Do you know what he meant to do, if he could not find his brothers? Let every child guess!57 Off he flew; and there he was in a second, just beside poor Alphonso’s garden-engine. Then Prigio, seeing a little heap of grey ashes beside the engine, watered them with the fairy water; and up jumped Alphonso, as jolly as ever, his sword in his hand. ‘Hullo, Prigio!’ cried he; ‘are you come after the monster too? I’ve been asleep, and I had a kind of dream that he beat me. But the pair of us will tackle him. How is Molinda?’ *

150 146

Water from the Fountain of Lions.

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

‘Prettier than ever,’ said Prigio; ‘but anxious about you. However, the Firedrake’s dead and done for; so never mind him. But I left Enrico somewhere about. Just you sit down and wait a minute, till I fetch him.’ The prince said this, because he did not wish Alphonso to know that he and Enrico had not had quite the best of it in the affair with the monster. ‘All right, old fellow,’ says Alphonso; ‘but have you any luncheon with you? Never was so hungry in my life!’ Prince Prigio had thought of this, and he brought out some cold sausage (to which Alphonso was partial) and some bread, with which the younger prince expressed himself satisfied. Then Prigio went up the hill some way, first warning Alphonso not to sit on his carpet for fear of accidents like that which happened to Benson. In a hollow of the hill, sure enough there was the sword of Enrico, the diamonds of the hilt gleaming in the sun. And there was a little heap of grey ashes. The prince poured a few drops of the water from the Fountain of Lions on them, and up, of course, jumped Enrico, just as Alphonso had done. ‘Sleepy old chap you are, Enrico,’ said the prince; ‘but come on, Alphonso will have finished the grub unless we look smart.’ So back they came, in time to get their share of what was going; and they drank the Remora’s very good health, when Prigio told them about the fight. But neither of them ever knew that they had been dead and done for; because Prigio invented a story that the mountain was enchanted, and that, as long as the Firedrake lived, everyone who came there fell asleep. He did tell them about the flying carpet, however, which of course did not much surprise them, because they had read all about it in the Arabian Nights and other historical works. ‘And now I’ll show you fun!’ said Prigio; and he asked them both to take their seats on the carpet, and wished to be in the valley of the Remora. There they were in a moment, among the old knights whom, if you remember, the Remora had frozen into stone. There was quite a troop of them, in all sorts of armour – Greek and Roman, and Knight Templars like Front de Boeuf and Brian du Bois Gilbert58 – all the brave warriors that had tried to fight the Remora since the world began. Then Prigio gave each of his brothers some of the water in their caps, and told them to go round pouring a drop or two on each frozen knight. And as they did it, lo and behold! each knight came alive, with his horse, and lifted his sword and shouted: ‘Long live Prince Prigio!’

151 147

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

in Greek, Latin, Egyptian, French, German, and Spanish, – all of which the prince perfectly understood, and spoke like a native. So he marshalled them in order, and sent them off to ride to Falkenstein and cry: ‘Prince Prigio is coming!’ Off they went, the horses’ hoofs clattering, banners flying, sunshine glittering on the spear-points. Off they rode to Falkenstein; and when the king saw them come galloping in, I can tell you he had no more notion of hanging Prigio.

CHAPTER XVIII. The Very Last. The princes returned to Gluckstein on the carpet, and went to the best inn, where they dined together and slept. Next morning they, and the ambassador, who had been told all the story, and Lady Rosalind, floated comfortably on the carpet back to Falkenstein, where the king wept like anything on the shoulders of Alphonso and Enrico. They could not make out why he cried so, nor why Lady Molinda and Lady Kathleena cried; but soon they were all laughing and happy again. But then – would you believe he could be so mean? – he refused to keep his royal promise, and restore Prigio to his crown-princeship! Kings are like that. But Prigio, very quietly asking for the head of the Firedrake, said he’d pour the magic water on that, and bring the Firedrake back to life again, unless his majesty behaved rightly. This threat properly frightened King Grognio, and he apologised. Then the king shook hands with Prigio in public, and thanked him, and said he was proud of him. As to Lady Rosalind, the old gentleman quite fell in love with her, and he sent at once to the Chaplain Royal to get into his surplice, and marry all the young people off at once, without waiting for wedding-cakes, and milliners, and all the rest of it. Now, just as they were forming a procession to march into church, who should appear but the queen! Her majesty had been travelling by post59 all the time, and, luckily, had heard of none of the doings since Prigio, Benson, and the king left Gluckstein. I say luckily because if she had heard of them, she would not have believed a word of them. But when she saw Alphonso and Enrico, she was much pleased, and said: ‘Naughty boys! Where have you been hiding? The king had some absurd story about your having been killed by a fabulous monster. Bah!

152 148

s e l e c t e dp r f iicnt c i oen po r f iagn idor e w l a n g

don’t tell me. I always said you would come back after a little trip – didn’t I, Prigio?’ ‘Certainly, madam,’ said Prigio; ‘and I said so, too. Didn’t I say so?’ And all the courtiers cried: ‘Yes, you did;’ but some added, to themselves, ‘He always says, “Didn’t I say so?’’’ Then the queen was introduced to Lady Rosalind, and she said it was ‘rather a short engagement, but she supposed young people understood their own affairs best.’ And they do! So the three pairs were married, with the utmost rejoicings; and her majesty never, her whole life long, could be got to believe that anything unusual had occurred. The honeymoon of Prince Prigio and the Crown Princess Rosalind was passed at the castle, where the prince had been deserted by the Court. But now it was delightfully fitted up; and Master Frank marched about the house with his tail in the air, as if the place belonged to him. Now, on the second day of their honeymoon, the prince and princess were sitting in the garden together, and the prince said, ‘Are you quite happy, my dear?’ and Rosalind said, ‘Yes; quite.’ But the prince did not like the tone of her voice, and he said: ‘No, there’s something; do tell me what it is.’ ‘Well,’ said Rosalind, putting her head on his shoulder, and speaking very low, ‘I want everybody to love you as much as I do. No, not quite so very much, – but I want them to like you. Now they can’t, because they are afraid of you; for you are so awfully clever. Now, couldn’t you take the wishing cap, and wish to be no cleverer than other people? Then everybody would like you!’ The prince thought a minute, then he said: ‘Your will is law, my dear; anything to please you. Just wait a minute!’ Then he ran upstairs, for the last time, to the fairy garret, and he put on the wishing cap. ‘No,’ thought he to himself, ‘I won’t wish that. Every man has one secret from his wife, and this shall be mine.’ Then he said aloud: ‘I WISH TO SEEM NO CLEVERER THAN OTHER PEOPLE.’ Then he ran downstairs again, and the princess noticed a great difference in him (though, of course, there was really none at all), and so did everyone. For the prince remained as clever as ever he had been; but, as nobody observed it, he became the most popular prince, and finally the best-beloved king who had ever sat on the throne of Pantouflia. But occasionally Rosalind would say, ‘I do believe, my dear, that you are really as clever as ever!’ And he was!

153 149

selected fiction of andrew lang

154

prince ricardo of pantouflia

Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia: Being the Adventures of Prince Prigio’s Son

Dedication To Guy Campbell.1 My dear Guy, You wanted to know more about Prince Prigio, who won the Lady Rosalind, and killed the Firedrake and the Remora by aid of his Fairy gifts. Here you have some of his later adventures, and you will learn from this story the advantages of minding your book. Yours always, A. Lang.

155 151

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Introductory. Explaining Matters. There may be children whose education has been so neglected that they have not read Prince Prigio. As this new story is about Prince Prigio’s son, Ricardo, you are to learn that Prigio was the child and heir of Grognio, King of Pantouflia. The fairies gave the little Prince cleverness, beauty, courage; but one wicked fairy added, ‘You shall be too clever.’ His mother, the queen, hid away in a cupboard all the fairy presents, – the Sword of Sharpness, the Seven-League Boots, the Wishing Cap, and many other useful and delightful gifts, in which her Majesty did not believe! But after Prince Prigio had become universally disliked and deserted, because he was so very clever and conceited, he happened to find all the fairy presents in the old turret chamber where they had been thrown. By means of these he delivered his country from a dreadful Red-Hot Beast, called the Firedrake, and, in addition to many other triumphs, he married the good and beautiful Lady Rosalind. His love for her taught him not to be conceited, though he did not cease to be extremely clever and fond of reading. When this new story begins the Prince has succeeded to the crown, on the death of King Grognio, and is unhappy about his own son, Prince Ricardo, who is not clever, and who hates books! The story tells of Ricardo’s adventures: how he tried to bring back Prince Charlie2 to England, how he failed; how he dealt with the odious old Yellow Dwarf;3 how he was aided by the fair magician, the Princess Jaqueline; how they both fell into a dreadful trouble; how King Prigio saved them; and how Jaqueline’s dear and royal papa was discovered; with the end of all these adventures. The moral of the story will easily be discovered by the youngest reader, or, if not, it does not much matter.

CHAPTER I. The Troubles of King Prigio. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what to do with that boy!’ said King Prigio of Pantouflia. ‘If you don’t know, my dear,’ said Queen Rosalind, his illustrious consort, ‘I can’t see what is to be done. You are so clever.’ The king and queen were sitting in the royal library, of which the shelves were full of the most delightful fairy books in all languages, all equally familiar to King Prigio. The queen could not read most of them

156 152

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

herself, but the king used to read them aloud to her. A good many years had passed – seventeen, in fact – since Queen Rosalind was married, but you would not think it to look at her. Her grey eyes were as kind and soft and beautiful, her dark hair as dark, and her pretty colour as like a white rose blushing, as on the day when she was a bride. And she was as fond of the king as when he was only Prince Prigio, and he was as fond of her as on the night when he first met her at the ball. ‘No, I don’t know what to do with Dick,’ said the king. He meant his son, Prince Ricardo, but he called him Dick in private. ‘I believe it’s the fault of his education,’ his Majesty went on. ‘We have not brought him up rightly. These fairy books are at the bottom of his provoking behaviour,’ and he glanced round the shelves. ‘Now, when I was a boy, my dear mother tried to prevent me from reading fairy books, because she did not believe in fairies.’ ‘But she was wrong, you know,’ said the queen. ‘Why, if it had not been for all these fairy presents, the Cap of Darkness and all the rest of them, you never could have killed the Fire-beast and the Ice-beast, and – you never could have married me,’ the queen added, in a happy whisper, blushing beautifully, for that was a foolish habit of hers. ‘It is quite true,’ said the king, ‘and therefore I thought it best to bring Dick up on fairy books, that he might know what is right, and have no nonsense about him. But perhaps the thing has been overdone; at all events, it is not a success. I wonder if fathers and sons will ever understand each other, and get on well together? There was my poor father, King Grognio, he wanted me to take to adventures, like other princes, fighting Firedrakes, and so forth; and I did not care for it, till you set me on,’ and he looked very kindly at her Majesty. ‘And now, here’s Dick,’ the monarch continued, ‘I can’t hold him back. He is always after a giant, or a dragon, or a magician, as the case may be; he will certainly be ploughed4 for his examination at College. Never opens a book. What does he care, off after every adventure he can hear about? An idle, restless youth! Ah, my poor country, when I am gone, what may not be your misfortunes under Ricardo!’ Here his Majesty sighed, and seemed plunged in thought. ‘But you are not going yet, my dear,’ said the queen. ‘Why you are not forty! And young people will be young people. You were quite proud when poor Dick came home with his first brace of gigantic fierce birds, killed off his own sword, and with such a pretty princess he had rescued – dear Jaqueline?5 I’m sure she is like a daughter to me. I cannot do without her.’

157 153

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘I wish she were a daughter-in-law; I wish Dick would take a fancy to marry her,’ said the king. ‘A nicer girl I never saw.’ ‘And so accomplished,’ added Queen Rosalind. ‘That girl can turn herself into anything – a mouse, a fly, a lion, a wheelbarrow, a church! I never knew such talent for magic. Of course she had the best of teachers, the Fairy Paribanou herself;6 but very few girls, in our time, devote so many hours to practice as dear Jaqueline. Even now, when she is out of the schoolroom, she still practises her scales. I saw her turning little Dollie into a fish and back again in the bath-room last night. The child was delighted.’ In these times, you must know, princesses learned magic, just as they learn the piano nowadays; but they had their music lessons too, dancing, calisthenics, and the use of the globes. ‘Yes, she’s a dear, good girl,’ said the king; ‘yet she looks melancholy. I believe, myself, that if Ricardo asked her to marry him, she would not say “No.” But that’s just one of the things I object to most in Dick. Round the world he goes, rescuing ladies from every kind of horror – from dragons, giants, cannibals, magicians; and then, when a girl naturally expects to be married to him, as is usual, off he rides! He has no more heart than a flounder. Why, at his age I –’ ‘At his age, my dear, you were so hard-hearted that you were quite a proverb. Why, I have been told that you used to ask girls dreadful puzzling questions, like “Who was Cæsar Borgia?”7 “What do you know of Edwin and Morcar?”8 and so on.’ ‘I had not seen you then,’ said the king. ‘And Ricardo has not seen her, whoever she may be. Besides, he can’t possibly marry all of them. And I think a girl should consider herself lucky if she is saved from a dragon or a giant, without expecting to be married next day.’ ‘Perhaps; but it is usual,’ said the king, ‘and their families expect it, and keep sending ambassadors to know what Dick’s intentions are. I would not mind it all so very much if he killed the monsters off his own sword, as he did that first brace, in fair fight. But ever since he found his way into that closet where the fairy presents lie, everything has been made too easy for him. It is a royal road to glory, or giant-slaying made easy. In his Cap of Darkness a poor brute of a dragon can’t see him. In his Shoes of Swiftness the giants can’t catch him. His Sword of Sharpness would cut any oak asunder at a blow!’ ‘But you were very glad of them when you made the Ice-beast and the Fire-beast fight and kill each other,’ said the queen. ‘Yes, my dear; but it wanted some wit, if I may say so, to do that,

158 154

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

and Dick just goes at it hammer and tongs: anybody could do it. It’s intellect I miss in Ricardo. How am I to know whether he could make a good fight for it without all these fairy things? I wonder what the young rogue is about to-day? He’ll be late for dinner, as usual, I daresay. I can’t stand want of punctuality at meals,’ remarked his Majesty, which is a sign that he was growing old after all; for where is the fun of being expected always to come home in time for dinner when, perhaps, you are fishing, and the trout are rising splendidly? ‘Young people will be young people,’ said the queen. ‘If you are anxious about him, why don’t you look for him in the magic crystal?’ Now the magic crystal was a fairy present, a great ball of glass in which, if you looked, you saw the person you wanted to see, and what he was doing, however far away he might be, if he was on the earth at all.*9 ‘I’ll just take a look at it,’ said the king; ‘it only wants three-quarters of an hour to dinner-time.’ His Majesty rose, and walked to the crystal globe, which was in a stand, like other globes. He stared into it, he turned it round and round, and Queen Rosalind saw him grow quite pale as he gazed. ‘I don’t see him anywhere,’ said the king, ‘and I have looked everywhere. I do hope nothing has happened to the boy. He is so careless. If he dropped his Cap of Darkness in a fight with a giant, why who knows what might occur?’ ‘Oh, ’Gio, how you frighten me!’ said the queen. King Prigio was still turning the crystal globe. ‘Stop!’ he cried; ‘I see a beautiful princess, fastened by iron chains to a rock beside the sea, in a lonely place. They must have fixed her up as a sacrifice to a sea-monster, like what’s-her-name.’ This proves how anxious he was, or, being so clever and learned, he would have remembered that her name was Andromeda.10 ‘I bet Dick is not far off, where there is an adventure on hand. But where on earth can he be? . . . My word!’ suddenly exclaimed the monarch, in obvious excitement. ‘What is it, dear?’ cried the queen, with all the anxiety of a mother. ‘Why, the sea where the girl is, has turned all red as blood!’ exclaimed the king. ‘Now it is all being churned up by the tail of a tremendous monster. He is a whopper! He’s coming on shore; the girl is fainting. He’s out on shore! He is extremely poorly, blood rushing from his open jaws. He’s dying! And, hooray! here’s Dick coming out of his * You can buy these glasses now from the Psychical Society, at half-a-crown and upwards.

159 155

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

enormous mouth, all in armour set with sharp spikes, and a sword in his hand. He’s covered with blood, but he’s well and hearty. He must have been swallowed by the brute, and cut him up inside. Now he’s cutting the beast’s head off. Now he’s gone to the princess; a very neat bow he has made her. Dick’s manners are positively improving! Now he’s cutting her iron chains off with the Sword of Sharpness. And now he’s made her another bow, and he’s actually taking leave of her. Poor thing! How disappointed she is looking. And she’s so pretty, too. I say, Rosalind, shall I shout to him through the magic horn, and tell him to bring her home here, on the magic carpet?’ ‘I think not, dear; the palace is quite full,’ said the queen. But the real reason was that she wanted Ricardo to marry her favourite Princess Jaqueline, and she did not wish the new princess to come in the way. ‘As you like,’ said the king, who knew what was in her mind very well. ‘Besides, I see her own people coming for her. I’m sorry for her, but it can’t be helped, and Dick is half-way home by now on the Shoes of Swiftness. I daresay he will not keep dinner waiting after all. But what a fright the boy has given me!’ At this moment a whirring in the air and a joyous shout were heard. It was Prince Ricardo flying home on his Seven-league Boots. ‘Hi, Ross!’ he shouted, ‘just weigh this beast’s head. I’ve had a splendid day with a sea-monster. Get the head stuffed, will you? We’ll have it set up in the billiard-room.’ ‘Yes, Master Dick – I mean your Royal Highness,’ said Ross, a Highland keeper, who had not previously been employed by a Reigning Family. ‘It’s a fine head, whatever,’ he added, meditatively. Prince Ricardo now came beneath the library window, and gave his parents a brief account of his adventure. ‘I picked the monster up early in the morning,’ he said, ‘through the magic telescope, father.’ ‘What country was he in?’ said the king. ‘The country people whom I met called it Ethiopia.’11 ‘And in what part of the globe is Ethiopia, Ricardo?’ ‘Oh! I don’t know. Asia, perhaps,’ answered the prince. The king groaned. ‘That boy will never understand our foreign relations. Ethiopia in Asia!’ he said to himself, but he did not choose to make any remark at the moment. The prince ran upstairs to dress. On the stairs he met the Princess Jaqueline. ‘Oh, Dick! are you hurt?’ she said, turning very pale.

160 156

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘No, not I; but the monster is. I had a capital day, Jack; rescued a princess, too.’ ‘Was she – was she very pretty, Dick?’ ‘Oh! I don’t know. Pretty enough, I daresay. Much like other girls. Why, you look quite white! What’s the matter? Now you look all right again;’ for, indeed, the Princess Jaqueline was blushing. ‘I must dress. I’m ever so late,’ he said, hurrying upstairs; and the princess, with a little sigh, went down to the royal drawing-room.

CHAPTER II. Princess Jaqueline Drinks the Moon. When dinner was over and the ladies had left the room, the king tried to speak seriously to Prince Ricardo. This was a thing which he disliked doing very much. ‘There’s very little use in preaching,’ his Majesty used to say, ‘to a man, or rather a boy, of another generation. My taste was for books; I only took to adventures because I was obliged to do it. Dick’s taste is for adventures; I only wish some accident would make him take to books. But everyone must get his experience for himself; and when he has got it, he is lucky if it is not too late. I wish I could see him in love with some nice girl, who would keep him at home.’ The king did not expect much from talking seriously to Dick. However, he began by asking questions about the day’s sport, which Ricardo answered with modesty. Then his Majesty observed that, from all he had ever read or heard, he believed Ethiopia, where the fight was, to be in Africa, not in Asia. ‘I really wish, Ricardo, that you would attend to your geography a little more. It is most necessary to a soldier that he should know where his enemy is, and if he has to fight the Dutch, for instance, not to start with his army for Central Asia.’ ‘I could always spot them through the magic glass, father,’ said Dick; ‘it saves such a lot of trouble. I hate geography.’ ‘But the glass might be lost or broken, or the Fairies might take it away, and then where are you?’ ‘Oh, you would know where to go, or Mr. Belsham.’ Now Mr. Belsham was his tutor, from Oxford. ‘But I shall not always be here, and when I die – ‘ ‘Don’t talk of dying, sire,’ said Dick. ‘Why, you are not so very old; you may live for years yet. Besides, I can’t stand the notion. You must

161 157

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

live for ever!’ ‘That sentiment is unusual in a Crown Prince,’ thought the king; but he was pleased for all that. ‘Well, to oblige you, I’ll try to struggle against old age,’ he said; ‘but there are always accidents. Now, Dick, like a good fellow, and to please me, work hard all to-morrow till the afternoon. I’ll come in and help you. And there’s always a splendid evening rise of trout in the lake just now, so you can have your play after your work. You’ll enjoy it more, and I daresay you are tired after a long day with the big game. It used to tire me, I remember.’ ‘I am rather tired,’ said Dick; and indeed he looked a little pale, for a day in the inside of a gigantic sea-monster is fatiguing, from the heat and want of fresh air which are usually found in such places. ‘I think I’ll turn in; goodnight, my dear old governor,’ he said, in an affectionate manner, though he was not usually given to many words. Then he went and kissed his mother and the Princess Jaqueline, whom he engaged to row him on the lake next evening, while he fished. ‘And don’t you go muffing12 them with the landing-net, Jack, as you generally do,’ said his Royal Highness, as he lit his bedroom candle. ‘I wish he would not call me Jack,’ said the princess to the queen. ‘It’s better than Lina, my dear,’ said her Majesty, who in late life had become fond of her little joke; ‘that always sounds as if someone else was fatter, – and I hope there is not someone else.’ The princess was silent, and fixed her eyes on her book. Presently the king came in, and played a game with Lina at picquet.13 When they were all going to bed, he said: ‘Just come into the study, Lina. I want you to write a few letters for me.’ The princess followed him and took her seat at the writing table. The letters were very short. One was to Herr Schnipp, tailor to the king and royal family; another was to the royal swordmaker, another to the bootmaker, another to the optician, another to the tradesman who supplied the august family with carpets and rugs, another to his Majesty’s hatter. They were all summoned to be at the palace early next morning. Then his Majesty yawned, apologised, and went to bed. The princess also went to her room, or bower as it was then called, but not to sleep. She was unhappy that Dick did not satisfy his father, and that he was so careless, and also about other things. ‘And why does the king want all these tailors and hatters so suddenly, telescope-makers and swordmakers and shoemakers, too?’ she asked

162 158

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

herself, as she stood at the window watching the moon. ‘I could find out. I could turn myself into a dog or a cat, and go into the room where he is giving his orders. But that is awkward, for when the servants see Rip’ (that was the dog) ‘in two places at once, they begin to think the palace is haunted, and it makes people talk. Besides, I know it is wrong to listen to what one is not meant to hear. It is often difficult to be a magician and a good girl. The temptations are so strong, stronger than most people allow for.’ So she remained, with the moon shining on her pretty yellow hair and her white dress, wondering what the king intended to do, and whether it was something that Dick would not like. ‘How stupid of me,’ she said at length, ‘after all the lessons I have had. Why, I can drink the moon!’ Now, this is a way of knowing what anyone else is thinking of and intends to do, for the moon sees and knows everything. Whether it is quite fair is another matter; but, at all events, it is not listening. And anyone may see that, if you are a magician, like the Princess Jaqueline, a great many difficult questions as to what is right and wrong at once occur which do not trouble other people. King Prigio’s secret, why he sent for the tailor and the other people, was his own secret. The princess decided that she would not find it out by turning herself into Rip or the cat (whose name was Semiramis),14 and, so far, she was quite right. But she was very young, and it never occurred to her that it was just as wrong to find out what the king meant by drinking the moon as by listening in disguise. As she grew older she learned to know better; but this is just the danger of teaching young girls magic, and for that very reason it has been given up in most countries. However, the princess did not think about right and wrong, unluckily. She went to the bookcase and took down her Cornelius Agrippa,15 in one great tall black volume, with silver clasps which nobody else could open; for, as the princess said, there are books which it would never do to leave lying about where the servants or anybody could read them. Nobody could undo the clasps, however strong or clever he might be; but the princess just breathed on them and made a sign, and the book flew open at the right place – Book IV., chapter vi., about the middle of page 576. The magic spell was in Latin, of course; but the princess knew Latin very well, and soon she had the magic song by heart. Then she closed the book and put it back on the shelf. Then she threw open the window and drew back the curtains, and put out all the lights except two scented candles that burned with a white fire under a round mirror with a sil-

163 159

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

ver frame, opposite the window. And into that mirror the moon shone white and full, filling all the space of it, so that the room was steeped in a strange silver light. Now the whole room seemed to sway gently, waving and trembling; and as it trembled it sounded and rang with a low silver music, as if it were filled with the waves of the sea. Then the princess took a great silver basin, covered with strange black signs and figures raised in the silver. She poured water into the basin, and as she poured it she sang the magic spell from the Latin book. It was something like this, in English: ‘Oh Lady Moon, on the waters riding, On shining waters, in silver sheen, Show me the secret the heart is hiding, Show me the truth of the thought, oh Queen! ‘Oh waters white, where the moon is riding, That knows what shall be and what has been, Tell me the secret the heart is hiding, Wash me the truth of it, clear and clean!’

As she sang the water in the silver basin foamed and bubbled, and then fell still again; and the princess knelt in the middle of the room, and the moon and the white light from the mirror of the moon fell in the water. Then the princess raised the basin, and stooped her mouth to it and drank the water, spilling a few drops, and so she drank the moon and the knowledge of the moon. Then the moon was darkened without a cloud, and there was darkness in the sky for a time, and all the dogs in the world began to howl. When the moon shone again, the princess rose and put out the two white lights, and drew the curtains; and presently she went to bed. ‘Now I know all about it,’ she said. ‘It is clever; everything the king does is clever, and he is so kind that I daresay he does not mean any harm. But it seems a cruel trick to play on poor Ricardo. However, Jaqueline is on the watch, and I’ll show them a girl can do more than people think,’ – as, indeed, she could. After meditating in this way, the princess fell sleep, and did not waken till her maid came to call her. ‘Oh! your Royal Highness, what’s this on the floor?’ said the faithful Rosina, as she was arranging the princess’s things for her to get up. ‘Why, what is it?’ asked the princess. ‘Ever so many – four, five, six, seven – little shining drops of silver lying on the carpet, as if they had melted and fallen there!’

164 160

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘They have not hurt the carpet?’ said the princess. ‘Oh dear! the queen won’t be pleased at all. It was a little chemical experiment I was trying last night.’ But she knew very well that she must have dropped seven drops of the enchanted water. ‘No, your Royal Highness, the carpet is not harmed,’ said Rosina; ‘only your Royal Highness should do these things in the laboratory. Her Majesty has often spoke about it.’ ‘You are quite right,’ said the princess; ‘but as there is no harm done, we’ll say nothing about it this time. And, Rosina, you may keep the silver drops for yourself.’ ‘Your Royal Highness is always very kind,’ said Rosina, which was true; but how much better and wiser it is not to begin to deceive! We never know how far we may be carried, and so Jaqueline found out. For when she went down to breakfast, there was the king in a great state of excitement, for him. ‘It’s most extraordinary,’ said his Majesty. ‘What is?’ asked the queen. ‘Why, didn’t you notice it? No, you had gone to bed before it happened. But I was taking a walk in the moonlight, on the balcony, and I observed it carefully.’ ‘Observed what, my dear?’ asked the queen, who was pouring out the tea. ‘Didn’t you see it, Dick? Late as usual, you young dog!’ the king remarked as Ricardo entered the room. ‘See what, sir?’ said Dick. ‘Oh, you were asleep hours before, now I think of it! But it was the most extraordinary thing, an unpredicted eclipse of the moon! You must have noticed it, Jaqueline; you sat up later. How the dogs howled!’ ‘No; I mean yes,’ murmured poor Jaqueline, who of course had caused the whole affair by her magic arts, but who had forgotten, in the excitement of the moment, that an eclipse of the moon, especially if entirely unexpected, is likely to attract very general attention. Jaqueline could not bear to tell a fib, especially to a king who had been so kind to her; besides, fibbing would not alter the facts. ‘Yes, I did see it,’ she admitted, blushing. ‘Had it not been predicted?’ ‘Not a word about it whispered anywhere,’ said his Majesty. ‘I looked up the almanack at once. It is the most extraordinary thing I ever saw, and I’ve seen a good many.’ ‘The astronomers must be duffers,’16 said Prince Ricardo. ‘I never thought there was much in physical science of any sort; most dreary

165 161

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

stuff. Why, they say the earth goes round the sun, whereas any fool can see it is just the other way on.’ King Prigio was struck aghast by these sentiments in the mouth of his son and heir, the hope of Pantouflia. But what was the king to say in reply? The astronomers of Pantouflia, who conceived that they knew a great deal, had certainly been taken by surprise this time. Indeed, they have not yet satisfactorily explained this eclipse of the moon, though they have written volumes about it. ‘Why, it may be the sun next!’ exclaimed his Majesty. ‘Anything may happen. The very laws of gravitation themselves may go askew!’ At this moment the butler, William, who had been in the queen’s family when she was a girl, entered, and announced: ‘Some of the royal tradesmen, by appointment, to see your Majesty.’ So the king, who had scarcely eaten any breakfast, much to the annoyance of the queen, who was not agitated by eclipses, went out and joined the tailors and the rest of them.

CHAPTER III. The Adventure of the Shopkeepers. Dick went on with his breakfast. He ate cold pastry, and poached eggs, and ham, and rolls, and raspberry jam, and hot cakes; and he drank two cups of coffee. Meanwhile the king had joined the tradesmen who attended by his orders. They were all met in the royal study, where the king made them a most splendid bow, and requested them to be seated. But they declined to sit in his sacred presence, and the king observed that, in that case he must stand up. ‘I have invited you here, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘on a matter of merely private importance, but I must request that you will be entirely silent as to the nature of your duties. It is difficult, I know, not to talk about one’s work, but in this instance I am sure you will oblige me.’ ‘Your Majesty has only to command,’ said Herr Schnipp. ‘There have been monarchs, in neighbouring kingdoms, who would have cut off all our heads after we had done a bit of secret business; but the merest word of your Majesty is law to your loving subjects.’ The other merchants murmured assent, for King Prigio was really liked by his people. He was always good-tempered and polite. He never went to war with anybody. He spent most of the royal income on public objects, and of course there were scarcely any taxes to speak of. Moreover, he had abolished what is called compulsory education, or making

166 162

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

everybody go to school whether he likes it or not; a most mischievous and tyrannical measure! ‘A fellow who can’t teach himself to read,’ said the king, ‘is not worth teaching.’ For all these reasons, and because they were so fond of the queen, his subjects were ready to do anything in reason for King Prigio. Only one tradesman, bowing very deep and blushing very much, said: ‘Your Majesty, will you hear me for one moment?’ ‘For an hour, with pleasure, Herr Schmidt,’ said the monarch. ‘It is an untradesman-like and an unusual thing to decline an order; and if your Majesty asked for my heart’s blood, I am ready to shed it, not to speak of anything in the line of my business – namely, boot and shoe making. But keep a secret from my wife, I fairly own to your Majesty that I can not.’ Herr Schmidt went down on his knees and wept. ‘Rise, Herr Schmidt,’ said the king, taking him by the hand. ‘A more honourable and chivalrous confession of an amiable weakness, if it is to be called a weakness, I never heard. Sir, you have been true to your honour and your prince, in face of what few men can bear, the chance of ridicule. There is no one here, I hope, but respects and will keep the secret of Herr Schmidt’s confession?’ The assembled shopkeepers could scarcely refrain from tears. ‘Long live King Prigio the Good!’ they exclaimed, and vowed that everything should be kept dark. ‘Indeed, sire,’ said the swordmaker, ‘all the rest of us are bachelors.’ ‘That is none the worse for my purpose gentlemen,’ said his Majesty; ‘but I trust that you will not long deprive me of sons and subjects worthy to succeed to such fathers. And now, if Herr Schmidt will kindly find his way to the buttery, where refreshments are ready, I shall have the pleasure of conducting you to the scene of your labours.’ Thus speaking, the king, with another magnificent bow, led the way upstairs to a little turret-room, in a deserted part of the palace. Bidding the tradesmen enter, he showed them a large collection of miscellaneous things: an old cap or two, a pair of boots of a sort long out of fashion, an old broadsword, a shabby old Persian rug, an ivory spyglass, and other articles. These were, in fact, the fairy presents, which had been given to the king at his christening, and by aid of which (and his natural acuteness) he had, in his youth, succeeded in many remarkable adventures. The caps were the Wishing Cap and the Cap of Darkness. The rug was the famous carpet which carried its owner through the air wherever

167 163

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

he wished to go. The sword was the Sword of Sharpness. The ivory glass showed you anyone you wanted to see, however far off. The boots were the Seven-league Boots, which Hop-o’-my-Thumb stole from the Ogre about 1697.17 There were other valuable objects, but these were the most useful and celebrated. Of course the king did not tell the tradesmen what they were. ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said his Majesty, ‘you see these old things. For reasons which I must ask you to excuse me for keeping to myself, I wish you to provide me with objects exactly and precisely similar to these, with all the look of age.’ The tradesmen examined the objects, each choosing that in his own line of business. ‘As to the sword, sire,’ said the cutler, ‘it is an Andrea Ferrara,18 a fine old blade. By a lucky accident, I happen to have one at home, in a small collection of ancient weapons, exactly like it. This evening it shall be at your Majesty’s disposal.’ ‘Perhaps, Herr Schnitzler, you will kindly write an order for it, as I wish no one of you to leave the palace, if you can conveniently stay, till your business is finished.’ ‘With pleasure, your Majesty,’ says the cutler. ‘As to the old rug,’ said the upholsterer, ‘I have a Persian one quite identical with it at home, at your Majesty’s service.’ ‘Then you can do like Herr Schnitzler,’ who was the cutler. ‘And I,’ said the hatter, ‘have two old caps just like these, part of a bankrupt theatrical stock.’ ‘We are most fortunate,’ said the king. ‘The boots, now I come to think of it, are unimportant, at least for the present. Perhaps we can borrow a pair from the theatre.’ ‘As for the glass,’ said the optician, ‘if your Majesty will allow me to take it home with me – ‘ ‘I am afraid I cannot part with it,’ said the king; ‘but that, too, is unimportant, or not very pressing.’ Then he called for a servant, to order luncheon for the shopkeepers, and paper for them to write their orders on. But no one was within hearing, and in that very old part of the palace there were no bells. ‘Just pardon me for an instant, while I run downstairs,’ said his Majesty; ‘and, it seems a strange thing to ask, but may I advise you not to sit down on that carpet? I have a reason for it.’ In fact, he was afraid that someone might sit down on it, and wish he was somewhere else, and be carried away, as was the nature of the carpet.

168 164

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

King Prigio was not absent a minute, for he met William on the stairs; but when he came back, there was not one single person in the turret-room! ‘Where on earth are they?’ cried the king, rushing through all the rooms in that part of the castle. He shouted for them, and looked everywhere; but there was not a trace of tailor, hatter, optician, swordmaker, upholsterer. The king hastened to a window over the gate, and saw the sentinels on duty. ‘Hi!’ he called. And the sentinels turned round, looked up, and saluted. ‘Have you seen anyone go out?’ he cried. ‘No one, sire,’ answered the soldiers. The king, who began to guess what had happened, hurried back to the turret-room. There were all the tradesmen with parcels under their arms. ‘What means this, gentlemen?’ said his Majesty, severely. ‘For what reason did you leave the room without my permission?’ They all knelt down, humbly imploring his compassion. ‘Get up, you donkeys!’ said the king, forgetting his politeness. ‘Get up, and tell me where you have been hiding yourselves.’ The hatter came forward, and said: ‘Sire, you will not believe me; indeed, I can scarcely believe it myself!’ ‘Nor none of us can’t,’ said the swordmaker. ‘We have been home, and brought the articles. All orders executed with punctuality and dispatch,’ he added, quoting his own advertisement without thinking of it. On this the swordmaker took out and exhibited the Andrea Ferrara blade, which was exactly like the Sword of Sharpness. The upholsterer undid his parcel, and there was a Persian rug, which no one could tell from the magical carpet. The hatter was fumbling with the string of his parcel, when he suddenly remembered, what the king in his astonishment had not noticed, that he had a cap on himself. He pulled it off in a hurry, and the king at once saw that it was his Wishing Cap, and understood all about the affair. The hatter, in his absence, had tried on the Wishing Cap, and had wished that he himself and his friends were all at home and back again with their wares at the palace. And what he wished happened, of course, as was natural. In a moment the king saw how much talk this business would produce in the country, and he decided on the best way to stop it.

169 165

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Seizing the Wishing Cap, he put it on, wished all the tradesmen, including the shoemaker, back in the town at their shops, and also wished that none of them should remember anything about the whole affair. In a moment he was alone in the turret-room. As for the shopkeepers, they had a kind of idea that they had dreamed something odd; but, as it went no further, of course they did not talk about it, and nobody was any the wiser. ‘Owl that I am!’ said King Prigio to himself. ‘I might have better wished for a complete set of sham fairy things which would not work. It would have saved a great deal of trouble; but I am so much out of the habit of using the cap, that I never thought of it. However, what I have got will do very well.’ Then, putting on the Cap of Darkness, that nobody might see him, he carried all the real fairy articles away, except the Seven-league Boots, to his own room, where he locked them up, leaving in their place the sham Wishing Cap, the sham Cap of Darkness, the sham Sword of Sharpness, and the carpet which was not a magic carpet at all. His idea was, of course, that Ricardo would start on an expedition confiding in his fairy things, and he would find that they did not act. Then he would be left to his own cleverness and courage to get him out of the scrape. That would teach him, thought the king, to depend on himself, and to set a proper value on cleverness and learning, and minding his book. Of course he might have locked the things up, and forbidden Ricardo to touch them, but that might have seemed harsh. And, as you may easily imagine, with all the powers at his command, the king fancied he could easily rescue Ricardo from any very serious danger at the hands of giants or magicians or monsters. He only wanted to give him a fright or two, and make him respect the judgment of older and wiser people than himself.

CHAPTER IV. Two Lectures. For several days Prince Ricardo minded his books, and, according to his tutors, made considerable progress in polite learning. Perhaps he ought not to be praised too highly for this, because, in fact, he saw no means of distinguishing himself by adventures just at that time. Every morning he would climb the turret and sweep the horizon, and even much beyond

170 166

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

the horizon, with the ivory spy-glass. But look as he would, he saw no monsters preying on human-kind anywhere, nor princesses in distress. To be sure he saw plenty of poor people in distress, and, being a goodhearted, though careless, lad, Dick would occasionally fly off with the Purse of Fortunatus19 in his pocket, and give them as much money as they needed – it cost him nothing. But this was not the kind of adventure which he enjoyed. Dragons for his money! One day the Princess Jaqueline took a curious plan of showing Ricardo how little interest, after all, there is in performing the most wonderful exploits without any real difficulty or danger. They were drifting before a light breeze on a hill lake; Ricardo was fishing, and Jaqueline was sculling a stroke now and then, just to keep the boat right with the wind. Ricardo had very bad sport, when suddenly the trout began to rise all over the lake. Dick got excited, and stumbled about the boat from stern to bow, tripping over Jaqueline’s feet, and nearly upsetting the vessel in his hurry to throw his flies over every trout he saw feeding. But, as too often occurs, they were taking one particular fly which was on the water, and would look at nothing else. ‘Oh, bother them!’ cried Ricardo. ‘I can’t find a fly in my book in the least like that little black one they are feeding on!’ He tried half-a-dozen different fly-hooks, but all to no purpose; he lost his temper, got his tackle entangled in Jaqueline’s hair and then in the landing-net; and, though such a big boy, he was nearly crying with vexation. The Princess Jaqueline, with great pains and patience, disentangled the casting line, first from her hair, which Ricardo was anxious to cut (the great stupid oaf, – her pretty hair!) then from the landing-net; but Dick had grown sulky. ‘It’s no use,’ he said; ‘I have not a fly that will suit. Let’s go home,’ and he threw a tin can at a rising trout. ‘Now, Dick,’ said Jaqueline, ‘you know I can help you. I did not learn magic for nothing. Just you look the other way for a minute or two, and you will find the right fly at the end of your line.’ Dick turned his head away (it is not proper to look on at magical arts), and then in a moment, saw the right hook on his cast; but Jaqueline was not in the boat. She had turned herself into an artificial fly (a small black gnat), and Dick might set to his sport again. ‘What a trump that girl is,’ he said aloud. ‘Clever, too!’ and he began casting. He got a trout every cast, great big ones, over a pound, and soon he had a basketful. But he began to feel rather bored. ‘There’s not much fun taking them,’ he said, ‘when they are so silly.’

171 167

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

At that very moment he noticed that the fly was off his cast, and Jaqueline was sitting at the oars. ‘You see, Ricardo,’ she said, ‘I was right after all. There is not much pleasure in sport that is easy and certain. Now, apply this moral to dragon-killing with magic instruments. It may be useful when one is obliged to defend oneself, but surely a prince ought not to give his whole time to nothing else!’ Dick had no answer ready, so he only grumbled: ‘You’re always preaching at me, Jack; everybody always is. I seem to have been born just to be preached at.’ Some people are; and it does grow rather tedious in the long run. But perhaps what Jaqueline said may have made some impression on Ricardo, for he stuck to his books for weeks, and was got into decimal fractions and Euclid.20 All this, of course, pleased the king very much, and he began to entertain hopes of Ricardo’s becoming a wise and learned prince, and a credit to his illustrious family. Things were not always to go smoothly, far from it; and it was poor Jaqueline who fell into trouble next. She had been very ready to lecture Dick, as we saw, and took a good deal of credit to herself for his steadiness. But one day King Prigio happened to meet Jaqueline’s maid, Rosina, on the stairs; and as Rosina was a pretty girl, and the king was always kind to his dependents, he stopped to have a chat with her. ‘Why, Rosina, what a pretty little silver cross you are wearing,’ he said, and he lifted a curious ornament which hung from a chain on Rosina’s neck. It consisted of seven drops of silver, set like this: 0 0 000 0 0 ‘May I look at it?’ his Majesty asked, and Rosina, all in a flutter, took it off and gave it to him. ‘H’m!’ said the king. ‘Very curious and pretty! May I ask you where you got this, Rosina?’ Now Rosina generally had her answer ready, and I am very sorry to say that she did not always speak the truth when she could think of anything better. On this occasion she was anxious to think of something better, for fear of getting Jaqueline into a scrape about the chemical experiment in her bedroom. But Rosina was fluttered, as we said, by the royal kindness, and she could think of nothing but to curtsy, and say: ‘Please, your Majesty, the princess gave me the drops.’

172 168

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘Very interesting,’ said the king. ‘There is a little white moon shining in each of them! I wonder if they shine in the dark?’ He opened the door of a cupboard which had no windows, where the housemaid kept her mops and brooms, and shut himself in. Yes, there was no mistake; the darkness was quite lighted up with the sheen of the seven little moons in the silver. The king looked rather grave. ‘If you can trust me with this cross till to-morrow, Rosina, I should like to have it examined and analysed. This is no common silver.’ Of course Rosina could only curtsy, but she was very much alarmed about the consequences to her mistress. After luncheon, the king asked Jaqueline to come into his study, as he often did, to help him with his letters. When they had sat down his Majesty said: ‘My dear Jaqueline, I never interfere with your pursuits, but I almost doubt whether Cornelius Agrippa is a good book for a very young lady to read. The Fairy Paribanou, I am sure, taught you nothing beyond the ordinary magical accomplishments suited to your rank; but there are a great many things in the Cornelius which I think you should not study till you are older and wiser.’ ‘What does your Majesty mean?’ said poor Jaqueline, feeling very uncomfortable; for the king had never lectured her before. ‘Why,’ said his Majesty, taking the silver cross out of his pocket, ‘did you not give this to Rosina?’ ‘Yes, sire, I did give her the drops. She had them made up herself.’ ‘Then give it back to her when you see her next. I am glad you are frank, Jaqueline. And you know, of course, that the drops are not ordinary silver? They are moon silver, and that can only be got in one way, so far as I know, at least – when one spills the water when he, or she, is drinking the moon. Now, there is only one book which tells how that can be done, and there is only one reason for doing it; namely, to find out what is some other person’s secret. I shall not ask you whose secret you wanted to find out, but I must request you never to do such a thing again without consulting me. You can have no reason for it, such as a great king might have whose enemies are plotting against his country.’ ‘Oh, sire, I will tell you everything!’ cried Jaqueline. ‘No, don’t; I don’t want to know. I am sure you will make no use of your information which you think I should not approve of. But there is another thing – that eclipse of the moon! Oh, Jaqueline, was it honourable, or fair to the astronomers and men of science, to say nothing about it? Their European reputations are seriously injured.’ Poor Jaqueline could only cry.

173 169

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘Never mind,’ said his Majesty, comforting her. ‘There is no great harm done yet, and perhaps they would not believe you if you did explain; but just think, if some people ceased to believe in Science, what would they have left to believe in? But you are young, of course, and cannot be expected to think of everything.’ ‘I never thought about it at all,’ wept Jaqueline. ‘‘Evil is wrought by want of thought,’‘ said the king, quoting the poet.21 ‘Now run away, dry your tears, and I think you had better bring me that book, and I’ll put it back in one of the locked-up shelves. Later, when you are older, we shall see about it.’ The princess flew to her room, and returned with her book. And the king kissed her, and told her to go and see if her Majesty meant to take a drive. ‘I’ll never deceive him again, never . . . unless it is quite necessary,’ said the princess to herself. ‘Indeed, it is not so easy to deceive the king. What a lot he has read!’ In fact, King Prigio had been very studious when a young man, before he came to the throne. ‘Poor child!’ thought the king. ‘No doubt she was trying her fortune, wondering if Ricardo cares for her a little. Of course I could not let her tell me that, poor child!’ In this guess, as we know, his Majesty was mistaken, which seldom happened to him. ‘I wonder who she is?’ the king went on speaking to himself. ‘That great booby, Ricardo, saved her from wild birds, which were just going to eat her. She was fastened to a mountain top, but where? that’s the question. Ricardo never has any notion of geography. It was across the sea, he noticed that; but which sea, – Atlantic, Pacific, the Black Sea, the Caspian, the Sea of Marmora, the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, the German Ocean, the Mediterranean? Her ornaments were very peculiar; there was a broad gold sun on her breast. I must look at them again some day. She said she was being sacrificed to wild birds (which her people worshipped), because there was some famine, or war, or trouble in the country. She said she was a Daughter of the Sun; but that, of course, is absurd, unless – By Jove! I believe I have it,’ said the king, and he went into the royal library and was looking for some old Spanish book, when his secretary came and said that the Russian Ambassador was waiting for an interview with his Majesty. ‘Dismal old Muscovite!’ sighed the king. ‘A monarch has not a moment to himself for his private studies. Ah, Prigio! why wert thou not born to a private station? But Duty before everything,’ and wreathing

174 170

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

his royal countenance in smiles, his Majesty prepared to give Count Snoreonski an audience. It was all about the attitude of Pantouflia in the event of a Polish invasion of Russia.22 The king reassured Count Snoreonski, affirming that Pantouflia, while deeply regretting the disturbed relations between two States in whose welfare she was deeply interested, would ever preserve an attitude of benevolent neutrality, unless her own interests were threatened. ‘I may give your message to my august mistress, the Czarina?’ said the ambassador. ‘By all means, adding an expression of my tender interest in her Majesty’s health and welfare,’ said the king, presenting the count at the same time with a magnificent diamond snuffbox containing his portrait. The old count was affected to tears, and withdrew, while King Prigio said: ‘I have not lost a day; I have made an amiable but very stupid man happy.’ Such are, or rather such were, the toils of monarchs!

CHAPTER V. Prince Ricardo Crosses the Path of History. ‘I say, Jack,’ said Prince Ricardo one morning, ‘here’s a queer letter for me!’ King Prigio had gone to a distant part of his dominions, on business of importance, and the young people were sitting in the royal study. The letter, which Ricardo handed to Jaqueline, was written on a great broad sheet of paper, folded up without any envelope, as was the custom then, and was sealed with a huge seal in red wax. ‘I don’t know the arms,’ Ricardo said. ‘Oh, Ricardo, how you do neglect your Heraldry! Old Green Stocking is in despair over your ignorance.’ Now Green Stocking was the chief herald of Pantouflia, just like Blue Mantle23 in England. ‘Why, these are the Royal Arms of England, you great ignorant Dick!’ ‘But Rome isn’t in England, is it? – and the post-mark is ‘Roma’: that’s Rome in some lingo, I expect. It is in Latin, anyhow, I know. Mortuus est Romæ – ‘He died at Rome.’ It’s in the Latin Grammar. Let’s see what the fellow says, anyhow,’ added Ricardo, breaking the seal.

175 171

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘He begins, “Prins and dear Cousin!” I say, Jaqueline, he spells it “Prins;” now it is P-R-I-N-C-E. He must be an ignorant fellow!’24 ‘People in glass houses should not throw stones, Dick,’ said Jaqueline. ‘He signs himself “Charles, P. W.,”’25 said Ricardo, looking at the end. ‘Who on earth can he be? Why does he not put “P. W. Charles,” if these are his initials? Look here, it’s rather a long letter; you might read it to us, Jack!’ The princess took the epistle and began: ‘How nice it smells, all scented! The paper is gilt-edged, too.’ ‘Luxurious beggar, whoever he is,’ said Ricardo. ‘Well, he says: “Prins and dear Cousin, – You and me” (oh, what grammar!) “are much the same age, I being fifteen next birthday,26 and we should be better ackwainted. All the wurld has herd of the fame of Prins Ricardo, whose name is feerd, and his sord dreded, wherever there are Monsters and Tirants. Prins, you may be less well informed about my situation. I have not killed any Dragguns, there being nun of them here; but I have been under fiar, at Gaeta.”27 Where’s Gaeta, Dick?’ ‘Never heard of it,’ said Ricardo. ‘Well, it is in Italy, and it was besieged lately. He goes on: “and I am told that I did not misbehave myself, nor disgrace the blud of Bruce.”’28 ‘I’ve heard of Robert Bruce,’ said Dick; ‘he was the man who did not kill the spider, but he cracked the head of Sir Harry Bohun29 with one whack of his axe. I remember him well enough.’ ‘Well, your correspondent seems to be a descendant of his.’ ‘That’s getting more interesting,’ said Dick. ‘I wish my father would go to war with somebody. With the Sword of Sharpness I’d make the enemy whistle! Drive on, Jack.’ ‘“As a prins in distress, I apeal to your valler, so renouned in Europe. I am kept out of my own; my royal father, King Gems,” – well, this is the worst spelling I ever saw in my life! He means King James,30 – “my royal father, King Gems, being druv into exile by a crewl Usurper, the Elector of Hannover.31 King Gems is old, and likes a quiat life; but I am determined to make an effort, if I go alone, and Europe shall here of Prince Charles. Having heard – as who has not? – of your royal Highness’s courage and sordsmanship, I throw myself at your feet, and implore you to asist a prins in distres. Let our sords be drawn together in the caus of freedom and an outraged country, my own. I remain, Prins and dear Cuzen, CHARLES, P. W.”’

176 172

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘P. W. means Prince of Wales,’ added Jaqueline. ‘He is turned out of England, you know, and lives at Rome with his father.’ ‘I like that chap,’ said Prince Ricardo. ‘He does not spell very well, as you say, but I sometimes make mistakes myself; and I like his spirit. I’ve been looking out for an adventure; but the big game is getting shy, and my sword rusts in his scabbard. I’ll tell you what, Jack – I’ve an idea! I’ll put him on the throne of his fathers; it’s as easy as shelling peas: and as for that other fellow, the Elector, I’ll send him back to Hanover, wherever that may be, and he can go on electing, and polling his vote in peace and quietness, at home. Just wait till I spot the places.’ The prince ran up to the turret, fetched the magic spy-glass, and looked up London, Rome, and Hanover, as you would in a map. ‘Well, Dick, but how do you mean to do it?’ ‘Do it? – nothing simpler! I just take my Seven-league Boots, run over to Rome, pick up Prince Charles, put him on the magic carpet, fly to London, clap the Cap of Darkness on him so that nobody can see him, set him down on the throne of his fathers;32 pick up the Elector, carry him over to his beloved Hanover, and the trick is done – what they call a bloodless revolution in the history books.’ ‘But if the English don’t like Prince Charles when they get him?’ ‘Like him? they’re sure to like him, a young fellow like that! Besides, I’ll take the sword with me in case of accidents.’ ‘But, Dick, it is your father’s rule that you are never to meddle in the affairs of other countries, and never to start on an expedition when he is not at home.’ ‘Oh, he won’t mind this time! There’s no kind of danger; and I’m sure he will approve of the principle of the thing. Kings must stick up for each other. Why, some electing characters might come here and kick us out!’ ‘Your father is not the sort of king who is kicked out,’ said Jaqueline. But there was no use in talking to Dick. He made his simple preparations, and announced that he would be back in time for luncheon. What was poor Jaqueline to do? She was extremely anxious. She knew, as we saw, what King Prigio had intended about changing the fairy things for others that would not work. She was certain Dick would get himself into a scrape; how was she to help him? She made up her mind quickly, while Dick was putting his things together. She told the queen (it was the nearest to the truth she could think of ) that she ‘was going for a turn with Dick.’ Then she changed herself into a mosquito – a kind of gnat that bites – and hid herself under a fold of Dick’s coat. Of course he knew nothing about

177 173

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

her being there. Then he started off in his Seven-league Boots, and before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ he was in Rome, in the grounds of a splendid palace called the Villa Borghese.33 There he saw an elderly gentleman, in a great curled wig, sound asleep on a seat beneath a tree. The old gentleman had a long, pale, melancholy face, and across his breast was a broad blue ribbon with a star. Ah! how changed was King James from the handsome Prince who had loved fair Beatrix Esmond,34 thirty years ago! Near him were two boys, not quite so old as Prince Ricardo. The younger was a pretty dark boy, with a funny little roundabout white wig. He was splendidly dressed in a light-blue silk coat; a delicate little lace scarf was tied round his neck; he had lace ruffles falling about his little ringed hands; he had a pretty sword, with a gold handle set with diamonds – in fact, he was the picture of a little dandy.35 The other lad had a broad Scotch bonnet on, and no wig; beautiful silky yellow locks fell about his shoulders. He had laid his sword on the grass. He was dressed in tartan, which Ricardo had never seen before; and he wore a kilt, which was also new to Ricardo, who wondered at his bare legs – for he was wearing shoes with no stockings. In his hand he held a curious club, with a long, slim handle, and a head made heavy with lead, and defended with horn. With this he was aiming at a little white ball; and suddenly he swung up the club and sent the ball out of sight in the air, over several trees. Prince Ricardo stepped up to this boy, took off his cap, and said: ‘I think I have the honour of addressing the Prince of Wales?’ Prince Charles started at the sight of a gentleman in long riding-boots, girt with a broadsword, which was not then generally worn, and carrying a Persian rug under his arm. ‘That is what I am called, sir,’ he said, ‘by those who give me the title which is mine by right. May I inquire the reason which offers me the pleasure of this unexpected interview?’ ‘Oh, I’m Ricardo of Pantouflia!’ says Dick. ‘I had a letter from you this morning, and I believe you wanted to see me.’ ‘From Pantouflia, sir,’ said Prince Charles; ‘why, that is hundreds of leagues away!’ ‘It is a good distance,’ said Dick; ‘but a mere step when you wear Seven-league Boots, like mine.’ ‘My dear prince,’ said Charles, throwing himself into his arms with rapture, and kissing him in the Italian fashion, which Dick did not half like, ‘you are, indeed, worthy of your reputation; and these are the celebrated Seven-league Boots? Harry,’36 he cried to his brother, ‘come here at once and let me present you to his Royal Highness, our illustrious

178 174

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

ally, Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia. The Duke of York – Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia. Gentlemen, know each other!’ The prince bowed in the most stately manner. ‘I say,’ said Dick, who was seldom at all up to the standard of royal conversation, ‘what’s that game you were playing? It’s new to me. You sent the ball a tremendous long shot.’ ‘The game is called golf,37 and is the favourite pastime of my loyal Scottish subjects,’ said Prince Charles. ‘For that reason, that I may be able to share the amusements of my people, whom I soon hope to lead to a glorious victory, followed by a peaceful and prosperous reign, I am acquiring a difficult art. I’m practising walking without stockings, too, to harden my feet,’ he said, in a more familiar tone of voice. ‘I fancy there are plenty of long marches before me, and I would not be a spear’s length behind the hardiest Highlander.’ ‘By Jove! I respect you,’ said Dick, with the greatest sincerity; ‘but I don’t think, with me on your side, you will need to make many marches. It will all be plain sailing.’ ‘Pray explain your plan,’ said Prince Charles. ‘The task of conquering back the throne of my fathers is not so simple as you seem to suppose.’ ‘I’ve done a good many difficult things,’ said Dick, modestly. ‘The conqueror of the magician, Gorgonzola, and the Giant Who never Knew when he had Enough, need not tell me that,’ said Prince Charles, with a courteous allusion to two of Ricardo’s most prodigious adventures. ‘Oh! I’ve very little to be proud of, really,’ said Dick, blushing; ‘anyone could do as much with my fairy things, of which, no doubt, you have heard. With a Sword of Sharpness and a Cap of Darkness, and so forth, you have a great pull over almost anything.’ ‘And you really possess those talismans?’ said the prince. ‘Certainly I do. You see how short a time I took in coming to your call from Pantouflia.’ ‘And has Holy Church,’ asked the Duke of York, with anxiety, ‘given her sanction and her blessing to those instruments of an art, usually, in her wisdom, forbidden?’ ‘Oh, never mind Holy Church, Harry!’ said Prince Charles. ‘This is business. Besides, the English are Protestants.’ ‘I pray for their conversion daily,’ said the Duke of York. ‘The end justifies the means, you know,’ answered Prince Charles. ‘All’s fair in love and war.’ ‘I should think so,’ said Ricardo, ‘especially against those brutes of Electors; they give trouble at home sometimes.’

179 175

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘You, too, are plagued with an Elector?’ asked Prince Charles. ‘An Elector? thousands of them!’ answered Dick, who never could understand anything about politics. Prince Charles looked puzzled, but requested Dick to explain his great plan. They sat down on the grass, and Ricardo showed them how he meant to manage it, just as he had told Jaqueline. As he said, nothing could be simpler. ‘Let’s start at once,’ he said, and, inducing Prince Charles to sit down on the magic carpet, he cried: ‘England! St. James’s Palace!’38 But nothing happened! The carpet was not the right magic carpet, but the one which King Prigio had put in its place. ‘Get on! England, I said!’ cried Dick. Figure 6. Gordon Browne, from Prince Ricardo (1893). Ricardo endeavours to transport Prince Charles Edward Stuart to London on his magic carpet so he can make his claim to the British throne. In a letter written during the preparation of Prince Ricardo Lang tells Browne that he has ‘an engraving of Prince Charles Stuart as a boy, which represents the costume that is correct’ and invites Browne to his house or to Lords cricket ground to see it. See Letter to Gordon Browne, 18 June [1893], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MSPR4867. C7. MS1394.

180

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

But there they remained, under the chestnut tree, sitting on the carpet above the flowery grass. Prince Charles leaped to his feet; his face like fire, his eyes glowing. ‘Enough of this fooling, sir!’ he said. ‘It is easy, but cowardly, to mock at an unfortunate prince. Take your carpet and be off with you, out of the gardens, or your shoulders shall taste my club.’ ‘There has been some mistake,’ Ricardo said; ‘the wrong carpet has been brought by accident, or the carpet has lost its power.’ ‘In this sacred city, blessed by the presence of his Holiness the Pope, and the relics of so many martyrs and saints, magic may well cease to be potent,’ said the Duke of York. ‘Nonsense! You are an impostor, sir! Leave my presence!’ cried Prince Charles, lifting his golf-club. Dick caught it out of his hand, and broke across his knee as fine a driver as ever came from Robertson’s shop at St. Andrew’s.39 ‘The quarrels of princes are not settled with clubs, sir! Draw and defend yourself!’ he said, kicking off his boots and standing in his socks on the grass. Think of the horror of poor Jaqueline, who witnessed this terrible scene of passion from a fold in Prince Ricardo’s dress! What could the girl do to save the life of two princes, the hopes of one nation, and of a respectable minority in another? In a moment Prince Charles’s rapier was shining in the sunlight, and he fell on guard in the most elegant attitude, his left hand gracefully raised and curved. Dick drew his sword, but, as suddenly, threw it down again. ‘Hang it!’ he exclaimed, ‘I can’t hit you with this! This is the Sword of Sharpness; it would cut through your steel and your neck at a touch.’ He paused, and thought. ‘Let me beseech your Royal Highness,’ he said to the Duke of York, who was in a terrible taking, ‘to lend your blade to a hand not less royal than your own.’ ‘Give him it, Hal!’ said Prince Charles, who was standing with the point of his sword on the ground, and the blade bent. ‘He seems to believe in his own nonsense.’ The duke yielded his sword; Dick took it, made a flourish, and rushed at Prince Charles. Now Ricardo had always neglected his fencing lessons. ‘Where’s the good of it,’ he used to ask, ‘all that stamping, and posture-making, and ha-haing? The Sword of Sharpness is enough for me.’ But now he could not, in honour, use the Sword of Sharpness; so on

181 177

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

he came, waving the rapier like a claymore,40 and made a slice at Prince Charles’s head. The prince, very much surprised, parried in prime, riposted, and touched Dick on the hand. 41 At this moment the Princess Jaqueline did what she should have thought of sooner. She flew out of Dick’s coat, and stung old King James on his royal nose. The king wakened, nearly crushed the princess (so dangerous is the practice of magic to the artist), and then leaped up, and saw Dick’s blade flying through the air, glittering in the sun. The prince had disarmed him. ‘Hullo! what’s all this? A moi, mes gardes!’42 cried the old king, in French and English; and then he ran up, just in time to hear Prince Charles say: ‘Sir, take your life! I cannot strike an unarmed man. A prince you may be, but you have not learned the exercises of gentlemen.’ ‘What is all this, Carluccio?’43 asked the old king. ‘Swords out! brawling in my very presence! blood drawn!’ for Dick’s hand was bleeding a good deal. Prince Charles, as briefly as possible, explained the unusual nature of the circumstances. ‘A king must hear both sides,’ said King James. ‘What reply have you, sir, to make to his Royal Highness’s statements?’ ‘The carpet would not work, sir,’ said Dick. ‘It never happened before. Had I used my own sword,’ and he explained its properties, ‘the Prince of Wales would not be alive to tell his story. I can say no more, beyond offering my apology for a disappointment which I could not have foreseen. A gentleman can only say that he is sorry. But wait!’ he added; ‘I can at least prove that my confidence in some of my resources is not misplaced. Bid me bring you something – anything – from the ends of the earth, and it shall be in your hands. I can’t say fairer.’ King James reflected, while Prince Ricardo was pulling on the Seven-league Boots, which he had kicked off to fight more freely, and while the Duke of York bandaged Dick’s hand with a kerchief. ‘Bring me,’ said his Majesty, ‘Lord Lovat’s snuff-mull.’44 ‘Where does he live?’ said Dick. ‘At Gortuleg,45 in Scotland,’ answered King James. Dick was out of sight before the words were fairly spoken, and in ten minutes was back, bearing a large ram’s-horn snuff-box, with a big cairngorm46 set in the top, and the Frazer arms. ‘Most astonishing!’ said King James. ‘A miracle!’ said the Duke of York.

182 178

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘You have entirely cleared your character,’ said the king. ‘Your honour is without a stain, though it is a pity about the carpet. Your nobility in not using your magical sword, under the greatest provocation, reconciles me to this fresh blighting of my hopes. All my allies fail me,’ said the poor king with a sigh; ‘you alone have failed with honour. Carluccio, embrace the prince!’ They fell into each other’s arms. ‘Prince,’ said Dick, ‘you have taught me a lesson for which I shall not be ungrateful. With any blade a gentleman should be able to hold his own in fair fight. I shall no longer neglect my fencing lessons.’ ‘With any blade,’ said Prince Charles, ‘I shall be happy to find Prince Ricardo by my side in a stricken field. We shall not part till I have induced you to accept a sword which I can never hope to draw against another adversary so noble. In war, my weapon is the claymore.’ Here the prince offered to Ricardo the ruby-studded hilt of his rapier, which had a beautiful white shark-skin sheath. ‘You must accept it, sir,’ said King James; ‘the hilt holds the rubies of John Sobieski.’47 ‘Thank you, prince,’ said Ricardo, ‘for the weapon, which I shall learn to wield; and I entreat you to honour me by receiving this fairy gift – which you do not need – a ring which makes all men faithful to the wearer.’48 The Prince of Wales bowed, and placed the talisman on his finger. Ricardo then, after a few words of courtesy on both parts, picked up his useless carpet, took his farewell of the royal party, and, with Jaqueline still hidden under his collar, returned at full speed, but with a heavy heart, to Pantouflia, where the palace gong was just sounding for luncheon. Ricardo never interfered in foreign affairs again, but his ring proved very useful to Prince Charles, as you may have read in history.

CHAPTER VI. Ricardo’s Repentance. The queen, as it happened fortunately, was lunching with one of the ladies of her Court. Ricardo did not come down to luncheon, and Jaqueline ate hers alone; and very mournful she felt. The prince had certainly not come well out of the adventure. He had failed (as all attempts to restore the Stuarts always did); he had been wounded, though he had never received a scratch in any of his earlier exploits; and if his honour

183 179

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

was safe, and his good intentions fully understood, that was chiefly due to Jaqueline, and to the generosity of King James and Prince Charles. ‘I wonder what he’s doing?’ she said to herself, and at last she went up and knocked at Ricardo’s door. ‘Go away,’ he said; ‘I don’t want to see anybody. Who is it?’ ‘It’s only me – Jaqueline.’ ‘Go away! I want nobody.’ ‘Do let me in, dear Dick; I have good news for you,’ said the princess. ‘What is it?’ said Ricardo, unlocking the door. ‘Why do you bother a fellow so?’ He had been crying – his hand obviously hurt him badly; he looked, and indeed he was, very sulky. ‘How did you get on in England, Dick?’ asked the princess, taking no notice of his bandaged hand. ‘Oh, don’t ask me!’ said Ricardo. ‘I’ve not been to England at all.’ ‘Why, what happened?’ ‘Everything that is horrid happened,’ said Dick; and then, unable to keep it any longer to himself, he said: ‘I’ve failed to keep my promise; I’ve been insulted, I’ve been beaten by a fellow younger than myself; and, oh! how my hand does hurt, and I’ve got such a headache! And what am I to say to my mother when she asks why my arm is in a sling? and what will my father say? I’m quite broken down and desperate. I think I’ll run away to sea;’ and indeed he looked very wild and miserable. ‘Tell me how it all happened, Dick,’ said the princess; ‘I’m sure it’s not so bad as you make out. Perhaps I can help you.’ ‘How can a girl help a man?’ cried Dick, angrily; and poor Jaqueline, remembering how she had helped him, at the risk of her own life, when King James nearly crushed her in the shape of a mosquito, turned her head away, and cried silently. ‘I’m a beast,’ said Dick. ‘I beg your pardon, Jack dear. You are always a trump, I will say; but I don’t see what you can do.’

Figure 7. Gordon Browne, from Prince Ricardo (1893). The Princess Jaqueline searches for Ricardo after his return from Rome. At the end of the novel it is discovered that Jaqueline is a South American princess, but otherwise the text and illustrations present her as if she is European.

184 180

selected fiction of andrew lang

185

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Then he told her all the story (which, of course, she knew perfectly well already), except the part played by the mosquito, of which he could not be aware. ‘I was sure it was not so bad as you made it out, Dick,’ she said. ‘You see, the old king, who is not very wise, but is a perfectly honourable gentleman, gave you the highest praise.’ She thought of lecturing him a little about disobeying his father, but it did not seem a good opportunity. Besides, Jaqueline had been lectured herself lately, and had not enjoyed it. ‘What am I to say to my mother?’ Dick repeated. ‘We must think of something to say,’ said Jaqueline. ‘I can’t tell my mother anything but the truth,’ Ricardo went on. ‘Here’s my hand, how it does sting! and she must find out.’ ‘I think I can cure it,’ said Jaqueline. ‘Didn’t you say Prince Charles gave you his own sword?’ ‘Yes, there it is; but what has that to do with it?’ ‘Everything in the world to do with it, my dear Dick. How lucky it is that he gave it to you!’ And she ran to her own room, and brought a beautiful golden casket, which contained her medicines. Taking out a small phial, marked (in letters of emerald): ‘WEAPON SALVE,’ the princess drew the bright sword, extracted a little of the ointment from the phial, and spread it on a soft silk handkerchief. ‘What are you going to do with the sword?’ asked Ricardo. ‘Polish it a little,’ said Jaqueline, smiling, and she began gently to rub, with the salve, the point of the rapier. As she did so, Ricardo’s arm ceased to hurt, and the look of pain passed from his mouth. ‘Why, I feel quite better!’ he said. ‘I can use my hand as well as ever.’ Then he took off the stained handkerchief, and, lo, there was not even a mark where the wound had been! For this was the famous Weapon Salve which you may read about in Sir Kenelm Digby, and which the Lady of Branxholme used, in The Lay of the Last Minstrel.49 But the secret of making it has long been lost, except in Pantouflia. ‘You are the best girl in the world, Jaqueline,’ said Ricardo. ‘You may give me a kiss if you like; and I won’t call you “Jack,” or laugh at you for reading books, any more. There’s something in books after all.’ The princess did not take advantage of Dick’s permission, but ad-

186 182

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

vised him to lie down and try to sleep. ‘I say, though,’ he said, ‘what about my father?’ ‘The king need never be told anything about it,’ said Jaqueline, ‘need he?’ ‘Oh, that won’t do! I tell my father everything; but then, I never had anything like this to tell him before. Don’t you think, Jaqueline, you might break it to him? He’s very fond of you. Just tell him what I told you; it’s every word of it true, and he ought to know. He might see something about it in the Mercure de France.’50 This was the newspaper of the period. ‘I don’t think it will get into the papers,’ said Jaqueline, smiling. ‘Nobody could tell, except the king and the princes, and they have reasons for keeping it to themselves.’ ‘I don’t trust that younger one,’ said Dick, moodily; ‘I don’t care for that young man. Anyway, my father must be told; and, if you won’t, I must.’ ‘Well, I’ll tell him,’ said Jaqueline. ‘And now lie down till evening.’ After dinner, in the conservatory, Jaqueline told King Prigio all about it. His Majesty was very much moved. ‘What extraordinary bad luck that family has!’ he thought. ‘If I had not changed the rug, the merest accident, Prince Charles would have dined at St. James’s to-night, and King George in Hanover. It was the very nearest thing!’ ‘This meddling with practical affairs will never do,’ he said aloud. ‘Dick has had a lesson, sire,’ said the princess. ‘He says he’ll never mix himself up with politics again, whatever happens. And he says he means to study all about them, for he feels frightfully ignorant, and, above all, he means to practise his fencing.’ These remarks were not part of the conversation between Ricardo and Jaqueline, but she considered that Dick meant all this, and, really, he did. ‘That is well, as far as it goes,’ said the king. ‘But, Jaqueline, about that mosquito?’ for she had told him this part of the adventure. ‘That was a very convenient mosquito, though I don’t know how Dick was able to observe it from any distance. I see your hand in that, my dear, and I am glad you can make such kind and wise use of the lessons of the good Fairy Paribanou. Jaqueline,’ he added solemnly, laying his hand on her head, ‘You have saved the honour of Pantouflia, which is dearer to me than life. Without your help, I tremble to think what might have occurred.’

187 183

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

The princess blushed very much, and felt very happy. ‘Now run away to the queen, my dear,’ said his Majesty, ‘I want to think things over.’ He did think them over, and the more he thought the more he felt the inconvenience attending the possession of fairy things. ‘An eclipse one day, as nearly as possible a revolution soon after!’ he said to himself. ‘But for Jaqueline, Ricardo’s conduct would have been blazed abroad, England would have been irritated. It is true she cannot get at Pantouflia very easily; we have no sea-coast, and we are surrounded by friendly countries. But it would have been a ticklish and discreditable position. I must really speak to Dick,’ which he did next morning after breakfast. ‘You have broken my rules, Ricardo,’ he said. ‘True, there is no great harm done, and you have confessed frankly; but how am I to trust you any longer?’ ‘I’ll give you my sacred word of honour, father, that I’ll never meddle with politics again, or start on an expedition, without telling you. I have had enough of it. And I’ll turn over a new leaf. I’ve learned to be ashamed of my ignorance; and I’ve sent for Francalanza, and I’ll fence every day, and read like anything.’ ‘Very good,’ said the king. ‘I believe you mean what you say. Now go to your fencing lesson.’ ‘But, I say, father,’ cried Ricardo, ‘was it not strange about the magic carpet?’ ‘I told you not to trust to these things,’ said the king. ‘Some enchanter may have deprived it of its power, it may be worn out, someone may have substituted a common Persian rug; anything may happen. You must learn to depend on yourself. Now, be off with you, I’m busy. And remember, you don’t stir without my permission.’ The prince ran off, and presently the sounds of stamping feet and ‘un, deux; doublez, dégagez, vite; contre de carte,’51 and so forth, might be heard over a great part of the royal establishment.

CHAPTER VII. Prince Ricardo and an Old Enemy. ‘There is one brute I wish I could get upsides with,’ said Ricardo, at breakfast one morning, his mouth full of sardine. ‘Really, Ricardo, your language is most unprincely,’ said his august father; ‘I am always noticing it. You mean, I suppose, that there is one

188 184

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

enemy of the human race whom you wish to abolish. What is the name of the doomed foe?’ ‘Well, he is the greatest villain in history,’ said Ricardo. ‘You must have read about him, sir, the Yellow Dwarf.’52 ‘Yes, I have certainly studied what is told us about him,’ said the king. ‘He is no favourite of mine.’ ‘He is the only one, if you notice, sir, of all the scoundrels about whom our ancestors inform us, who escaped the doom which he richly merited at the sword of a good knight.’ You may here remark that, since Dick took to his studies, he could speak, when he chose, like a printed book, which was by no means the case before. ‘If you remember, sir, he polished off – I mean, he slew – the King of the Golden Mines and the beautiful, though frivolous, Princess Frutilla.53 All that the friendly Mermaid could do for them was to turn them into a pair of beautiful trees which intertwine their branches. Not much use in that, sir! And nothing was done to the scoundrel. He may be going on still; and, with your leave, I’ll go and try a sword-thrust with him. Francalanza says I’m improving uncommon.’ ‘You’ll take the usual Sword of Sharpness,’ said his Majesty. ‘What, sir, to a dwarf? Not I, indeed: a common small sword is good enough to settle him.’ ‘They say he is very cunning of fence,’ said the king; ‘and besides, I have heard something of a diamond sword that he stole from the King of the Golden Mines.’54 ‘Very likely he has lost it or sold it, the shabby little miscreant; however, I’ll risk it. And now I must make my preparations.’ The king did not ask what they were; as a rule, they were simple. But, being in the shop of the optician that day, standing with his back to the door, he heard Dick come in and order a pair of rose-coloured spectacles, with which he was at once provided. The people of Pantouflia were accustomed to wear them, saying that they improved the complexions of ladies whom they met, and added cheerfulness to things in general. ‘Just plain rose-coloured glass, Herr Spex,’ said Dick, ‘I’m not short-sighted.’ ‘The boy is beginning to show some sense,’ said the king to himself, knowing the nature and the difficulties of the expedition. Ricardo did not disguise his intention of taking with him a Dandie Dinmont terrier, named Pepper,55 and the king, who understood the motive of this precaution, silently approved.

189 185

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘The lad has come to some purpose and forethought,’ the king said, and he gladly advanced a considerable sum for the purchase of crocodiles’ eggs, which can rarely be got quite fresh. When Jaqueline had made the crocodiles’ eggs, with millet-seed and sugar-candy, into a cake for the Dwarf ’s lions,56 Ricardo announced that his preparations were complete. Not to be the mere slave of custom, he made this expedition on horseback, and the only magical thing he took with him was the Cap of Darkness (the one which would not work, but he did not know that), and this he put in his pocket for future use. With plenty of egg sandwiches and marmalade sandwiches, and cold minced-collop sandwiches, he pricked forth into the wilderness, making for the country inhabited by the Yellow Dwarf. The princess was glad he was riding, for she privately accompanied him in the disguise of a wasp; and a wasp, of course, could not have kept up with him in his Seven-league Boots. ‘Hang that wops!’ said Prince Ricardo several times, buffeting it with his pocket-handkerchief when it buzzed in his ear and round his horse’s head. Meanwhile, King Prigio had taken his precautions, which were perfectly simple. When he thought Ricardo was getting near the place, the king put on his Wishing Cap, sat down before the magic crystal ball, and kept his eye on the proceedings, being ready to wish the right thing to help Ricardo at the right moment. He left the window wide open, smoked his cigar, and seemed the pattern of a good and wise father watching the conduct of a promising son. The prince rode and rode, sometimes taking up Pepper on his saddle; passing through forests, sleeping at lonely inns, fording rivers, till one day he saw that the air was becoming Yellow. He knew that this showed the neighbourhood of Jaunia, or Daunia,57 the country of the Yellow Dwarf. He therefore drew bridle, placed his rose-coloured spectacles on his nose and put spurs to his horse, for the yellow light of Jaunia makes people melancholy and cowardly. As he pricked on, his horse stumbled and nearly came on its nose. The prince noticed that a steel chain had been drawn across the road. ‘What caitiff has dared!’ he exclaimed, when his hat was knocked off by a well-aimed orange from a neighbouring orange-tree, and a vulgar voice squeaked: ‘Hi, Blinkers!’58 There was the Yellow Dwarf, an odious little figure, sitting sucking an orange in the tree, swinging his wooden shoes, and grinning all over his wrinkled face.

190 186

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘Well, young Blinkers!’ said the Dwarf, ‘what are you doing on my grounds? You’re a prince, by your look. Yah! down with kings! I’m a man of the people!’ ‘You’re a dwarf of the worst description, that’s what you are,’ said Ricardo; ‘and let me catch you, and I’ll flog the life out of you with my riding-whip!’ The very face of the Dwarf, even seen through rose-coloured spectacles, made him nearly ill. ‘Yes, when you can catch me,’ said the Dwarf; ‘but that’s not to-day, nor yet to-morrow. What are you doing here? Are you an ambassador, maybe come to propose a match for me? I’m not proud, I’ll hear you. They say there’s a rather well-looking wench in your parts, the Princess Jaqueline – ’ ‘Mention that lady’s name, you villain,’ cried Dick, ‘and I’ll cut down your orange-tree!’ and he wished he had brought the Sword of Sharpness, for you cannot prod down a tree with the point of a rapier. ‘Fancy her yourself?’ said the Dwarf, showing his yellow teeth with a detestable grin; while Ricardo turned quite white with anger, and not knowing how to deal with this insufferable little monster. ‘I’m a widower, I am,’ said the Dwarf, ‘though I’m out of mourning,’ for he wore a dirty clay-coloured Yellow jacket. ‘My illustrious consort, the Princess Frutilla, did not behave very nice, and I had to avenge my honour; in fact, I’m open to any offers, however humble. Going at an alarming sacrifice! Come to my box’ (and he pointed to a filthy clay cottage, all surrounded by thistles, nettles, and black boggy water), ‘and I’ll talk over your proposals.’ ‘Hold your impudent tongue!’ said Dick. ‘The Princess Frutilla was an injured saint; and as for the lady whom I shall not name in your polluting presence, I am her knight, and I defy you to deadly combat!’ We may imagine how glad the princess was when (disguised as a wasp) she heard Dick say he was her knight; not that, in fact, he had thought of it before. ‘Oh! you’re for a fight, are you?’ sneered the Dwarf. ‘I might tell you to hit one of your own weight, but I’m not afraid of six of you. Yah! mammy’s brat! Look here, young Blinkers, I don’t want to hurt you. Just turn old Dobbin’s head, and trot back to your mammy, Queen Rosalind, at Pantouflia. Does she know you’re out?’ ‘I’ll be into you, pretty quick,’ said Ricardo. ‘But why do I bandy words with a miserable peasant?’ ‘And don’t get much the best of them either,’ said the Dwarf, provokingly. ‘But I’ll fight, if you will have it.’

191 187

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

The prince leaped from his horse, leaving Pepper on the saddle-bow. No sooner had he touched the ground than the Dwarf shouted: ‘Hi! to him, Billy! to him, Daniel! at him, good lions, at him!’ and, with an awful roar, two lions rushed from a neighbouring potato-patch and made for Ricardo. These were not ordinary lions, history avers, each having two heads, each being eight feet high, with four rows of teeth; their skins as hard as nails, and bright red, like morocco.* The prince did not lose his presence of mind; hastily he threw the cake of crocodiles’ eggs, millet-seed, and sugar-candy to the lions. This is a dainty which lions can never resist, and running greedily at it, with four tremendous snaps, they got hold of each other by their jaws, and their eight rows of teeth were locked fast in a grim and deadly struggle for existence! The Dwarf took in the affair at a glance. ‘Cursed be he who taught you this!’ he cried, and then whistled in a shrill and vulgar manner on his very dirty fingers. At his call rushed up an enormous Spanish cat, ready saddled and bridled, and darting fire from its eyes. To leap on its back, while Ricardo sprang on his own steed, was to the active Dwarf the work of a moment. Then clapping spurs to its sides (his spurs grew naturally on his bare heels, horrible to relate, like a cock’s spurs) and taking his cat by the head, the Dwarf forced it to leap on to Ricardo’s saddle. The diamond sword which slew the king of the Golden Mines – that invincible sword which hews iron like a reed – was up and flashing in the air! At this very moment King Prigio, seeing, in the magic globe, all that passed, and despairing of Ricardo’s life, was just about to wish the dwarf at Jericho, when through the open window, with a tremendous whirr, came a huge vulture, and knocked the king’s wishing cap off! Wishing was now of no use. This odious fowl was the Fairy of the Desert,59 the Dwarf ’s trusted ally in every sort of mischief. The vulture flew instantly out of the window; and ah! with what awful anxiety the king again turned his eyes on the crystal ball only a parent’s heart can know. Should he see Ricardo bleeding at the feet of the abominable dwarf? The king scarcely dared to look; never before had he known the nature of fear. However, look he did, and saw the dwarf un-catted, and Pepper, the gallant Dandie Dinmont, with his teeth in the throat of the monstrous Spanish cat. No sooner had he seen the cat leap on his master’s saddle-bow than Pepper, true to the instinct of his race, sprang at its neck, just behind the *

192 188

See the works of D’Aulnoy

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

head – the usual place, – and, with an awful and despairing mew, the cat (Peter was its name) gave up its life. The dwarf was on his feet in a moment, waving the diamond sword, which lighted up the whole scene, and yelling taunts. Pepper was flying at his heels, and, with great agility, was keeping out of the way of the invincible blade. ‘Ah!’ screamed the Dwarf as Pepper got him by the ankle. ‘Call off your dog, you coward, and come down off your horse, and fight fair!’ At this moment, bleeding yellow blood, dusty, mad with pain, the dwarf was a sight to strike terror into the boldest. Dick sprang from his saddle, but so terrific was the appearance of his adversary, and so dazzling was the sheen of the diamond sword, that he put his hand in his pocket, drew out, as he supposed, the sham Cap of Darkness, and placed it on his head. ‘Yah! who’s your hatter?’ screamed the infuriated dwarf. ‘I see you!’ and he disengaged, feinted in carte, and made a lunge in seconde60 at Dick which no mortal blade could have parried. The prince (thanks to his excellent training) just succeeded in stepping aside, but the dwarf recovered with astonishing quickness. ‘Coward, lâche,61 poltroon, runaway!’ he hissed through his clenched teeth, and was about to make a thrust in tierce62 which must infallibly have been fatal, when the Princess Jaqueline, in her shape as a wasp, stung him fiercely on the wrist. With an oath so awful that we dare not set it down, the dwarf dropped the diamond sword, sucked his injured limb, and began hopping about with pain. In a moment Prince Ricardo’s foot was on the blade of the diamond sword, which he passed thrice through the body of the Yellow Dwarf. Squirming fearfully, the little monster expired, his last look a defiance, his latest word an insult: ‘Yah! Gig-lamps!’63 Prince Ricardo wiped the diamond blade clean from its yellow stains. ‘Princess Frutilla is avenged!’ he cried. Then pensively looking at his fallen foe, ‘Peace to his ashes,’ he said; ‘he died in harness!’64 Turning at the word, he observed that the two lions were stiff and dead, locked in each other’s gory jaws! At that moment King Prigio, looking in the crystal ball, gave a great sigh of relief. ‘All’s well that ends well,’ he said, lighting a fresh cigar, for he had allowed the other to go out in his excitement, ‘but it was a fight! I am not

193 189

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

satisfied,’ his Majesty went on reflecting, ‘with this plan of changing the magical articles. The first time was of no great importance, and I could not know that the boy would start on an expedition without giving me warning. But, in to-day’s affair he owes his safety entirely to himself and Pepper,’ for he had not seen the wasp. ‘The Fairy of the Desert quite baffled me: it was terrible. I shall restore the right fairy things to-night. As to the Fairy of the Desert,’ he said, forgetting that his Wishing Cap was on, ‘I wish she were dead!’ A hollow groan and the sound of a heavy body falling interrupted the king. He looked all about the room, but saw nothing. He was alone! ‘She must have been in the room, invisible,’ said the king; and, of course, she has died in that condition. ‘But I must find her body!’ The king groped about everywhere, like a blind man, and at last discovered the dead body of the wicked fairy lying on the sofa. He could not see it, of course, but he felt it with his hands. ‘This is very awkward,’ he remarked. ‘I cannot ring for the servants and make them take her away. There is only one plan.’ So he wished she were in her family pyramid, in the Egyptian desert,65 and in a second the sofa was unoccupied. ‘A very dangerous and revengeful enemy is now removed from Ricardo’s path in life,’ said his Majesty, and went to dress for dinner. Meanwhile Ricardo was riding gaily home. The yellow light of Jaunia had vanished, and pure blue sky broke overhead as soon as the dauntless Dwarf had drawn his latest breath. The poor, trembling people of the country came out of their huts and accompanied Dick, cheering, and throwing roses which had been yellow roses, but blushed red as soon as the Dwarf expired. They attended him to the frontiers of Pantouflia, singing his praises, which Ricardo had the new and inestimable pleasure of knowing to be deserved. ‘It was sharp work,’ he said to himself, ‘but much more exciting and glorious than the usual business.’ On his return Dick did not fail to mention the wasp, and again the king felt how great was his debt to Jaqueline. But they did not think it well to trouble the good queen with the dangers Dick had encountered.

194 190

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

CHAPTER VIII. The Giant who does not know when he has had Enough.*66 One morning the post brought a truly enormous letter for Dick. It was as broad as a table-cloth, and the address was written in letters as long as a hoop-stick. ‘I seem to know that hand,’ said Ricardo; ‘but I thought the fingers which held the pen had long been cold in death.’ He opened, with his sword, the enormous letter, which was couched in the following terms: ‘The Giant as does not know when he has had enuf, presents his compliments to Prince Ricardo; and I, having recovered from the effects of our little recent rally, will be happy to meet you in the old place for a return-match. I not being handy with the pen, the Giant hopes you will excuse mistakes and bad writing.’ Dick simply gazed with amazement. ‘If ever I thought an enemy was killed and done for, it was that Giant,’ said he. ‘Why, I made mere mince-collops of him!’ However, he could not refuse a challenge, not to speak of his duty to rid the world of so greedy and odious a tyrant. Dick, therefore, took the usual things (which the king had secretly restored), but first he tried them – putting on the Cap of Darkness before the glass, in which he could not see himself. On second thoughts, he considered it unfair to take the cap. All the other articles were in working order. Jaqueline on this occasion followed him in the disguise of a crow, flying overhead. On reaching the cavern – a huge tunnel in the rock – where the Giant lived, Ricardo blew a blast on the horn which hung outside, and, in obedience to a written notice, knocked also with a mace provided by the Giant for that purpose. Presently he heard heavy footsteps sounding along the cavern, and the Giant came out. He was above the common height for giants, and his whole face and body were seamed over with little red lines, crossing each other like tartan. These were marks of encounters, in which he had been cut to bits and come together again; for this was his peculiarity, which made him so dangerous. If you cut off his head, he went on just as before, only without it; and so about everything else. By dint of magic, he could put his head on again, just as if it had been his hat, if you gave him time enough. On the last occasion of their meeting, Ricardo had left him in a painfully scattered condition, and * This Giant is mentioned, and his picture is drawn, in an old manuscript of about 1875.

195 191

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

thought he was done for. But now, except that a bird had flown away with the little finger of his left hand and one of his ears, the Giant was as comfortable as anyone could be in his situation. ‘Mornin’ sir,’ he said to Dick, touching his forehead with his hand. ‘Glad to see you looking so well. No bad feeling, I hope, on either side?’ ‘None on mine, certainly,’ said Ricardo, holding out his hand, which the Giant took and shook; ‘but Duty is Duty, and giants must go. The modern world has no room for them.’ ‘That’s hearty,’ said the Giant; ‘I like a fellow of your kind. Now, shall we toss for corners?’ ‘All right!’ said Dick, calling ‘Heads’ and winning. He took the corner with the sun on his back and in the Giant’s face. To it they went, the Giant aiming a blow with his club that would have felled an elephant. Dick dodged, and cut off the Giant’s feet at the ankles. ‘First blood for the prince!’ said the Giant, coming up smiling. ‘Half-minute time!’ He occupied the half-minute in placing the feet neatly beside each other, as if they had been a pair of boots. Round II. – The Giant sparring for wind, Ricardo cuts him in two at the waist. The Giant folded his legs up neatly, like a pair of trousers, and laid them down on a rock. He had now some difficulty in getting rapidly over the ground, and stood mainly on the defensive, and on his waist. Round III. – Dick bisects the Giant. Both sides now attack him on either hand, and the feet kick him severely. ‘No kicking!’ said Dick. ‘Nonsense; all fair in war!’ said the Giant. But do not let us pursue this sanguinary encounter in all its horrible details. Let us also remember – otherwise the scene would be too painful for an elegant mind to contemplate with entertainment – that the Giant was in excellent training, and thought no more of a few wounds than you do of a crack on the leg from a cricket-ball. He well deserved the title given him by the Fancy, of ‘The Giant who does not Know when he has had Enough.’ *****

The contest was over; Dick was resting on a rock. The lists were strewn with interesting but imperfect fragments of the Giant, when a set of double teeth of enormous size flew up out of the ground and caught

196 192

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

Ricardo by the throat! In vain he strove to separate the teeth, when the crow, stooping from the heavens, became the Princess Jaqueline, and changed Dick into a wren – a tiny bird, so small that he easily flew out of the jaws of the Giant and winged his way to a tree, whence he watched the scene. But the poor Princess Jaqueline! To perform the feat of changing Dick into a bird she had, of course, according to all the laws of magic, to resume her own natural form! There she stood, a beautiful, trembling maiden, her hands crossed on her bosom, entirely at the mercy of the Giant! No sooner had Dick escaped than the monster began to collect himself; and before Jaqueline could muster strength to run away or summon to her aid the lessons of the Fairy Paribanou, the Giant who never Knew when he had Enough was himself again. A boy might have climbed up a tree (for giants are no tree-climbers, any more than the grizzly bear), but Jaqueline could not climb. She merely stood, pale and trembling. She had saved Dick, but at an enormous sacrifice, for the sword and the Seven-league Boots were lying on the trampled grass. He had not brought the Cap of Darkness, and, in the shape of a wren, of course he could not carry away the other articles. Dick was rescued, that was all, and the Princess Jaqueline had sacrificed herself to her love for him. The Giant picked himself up and pulled himself together, as we said, and then approached Jaqueline in a very civil way, for a person of his breeding, head in hand. ‘Let me introduce myself,’ he said, and mentioned his name and titles. ‘May I ask what you are doing here, and how you came?’ Poor Jaqueline threw herself at his feet, and murmured a short and not very intelligible account of herself. ‘I don’t understand,’ said the Giant, replacing his head on his shoulders. ‘What to do with you, I’m sure I don’t know. “Please don’t eat me,” did you say? Why, what do you take me for? I’m not in that line at all; low, I call it!’ Jaqueline was somewhat comforted at these words, dropped out of the Giant’s lips from a considerable height. ‘But they call you “The Giant who does not Know when he has had Enough,”’ said Jaqueline. ‘And proud of the title: not enough of fighting. Of punishment I am a glutton, or so my friends are pleased to say. A brace of oxen, a drove of sheep or two, are enough for me,’ the Giant went on complacently, but forgetting to mention that the sheep and the oxen were the property of other people. ‘Where am I to put you till your friends come and pay

197 193

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

your ransom?’ the Giant asked again, and stared at Jaqueline in a perplexed way. ‘I can’t take you home with me, that is out of the question. I have a little woman of my own, and she’s not very fond of other ladies; especially, she would like to poison them that have good looks.’ Now Jaqueline saw that the Giant, big as he was, courageous too, was afraid of his wife! ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll hand you over to a neighbour of mine, who is a bachelor.’ ‘A bachelor giant; would that be quite proper?’ said Jaqueline, trying to humour him. ‘He’s not a giant, bless you; he’s a queer fellow, it is not easy to say what he is. He’s the Earthquaker, him as shakes the earth now and then, and brings the houses about people’s ears.’ Jaqueline fairly screamed at hearing this awful news. ‘Hush! be quiet, do!’ said the Giant. ‘You’ll bring out my little woman, and she is not easy to satisfy with explanations when she finds me conversing with a lady unbeknown to her. The Earthquaker won’t do you any harm; it’s only for safe keeping I’ll put you with him. Why, he don’t waken, not once in fifty years. He’s quite the dormouse. Turns on his bed now and then, and things upstairs get upset, more or less; but, as a rule, a child could play with him. Come on!’ Then, taking Jaqueline up on one hand, on which she sat as if on a chair, he crossed a few ranges of mountains in as many strides. In front was one tall blue hill, with a flattened peak, and as they drew near the princess felt a curious kind of wind coming round her and round her. You have heard of whirlpools in water; well, this was just like a whirlpool of air. Even the Giant himself could hardly keep his legs against it; then he tossed Jaqueline up, and the airy whirlpool seized her and carried her, as if on a tide of water, always round and round in narrowing circles, till she was sucked down into the hollow hill. Even as she went, she seemed to remember the hill, as if she had dreamed about it, and the shape and colour of the country. But presently she sank softly on to a couch, in a beautifully-lighted rocky hall. All around her the floor was of white and red marble, but on one side it seemed to end in black nothing. Jaqueline, after a few moments, recovered her senses fully, and changing herself into an eagle, tried to fly up and out. But as soon as she was in the funnel, the whirlpool of air always sucking down and down, was too strong for her wings. She was a prisoner in this great gleaming hall, ending in black nothingness. So she resumed her usual form, and walking to the edge of the darkness, found that it was not empty air, but

198 194

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

something black, soft, and strong – something living. It had no form or shape, or none that she could make out; but it pulsed with a heart. Jaqueline placed her foot on this curious thing, when a voice came, like thunder heard through a feather-bed: ‘Not near time to get up yet!’ and then there was a snore, and the great hall rocked like a ship at sea. It was the Earthquaker! The habits of this monstrous animal are very little known, as, of course, he never comes above ground, or at least very seldom, when he makes tracks like a dry river-bed across country. We are certain that there are Earthquakers, otherwise how can we account for earthquakes? But how to tackle an Earthquaker, how to get at him, and what to do with him when you have got at him, are questions which might puzzle even King Prigio. It was not easy to have the better of an enchantress like Jaqueline and a prince like Ricardo. In no ordinary circumstances could they have been baffled and defeated; but now it must be admitted that they were in a very trying and alarming situation, especially the princess. The worst of it was, that as Jaqueline sat and thought and thought, she began to remember that she was back in her own country. The hills were those she used to see from her father’s palace windows when she was a child. And she remembered with horror that once a year her people used to send a beautiful girl to the Earthquaker, by way of keeping him quiet,67 as you shall hear presently. And now she heard light footsteps and a sound of weeping, and lo! a great troop of pretty girls passed, sweeping in and out of the halls in a kind of procession, and looking unhappy and lost. Jaqueline ran to them. ‘Where am I? who are you?’ she cried, in the language of her own country, which came back to her on a sudden. ‘We are nurses of the Earthquaker,’ they said. ‘Our duty is to sing him asleep, and every year he must have a new song; and every year a new maiden must be sent down from earth, with a new sleepy song she has learned from the priests of Manoa, the City of the Sun.68 Are you the new singer?’ ‘No, I’m not,’ said Jaqueline. ‘I don’t know the priests of Manoa; I don’t know any new sleepy song. I only want to find the way out.’ ‘There is no way, or we should have found it,’ said one of the maidens; ‘and, if you are the wrong girl, by the day after to-morrow they must send the right one, otherwise the Earthquaker will waken, and shake the world, and destroy Manoa, the City of the Sun.’ Then they all wept softly in the stillness.

199 195

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘Can we get anything to eat here?’ asked poor Jaqueline, at last. She was beginning to be very hungry, and however alarmed she might be, she felt that dinner would not be unwelcome. The tallest of the maidens clapped her hands, and immediately a long table was spread by unseen sprites with méringues and cold chicken, and several sorts of delicious ices. We shall desert Jaqueline, who was rather less alarmed when she found that she was not to be starved, at all events, and return to Prince Ricardo, whom we left fluttering about as a little golden-crested wren. He followed the Giant and Jaqueline into the whirlpool of air as far as he dared, and when he saw her vanish down the cone of the hill, he flew straight back to Pantouflia.

CHAPTER IX. Prigio has an Idea. A weary and way-worn little bird was Prince Ricardo when he fluttered into the royal study window, in the palace of Pantouflia. The king was out at a council meeting; knowing that Ricardo had the right things, all in good order, he was not in the least anxious about him. The king was out, but Semiramis was in – Semiramis, the great grey cat, sitting on a big book on the top of the library steps. Now Semiramis was very fond of birds, and no sooner did Ricardo enter and flutter on to a table than Semiramis gathered herself together and made one fell spring at him. She just caught his tail feather. In all his adventures the prince had never been in greater danger. He escaped, but no more, and went flying round the ceiling, looking for a safe place. Finally he perched on a chandelier that hung from the roof. Here he was safe; and so weary was he, that he put his head under his wing and fell fast asleep. He was awakened by the return of the king, who threw himself on a sofa and exclaimed: ‘Oh, that Prime Minister! his dulness is as heavy as lead; much heavier, in fact!’ Then his Majesty lit a cigar and took up a volume; he certainly was a sad bookworm. Dick now began to fly about the room, brushing the king’s face and trying to attract his notice. ‘Poor little thing!’ said his Majesty. And Dick alighted, and nestled in his breast. On seeing this, Semiramis began to growl, as cats do when they are angry, and slowly approached his Majesty.

200 196

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘Get out, Semiramis!’ said the king; and lifting her by the neck, he put her out of the room and shut the door, at which she remained scratching and mewing. Dick now crept out of the royal waistcoat, flew to the king’s ear, twittered, pointed out of the window with one claw, and, lying down on his back, pretended to be dead. Then he got up again, twittered afresh, pointed to the Wishing Cap, and, finally, convinced the king that this was no common fowl. ‘An enchanted prince or princess,’ said Prigio, ‘such as I have often read of. Who can it be? Not Jaqueline; she could change herself back in a moment. By the way, where is Jaqueline?’ He rang the bell, and asked the servant to look for the princess. Semiramis tried to come in, but was caught and shut up downstairs. After doing this, the man replied that her Royal Highness had not been in the palace all day. The king rushed to the crystal ball, looked all the world over; but no princess! He became very nervous, and at that moment Dick lighted on the crystal ball, and put his claw on the very hill where Jaqueline had disappeared. Then he cocked his little eye at the king. ‘Nay, she is somewhere in the unknown centre of South America,’ said his Majesty; ‘somewhere behind Mount Roraima,69 where nobody has ever been. I must look into this.’ Then he put on the Wishing Cap, and wished that the bird would assume his natural shape if he was under enchantment, as there seemed too good reason to believe. Instantly Dick stood before him. ‘Ricardo!’ cried the king in horror; ‘and in this disguise! Where have you been? What have you done with Jaqueline? Where are the Seven-league Boots? Where is the Sword of Sharpness? Speak! Get up!’ for Dick was kneeling and weeping bitterly at the royal feet. ‘All lost!’ said Dick. ‘Poor Jaqueline! she was the best girl, and the prettiest, and the kindest. And the Earthquaker’s got her, and the Giant’s got the other things,’ Dick ended, crying bitterly. ‘Calm yourself, Ricardo,’ said his Majesty, very pale, but calm and determined. ‘Here, take a glass of port, and explain how all this happened.’ Dick drank the wine, and then he told his miserable story. ‘You may well sob! Why didn’t you use the Cap of Darkness? Mere conceit! But there is no use in crying over spilt milk. The thing is, to rescue Jaqueline. And what are we to say to your mother?’ ‘That’s the worst of it all,’ said Dick. ‘Mother will break her heart.’

201 197

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘I must see her at once,’ said the king, ‘and break it to her.’ This was a terrible task; but the queen had such just confidence in her Prigio that she soon dried her tears, remarking that Heaven would not desert Jaqueline, and that the king would find a way out of the trouble. His Majesty retired to his study, put his head in his hands, and thought and thought. ‘The thing is, of course,’ he said, ‘to destroy the Earthquaker before he wakens; but how? What can kill such a monster? Prodding him with the sword would only stir him up and make him more vicious. And I know of no other beast we can set against him, as I did with the Firebeast and the Ice-beast, when I was young. Oh, for an idea!’ Then his mind, somehow, went back to the Council and the ponderous stupidity of the Prime Minister. ‘Heavier than lead,’ said the king. ‘By George! I have a plan. If I could get to the place where they keep the Stupidity, I could carry away enough of it to flatten out the Earthquaker.’ Then he remembered how, in an old Italian poem,70 he had read about all the strange lumber-room of odd things which is kept in the moon. That is the advantage of reading: Knowledge is Power; and you mostly get knowledge that is really worth having out of good old books which people do not usually read. ‘If the Stupidity is kept in stock, up in the moon, and comes from there, falling naturally down on the earth in small quantities, I might obtain enough for my purpose,’ thought King Prigio. ‘But – how to get to the moon? There are difficulties about that.’ But difficulties only sharpened the ingenuity of this admirable king. ‘The other fellow had a Flying Horse,’ said he. By ‘the other fellow’ King Prigio meant an Italian knight, Astolfo,71 who, in old times, visited the moon, and there found and brought back the common sense of his friend, Orlando, as you may read in the poem of Ariosto. ‘Now,’ reasoned King Prigio, ‘if there is a Flying Horse at all, he is in the stables of the King of Delhi. I must look into this.’ Taking the magic spy-glass, the king surveyed the world from China to Peru, and, sure enough, there was the famous Flying Horse in the king’s stable at Delhi. Hastily the king thrust his feet into the Shoes of Swiftness – so hastily, indeed, that, as the poet says, he ‘madly crammed a left-hand foot into a right-hand shoe.’72 But this, many people think, is a sign of good luck; so he put the shoes on the proper feet, and in a few minutes was in the presence of the Great Mogul.

202 198

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

The monarch received him with some surprise, but with stately kindness, and listened to Prigio while he explained what he wanted. ‘I am only too happy to assist so adventurous a prince,’ remarked the Great Mogul. ‘This is like old times! Every horse in my stable is at your service, but, as you say, only the Flying Horse is of any use to you in this expedition.’ He clapped his hands, the Grand Vizier appeared, and the king gave orders to have the Flying Horse saddled at once. He then presented King Prigio with a large diamond, and came down into the courtyard to see him mount. ‘He’s very fresh,’ said the groom who held the bridle; ‘has not been out of the stable for three hundred years!’ Prigio sprang into the saddle among the salaams of the dusky multitude, and all the ladies of the seraglio waved their scented handkerchiefs out of the windows. The king, as he had been instructed, turned a knob of gold in the saddle of the Flying Horse, then kissed his hand to the ladies, and, giving the steed his head, cried, in excellent Persian: ‘To the moon!’ Up flew the horse with an easy action, and the king’s head nearly swam with the swiftness of the flight. Soon the earth below him was no bigger than a top, spinning on its own axis (see Geography books for this), and, as night fell, earth was only a great red moon. Through the dark rode King Prigio, into the silver dawn of the moon. All now became clear and silvery; the coasts of the moon came into sight, with white seas breaking on them; and at last the king reached the silver walls, and the gate of opal. Before the gate stood two beautiful ladies. One was fair, with yellow locks, the colour of the harvest moon. She had a crown of a golden snake and white water-lilies, and her dress now shone white, now red, now golden; and in her hand was the golden pitcher that sheds the dew, and a golden wand. The other lady was as dark as night – dark eyes, dark hair; her crown was of poppies. She held the ebony Wand of Sleep. Her dress was of the deepest blue, sown with stars. The king knew that they were the maidens of the bright and the dark side of the moon – of the side you see, and of the side that no one has ever seen, except King Prigio. He stopped the Flying Horse by turning the other knob in the saddle, alighted, and bowed very low to each of the ladies. ‘Daring mortal! what make you here?’ they asked. And then the king told them about Jaqueline and the Earthquaker, and how he needed a great weight of Stupidity to flatten him out with.

203 199

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

The ladies heard him in silence, and then they said: ‘Follow us,’ and they flew lightly beside the Flying Horse till they had crossed all the bright side of the moon, above the silver palaces and silver seas, and reached the summit of the Mountains of the Moon which separate the bright from the dark side. ‘Here I may go no further,’ said the bright lady; ‘and beyond, as you see, all is darkness and heavy sleep.’ Then she touched Prigio with her golden wand with twisted serpents, and he became luminous, light raying out from him; and the dark lady, too, shone like silver in the night: and on they flew, over black rocks and black rivers, till they reached a huge mountain, like a mountain of coal, many thousand feet high, for its head was lost in the blackness of darkness. The dark Moon-Lady struck the rock with her ebony wand, and said, ‘Open!’ and the cliffs opened like a door, and they were within the mountain. ‘Here,’ said the dark lady, ‘is the storehouse of all the Stupidity; hence it descends in showers like stardust on the earth whenever this mountain, which is a volcano, is in eruption. Only a little of the Stupidity reaches the earth, and that only in invisible dust; yet you know how weighty it is, even in that form.’ ‘Indeed, madam,’ said the king, ‘no one knows it better than I do.’ ‘Then make your choice of the best sort of Stupidity for your purpose,’ said the dark lady. And in the light which flowed from their bodies King Prigio looked round at the various kinds of Solid Stupidity. There it all lay in masses – the Stupidity of bad Sermons, of ignorant reviewers, of bad poems, of bad speeches, of dreary novels, of foolish statesmen, of ignorant mobs, of fine ladies, of idle, naughty boys and girls; and the king examined them all, and all were very, very heavy. But when he came to the Stupidity of the Learned – of dull, blind writers on Shakspeare,73 and Homer,74 and the Bible – then King Prigio saw that he had found the sort he wanted, and that a very little of it would go a long way. He never could have got it on the saddle of the Flying Horse if the dark lady had not touched it with her ebony wand, and made it light to carry till it was wanted for his purpose. When he needed it for use, he was to utter a certain spell, which she taught him, and then the lump would recover its natural weight. So he easily put a great block on his saddle-bow, and he and the dark lady flew back till they reached the crest of the Mountains of the Moon. There she touched him with her ebony wand, and the silver light which the bright lady had shed on him died from his face and his body, and he became like other men.

204 200

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘You see your way?’ said the dark lady, pointing to the bright moon of earth, shining far off in the heavens. Then he knelt down and thanked her, and she murmured strange words of blessing which he did not understand; but her face was grave and kind, and he thought of Queen Rosalind, his wife. Then he jumped on the Flying Horse, galloped down and down, till he reached his palace gate; called for Ricardo, set him behind him on the saddle, and away they rode, above land and wide seas, till they saw the crest of the hollow hill, where Jaqueline was with the Earthquaker. Beyond it they marked the glittering spires and towers of Manoa, the City of the Sun; and ‘Thither,’ said King Prigio, who had been explaining how matters stood, to Ricardo, ‘we must ride, for I believe they stand in great need of our assistance.’ ‘Had we not better go to Jaqueline first, sir?’ said Ricardo. ‘No,’ said the king; ‘I think mine is the best plan. Manoa, whose golden spires and pinnacles are shining below us, is the City of the Sun, which Sir Walter Raleigh and the Spaniards could never find,75 so that men have doubted of its existence. We are needed there, to judge by that angry crowd in the marketplace. How they howl!’

CHAPTER X. The End. It was on a strange sight that the king and Ricardo looked down from the Flying Horse. Beneath them lay the City of Manoa, filling with its golden battlements and temples a hollow of the mountains. Here were palaces all carved over with faces of men and beasts, and with twisted patterns of serpents. The city walls were built of huge square stones, and among the groves towered pyramids, on which the people did service to their gods. From every temple top came the roar of beaten drums, great drums of serpentskin. But, in the centre of the chief square of the town, was gathered a wild crowd of men in shining copper armour and helmets of gold and glittering dresses of feathers. Among them ran about priests with hideous masks, crying them on to besiege and break down the royal palace. From the battlements of the palace the king’s guardsmen were firing arrows and throwing spears. The mob shot arrows back, some of them tipped with lighted straw, to burn the palace down. But, in the very centre of the square, was a clear space of ground, on which fell the shadow of a tall column of red stone, all carved with

205 201

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

serpents and faces of gods. Beside it stood a figure horrible to see: a man clothed in serpent skins, whose face was the grinning face of a skull; but the skull was shining black and red in patches, and a long white beard flowed from beneath it. This man, mounted on a kind of altar of red stone, waved his hand and yelled, and seemed to point to the shadow of the column which fell across the square. The people were so furious and so eager that they did not, at first, notice King Prigio as he slowly descended. But at last the eyes within the skull looked up and saw him, and then the man gave a great cry, rent his glittering dress of serpentskin, and held up his hands. Then all the multitude looked up, and seeing the Flying Horse, let their weapons fall; and the man of the skull tore it from his face, and knelt before King Prigio, with his head in the dust. ‘Thou hast come, oh, Pachacamac,76 as is foretold in the prophecy of the Cord of the Venerable Knots!77 Thou hast come, but behold the shadow of the stone! Thou art too late, oh Lord of the Earth and the Sea!’ Then he pointed to the shadow, which, naturally, was growing shorter, as the sun drew near mid-day. He spoke in the language of the ancient Incas of Peru, which of course Prigio knew very well; and he also knew that Pachacamac was the god of that people. ‘I have come,’ Prigio said, with presence of mind, ‘as it has been prophesied of old.’ ‘Riding on a beast that flies,’ said the old priest, ‘even as the oracle declared. Glory to Pachacamac, even though we die to-day!’ ‘In what can I help my people?’ said Prigio. ‘Thou knowest; why should we instruct thee? Thou knowest that on midsummer-day, every year, before the shadow shrinks back to the base of the huaca* of Manoa, we must offer a maiden to lull the Earthquaker with a new song. Lo, now the shadow shrinks to the foot of the huaca, and the maid is not offered! For the lot fell on the daughter of thy servant the Inca, and he refuses to give her up. One daughter of his, he says, has been sacrificed to the sacred birds, the Cunturs:78 the birds were found slain on the hill-top, no man knows how; but the maiden vanished.’ ‘Why, it must have been Jaqueline. I killed the birds,’ said Ricardo, in Pantouflian. ‘Silence, not a word!’ said the king, sternly. *

206 202

Huaca, sacred stone.

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

‘And what makes you bear arms against the Inca?’ he asked the old man. ‘We would slay him and her,’ answered the priest; ‘for, when the shadow shrinks to the foot of the stone, the sun will shine straight down into the hollow hill of the Earthquaker, and he will waken and destroy Manoa and the Temples of the Sun.’79 ‘Then wherefore would you slay them, when you must all perish?’ ‘The people, oh Pachacamac, would have revenge before they die.’ ‘Oh, folly of men!’ said the king, solemnly; then he cried: ‘Lead me to the Inca; this day you shall not perish. Is it not predicted in the Cord of the Venerable Knots that I shall slay this monster?’ ‘Hasten, oh Pachacamac, for the shadow shortens!’ said the priest. ‘Lead me to the Inca,’ answered Prigio. At this the people arose with a great shout, for they, too, had been kneeling; and, sending a flag of truce before King Prigio, the priest led him into the palace. The ground was strewn with bodies of the slain, and through them Prigio rode slowly into the courtyard, where the Inca was sitting in the dust, weeping and throwing ashes on his long hair and his golden raiment. The king bade the priest remain without the palace gates; then dismounted, and, advancing to the Inca, raised him and embraced him. ‘I come, a king to a king,’ he said. ‘My cousin, take courage; your sorrows are ended. If I do not slay the Earthquaker, sacrifice me to your gods.’ ‘The Prophecy is fulfilled,’ said the Inca, and wept for joy. ‘Yet thou must hasten, for it draws near to noon.’ Then Prigio went up to the golden battlements, and saying no word, waved his hand. In a moment the square was empty, for the people rushed to give thanks in the temples. ‘Wait my coming, my cousin,’ said Prigio to the Inca; ‘I shall bring you back the daughter that was lost, when I have slain your enemy.’ The Inca would have knelt at his feet; but the king raised him, and bade him prepare such a feast as had never been seen in Manoa. ‘The lost are found to-day,’ he said; ‘be you ready to welcome them.’ Then, mounting the Flying Horse, with Dick beside him, he rose towards the peak of the hill where the Earthquaker had his home. Already the ground was beginning to tremble; the Earthquaker was stirring in his sleep, for the maiden of the new song had not been sent to him, and the year ended at noon, and then he would rise and ruin Manoa. The sun was approaching mid-day, and Prigio put spurs to the Flying Horse. Ten minutes more, and the sun would look straight down

207 203

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

the crater of the hollow hill, and the Earthquaker would arouse himself when the light and the heat fell on his body. Already the light of the sun shone slanting half-way down the hollow cone as the whirlpool of air caught the Flying Horse, and drew him swiftly down and down to the shadowy halls. There knelt and wept the nurses of the Earthquaker on the marble floor; but Jaqueline stood a little apart, very pale, but not weeping. Ricardo had leaped off before the horse touched the ground, and rushed to Jaqueline, and embraced her in his arms; and, oh! how glad she was to see him, so that she quite forgot her danger and laughed for joy. ‘Oh! you have come, you have come; I knew you would come!’ she cried. Then King Prigio advanced, the mighty weight in his hand, to the verge of the dreadful gulf of the Earthquaker. The dim walls grew radiant; a long slant arm of yellow light touched the black body of the Earthquaker, and a thrill went through him, and shook the world, so that, far away, the bells rang in Pantouflia. A moment more, and he would waken in his strength; and once awake, he would shatter the city walls and ruin Manoa. Even now a great mass of rock fell from the roof deep down in the secret caves, and broke into flying fragments, and all the echoes roared and rang. King Prigio stood with the mighty mass poised in his hands. ‘Die!’ he cried; and he uttered the words of power, the magic spell that the dark Moon Lady had taught him. Then all its invincible natural weight came into the mass which the king held, and down it shot full on the body of the Earthquaker; and where that had been was nothing but a vast abyss, silent, empty, and blank, and bottomless. Far, far below, thousands of miles below, in the very centre of the earth, lay the dead Earthquaker, crushed flat as a sheet of paper, and the sun of midsummer-day shone straight down on the dreadful chasm, and could not waken him any more for ever. The king drew a long breath. ‘Stupidity has saved the world,’ he said; and, with only strength to draw back one step from the abyss, he fell down, hiding his face in his hands. But Jaqueline’s arms were round his neck, and the maidens brought him water from an ice-cold spring; and soon King Prigio was himself again, and ready for anything. But afterwards he used to say that the moment when the Earthquaker stirred was the most dreadful in his life.

208 204

e cet erdi c f iac r t ido o n ooff a n p r sienl c p da rnetwolua nf gl i a

Now, in Manoa, where all the firm foundations of the city had trembled once, when the sun just touched the Earthquaker, the people, seeing that the shadow of the sacred column had crept to its foot, and yet Manoa stood firm again, and the Temple of the Sun was not overthrown, raised such a cry that it echoed even through the halls within the hollow hill. Who shall describe the joy of the maidens, and how often Jaqueline and Ricardo kissed each other? ‘You have saved me!’ she cried to the king, throwing her arms round him again. ‘You have saved Manoa!’ ‘And you have saved the Hope of Pantouflia, not once or twice,’ said his Majesty, grandly. And he told Dick how much he had owed to Jaqueline, in the fight with the Yellow Dwarf, and the fight with the Giant, for he did not think it necessary to mention the affair at Rome. Then Dick kissed Jaqueline again, and all the maidens kissed each other, and they quite cried for gladness. ‘But we keep his Majesty the Inca waiting,’ said Prigio. ‘Punctuality is the courtesy of kings. You ladies will excuse me, I am sure, if I remove first from the dungeon her whom we call the Princess Jaqueline. The Inca, her father, has a claim on us to this preference.’ Then placing Jaqueline on the saddle, and leaving Dick to comfort the other young ladies, who were still rather nervous, the king flew off to Manoa, for the wind, of course, died with the death of the Earthquaker. I cannot tell you the delight of all Manoa, and of the Inca, when they saw the Flying Horse returning, and recognised their long-lost princess, who rushed into the arms of her father. They beat the serpent drums, for they had no bells, on the tops of the temples. They went quite mad with delight: enemies kissed in the streets; and all the parents, without exception, allowed all the young people who happened to be in love to be married that very day. Then Prigio brought back all the maidens, one after the other, and Dick last; and he fell at the Inca’s feet, and requested leave to marry Jaqueline. But, before that could be done, King Prigio, mounted on the palace balcony, made a long but very lucid speech to the assembled people. He began by explaining that he was not their God, Pachacamac, but king of a powerful country of which they had never heard before, as they lived very much withdrawn in an unknown region of the world. Then he pointed out, in the most considerate manner, that their religion was not all he could wish, otherwise they would never sacrifice young ladies to wild birds and Earthquakers. He next sketched out the merits of his

209 205

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

own creed, that of the Lutheran Church; and the Inca straightway observed that he proposed to establish it in Manoa at once. Some objection was raised by the old priest in the skull mask; but when the Inca promised to make him an archbishop, and to continue all his revenues, the priest admitted that he was perfectly satisfied; and the general public cheered and waved their hats with emotion. It was arranged that the Inca, with his other daughters, should visit Pantouflia immediately, both because he could not bear to leave Jaqueline, and also because there were a few points on which he felt that he still needed information. The Government was left in the hands of the archbishop, who began at once by burning his skull mask (you may see one like it in the British Museum, in the Mexican room),80 and by letting loose all the birds and beasts which the Manoans used to worship. So all the young people were married in the Golden Temple of the Sun, and all the Earthquaker’s nurses who were under thirty were wedded to the young men who had been fond of them before they were sent into the hollow hill. These young men had never cared for any one else. Everybody wore bridal favours, all the unengaged young ladies acted as bridesmaids, and such a throwing of rice and old shoes has very seldom been witnessed. As for the happy royal pair, with their fathers, and the other princess (who did not happen to be engaged), back they flew to Pantouflia. And there was Queen Rosalind waiting at the palace gates, and crying and laughing with pleasure when she heard that the wish of her heart was fulfilled, and Jaqueline was to be her daughter. ‘And, as for the Earthquaker,’ said her Majesty, ‘I never was really anxious in the least, for I knew no beast in the world was a match for you, my dear.’ So, just to make everything orderly and correct, Ricardo and Jaqueline were married over again, in the Cathedral of Pantouflia. The marriage presents came in afterwards, of course, and among them, what do you think? Why, the Seven-League Boots and the Sword of Sharpness, with a very polite note of extraordinary size: ‘The Giant who does not Know when he has had Enough presents his hearty congratulations to the royal pair, and begs to lay at their feet the Seven-league Boots (they not fitting me) and the Sword which Prince Ricardo left in the Giant’s keeping recently. The Giant hopes no bad blood; and I am, Yours very faithfully, THE G., &c.

210 206

p r sienl ce cet erdi cf iac rt idoon ooff a np da rnetwolua nf gl i a

P.S. – His little woman sends her congratulations.’ So you see the Giant was not such a bad sort of fellow after all, and Prince Ricardo always admitted that he never met a foe more gallant and good-humoured. With such a clever wife, Ricardo easily passed all his examinations; and his little son, Prince Prigio (named after his august grandfather), never had to cry, ‘Mamma, mamma, father’s plucked again.’81 So they lived happily in a happy country, occasionally visiting Manoa; and as they possessed the magical Water o Life from the Fountain of Lions,82 I do not believe that any of them ever died at all, but that Prigio is still King of Pantouflia. ‘No need such kings should ever die!’83

211 207

selected fiction of andrew lang

212

‘the terrible head’

‘The Terrible Head’1 The Blue Fairy Book (1889)

O

nce upon a time there was a king whose only child was a girl. Now the King had been very anxious to have a son, or at least a grandson, to come after him, but he was told by a prophet whom he consulted that his own daughter’s son should kill him. This news terrified him so much that he determined never to let his daughter be married, for he thought it was better to have no grandson at all than to be killed by his grandson. He therefore called his workmen together, and bade them dig a deep round hole in the earth, and then he had a prison of brass built in the hole, and then, when it was finished, he locked up his daughter. No man ever saw her, and she never saw even the fields and the sea, but only the sky and the sun, for there was a wide open window in the roof of the house of brass. So the Princess would sit looking up at the sky, and watching the clouds float across, and wondering whether she should ever get out of her prison. Now one day it seemed to her that the sky opened above her, and a great shower of shining gold fell through the window in the roof, and lay glittering in her room. Not very long after, the Princess had a baby, a little boy,2 but when the King her father heard of it he was very angry and afraid, for now the child was born that should be his death. Yet, cowardly as he was, he had not quite the heart to kill the Princess and her baby outright, but he had them put in a huge brass-bound chest and thrust out to sea, that they might either be drowned or starved, or perhaps come to a country where they would be out of his way.

215 211

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

So the Princess and the baby floated and drifted in the chest on the sea all day and night, but the baby was not afraid of the waves nor of the wind, for he did not know that they could hurt him, and he slept quite soundly. And the Princess sang a song over him, and this was her song:3 Child, my child, how sound you sleep! Though your mother’s care is deep, You can lie with heart at rest In the narrow brass-bound chest; In the starless night and drear You can sleep, and never hear Billows breaking, and the cry Of the night-wind wandering by; In soft purple mantle sleeping With your little face on mine, Hearing not your mother weeping And the breaking of the brine.

Well, the daylight came at last, and the great chest was driven by the waves against the shore of an island. There the brass-bound chest lay, with the Princess and her baby in it, till a man of that country came past, and saw it, and dragged it on to the beach, and when he had broken it open, behold! there was a beautiful lady and a little boy. So he took them home, and was very kind to them, and brought up the boy till he was a young man. Now when the boy had come to his full strength the King of that country fell in love with his mother, and wanted to marry her, but he knew that she would never part from her boy. So he thought of a plan to get rid of the boy, and this was his plan. A great queen of a country not far off was going to be married, and this king said that all his subjects must bring him wedding presents to give her.

Figure 8. H. J. [Henry Justice] Ford, from ‘The Terrible Head’, The Blue Fairy Book (1889): ‘he felt some one touch him on the shoulder; and he turned, and saw a young man like a king’s son, having with him a tall and beautiful lady, whose blue eyes shone like stars’. H. J. Ford (1860–1941) provided illustrations for all the Coloured Fairy Books, as well as a number of other works by Lang, including Tales of Troy and Greece (1907). In a letter to Henry Rider Haggard, Lang writes ‘The pictures in my Blue Fairy Book are, some of them, capital. Ford’s are better than [George Percy Jacomb] Hood’s.’ See Letter to Haggard, Sunday [1889], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38260, Letter 49. Reproduced by permission of the British Library from The Blue Fairy Book (RB.23.b.6921)

216 212

selected fiction of andrew lang

217

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

And he made a feast to which he invited them all, and they all brought their presents; some brought gold cups, and some brought necklaces of gold and amber, and some brought beautiful horses; but the boy had nothing, though he was the son of a princess, for his mother had nothing to give him. Then the rest of the company began to laugh at him, and the King said: ‘If you have nothing else to give, at least you might go and fetch the Terrible Head.’ The boy was proud, and spoke without thinking: ‘Then I swear that I will bring the Terrible Head, if it may be brought by a living man. But of what head you speak I know not.’ Then they told him that somewhere, a long way off, there dwelt three dreadful sisters, monstrous ogrish women, with golden wings and claws of brass, and with serpents growing on their heads instead of hair. Now these women were so awful to look on that whoever saw them was turned at once into stone. And two of them could not be put to death, but the youngest, whose face was very beautiful,4 could be killed, and it was her head that the boy had promised to bring. You may imagine it was no easy adventure. When he heard all this he was perhaps sorry that he had sworn to bring the Terrible Head, but he was determined to keep his oath. So he went out from the feast, where they all sat drinking and making merry, and he walked alone beside the sea in the dusk of the evening, at the place where the great chest, with himself and his mother in it, had been cast ashore. There he went and sat down on a rock, looking toward the sea, and wondering how he should begin to fulfill his vow. Then he felt some one touch him on the shoulder; and he turned, and saw a young man like a king’s son, having with him a tall and beautiful lady, whose blue eyes shone like stars. They were taller than mortal men, and the young man had a staff in his hand with golden wings on it, and two golden serpents twisted round it, and he had wings on his cap and on his shoes.5 He spoke to the boy, and asked him why he was so unhappy; and the boy told him how he had sworn to bring the Terrible Head, and knew not how to begin to set about the adventure. Then the beautiful lady also spoke, and said that ‘it was a foolish oath and a hasty, but it might be kept if a brave man had sworn it.’ Then the boy answered that he was not afraid, if only he knew the way. Then the lady said that to kill the dreadful woman with the golden wings and the brass claws, and to cut off her head, he needed three things: first, a Cap of Darkness, which would make him invisible when he wore it; next, a Sword of Sharpness, which would cleave iron at one

218 214

s e l e ‘ctt ehde f t i cetri orni bo lf ea nhder a ew d ’l a n g

blow; and last, the Shoes of Swiftness, with which he might fly in the air.6 The boy answered that he knew not where such things were to be procured, and that, wanting them, he could only try and fail. Then the young man, taking off his own shoes, said: ‘First, you shall use these shoes till you have taken the Terrible Head, and then you must give them back to me. And with these shoes you will fly as fleet as a bird, or a thought, over the land or over the waves of the sea, wherever the shoes know the way. But there are ways which they do not know, roads beyond the borders of the world. And these roads have you to travel. Now first you must go to the Three Grey Sisters,7 who live far off in the north, and are so very old that they have only one eye and one tooth among the three. You must creep up close to them, and as one of them passes the eye to the other you must seize it, and refuse to give it up till they have told you the way to the Three Fairies of the Garden,8 and they will give you the Cap of Darkness and the Sword of Sharpness, and show you how to wing beyond this world to the land of the Terrible Head.’ Then the beautiful lady said: ‘Go forth at once, and do not return to say good-bye to your mother, for these things must be done quickly, and the Shoes of Swiftness themselves will carry you to the land of the Three Grey Sisters – for they know the measure of that way.’ So the boy thanked her, and he fastened on the Shoes of Swiftness, and turned to say good-bye to the young man and the lady. But, behold! they had vanished, he knew not how or where! Then he leaped in the air to try the Shoes of Swiftness, and they carried him more swiftly than the wind, over the warm blue sea, over the happy lands of the south, over the northern peoples who drank mare’s milk and lived in great wagons,9 wandering after their flocks. Across the wide rivers, where the wild fowl rose and fled before him, and over the plains and the cold North Sea he went, over the fields of snow and the hills of ice, to a place where the world ends, and all water is frozen, and there are no men, nor beasts, nor any green grass.10 There in a blue cave of the ice he found the Three Grey Sisters, the oldest of living things. Their hair was as white as the snow, and their flesh of an icy blue, and they mumbled and nodded in a kind of dream, and their frozen breath hung round them like a cloud. Now the opening of the cave in the ice was narrow, and it was not easy to pass in without touching one of the Grey Sisters. But, floating on the Shoes of Swiftness, the boy just managed to steal in, and waited till one of the sisters said to another, who had their one eye: ‘Sister, what do you see? do you see old times coming back?’

219 215

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘No, sister.’ ‘Then give me the eye, for perhaps I can see farther than you.’ Then the first sister passed the eye to the second, but as the second groped for it the boy caught it cleverly out of her hand. ‘Where is the eye, sister?’ said the second grey woman. ‘You have taken it yourself, sister,’ said the first grey woman. ‘Have you lost the eye, sister? have you lost the eye?’ said the third grey woman; ‘shall we never find it again, and see old times coming back?’ Then the boy slipped from behind them out of the cold cave into the air, and he laughed aloud. When the grey women heard that laugh they began to weep, for now they knew that a stranger had robbed them, and that they could not help themselves, and their tears froze as they fell from the hollows where no eyes were, and rattled on the icy ground of the cave. Then they began to implore the boy to give them their eye back again, and he could not help being sorry for them, they were so pitiful. But he said he would never give them the eye till they told him the way to the Fairies of the Garden. Then they wrung their hands miserably, for they guessed why he had come, and how he was going to try to win the Terrible Head. Now the Dreadful Women were akin to the Three Grey Sisters, and it was hard for them to tell the boy the way. But at last they told him to keep always south, and with the land on his left and the sea on his right, till he reached the Island of the Fairies of the Garden. Then he gave them back the eye, and they began to look out once more for the old times coming back again. But the boy flew south between sea and land, keeping the land always on his left hand, till he saw a beautiful island crowned with flowering trees. There he alighted, and there he found the Three Fairies of the Garden. They were like three very beautiful young women, dressed one in green, one in white, and one in red, and they were dancing and singing round an apple tree with apples of gold, and this was their song: THE SONG OF THE WESTERN FAIRIES11 Round and round the apples of gold, Round and round dance we; Thus do we dance from the days of old About the enchanted tree; Round, and round, and round we go, While the spring is green, or the stream shall flow, Or the wind shall stir the sea! There is none may taste of the golden fruit

220 216

s e l e ‘c tt ehde f t i cet ri orni bo lf ea nhd er a ew d ’l a n g

Till the golden new times come; Many a tree shall spring from shoot, Many a blossom be withered at root, Many a song be dumb; Broken and still shall be many a lute Or ever the new times come! Round and round the tree of gold, Round and round dance we, So doth the great world spin from of old, Summer and winter, and fire and cold, Song that is sung, and tale that is told, Even as we dance, that fold and unfold Round the stem of the fairy tree!

These grave dancing fairies were very unlike the Grey Women, and they were glad to see the boy, and treated him kindly. Then they asked him why he had come; and he told them how he was sent to find the Sword of Sharpness and the Cap of Darkness. And the fairies gave him these, and a wallet,12 and a shield, and belted the sword, which had a diamond blade, round his waist, and the cap they set on his head, and told him that now even they could not see him though they were fairies. Then he took it off, and they each kissed him and wished him good fortune, and then they began again their eternal dance round the golden tree, for it is their business to guard it till the new times come, or till the world’s ending. So the boy put the cap on his head, and hung the wallet round his waist, and the shining shield on his shoulders, and flew beyond the great river that lies coiled like a serpent round the whole world. And by the banks of that river, there he found the three Terrible Women all asleep beneath a poplar tree, and the dead poplar leaves lay all about them. Their golden wings were folded and their brass claws were crossed, and two of them slept with their hideous heads beneath their wings like birds, and the serpents in their hair writhed out from under the feathers of gold. But the youngest slept between her two sisters, and she lay on her back, with her beautiful sad face turned to the sky; and though she slept her eyes were wide open. If the boy had seen her he would have been changed into stone by the terror and the pity of it, she was so awful; but he had thought of a plan for killing her without looking on her face. As soon as he caught sight of the three from far off he took his shining shield from his shoulders, and held it up like a mirror, so that he saw the Dreadful Women reflected in it, and did not see the Terrible Head itself. Then he came nearer and nearer, till he reckoned that he was within a sword’s stroke of the youngest, and he guessed where he should strike a back blow behind him. Then he drew

221 217

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

the Sword of Sharpness and struck once, and the Terrible Head was cut from the shoulders of the creature, and the blood leaped out and struck him like a blow. But he thrust the Terrible Head into his wallet, and flew away without looking behind. Then the two Dreadful Sisters who were left wakened, and rose in the air like great birds; and though they could not see him because of his Cap of Darkness, they flew after him up the wind, following by the scent through the clouds, like hounds hunting in a wood. They came so close that he could hear the clatter of their golden wings, and their shrieks to each other: ‘Here, here,’ ‘No, there; this way he went,’ as they chased him. But the Shoes of Swiftness flew too fast for them, and at last their cries and the rattle of their wings died away as he crossed the great river that runs round the world. Now when the horrible creatures were far in the distance, and the boy found himself on the right side of the river, he flew straight eastward, trying to seek his own country. But as he looked down from the air he saw a very strange sight – a beautiful girl chained to a stake at the high-water mark of the sea. The girl was so frightened or so tired that she was only prevented from falling by the iron chain about her waist, and there she hung, as if she were dead. The boy was very sorry for her and flew down and stood beside her. When he spoke she raised her head and looked round, but his voice only seemed to frighten her. Then he remembered that he was wearing the Cap of Darkness, and that she could only hear him, not see him. So he took it off, and there he stood before her, the handsomest young man she had ever seen in all her life, with short curly yellow hair, and blue eyes, and a laughing face. And he thought her the most beautiful girl in the world. So first with one blow of the Sword of Sharpness he cut the iron chain that bound her, and then he asked her what she did here, and why men treated her so cruelly. And she told him that she was the daughter of the King of that country, and that she was tied there to be eaten by a monstrous beast out of the sea; for the beast came and devoured a girl every day. Now the lot had fallen on her; and as she was just saying this a long fierce head of a cruel sea creature rose out of the waves and snapped at the girl. But the beast had been too greedy and too hurried, so he missed his aim the first time. Before he could rise and bite again the boy had whipped the Terrible Head out of his wallet and held it up. And when the sea beast leaped out once more its eyes fell on the head, and instantly it was turned into a stone.13 And the stone beast is there on the sea-coast to this day. Then the boy and the girl went to the palace of the King, her father, where everyone was weeping for her death, and they could hardly believe their eyes when they saw her come back well. And the King

222 218

s e l e ‘ctt ehde f t i cetri orni bo lf ea nhder a ew d ’l a n g

and Queen made much of the boy, and could not contain themselves for delight when they found he wanted to marry their daughter. So the two were married with the most splendid rejoicings, and when they had passed some time at court they went home in a ship to the boy’s own country. For he could not carry his bride through the air, so he took the Shoes of Swiftness, and the Cap of Darkness, and the Sword of Sharpness up to a lonely place in the hills. There he left them, and there they were found by the man and woman who had met him at home beside the sea, and had helped him to start on his journey. When this had been done the boy and his bride set forth for home, and landed at the harbor of his native land. But whom should he meet in the very street of the town but his own mother, flying for her life from the wicked King, who now wished to kill her because he found that she would never marry him! For if she had liked the King ill before, she liked him far worse now that he had caused her son to disappear so suddenly. She did not know, of course, where the boy had gone, but thought the King had slain him secretly. So now she was running for her very life, and the wicked King was following her with a sword in his hand. Then, behold! she ran into her son’s very arms, but he had only time to kiss her and step in front of her, when the King struck at him with his sword. The boy caught the blow on his shield, and cried to the King: ‘I swore to bring you the Terrible Head, and see how I keep my oath!’ Then he drew forth the head from his wallet, and when the King’s eyes fell on it, instantly he was turned into stone, just as he stood there with his sword lifted! Now all the people rejoiced, because the wicked King should rule them no longer. And they asked the boy to be their king, but he said no, he must take his mother home to her father’s house. So the people chose for king the man who had been kind to his mother when first she was cast on the island in the great chest.14 Presently the boy and his mother and his wife set sail for his mother’s own country, from which she had been driven so unkindly. But on the way they stayed at the court of a king, and it happened that he was holding games, and giving prizes to the best runners, boxers, and quoit-throwers. Then the boy would try his strength with the rest, but he threw the quoit so far that it went beyond what had ever been thrown before, and fell in the crowd, striking a man so that he died. Now this man was no other than the father of the boy’s mother, who had fled away from his own kingdom for fear his grandson should find

223 219

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

him and kill him after all. Thus he was destroyed by his own cowardice and by chance, and thus the prophecy was fulfilled. But the boy and his wife and his mother went back to the kingdom that was theirs, and lived long and happily after all their troubles.

224 220

‘the story of sigurd’

selected fiction of andrew lang

‘The Story of Sigurd’ The Red Fairy Book (1890) [This is a very old story:1 the Danes who used to fight with the English in King Alfred’s time2 knew this story. They have carved on the rocks pictures of some of the things that happen in the tale, and those carvings may still be seen.3 Because it is so old and so beautiful the story is told here again, but it has a sad ending – indeed it is all sad, and all about fighting and killing, as might be expected from the Danes.]

O

nce upon a time there was a King in the North who had won many wars, but now he was old.4 Yet he took a new wife, and then another Prince, who wanted to have married her, came up against him with a great army. The old King went out and fought bravely, but at last his sword broke, and he was wounded and his men fled. But in the night, when the battle was over, his young wife came out and searched for him among the slain, and at last she found him, and asked whether he might be healed. But he said ‘No,’ his luck was gone, his sword was broken, and he must die. And he told her that she would have a son, and that son would be a great warrior, and would avenge him on the other King, his enemy. And he bade her keep the broken pieces of the sword, to make a new sword for his son, and that blade should be called Gram. Then he died. And his wife called her maid to her and said, ‘Let us change clothes, and you shall be called by my name, and I by yours, lest the enemy finds us.’ So this was done, and they hid in a wood, but there some strangers met them and carried them off in a ship to Denmark. And when they were brought before the King, he thought the maid looked like a Queen, and the Queen like a maid. So he asked the Queen, ‘How do you know in the dark of night whether the hours are wearing to the morning?’ And she said: ‘I know because, when I was younger, I used to have to rise and light the fires, and still I waken at the same time.’

227 225 221

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘A strange Queen to light the fires,’ thought the King. Then he asked the Queen, who was dressed like a maid, ‘How do you know in the dark of night whether the hours are wearing near the dawn?’ ‘My father gave me a gold ring,’ said she, ‘and always, ere the dawning, it grows cold on my finger.’ ‘A rich house where the maids wore gold,’ said the King. ‘Truly you are no maid, but a King’s daughter.’5 So he treated her royally, and as time went on she had a son called Sigurd, a beautiful boy and very strong. He had a tutor to be with him, and once the tutor bade him go to the King and ask for a horse. ‘Choose a horse for yourself,’ said the King; and Sigurd went to the wood, and there he met an old man with a white beard,6 and said, ‘Come! help me in horse-choosing.’ Then the old man said, ‘Drive all the horses into the river, and choose the one that swims across.’ So Sigurd drove them, and only one swam across. Sigurd chose him: his name was Grani, and he came of Sleipnir’s breed, and was the best horse in the world. For Sleipnir was the horse of Odin, the God of the North, and was as swift as the wind. But a day or two later his tutor said to Sigurd, ‘There is a great treasure of gold hidden not far from here, and it would become you to win it.’ But Sigurd answered, ‘I have heard stories of that treasure, and I know that the dragon Fafnir guards it, and he is so huge and wicked that no man dares to go near him.’ ‘He is no bigger than other dragons,’ said the tutor, ‘and if you were as brave as your father you would not fear him.’ ‘I am no coward,’ says Sigurd; ‘why do you want me to fight with this dragon?’ Then his tutor, whose name was Regin, told him that all this great hoard of red gold had once belonged to his own father.7 And his father had three sons – the first was Fafnir, the Dragon; the next was Otter, who could put on the shape of an otter when he liked; and the next was himself, Regin, and he was a great smith and maker of swords. Now there was at that time a dwarf called Andvari, who lived in a pool beneath a waterfall, and there he had hidden a great hoard of gold. And one day Otter had been fishing there, and had killed a salmon and eaten it, and was sleeping, like an otter, on a stone. Then someone came by,8 and threw a stone at the otter and killed it, and flayed off the skin, and took it to the house of Otter’s father. Then he knew his son was

228 222

s e l ‘etc h t eed sf t i cot r i oyn o o ff asnidgrue w r dl ’a n g

dead, and to punish the person who had killed him he said he must have the Otter’s skin filled with gold, and covered all over with red gold, or it should go worse with him. Then the person who had killed Otter went down and caught the Dwarf who owned all the treasure and took it from him. Only one ring was left, which the Dwarf wore, and even that was taken from him. Then the poor Dwarf was very angry, and he prayed that the gold might never bring any but bad luck to all the men who might own it, for ever. Then the otter skin was filled with gold and covered with gold, all but one hair, and that was covered with the poor Dwarf ’s last ring. But it brought good luck to nobody. First Fafnir, the Dragon, killed his own father, and then he went and wallowed on the gold, and would let his brother have none, and no man dared go near it. When Sigurd heard the story he said to Regin: ‘Make me a good sword that I may kill this Dragon.’ So Regin made a sword, and Sigurd tried it with a blow on a lump of iron, and the sword broke. Another sword he made, and Sigurd broke that too. Then Sigurd went to his mother, and asked for the broken pieces of his father’s blade, and gave them to Regin. And he hammered and wrought them into a new sword, so sharp that fire seemed to burn along its edges. Sigurd tried this blade on the lump of iron, and it did not break, but split the iron in two. Then he threw a lock of wool into the river, and when it floated down against the sword it was cut into two pieces. So Sigurd said that sword would do. But before he went against the Dragon he led an army to fight the men who had killed his father, and he slew their King, and took all his wealth, and went home. When he had been at home a few days, he rode out with Regin one morning to the heath where the Dragon used to lie. Then he saw the track which the Dragon made when he went to a cliff to drink, and the track was as if a great river had rolled along and left a deep valley. Then Sigurd went down into that deep place, and dug many pits in it, and in one of the pits he lay hidden with his sword drawn. There he waited, and presently the earth began to shake with the weight of the Dragon as he crawled to the water. And a cloud of venom flew before him as he snorted and roared, so that it would have been death to stand before him. But Sigurd waited till half of him had crawled over the pit, and then

229 223

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

he thrust the sword Gram right into his very heart. Then the Dragon lashed with his tail till stones broke and trees crashed about him. Then he spoke, as he died, and said: ‘Whoever thou art that hast slain me this gold shall be thy ruin, and the ruin of all who own it.’ Sigurd said: ‘I would touch none of it if by losing it I should never die. But all men die, and no brave man lets death frighten him from his desire. Die thou, Fafnir,’ and then Fafnir died. And after that Sigurd was called Fafnir’s Bane, and Dragonslayer. Then Sigurd rode back, and met Regin, and Regin asked him to roast Fafnir’s heart and let him taste of it. So Sigurd put the heart of Fafnir on a stake, and roasted it. But it chanced that he touched it with his finger, and it burned him. Then he put his finger in his mouth, and so tasted the heart of Fafnir. Then immediately he understood the language of birds, and he heard the Woodpeckers say: ‘There is Sigurd roasting Fafnir’s heart for another, when he should taste of it himself and learn all wisdom.’ The next bird said: ‘There lies Regin, ready to betray Sigurd, who trusts him.’ The third bird said: ‘Let him cut off Regin’s head, and keep all the gold to himself.’ The fourth bird said: ‘That let him do, and then ride over Hindfell, to the place where Brynhild sleeps.’ When Sigurd heard all this, and how Regin was plotting to betray him, he cut off Regin’s head with one blow of the sword Gram. Then all the birds broke out singing: ‘We know a fair maid, A fair maiden sleeping; Sigurd, be not afraid, Sigurd, win thou the maid Fortune is keeping. ‘High over Hindfell Red fire is flaming, There doth the maiden dwell She that should love thee well, Meet for thy taming.

230 224

s e l ‘etc h t eed sf t i cot r i oyn o of f asni dgrue w r dl ’a n g

‘There must she sleep till thou Comest for her waking Rise up and ride, for now Sure she will swear the vow Fearless of breaking.’

Then Sigurd remembered how the story went that somewhere, far away, there was a beautiful lady enchanted. She was under a spell, so that she must always sleep in a castle surrounded by flaming fire; there she must sleep for ever till there came a knight who would ride through the fire and waken her.9 There he determined to go, but first he rode right down the horrible trail of Fafnir. And Fafnir had lived in a cave with iron doors, a cave dug deep down in the earth, and full of gold bracelets, and crowns, and rings; and there, too, Sigurd found the Helm of Dread, a golden helmet, and whoever wears it is invisible. All these he piled on the back of the good horse Grani, and then he rode south to Hindfell. Now it was night, and on the crest of the hill Sigurd saw a red fire blazing up into the sky, and within the flame a castle, and a banner on the topmost tower. Then he set the horse Grani at the fire, and he leaped through it lightly, as if it had been through the heather. So Sigurd went within the castle door, and there he saw someone sleeping, clad all in armour. Then he took the helmet off the head of the sleeper, and behold, she was a most beautiful lady. And she wakened and said, ‘Ah! is it Sigurd, Sigmund’s son, who has broken the curse, and comes here to waken me at last?’ This curse came upon her when the thorn of the tree of sleep ran into her hand long ago as a punishment because she had displeased Odin the God.10 Long ago, too, she had vowed never to marry a man who knew fear, and dared not ride through the fence of flaming fire. For she was a warrior maid herself, and went armed into the battle like a man. But now she and Sigurd loved each other, and promised to be true to each other, and he gave her a ring, and it was the last ring taken from the dwarf Andvari. Then Sigurd rode away, and he came to the house of a King who had a fair daughter. Her name was Gudrun, and her mother was a witch. Now Gudrun fell in love with Sigurd, but he was always talking of Brynhild, how beautiful she was and how dear. So one day Gudrun’s witch mother11 put poppy and forgetful drugs in a magical cup, and bade Sigurd drink to her health, and he drank, and instantly he forgot poor Brynhild and he loved Gudrun, and they were married with great rejoicings. Now the witch, the mother of Gudrun, wanted her son Gunnar to marry Brynhild, and she bade him ride out with Sigurd and go and

231 225

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

woo her. So forth they rode to her father’s house, for Brynhild had quite gone out of Sigurd’s mind by reason of the witch’s wine, but she remembered him and loved him still. Then Brynhild’s father told Gunnar that she would marry none but him who could ride the flame in front of her enchanted tower, and thither they rode, and Gunnar set his horse at the flame, but he would not face it. Then Gunnar tried Sigurd’s horse Grani, but he would not move with Gunnar on his back. Then Gunnar remembered witchcraft that his mother had taught him, and by his magic he made Sigurd look exactly like himself, and he looked exactly like Gunnar.12 Then Sigurd, in the shape of Gunnar and in his mail, mounted on Grani, and Grani leaped the fence of fire, and Sigurd went in and found Brynhild, but he did not remember her yet, because of the forgetful medicine in the cup of the witch’s wine. Now Brynhild had no help but to promise she would be his wife, the wife of Gunnar as she supposed, for Sigurd wore Gunnar’s shape, and she had sworn to wed whoever should ride the flames. And he gave her a ring, and she gave him back the ring he had given her before in his own shape as Sigurd, and it was the last ring of that poor dwarf Andvari. Then he rode out again, and he and Gunnar changed shapes, and each was himself again, and they went home to the witch Queen’s, and Sigurd gave the dwarf ’s ring to his wife, Gudrun. And Brynhild went to her father, and said that a King had come called Gunnar, and had ridden the fire, and she must marry him. ‘Yet I thought,’ she said, ‘that no man could have done this deed but Sigurd, Fafnir’s bane, who was my true love. But he has forgotten me, and my promise I must keep.’ So Gunnar and Brynhild were married, though it was not Gunnar but Sigurd in Gunnar’s shape, that had ridden the fire. And when the wedding was over and all the feast, then the magic of the witch’s wine went out of Sigurd’s brain, and he remembered all. He remembered how he had freed Brynhild from the spell, and how she was his own true love, and how he had forgotten and had married another woman, and won Brynhild to be the wife of another man. But he was brave, and he spoke not a word of it to the others to make them unhappy. Still he could not keep away the curse which was to come on every one who owned the treasure of the dwarf Andvari, and his fatal golden ring. And the curse soon came upon all of them. For one day, when Brynhild and Gudrun were bathing, Brynhild waded farthest out into the river, and said she did that to show she was Gudrun’s superior. For her husband, she said, had ridden through the flame when no other man dared face it.

232 226

s e l ‘etc h t eed sf t i cot r i oyn o o ff asnidgrue w r dl ’a n g

Then Gudrun was very angry, and said that it was Sigurd, not Gunnar, who had ridden the flame, and had received from Brynhild that fatal ring, the ring of the dwarf Andvari. Then Brynhild saw the ring which Sigard had given to Gudrun, and she knew it and knew all, and she turned as pale as a dead woman, and went home. All that evening she never spoke. Next day she told Gunnar, her husband, that he was a coward and a liar, for he had never ridden the flame, but had sent Sigurd to do it for him, and pretended that he had done it himself. And she said he would never see her glad in his hall, never drinking wine, never playing chess, never embroidering with the golden thread, never speaking words of kindness.13 Then she rent all her needlework asunder and wept aloud, so that everyone in the house heard her. For her heart was broken, and her pride was broken in the same hour. She had lost her true love, Sigurd, the slayer of Fafnir, and she was married to a man who was a liar. Then Sigurd came and tried to comfort her, but she would not listen, and said she wished the sword stood fast in his heart. ‘Not long to wait,’ he said, ‘till the bitter sword stands fast in my heart, and thou will not live long when I am dead. But, dear Brynhild, live and be comforted, and love Gunnar thy husband, and I will give thee all the gold, the treasure of the dragon Fafnir.’ Brynhild said: ‘It is too late.’ Then Sigurd was so grieved and his heart so swelled in his breast that it burst the steel rings of his shirt of mail. Sigurd went out and Brynhild determined to slay him.14 She mixed serpent’s venom and wolf ’s flesh, and gave them in one dish to her husband’s younger brother,15 and when he had tasted them he was mad, and he went into Sigurd’s chamber while he slept and pinned him to the bed with a sword. But Sigurd woke, and caught the sword Gram into his hand, and threw it at the man as he fled, and the sword cut him in twain. Thus died Sigurd, Fafnir’s bane, whom no ten men could have slain in fair fight. Then Gudrun wakened and saw him dead, and she moaned aloud, and Brynhild heard her and laughed; but the kind horse Grani lay down and died of very grief. And then Brynhild fell a-weeping till her heart broke.16 So they attired Sigurd in all his golden armour, and built a great pile of wood on board his ship, and at night laid on it the dead Sigurd and the dead Brynhild, and the good horse, Grani,17 and set fire to it, and launched the ship. And the wind bore it blazing out to sea, flaming into the dark. So there were Sigurd and Brynhild burned together, and the curse of the dwarf Andvari was fulfilled.18 The Volsunga Saga.

233 227

selected fiction of andrew lang

234

‘the fleece of gold’

‘The Fleece of Gold’1 Tales of Troy and Greece (1907)

I The Children of the Cloud2

W

hile Troy still stood fast, and before King Priam was born, there was a king called Athamas, who reigned in a country beside the Grecian sea. Athamas was a young man, and was unmarried; because none of the princesses who then lived seemed to him beautiful enough to be his wife. One day he left his palace and climbed high up into a mountain, following the course of a little river. He came to a place where a great black rock stood on one side of the river, jutting into the stream. Round the rock the water flowed deep and dark. Yet, through the noise of the river, the king thought he heard laughter and voices like the voices of girls. So he climbed very quietly up the back of the rock, and, looking over the edge, there he saw three beautiful maidens bathing in a pool, and splashing each other with the water. Their long yellow hair covered them like cloaks and floated behind them on the pool. One of them was even more beautiful than the others, and as soon as he saw her the king fell in love with her, and said to himself, ‘This is the wife for me.’ As he thought this, his arm touched a stone, which slipped from the top of the rock where he lay, and went leaping, faster and faster as it fell, till it dropped with a splash into the pool below. Then the three maidens heard it, and were frightened, thinking some one was near. So they rushed out of the pool to the grassy bank where their clothes lay,

235 229

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

lovely soft clothes, white and gray, and rosy-coloured, all shining with pearl drops, and diamonds like dew.3 In a moment they had dressed, and then it was as if they had wings, for they rose gently from the ground, and floated softly up and up the windings of the brook. Here and there among the green tops of the mountain-ash trees the king could just see the white robes shining and disappearing, and shining again, till they rose far off like a mist, and so up and up into the sky, and at last he only followed them with his eyes, as they floated like clouds among the other clouds across the blue. All day he watched them, and at sunset he saw them sink, golden and rose-coloured and purple, and go down into the dark with the setting sun. The king went home to his palace, but he was very unhappy, and nothing gave him any pleasure. All day he roamed about among the hills, and looked for the beautiful girls, but he never found them, and all night he dreamed about them, till he grew thin and pale and was like to die. Now, the way with sick men then was that they made a pilgrimage to the temple of a god, and in the temple they offered sacrifices. Then they hoped that the god would appear to them in a dream, or send them a true dream at least, and tell them how they might be made well again. So the king drove in his chariot a long way, to the town where this temple was. When he reached it, he found it a strange place. The priests were dressed in dogs’ skins, with the heads of the dogs drawn down over their faces, and there were live dogs running all about the shrines, for they were the favourite beasts of the god, whose name was Asclepius. There was an image of him, with a dog crouched at his feet, and in his hand he held a serpent, and fed it from a bowl. The king sacrificed before the god, and when night fell he was taken into the temple, and there were many beds strewn on the floor and many people lying on them, both rich and poor, hoping that the god would appear to them in a dream, and tell them how they might be healed. There the king lay, like the rest, and for long he could not close his eyes. At length he slept, and he dreamed a dream. But it was not the god of the temple that he saw in his dream; he saw a beautiful lady, she seemed to float above him in a chariot drawn by doves, and all about her was a crowd of chattering sparrows, and he knew that she was Aphrodite, the Queen of Love. She was more beautiful than any woman in the world, and she smiled as she looked at the king, and said, ‘Oh, King Athamas, you are sick for love! Now this you must do: go home and on the first night of the new moon, climb the hills to that place where you

236 230

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo af n gd roelwd l’ a n g

saw the Three Maidens. In the dawn they will come again to the river, and bathe in the pool. Then do you creep out of the wood, and steal the clothes of her you love, and she will not be able to fly away with the rest, and she will be your wife.’ Then she smiled again, and her doves bore her away, and the king woke, and remembered the dream, and thanked the lady in his heart, for he knew that she was a goddess, the Queen of Love. Then he drove home, and did all that he had been told to do. On the first night of the new moon, when she shines like a thin gold thread in the sky, he left his palace, and climbed up through the hills, and hid in the wood by the edge of the pool. When the dawn began to shine silvery, he heard voices, and saw the three girls come floating through the trees, and alight on the river bank, and undress, and run into the water. There they bathed, and splashed each other with the water, laughing in their play. Then he stole to the grassy bank, and seized the clothes of the most beautiful of the three; and they heard him move, and rushed out to their clothes. Two of them were clad in a moment, and floated away up the glen, but the third crouched sobbing and weeping under the thick cloak of her yellow hair. Then she prayed the king to give her back her soft gray and rose-coloured raiment, but he would not till she had promised to be his wife. And he told her how long he had loved her, and how the goddess had sent him to be her husband, and at last she promised, and took his hand, and in her shining robes went down the hill with him to the palace. But he felt as if he walked on the air, and she scarcely seemed to touch the ground with her feet. She told him that her name was Nephele, which meant ‘a cloud,’ in their language, and that she was one of the Cloud Fairies who bring the rain, and live on the hilltops, and in the high lakes, and water springs, and in the sky. So they were married, and lived very happily, and had two children, a boy called Phrixus, and a daughter named Helle. The two children had a beautiful pet, a Ram with a fleece all of gold, which was given them by the young god called Hermes, a beautiful god, with wings on his shoon, – for these were the very Shoon of Swiftness,4 that he lent afterwards to the boy, Perseus, who slew the Gorgon, and took her head. This Ram the children used to play with, and they would ride on his back, and roll about with him on the flowery meadows. They would all have been happy, but for one thing. When there were clouds in the sky, and when there was rain, then their mother, Nephele, was always with them; but when the summer days were hot and cloudless, then she went away, they did not know where. The long

237 231

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

dry days made her grow pale and thin, and, at last, she would vanish altogether, and never come again, till the sky grew soft and gray with rain. King Athamas grew weary of this, for often his wife would be long away. Besides there was a very beautiful girl called Ino, a dark girl, who had come in a ship of Phœnician merchantmen, and had stayed in the city of the king when her friends sailed from Greece. The king saw her, and often she would be at the palace, playing with the children when their mother had disappeared with the Clouds, her sisters. This Ino was a witch, and one day she put a drug into the king’s wine, and when he had drunk it, he quite forgot Nephele, his wife, and fell in love with Ino. At last he married her, and they had two children, a boy and a girl, and Ino wore the crown, and was queen, and gave orders that Nephele should never be allowed to enter the palace any more. So Phrixus and Helle never saw their mother, and they were dressed in ragged old skins of deer, and were ill fed, and were set to do hard work in the house, while the children of Ino wore gold crowns in their hair, and were dressed in fine raiment, and had the best of everything. One day when Phrixus and Helle were in the field, herding the sheep (for now they were treated like peasant children, and had to work for their bread), they met an old woman, all wrinkled, and poorly clothed, and they took pity on her, and brought her home with them. Queen Ino saw her, and as she wanted a nurse for her own children, she took her in to be the nurse, and the old woman had charge of the children, and lived in the house, and she was kind to Phrixus and Helle. But neither of them knew that she was their own mother, Nephele, who had disguised herself as an old woman and a servant, that she might be with her children. Phrixus and Helle grew strong and tall, and more beautiful than Ino’s children, so she hated them, and determined, at last, to kill them. They all slept at night in one room, but Ino’s children had gold crowns in their hair,5 and beautiful coverlets on their beds. One night, Phrixus was half awake, and he heard the old nurse come, in the dark, and put something on his head, and on his sister’s, and change their coverlets. But he was so drowsy that he half thought it was a dream, and he lay and fell asleep. In the dead of night, the wicked stepmother, Ino, crept into the room with a dagger in her hand, and she stole up to the bed of Phrixus, and felt his hair, and his coverlet. Then she went softly to the bed of Helle, and felt her coverlet, and her hair with the gold crown on it. So she supposed these to be her own children, and she kissed them in the dark, and went to the beds of the other two children. She felt their heads, and they had no crowns on, so she killed them, supposing that

238 232

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo fa n gd roelwd l’ a n g

they were Phrixus and Helle. Then she crept downstairs and went back to bed. In the morning, there lay the stepmother Ino’s children cold and dead, and nobody knew who had killed them. Only the wicked queen knew, and she, of course, would not tell of herself, but if she hated Phrixus and Helle before, now she hated them a hundred times worse than ever. But the old nurse was gone; nobody ever saw her there again, and everybody but the queen thought that she had killed the two children. Everywhere the king sought for her, to burn her alive, but he never found her, for she had gone back to her sisters, the Clouds. And the Clouds were gone, too! For six long months, from winter to harvest time, the rain never fell. The country was burned up, the trees grew black and dry, there was no water in the streams, the corn turned yellow and died before it was come into the ear. The people were starving, the cattle and sheep were perishing, for there was no grass. And every day the sun rose hot and red, and went blazing through the sky without a cloud. Here the wicked stepmother, Ino, saw her chance. The king sent messengers to Pytho, to consult the prophetess, and to find out what should be done to bring back the clouds and the rain. Then Ino took the messengers, before they set out on their journey, and gave them gold, and threatened also to kill them, if they did not bring the message she wished from the prophetess. Now this message was that Phrixus and Helle must be burned as a sacrifice to the gods. So the messengers went, and came back dressed in mourning. And when they were brought before the king, at first they would tell him nothing. But he commanded them to speak, and then they told him, not the real message from the prophetess, but what Ino had bidden them to say: that Phrixus and Helle must be offered as a sacrifice to appease the gods. The king was very sorrowful at this news, but he could not disobey the gods. So poor Phrixus and Helle were wreathed with flowers, as sheep used to be when they were led to be sacrificed, and they were taken to the altar, all the people following and weeping, and the Golden Ram went between them, as they walked to the temple. Then they came within sight of the sea, which lay beneath the cliff where the temple stood, all glittering in the sun, and the happy white sea-birds flying over it. Here the Ram stopped, and suddenly he spoke to Phrixus, for the god gave him utterance, and said: ‘Lay hold of my horn, and get on my back, and let Helle climb up behind you, and I will carry you far away.’

239 233

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Then Phrixus took hold of the Ram’s horn, and Helle mounted behind him, and grasped the golden fleece, and suddenly the Ram rose in the air, and flew above the people’s heads, far away over the sea. Far away to the eastward he flew, and deep below them they saw the sea, and the islands, and the white towers and temples, and the fields, and ships. Eastward always he went, toward the sun-rising, and Helle grew dizzy and weary. At last a deep sleep came over her, and she let go her hold of the Fleece, and fell from the Ram’s back, down and down, into the narrow seas, that run between Europe and Asia, and there she was drowned. And that strait is called Helle’s Ford, or Hellespont, to this day. But Phrixus and the Ram flew on up the narrow seas, and over the great sea which the Greeks called the Euxine and we call the Black Sea, till they reached a country named Colchis. There the Ram alighted, so tired and weary that he died, and Phrixus had his beautiful Golden Fleece stripped off, and hung on an oak tree in a dark wood. And there it was guarded by a monstrous Dragon, so that nobody dared to go near it. And Phrixus married the king’s daughter, and lived long, till he died also, and a king called Æêtes, the brother of the enchantress, Circe, ruled that country. Of all the things he had, the rarest was the Golden Fleece, and it became a proverb that nobody could take that Fleece away, nor deceive the Dragon who guarded it.

II The Search for the Fleece Some years after the Golden Ram died in Colchis, far across the sea, a certain king reigned in Iolcos in Greece, and his name was Pelias. He was not the rightful king, for he had turned his stepbrother, King Æson, from the throne, and taken it for himself. Now, Æson had a son, a boy called Jason, and he sent him far away from Pelias, up into the mountains. In these hills there was a great cave, and in that cave lived Chiron the Wise, who, the story says, was half a horse. He had the head and breast of a man, but a horse’s body and legs. He was famed for knowing more about everything than anyone else in all Greece. He knew about the stars, and the plants of earth, which were good for medicine and which were poisonous. He was the best archer with the bow, and the best player of the harp; he could sing songs and tell stories of old times, for he was the last of a people, half horse and half man, who had dwelt in ancient days on the hills. Therefore the kings in Greece sent their sons

240 234

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo af n gd roelwd l’ a n g

to him to be taught shooting, singing, and telling the truth, and that was all the teaching they had then, except that they learned to hunt, fish, and fight, and throw spears, and toss the hammer and the stone. There Jason lived with Chiron and the boys in the cave, and many of the boys became famous.6 There was Orpheus who played the harp so sweetly that wild beasts followed his minstrelsy, and even the trees danced after him, and settled where he stopped playing. There was Mopsus who could understand what the birds say to each other; and there was Butes, the handsomest of men; and Tiphys, the best steersman of a ship; and Castor, with his brother Polydeuces, the boxer. Heracles, too, the strongest man in the whole world, was there; and Lynceus, whom they called Keen-eye, because he could see so far, and could see even the dead men in their graves under the earth. There was Ephemus, so swift and light-footed that he could run upon the gray sea and never wet his feet; and there were Calais and Zetes, the two sons of the North Wind, with golden wings upon their feet. There also was Peleus, who later married Thetis of the silver feet, goddess of the sea foam, and was the father of Achilles. Many others were there whose names it would take too long to tell. They all grew up together in the hills good friends, healthy, and brave, and strong. And they all went out to their own homes at last; but Jason had no home to go to, for his uncle, Pelias, had taken it, and his father was a wanderer. So at last he wearied of being alone, and he said good-bye to his teacher, and went down through the hills toward Iolcos, his father’s old home, where his wicked uncle Pelias was reigning. As he went, he came to a great, flooded river, running red from bank to bank, rolling the round boulders along. And there on the bank was an old woman sitting. ‘Cannot you cross, mother?’ said Jason; and she said she could not, but must wait until the flood fell, for there was no bridge. ‘I’ll carry you across,’ said Jason, ‘if you will let me carry you.’ So she thanked him, and said it was a kind deed, for she was longing to reach the cottage where her little grandson lay sick. Then he knelt down, and she climbed upon his back, and he used his spear for a staff, and stepped into the river. It was deeper than he thought, and stronger, but at last he staggered out on the farther bank, far below where he went in. And then he set the old woman down. ‘Bless you, my lad, for a strong man and a brave!’ she said, ‘and my blessing go with you to the world’s end.’ Then he looked and she was gone he did not know where, for she was the greatest of the goddesses, Hera, the wife of Zeus, who had tak-

241 235

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

en the shape of an old woman, to try Jason, whether he was kind and strong, or rude and churlish. From this day her grace went with him, and she helped him in all dangers. Then Jason went down limping to the city, for he had lost one shoe in the flood. And when he reached the town he went straight up to the palace, and through the court, and into the open door, and up the hall, where the king was sitting at his table among his men. There Jason stood, leaning on his spear. When the king saw him he turned white with terror. For he had been told by the prophetess of Pytho that a man with only one shoe would come some day and take away his kingdom. And here was the half-shod man of whom the prophecy had spoken. But Pelias still remembered to be courteous, and he bade his men lead the stranger to the baths, and there the attendants bathed him, pouring hot water over him. And they anointed his head with oil, and clothed him in new raiment, and brought him back to the hall, and set him down at a table beside the king, and gave him meat and drink. When he had eaten and was refreshed, the king said: ‘Now it is time to ask the stranger who he is, and who his parents are, and whence he comes to Iolcos?’ And Jason answered, ‘I am Jason, son of the rightful king, Æson, and I am come to take back my kingdom.’7 The king grew pale again, but he was cunning, and he leaped up and embraced the lad, and made much of him, and caused a gold circlet to be twisted in his hair. Then he said he was old, and weary of judging the people. ‘And weary work it is,’ he said, ‘and no joy therewith shall any king have. For there is a curse on the country, that shall not be taken away till the Fleece of Gold is brought home, from the land of the world’s end. The ghost of Phrixus stands by my bedside every night, wailing and will not be comforted, till the Fleece is brought home again.’ When Jason heard that he cried, ‘I shall take the curse away, for by the splendour of Lady Hera’s brow, I shall bring the Fleece of Gold from the land of the world’s end before I sit on the throne of my father.’ Now this was the very thing that the king wished, for he thought that if once Jason went after the Fleece, certainly he would never come back living to Iolcos. So he said that it could never be done, for the land was far away across the sea, so far that the birds could not come and go in one year, so great a sea was that and perilous. Also, there was a dragon that guarded the Fleece of Gold, and no man could face it and live. But the idea of fighting a dragon was itself a temptation to Jason, and he made a great vow by the water of Styx, an oath the very gods

242 236

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo fa n gd roelwd l’ a n g

feared to break, that certainly he would bring home that Fleece to Iolcos. And he sent out messengers all over Greece, to all his old friends, who were with him in the Centaur’s cave, and bade them come and help him, for that there was a dragon to kill, and that there would be fighting. And they all came, driving in their chariots down dales and across hills: Heracles, the strong man, with the bow that none other could bend; and Orpheus with his harp, and Castor and Polydeuces, and Zetes and Calais of the golden wings, and Tiphys, the steersman, and young Hylas, still a boy, and as fair as a girl, who always went with Heracles the strong. These came, and many more, and they set shipbuilders to work, and oaks were felled for beams, and ashes for oars, and spears were made, and arrows feathered, and swords sharpened. But in the prow of the ship they placed a bough of an oak tree from the forest of Zeus in Dodona where the trees can speak, and that bough spoke, and prophesied things to come. They called the ship ‘Argo,’ and they launched her, and put bread, and meat, and wine on board, and hung their shields outside the bulwarks. Then they said good-bye to their friends, went aboard, sat down at the oars, set sail, and so away eastward to Colchis, in the land of the world’s end. All day they rowed, and at night they beached the ship, as was then the custom, for they did not sail at night, and they went on shore, and took supper, and slept, and next day to the sea again. And old Chiron, the man-horse, saw the swift ship from his mountain heights, and ran down to the beach; there he stood with the waves of the gray sea breaking over his feet, waving with his mighty hands, and wishing his boys a safe return. And his wife stood beside him, holding in her arms the little son of one of the ship’s company, Achilles, the son of Peleus of the Spear, and of Thetis the goddess of the Sea Foam. So they rowed ever eastward, and ere long they came to a strange isle where dwelt men with six hands apiece, unruly giants.8 And these giants lay in wait for them on cliffs above the river’s mouth where the ship was moored, and before the dawn they rolled down great rocks on the crew. But Heracles drew his huge bow, the bow for which he slew Eurytus, king of Oechalia,9 and wherever a giant showed hand or shoulder above the cliff, he pinned him through with an arrow, till all were slain. After that they still held eastward, passing many islands, and towns of men, till they reached Mysia, and the Asian shore. Here they landed, with bad luck. For while they were cutting reeds and grass to strew their beds on the sands, young Hylas, beautiful Hylas, went off with a pitcher in his hand to draw water. He came to a beautiful spring, a deep, clear, green

243 237

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

pool, and there the water-fairies lived, whom men called Nereids. There were Eunis, and Nycheia with her April eyes,10 and when they saw the beautiful Hylas, they longed to have him always with them, to live in the crystal caves beneath the water, for they had never seen anyone so beautiful. As he stooped with his pitcher and dipped it into the stream, they caught him softly in their arms, and drew him down below, and no man ever saw him any more, but he dwelt with the water-fairies. But Heracles the strong, who loved him like a younger brother, wandered all over the country crying ‘Hylas! Hylas!’ and the boy’s voice answered so faintly from below the stream that Heracles never heard him. So he roamed alone in the forests, and the rest of the crew thought he was lost. Then the sons of the North Wind were angry, and bade them set sail without him, and sail they did, leaving the strong man behind. Long afterward, when the Fleece was won, Heracles met the sons of the North Wind, and slew them with his arrows. And he buried them, and set a great stone on each grave, and one of these is ever stirred, and shakes when the North Wind blows. There they lie, and their golden wings are at rest. Still they sped on, with a west wind blowing, and they came to a country whose king was strong, and thought himself the best boxer then living, so he came down to the ship and challenged anyone of that crew; and Polydeuces, the boxer, took up the challenge.11 All the rest, and the people of the country, made a ring, and Polydeuces and huge King Amycus stepped into the midst, and put up their hands. First they moved round each other cautiously, watching for a chance, and then, as the sun shone forth in the Giant’s face, Polydeuces leaped in and struck him between the eyes with his left hand, and, strong as he was, the Giant staggered and fell. Then his friends picked him up, and sponged his face with water, and all the crew of ‘Argo’ shouted with joy. He was soon on his feet again, and rushed at Polydeuces, hitting out so hard that he would have killed him if the blow had gone home. But Polydeuces just moved his head a little on one side, and the blow went by, and, as the Giant slipped, Polydeuces planted one in his mouth and another beneath his ear, and was away before the Giant could recover. There they stood, breathing heavily, and glaring at each other, till the Giant made another rush, but Polydeuces avoided him, and struck him several blows quickly in the eyes, and now the Giant was almost blind. Then Polydeuces at once ended the combat by a right-hand blow on the temple. The Giant fell, and lay as if he were dead. When he came to himself again, he had no heart to go on, for his knees shook, and

244 238

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo af n gd roelwd l’ a n g

he could hardly see. So Polydeuces made him swear never to challenge strangers again as long as he lived, and then the crew of ‘Argo’ crowned Polydeuces with a wreath of poplar leaves, and they took supper, and Orpheus sang to them, and they slept, and next day they came to the country of the unhappiest of kings. His name was Phineus, and he was a prophet; but, when he came to meet Jason and his company, he seemed more like the ghost of a beggar than a crowned king. For he was blind, and very old, and he wandered like a dream, leaning on a staff, and feeling the wall with his hand. His limbs all trembled, he was but a thing of skin and bone, and foul and filthy to see. At last he reached the doorway of the house where Jason was, and sat down, with his purple cloak fallen round him, and he held up his skinny hands, and welcomed Jason, for, being a prophet, he knew that now he should be delivered from his wretchedness. He lived, or rather lingered, in all this misery because he had offended the gods, and had told men what things were to happen in the future beyond what the gods desired that men should know. So they blinded him, and they sent against him hideous monsters with wings and crooked claws, called Harpies, which fell upon him at his meat, and carried it away before he could put it to his mouth. Sometimes they flew off with all the meat; sometimes they left a little, that he might not quite starve, and die, and be at peace, but might live in misery. Yet what they left was made so foul, and of such evil savour, that even a starving man could scarcely take it within his lips. Thus this king was the most miserable of all men living. He welcomed the heroes, and, above all, Zetes and Calais, the sons of the North Wind, for they, he knew, would help him. And they all went into his wretched, naked hall, and sat down at the tables, and the servants brought meat and drink and placed it before them, the latest and last supper of the Harpies. Then down on the meat swooped the Harpies, like lightning or wind, with clanging brazen wings, and iron claws, and the smell of a battlefield where men lie dead; down they swooped, and flew shrieking away with the food. But the two sons of the North Wind drew their short swords, and rose in the air on their golden wings, and followed where the Harpies fled, over many a sea and many a land, till they came to a distant isle, and there they slew the Harpies with their swords.12 And that isle was called ‘Turn Again,’ for there the sons of the North Wind turned, and it was late in the night when they came back to the hall of Phineus, and to their companions. Here Phineus was telling Jason and his company how they might win their way to Colchis and the world’s end, and the wood of the

245 239

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Fleece of Gold. ‘First,’ he said, ‘you shall come in your ship to the Rocks Wandering, for these rocks wander like living things in the sea, and no ship has ever sailed between them. They open, like a great mouth, to let ships pass, and when she is between their lips they clash again, and crush her in their iron jaws. By this way even winged things may never pass; nay, not even the doves that bear ambrosia to Father Zeus, the lord of Olympus, but the rocks ever catch one even of these. So, when you come near them, you must let loose a dove from the ship, and let her go before you to try the way. And if she flies safely between the rocks from one sea to the other sea, then row with all your might when the rocks open again. But if the rocks close on the bird, then return, and do not try the adventure. But, if you win safely through, then hold right on to the mouth of the River Phasis, and there you shall see the towers of Æêtes, the king, and the grove of the Fleece of Gold. And then do as well as you may.’ So they thanked him, and the next morning they set sail, till they came to a place where the Rocks Wandering wallowed in the water, and all was foam; but when the Rocks leaped apart the stream ran swift, and the waves roared beneath the rocks, and the wet cliffs bellowed. Then Euphemus took the dove in his hands, and set her free, and she flew straight at the pass where the rocks met, and sped right through, and the rocks gnashed like gnashing teeth, but they caught only a feather from her tail. Then slowly the rocks opened again, like a wild beast’s mouth that opens, and Tiphys, the helmsman, shouted, ‘Row on, hard all!’ and he held the ship straight for the pass. Then the oars bent like bows in the hands of men, and the good ship leaped at the stroke. Three strokes they pulled, and at each the ship leaped, and now they were within the black jaws of the rocks, the water boiling round them, and so dark it was that overhead they could see the stars, but the oarsmen could not see the daylight behind them, and the steersman could not see the daylight in front. Then the great tide rushed in between the rocks like a rushing river, and lifted the ship as if it were lifted by a hand, and through the strait she passed like a bird, and the rocks clashed, and only broke the carved wood of the ship’s stern. And the ship reeled into the seething sea beyond, and all the men of Jason bowed their heads over their oars, half dead with the fierce rowing. Then they set all sail, and the ship sped merrily on, past the shores of the inner sea, past bays and towns, and river mouths, and round green hills, the tombs of men slain long ago. And, behold, on the top of one mound stood a tall man, clad in rusty armour, and with a broken

246 240

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo fa n gd roelwd l’ a n g

sword in his hand, and on his head a helmet with a blood-red crest. Thrice he waved his hand, and thrice he shouted aloud, and was no more seen, for this was the ghost of Sthenelus,13 Actæon’s son, whom an arrow had slain there long since, and he had come forth from his tomb to see men of his own blood, and to greet Jason and his company. So they anchored there, and slew sheep in sacrifice, and poured blood and wine on the grave of Sthenelus. There Orpheus left a harp, placing it in the bough of a tree, that the wind might sing in the chords, and make music to Sthenelus below the earth. Then they sailed on, and at evening they saw above their heads the snowy crests of Mount Caucasus, flushed in the sunset; and high in the air they saw, as it were, a black speck that grew greater and greater, and fluttered black wings, and then fell sheer down like a stone. Then they heard a dreadful cry from a valley of the mountain, for there Prometheus was fastened to the rock, and the eagles fed upon him, because he stole fire from the gods, and gave it to men. All the heroes shuddered when they heard his cry; but not long after Heracles came that way, and he slew the eagle with his bow, and set Prometheus free. But at nightfall they came into the wide mouth of the River Phasis, that flows through the land of the world’s end, and they saw the lights burning in the palace of Æêtes the king. So now they were come to the last stage of their journey, and there they slept, and dreamed of the Fleece of Gold.

III The Winning of The Fleece Next morning the heroes awoke, and left the ship moored in the river’s mouth, hidden by tall reeds, for they took down the mast, lest it should be seen. Then they walked toward the city of Colchis, and they passed through a strange and horrible wood. Dead men, bound together with cords, were hanging from the branches, for the Colchis people buried women, but hung dead men from the branches of trees. Then they came to the palace, where King Æêtes lived, with his young son Absyrtus, and his daughter Chalciope, who had been the wife of Phrixus, and his younger daughter, Medea, who was a witch, and the priestess of Brimo, a dreadful goddess. Now Chalciope came out and welcomed Jason, for she knew the heroes were of her dear husband’s country.14 And beautiful Medea, the dark witch-girl, came forth and saw Jason, and as soon as she saw him she loved him15 more than her father and her brother

247 241

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

and all her father’s house. For his bearing was gallant, and his armour golden, and long yellow hair fell over his shoulders, and over the leopard skin that he wore above his armour. Medea turned white and then red, and cast down her eyes, but Chalciope took the heroes to the baths, and gave them food, and they were brought to Æêtes, who asked them why they came, and they told him that they desired the Fleece of Gold, and he was very angry, and told them that only to a better man than himself would he give up that Fleece. If any wished to prove himself worthy of it he must tame two bulls which breathed flame from their nostrils, and must plough four acres with these bulls, and next he must sow the field with the teeth of a dragon, and these teeth when sown would immediately grow up into armed men. Jason said that, as it must be, he would try this adventure, but he went sadly enough back to the ship and did not notice how kindly Medea was looking after him as he went. Now, in the dead of night, Medea could not sleep, because she was so sorry for the stranger, and she knew that she could help him by her magic. But she remembered how her father would burn her for a witch if she helped Jason, and a great shame, too, came on her that she should prefer a stranger to her own people. So she arose in the dark, and stole just as she was to her sister’s room, a white figure roaming like a ghost in the palace. At her sister’s door she turned back in shame, saying, ‘No, I will never do it,’ and she went back again to her chamber, and came again, and knew not what to do; but at last she returned to her own bower, and threw herself on her bed, and wept. Her sister heard her weeping, and came to her and they cried together, but softly, that no one might hear them. For Chalciope was as eager to help the Greeks for love of Phrixus, her dead husband, as Medea was for the love of Jason. At last Medea promised to carry to the temple of the goddess of whom she was a priestess, a drug that would tame the bulls which dwelt in the field of that temple. But still she wept and wished that she were dead, and had a mind to slay herself; yet, all the time, she was longing for the dawn, that she might go and see Jason, and give him the drug, and see his face once more, if she was never to see him again. So, at dawn she bound up her hair, and bathed her face, and took the drug, which was pressed from a flower. That flower first blossomed when the eagle shed the blood of Prometheus on the earth. The virtue of the juice of the flower was this, that if a man anointed himself with it, he could not that day be wounded by swords, and fire could not burn him. So she placed it in a vial beneath her girdle, and she went with other girls, her friends, to the temple of the goddess. Now Jason had been warned by Chalciope to meet her there, and he was coming with Mopsus who

248 242

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo af n gd roelwd l’ a n g

knew the speech of birds. But Mopsus heard a crow that sat on a poplar tree speaking to another crow, saying: ‘Here comes a silly prophet, and sillier than a goose. He is walking with a young man to meet a maid, and does not know that, while he is there to hear, the maid will not say a word that is in her heart. Go away, foolish prophet; it is not you she cares for.’ Then Mopsus smiled, and stopped where he was; but Jason went on, where Medea was pretending to play with the girls, her companions. When she saw Jason she felt as if she could neither go forward, nor go back, and she was very pale. But Jason told her not to be afraid, and asked her to help him, but for long she could not answer him; however, at the last, she gave him the drug, and taught him how to use it. ‘So shall you carry the fleece to Iolcos, far away, but what is it to me where you go when you have gone from here? Still remember the name of me, Medea, as I shall remember you. And may there come to me some voice, or some bird bearing the message, whenever you have quite forgotten me.’ But Jason answered, ‘Lady, let the winds blow what voice they will, and what that bird will, let him bring. But no wind or bird shall ever bear the news that I have forgotten you, if you will cross the sea with me, and be my wife.’ Then she was glad, and yet she was afraid, at the thought of that dark voyage, with a stranger, from her father’s home and her own. So they parted, Jason to the ship, and Medea to the palace. But in the morning Jason anointed himself and his armour with the drug, and all the heroes struck at him with spears and swords, but the swords would not bite on him nor on his armour. He felt so strong and light that he leaped in the air with joy, and the sun shone on his glittering shield. Now they all went up together to the field where the bulls were breathing flame. There already was Æêtes, with Medea, and all the Colchians had come to see Jason die. A plough had been brought to which he was to harness the bulls. Then he walked up to them, and they blew fire at him that flamed all round him, but the magic drug protected him. He took a horn of one bull in his right hand, and a horn of the other in his left, and dashed their heads together so mightily that they fell. When they rose, all trembling, he yoked them to the plough, and drove them with his spear, till all the field was ploughed in straight ridges and furrows. Then he dipped his helmet in the river, and drank water, for he was weary; and next he sowed the dragon’s teeth on the right and left. Then you might see spear points, and sword points, and crests of helmets break up from the soil like shoots of corn, and presently the earth was shaken like sea waves, as armed men leaped out of the fur-

249 243

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

rows, all furious for battle, and all rushed to slay Jason. But he, as Medea had told him to do, caught up a great rock, and threw it among them, and he who was struck by the rock said to his neighbour, ‘You struck me; take that!’ and ran his spear through that man’s breast, but before he could draw it out another man had cleft his helmet with a stroke, and so it went: an hour of striking and shouting, while the sparks of fire sprang up from helmet and breastplate and shield. The furrows ran red with blood, and wounded men crawled on hands and knees to strike or stab those that were yet standing and fighting. So axes and sword and spear flashed and fell, till now all the men were down but one, taller and stronger than the rest. Round him he looked, and saw only Jason standing there, and he staggered toward him, bleeding, and lifting his great axe above his head. But Jason only stepped aside from the blow which would have cloven him to the waist, the last blow of the Men of the Dragon’s Teeth, for he who struck fell, and there he lay and died. Then Jason went to the king, where he sat looking darkly on, and said, ‘O King, the field is ploughed, the seed is sown, the harvest is reaped. Give me now the Fleece of Gold, and let me be gone.’ But the king said, ‘Enough is done. To-morrow is a new day. To-morrow shall you win the Fleece.’ Then he looked sidewise at Medea, and she knew that he suspected her, and she was afraid. Æêtes went and sat brooding over his wine with the captains of his people; and his mood was bitter, both for loss of the Fleece, and because Jason had won it not by his own prowess, but by the magic aid of Medea. As for Medea herself, it was the king’s purpose to put her to a cruel death, and this she needed not her witchery to know, and a fire was in her eyes, and terrible sounds were ringing in her ears, and it seemed she had but two choices: to drink poison and die, or to flee with the heroes in the ship ‘Argo.’ But at last flight seemed better than death. So she hid all her engines of witchcraft in the folds of her gown, and she kissed her bed where she would never sleep again, and the posts of the door, and she caressed the very walls with her hand in that last farewell. And she cut a long lock of her yellow hair, and left it in the room, a keepsake to her mother dear, in memory of her maiden days. ‘Good-bye, my mother,’ she said, ‘this long lock I leave thee in place of me; good-bye, a long good-bye, to me who am going on a long journey; good-bye, my sister Chalciope, good-bye! dear house, good-bye!’ Then she stole from the house, and the bolted doors leaped open at their own accord at the swift spell Medea murmured. With her bare feet she ran down the grassy paths, and the daisies looked black against the

250 244

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo fa n gd roelwd l’ a n g

white feet of Medea. So she sped to the temple of the goddess, and the moon overhead looked down on her. Many a time had she darkened the moon’s face with her magic song, and now the Lady Moon gazed white upon her, and said, ‘I am not, then, the only one that wanders in the night for love, as I love Endymion the sleeper, who sleeps on the crest of the Latmian hill,16 and beholds me in his dreams. Many a time hast thou darkened my face with thy songs, and made night black with thy sorceries, and now thou too art in love! So go thy way, and bid thy heart endure, for a sore fate is before thee!’ But Medea hastened on till she came to the high river bank, and saw the heroes, merry at their wine in the light of a blazing fire. Thrice she called aloud, and they heard her, and came to her, and she said, ‘Save me, my friends, for all is known, and my death is sure. And I will give you the Fleece of Gold for the price of my life.’ Then Jason swore that she should be his wife, and more dear to him than all the world. So she went aboard their boat, and swiftly they rowed up stream to the dark wood where the dragon who never sleeps lay guarding the Fleece of Gold. There she landed, and Jason, and Orpheus with his harp, and through the wood they went, but that old serpent saw them coming, and hissed so loud that women wakened in Colchis town, and children cried to their mothers. But Orpheus struck softly on his harp, and he sang a hymn to Sleep, bidding him come and cast a slumber on the dragon’s wakeful eyes. This was the song he sang: Sleep! King of Gods and men! Come to my call again, Swift over field and fen, Mountain and deep: Come, bid the waves be still; Sleep, streams on height and hill; Beasts, birds, and snakes, thy will Conquereth, Sleep! Come on thy golden wings, Come ere the swallow sings, Lulling all living things, Fly they or creep! Come with thy leaden wand, Come with thy kindly hand, Soothing on sea or land Mortals that weep. Come from the cloudy west, Soft over brain and breast, Bidding the Dragon rest, Come to me, Sleep!

251 245

selected fiction of andrew lang

252

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo af n gd roelwd l’ a n g

This was Orpheus’s song, and he sang so sweetly that the bright, small eyes of the dragon closed, and all his hard coils softened and uncurled. Then Jason set his foot on the dragon’s neck and hewed off his head, and lifted down the Golden Fleece from the sacred oak tree, and it shone like a golden cloud at dawn. He waited not to wonder at it, but he and Medea and Orpheus hurried through the wet wood-paths to the ship, and threw it on board, cast a cloak over it, and bade the heroes sit down to the oars, half of them, but the others to take their shields and stand each beside the oarsmen, to guard them from the arrows of the Colchians. Then he cut the stern cables with his sword, and softly they rowed, under the bank, down the dark river to the sea. But the hissing of the dragon had already awakened the Colchians, and lights were flitting by the palace windows, and Æêtes was driving in his chariot with all his men down to the banks of the river. Then their arrows fell like hail about the ship, but they rebounded from the shields of the heroes, and the swift ship sped over the bar, and leaped as she felt the first waves of the salt sea. And now the Fleece was won. But it was weary work bringing it home to Greece, and Medea and Jason did a deed which angered the gods. They slew her brother Absyrtus, who followed after them with a fleet, and cut him limb from limb,17 and when Æêtes came with his ships, and saw the dead limbs, he stopped, and went home, for his heart was broken. The gods would not let the Greeks return by the way they had come, but by strange ways where never another ship has sailed. Up the Ister (the Danube) they rowed, through countries of savage men, till the ‘Argo’ could go no farther, by reason of the narrowness of the stream. Then they hauled her overland, where no man knows, but they launched her on the Elbe at last, and out into a sea where never sail had been seen. Then they were driven wandering out into Ocean, and to a fairy, far-off isle where Lady Circe dwelt. Circe was the sister of King Æêtes, both were children of the Sun God, and Medea hoped that Circe would be kind to her, as she could not have heard of the slaying of Absyrtus. Medea and Jason went up through the woods of the isle to the

Figure 9. H. J. Ford, ‘How the Serpent that Guarded the Golden Fleece was Slain’; illustration to ‘The Fleece of Gold’ in Lang’s Tales of Troy and Greece (1907). The illustration shows Jason as a conventional active hero, and so complements Lang’s approach to the subject. Reproduced by permission of the British Library from Tales of Troy and Greece (shelfmark 4503.de.39).

253 247

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

house of Circe, and had no fear of the lions and wolves and bears that guarded the house. These knew that Medea was an enchantress, and they fawned on her and Jason and let them pass. But in the house they found Circe clad in dark mourning raiment, and all her long black hair fell wet and dripping to her feet, for she had seen visions of terror and sin, and therefore she had purified herself in salt water of the sea. The walls of her chamber, in the night, had shone as with fire, and dripped as with blood, and a voice of wailing had broken forth, and the spirit of dead Absyrtus had cried in her ears. When Medea and Jason entered her hall, Circe bade them sit down, and called her bower maidens, fairies of woods and waters, to strew a table with a cloth of gold, and set on it food and wine. But Jason and Medea ran to the hearth, the sacred place of the house to which men that have done murder flee, and there they are safe, when they come in their flight to the house of a stranger. They cast ashes from the hearth on their heads, and Circe knew that they had slain Absyrtus. Yet she was of Medea’s near kindred, and she respected the law of the hearth. Therefore she did the rite of purification, as was the custom, cleansing blood with blood, and she burned in the fire a cake of honey, and meal, and oil, to appease the Furies who revenge the deaths of kinsmen by the hands of kinsmen. When all was done, Jason and Medea rose from their knees, and sat down on chairs in the hall, and Medea told Circe all her tale, except the slaying of Absyrtus. ‘More and worse than you tell me you have done,’ said Circe, ‘but you are my brother’s daughter.’ Then she advised them of all the dangers of their way home to Greece, how they must shun the Sirens, and Scylla and Charybdis, and she sent a messenger, Iris, the goddess of the Rainbow, to bid Thetis help them through the perils of the sea, and bring them safe to Phæacia, where the Phæacians would send them home. ‘But you shall never be happy, nor know one good year in all your lives,’ said Circe, and she bade them farewell. They went by the way that Ulysses went on a later day; they passed through many perils, and came to Iolcos, where Pelias was old, and made Jason reign in his stead. But Jason and Medea loved each other no longer, and many stories, all different from each other, are told concerning evil deeds that they wrought, and certainly they left each other, and Jason took another wife, and Medea went to Athens. Here she lived in the palace of Ægeus, an unhappy king who had been untrue to his own true love,

254 248

s e l e‘ ctthe d e ffi lc te ieocn eo fo fa n gd roelwd l’ a n g

and therefore the gods took from him courage and strength. But about Medea at Athens the story is told in the next tale, the tale of Theseus, Ægeus’s son.18

255 249

selected fiction of andrew lang

256

explanatory notes

Explanatory Notes

Introduction 1 Jan Susina, ‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass in a Kaleidoscope: Andrew Lang Mixes Up Richard Doyle’s In Fairyland’, Marvels & Tales 17:1 (2003), p. 103 and 105. 2 Allingham notes in his diary that the book was ‘a muddle’ because of the lack of consultation, and also observes that Doyle had added his own descriptions because he was ‘in a huff probably’. See Susina, ‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass’, p. 105. Reviewers had noticed this muddle, one wondering, with injustice to the poet, whether Allingham had looked at Doyle’s images before being ‘carried away’ by his rhyming. See Bryan Holme, Introduction, In Fairyland: A Series of Pictures from the Elf-world by Richard Doyle (New York: Viking, 1979), n.p. 3 Green, Andrew Lang: A Critical Biography (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946), p. 80. For a discussion of the significant role played by Leonora Lang in the composition of the anthologies attributed to the editorship of Andrew Lang, see Gillian Lathey, The Role of Translators in Children’s Literature (London: Routledge, 2010), and Andrea Day, ‘“Almost wholly the work of Mrs. Lang”: Nora Lang, Literary Labour and the Fairy Books’, Women’s Writing (September 2017) https:// www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09699082.2017.1371938. 4 Lang later articulates these views in the introduction to The Lilac Fairy Book (1910): ‘the three hundred and sixty-five authors who try to write new fairy tales are very tiresome. They always begin with a little boy or girl who goes out and meets the fairies of polyanthuses and gardenias and apple blossoms … These fairies try to be funny, and fail; or they try to preach, and succeed. Real fairies never preach or talk slang. At the end, the little boy or girl wakes up and finds that he has been dreaming. Such are the new fairy stories. May we be preserved from all the sort of them!’ See Lang, The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected

257 251

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Writings of Andrew Lang, ed. Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson, Edinburgh Critical Editions, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1, p. 164. Of course, Lang’s own fairy tales represent an endeavour to avoid these pitfalls. 5 See Marysa Demoor (ed.), Friends Over the Ocean: Andrew Lang’s Letters to J. B. Matthews, H. H. Furness, F. J. Child, William James, and J. R. Lowell, 1881–1912 (Gent: Rijksuniversiteit Gent, 1989), p. 51. Lang does not give the year in the dating of his letters, but internal evidence indicates that it was sent in 1884. 6 Lang wrote regular, and widely-read, articles in The Academy, The Daily News and The Saturday Review. By 1884 he had also published three volumes of poetry (including the epic poem, Helen of Troy), a play (The Black Thief), and prose translations of Homer’s Odyssey (1879, with S. H. Butcher) and Iliad (1883, with Ernest Myers and Walter Leaf ). 7 Lang, ‘Cinderella and the Diffusion of Tales’, Folk-Lore 4:4 (1893), p. 429. For the story, see pp. 29–31 and for its textual history see pp. 52–4. 8

See Lang, Selected Writings, vol. 1, p. 71.

9 Notably, My Own Fairy Book does not include The Princess Nobody. Susina speculates that this is because Lang sensed that it owed ‘more to Doyle’s illustrations than his own prose’. See Susina, ‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass’, p. 114. 10 Letter to Haggard, 17 February [1886], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38260, Letter 63; Letter to Robert Louis Stevenson, 27 November [1887], in Demoor, Friends Over the Ocean, p. 111. 11

See Demoor, Friends Over the Ocean, pp. 112–13.

12 Letter to Stevenson, 27 November [1887], in Demoor, Friends Over the Ocean, p. 111; Letter to Brander Matthews, 12 December [1887], in Demoor, Friends Over the Ocean, p. 94. 13 Letter to Brander Matthews, 12 December [1887], in Demoor, Friends Over the Ocean, p. 94. 14 Letter to Haggard, 15 October [1887], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38260, Letter 294; Letter to Austin Dobson, 29 November [1887], in Alban Dobson (ed.), An Austin Dobson Letter Book (Cleveland: The Rowfant Club, 1935), p. 21. 15

Green, Andrew Lang, p. 102.

16 Langstaff, Andrew Lang (Boston: Twayne, 1978), pp. 146–7; Montenyohl, ‘Andrew Lang and the Fairy Tale’, unpublished PhD thesis (Diss. Indiana University, 1986), p. 109. 17 Letter to Haggard, 15 October [1887], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38260, Letter 294. 18 Lang, ‘Modern Fairy Tales’, Illustrated London News (3 December 1892), 1893), p. 714.

258 252

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

19

See Montenyohl, ‘Andrew Lang and the Fairy Tale’, pp. 152–3.

20 Green suggests that Lang told his nieces and nephews about the pronunciation of Prigio in order to explain that ‘Prigio’ was not intended to sound like ‘prig’. See Roger Lancelyn Green, ‘Introduction’, Prince Prigio and Prince Ricardo (London: Dent, 1961), p. xiii. 21 See Jack Zipes (ed.), The Great Fairy Tale Tradition (New York: Norton, 2001), p. 386 and p. 364. 22 Reflecting on his children’s novels in his introduction to The Lilac Fairy Book, Lang writes: ‘They are rich in romantic adventure, and the Princes always marry the right Princesses and live happy ever afterwards; while the wicked witches, stepmothers, tutors and governesses are never cruelly punished, but retire to the country on ample pensions. I hate cruelty: I never put a wicked stepmother in a barrel and send her tobogganing down a hill. It is true that Prince Ricardo did kill the Yellow Dwarf; but that was in fair fight, sword in hand, and the dwarf, peace to his ashes! died in harness’. Lang, Selected Writings, p. 164. 23 This is also a story about three brothers, in which the younger brothers succeed in their quests whilst the eldest (Prince Hussein) fails. The version Lang included in The Blue Fairy Book derives from Jonathan Scott’s 1811 English translation of Antoine Galland’s French text, Les mille et une nuits. 24

See Green, Andrew Lang, p. 93.

25 Letter to Child, 1 February [1896] in Demoor, Friends Over the Ocean, p. 195. Leonora Lang’s comment is reported by Lang to Haggard in a letter of 1 January [1889], the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38260, Letter 31. 26 Ursula Vaughan Williams, ‘Ralph Vaughan Williams and His Choice of Words for Music’, Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association 99 (1972–3), p. 81. 27 Letters to Anna Hills, 13 December [1893] and 8 December [1895], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MSPR 4867.C7. MS3345 and MS3447. 28 Letter to Jeanie Lang Blackie, 14 December [1906], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38236. 29 In his author’s note, Green observes that he has avoided rereading other modern retellings of the myths whilst writing Tales of the Greek Heroes so as not to be unduly influenced, but adds that ‘Kingsley and Lang could not altogether be forgotten’. Green also recommends Lang and Haggard’s ‘romantic sequel’ to the Odyssey, The World’s Desire (1890), as an extension of his book. See Heroes of Greece and Troy (New York: Henry Z. Walck, 1961), pp. 9–10. 30 Rick Riordan, ‘Introduction’, Tales of the Greek Heroes by Roger Lancelyn Green (London: Penguin, 2009), p. vi. 31 Andrew Lang, Tales of a Fairy Court in The Gold of Fairnilee and Other Stories, Gollancz Revivals (London: Gollancz, 1967), pp. 100–1 and 142–53.

259 253

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

32

Green, Andrew Lang, pp. 94–5.

33 See Verlyn Flieger and Douglas A. Anderson (eds), Tolkien on Fairy-stories: Expanded Edition with Commentary and Notes (London: Harper Collins, 2014), pp. 250–1. 34 Letter to Anna Hills, 19 June [1906], in the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MSPR 4867.C7. MS3701. 35 Demoor, Andrew Lang (1844–1912): Late Victorian Humanist and Journalistic Critic: with a Descriptive Checklist of the Lang Letters, unpublished PhD thesis, 2 vols (Diss. Ghent University, 1983), vol. 1, p. 372. 36 See Ruth Bottigheimer, ‘Fairy Tales and Folk-tales’, The International Companion Encyclopaedia of Children’s Literature, ed. Peter Hunt (London: Routledge, 2004), p. 159, and J. R. R. Tolkien, ‘On Fairy-stories’, Tree and Leaf (London: Unwin, 1964), p. 38. Flieger and Anderson note that The Green Fairy Book, published in 1892 (precisely the year of Tolkien’s birth), includes the story ‘The Enchanted Ring’ which is about ‘a young man who is given a ring which will not only make him invisible, but will make him “the most powerful of men” provided he never makes “bad use of it”’. The parallels with The Lord of the Rings are suggestive. See Tolkien on Fairy-stories: Expanded Edition, p. 107. 37

Tolkien, ‘On Fairy-stories’, p. 17.

38

Green, Andrew Lang, p. 23.

39 Gillian Avery, Introduction, The Gold of Fairnilee and Other Stories, Gollancz Revivals (London: Gollancz, 1967), p. 7. 40

Tolkien, ‘On Fairy-stories’, p. 41.

41 Ibid. Later in the essay Tolkien returns to this theme, noting that Prince Prigio is in general ‘frivolous’ with the ‘half-mocking smile of the courtly, sophisticated Conte’ (p. 61). The recent editors of Tolkien’s essay, Verlyn Flieger and Douglas A. Anderson, note that this critique of Lang may be motivated in part by Tolkien’s doubts about The Hobbit (1937) which he had recently completed when he gave the Lang lecture, and ‘which casts a similar eye at “clever people”’. See Tolkien on Fairy-stories: Expanded Edition, p. 16. 42 Donoghue thanks her mother for reading her ‘Andrew Lang’s “Pinkel and the Witch’ more times than she [her mother] can bear to remember’. See Kissing the Witch (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1997), dedication. Byatt too records that Lang’s Coloured Fairy Books formed part of her voracious and indiscriminate reading during ‘the dark days of blackout and blitz in the second world war’. See Byatt, ‘Happy Ever After,’ The Guardian Newspaper (3 January 2004) https://www. theguardian.com/books/2004/jan/03/sciencefictionfantasyandhorror.fiction. Byatt is also the introducer of the Folio Society edition of Lang’s Pink Fairy Book (London: Folio Society, 2007), pp. ix–xviii. 43 ‘Salman Rushdie on Luka and the Fire of Life’ (September 2010) http://www. amazon.com/Luka-Fire-Life-Salman-Rushdie/dp/0679463364/ ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1301491769&sr=8–1.

260 254

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

44 Byatt, ‘The Story of the Eldest Princess’, The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye (London: Chatto, 1994), p. 66. 45

Byatt, ‘The Story of the Eldest Princess’, p. 52.

46 See ‘A Note on the Texts’ in this volume, pp. 29–30. Lang’s first published article had appeared the month before in the St. Andrews University Magazine (March 1863), pp. 107–12. The article was titled ‘Flos Regum’ and concerns the works of Tennyson and the idea of a national hero. Lang also has a poem in this issue titled ‘Sir Launcelot’ – his first published creative work. 47 Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga: The Story of the Volsungs and Niblungs, with certain songs from the Elder Edda (London: F. S. Ellis, 1870). 48 See Lang, The Red Fairy Book, ed. Brian Alderson (Harmondsworth: Kestrel, 1976), p. 359.

‘Scottish Nursery Tales’ 1 the Countess D’Aulnoy: Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy (1650/1–1705); French writer of fairy tales, admired by Lang, and a significant influence on his own literary fairy tales. Of the three stories Lang mentions, only ‘The Yellow Dwarf ’ is a direct translation of a story title used by d’Aulnoy (1697, ‘Le Nain jaune’). The name ‘Cinderella’ is more commonly associated, in translation, with Charles Perrault’s story ‘Cendrillon ou la Petite Pantoufle de verre’ (1697). The Princess Frutilla is the name given to the heroine of the English adaptation of d’Aulnoy’s story, ‘La Chatte blanche’ (‘The White Cat’) that appears in the collection Mother Bunch’s Fairy Tales from c. 1773. D’Aulnoy does not use this name herself. 2 Jack the Giant-Killer … Who killed Cock-Robin: popular British traditions; the oldest surviving narration of the Tom Thumb story is a chapbook of 1621 (The History of Tom Thumbe the Little) presumed to be by Richard Johnson. Chapbooks concerning Jack the Giant Killer were current from the early eighteenth century. See Iona and Peter Opie (eds), The Classic Fairy Tales (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), pp. 36–82. The popular English nursery rhyme ‘Who Killed Cock Robin?’ appears in print from the mid-eighteenth century, though it is probably of older origin. See Iona and Peter Opie (eds), The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1951), pp. 130–3. In his literary autobiography ‘Adventures Among Books’ in Adventures Among Books (London: Longmans, 1905) Lang identifies ‘Cock Robin’ as the rhyme he used to teach himself to read at the age of four (p. 5). 3 big flaming illustrations … little black wood-cuts: Lang charts a major shift in the publication of fairy tales, away from the seventeenth and eighteenth century chapbooks that were printed using wood blocks and black ink, towards the sophisticated colour printing of the later nineteenth century.

261 255

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

4 the Marquis of Carabbas: from Charles Perrault’s ‘Le Maître chat, ou le Chat botté’ (1697, ‘The Master Cat, or Puss in Boots’). This is the title (spelled ‘Carabas’ in Perrault’s text) that Puss invents for his master in order to pass him off as an aristocrat. 5

et id genus omne: Latin, ‘and all of that species’

6 Moreover a new … into the youthful mind: these observations echo sentiments expressed by Edgar Taylor in an essay from which Lang borrows a quotation later in this introduction (see note 16). Taylor protests against ‘the benumbing influence of this age of reason’ and the introduction of history and scientific literature into the nursery, but argues that in spite of these developments ‘experience tells us that the youthful breast yet beats high at the delights of fairy fiction’. See ‘German Popular and Traditionary Literature’ The New Monthly Magazine 4:16 (1822), p. 289. Taylor in turn echoes Charles Lamb’s complaints to Samuel Taylor Coleridge in a letter of 1802 about the late eighteenth century preference for didactic children’s literature over fairy tales: ‘Science has succeeded to poetry no less in the little walks of children than with men. Is there no possibility of averting this sore evil? Think of what you would have been now, if instead of being fed with tales and old wives’ fables in childhood, you had been crammed with geography and natural history!’ See The Works of Charles Lamb, ed. Thomas Noon Talfourd, 2 vols (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1843), vol. 1, p. 118. 7 The Instructive Picture-Book … Thinking, and Speaking: the first of these titles appeared in 1860 published by Edmondson and Douglas (Edinburgh) and was authored by ‘M. H. H. I.’; the second, mistitled by Lang, is The New Picture Book; Being Pictorial Lessons on Form, Comparison, and Number by the Swiss educationalist Niklaus Bohny, published in 1858 in English by Edmondson and Douglas, and based on a German text from 1848. David Blamires describes this latter work as ‘one of the most striking educational picture books of the midcentury’. See Telling Tales: The Impact of Germany on English Children’s Books, 1780–1918 (Cambridge: Open Book, 2009), p. 324. 8 such men as … origin of the Aryan Race: in a long introductory essay to his collection Popular Tales from the Norse (1859, translated from Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe’s Norske Folkeeventyr), George Webbe Dasent (1817–96) maintained that similarities in the folk tales of Indo-European peoples demonstrated their common origin in Aryan mythology. Similar arguments had been proposed by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, collectors of the Kinder-und Hausmärchen (Children’s and Household Tales), first published in two volumes in 1812 and 1815. At this early point in his career Lang appears to endorse this speculation, but he later came to disagree with it strenuously, arguing that fairy tales were survivals of primitive narratives that preceded the development of mythology. See Andrew Teverson, The Fairy Tale (London: Routledge, 2013), p. 90–5. 9 The shoes of swiftness … King of the Golden Mountains: as Lang suggests, these motifs are common in the mythology and folktale of diverse nations and traditions. Stith Thompson in The Motif-Index of Folk-Literature (Copenhagen:

262 256

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1955–8) classifies them as: D1521.1 ‘Seven-league boots’, D1361.15 ‘Magic cap renders invisible’, and F833.3 ‘Sword extraordinarily sharp’. In Greek myth, Perseus obtains winged sandals and an invisibility cap to aid him in his quest to defeat the Medusa (see Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, 2.4.2). Similarly, in chapbook versions of the story of ‘Jack the Giant Killer’ from the eighteenth century, Jack obtains from a giant an ‘old rusty Sword’ that will ‘cut asunder’ anything he strikes, a coat that will keep him invisible, shoes that ‘are of extraordinary Swiftness’, and a cap that furnishes him with knowledge (see Opie and Opie, The Classic Fairy Tales, p. 71). The ‘King of the Golden Mountains’ refers to the story ‘Der König vom goldenen Berg’ (The King of the Golden Mountain) collected by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm and included in the first edition (second volume) of Kinder-und Hausmärchen (KHM 92). In the story, the king of the title obtains a sword from some giants that will chop off all heads except the owner’s. 10 the Graii … old hags: in Greek myth the Graii (also Graeae and Graiae) are the daughters of Ceto and Phorcus, named Dino (or Deino), Enyo, and Pephredo (or Pemphredo); they are born as old women and share only one eye and one tooth between them. Perseus steals their eye, and agrees to return it only on the condition that they give him information that will help him overcome the Medusa. See Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, 2.4.2. Shortshanks is the name (in translation) of the eponymous hero of a folk tale ‘Lillekort’ collected by Asbjørnsen and Moe in Norske Folkeeventyr (1841–1, Norwegian Folktales). In the story, Shortshanks meets three one-eyed old women in succession, and having stolen each eye demands gifts in exchange for their return. Lang would later include the story in The Red Fairy Book (1890) under the title ‘Minnikin’. 11 Hercules … Augean stable to clean: in Greek mythology the fifth labour of Hercules is to clean the vast and abominably filthy stables belonging to King Augeas (see Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, 2.5.5). Likewise, in the story ‘Mestermø’ (‘The Master Maid’) collected by Asbjørnsen and Moe in Norske Folkeeventyr, a giant orders a prince to clean out his stables, which magically cause ten shovels of dirt to be flung back in for every spade full that is shoveled out. 12 Cupid and Psyche: the story appears as an intercalated narrative in books 4–6 of Lucius Apuleius’s second century satirical prose romance, Metamorphoses (generally referred to as The Golden Ass). Lang goes on to mention a series of analogues for this tale type, later classified as ATU 425A ‘The Search for the Lost Husband’. 13 Grimms’ story … Black Bull o’ Norroway: respectively, stories from Grimm (KHM 88) (more commonly titled in English ‘The Singing, Springing Lark’); Asbjørnsen and Moe’s Norske Folkeeventyr; Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont’s Le Magasin des enfants (1757, here referenced in its English adaptations); and Robert Chambers’ Popular Rhymes of Scotland (1842 edition). 14 Rumpel-stilts-kin … Whuppity Stoory: instances of the tale type ATU 500, ‘The Name of the Helper’. Lang uses the title of the Grimm story employed by Edgar Taylor in his translation of the narrative and also cites the Irish variant (‘Trit-a-Trot’) mentioned by Taylor in his note to the story. See German Popular

263 257

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Stories, Translated from the Kinder und Hausmärchen, Collected by M. M. Grimm, from Oral Tradition (London: C. Baldwyn, 1823), p. 239. ‘Whuppity Stoory’ is from Chambers’ Popular Rhymes of Scotland (1826). 15 Mr Robert Chambers: (1802–71); Scottish antiquarian and publisher; compiler of a number of important collections of Scottish traditions, including Popular Rhymes of Scotland (1826, then revised and extended until 1870). 16 As an old writer says: this quotation is from the preface of the chapbook The History of Tom Thumbe the Little published in London in 1621, presumed to be by the chapbook writer Richard Johnson (it is initialed R.J.). Lang may have taken the quotation from the fourth essay in Edgar Taylor’s series ‘German Popular and Traditionary Literature’ published anonymously in The New Monthly Magazine 4:16 (1822), pp. 289–96, where it appears in full on p. 289. Lang reproduces the quotation with some freedom. 17 I present my readers … never before been published: for an account of Lang’s collection of these stories, see ‘A Note on the Texts’, pp. 29–31. 18 Mr Chambers … for his printed collection: Robert Chambers cites a reference to a story titled ‘Pure Tynt Rashiecoat’ in the Complaynt of Scotland (1548), but regrets that the story couldn’t be recovered for his volume. See Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 3rd edition, with additions (Edinburgh: W. & R. Chambers, 1858), p. 203. In later editions Chambers does include a variant, ‘Rashie-Coat’. 19 the French of the time of Louis XIV: Lang is referring to the sophisticated courtly fairy tales produced by writers such as Charles Perrault during the reign of the French monarch Louis XIV (1643–1715). 20 Jeamses: footmen with affected manners and dress; after a character in William Makepeace Thackeray’s The Yellowplush Papers (1837–8). 21

Tales from the Norse: see note 8.

22 stone: until this point, the Scots dialect word ‘stane’ has been used. Lang’s shift to standard English is either an accidental inconsistency, or Lang has determined that the dialect voice is now sufficiently established. In later versions of the story published by Lang in the journals Revue Celtique and Folklore, ‘stane’ is replaced with ‘stone’ throughout. See ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’, Revue Celtique 3 (1876–8), pp. 374–6; and ‘English and Scotch Fairy Tales’, Folklore 1:3 (1890), pp. 292–5. For Lang’s treatment of the Scottish dialect more broadly, see ‘A Note on the Texts’, pp. 29–30. 23 daughter: as is the case with his use of ‘stane’ and ‘stone’ (see note 22), Lang reverts to standard English here, having used ‘dochter’ previously. The revised text of the story in Revue Celtique uses both ‘dochter’ and ‘daughter’ like the present text, but in Folklore Lang employs ‘dochter’ throughout. 24 The Lassie and her God-mother: a Norwegian story included by Asbjørnsen and Moe in Norske Folkeeventyr. The Norwegian title is ‘Jomfru Maria som gudmor’ (‘The Virgin Mary as Godmother’); Lang uses the title given in Dasent’s translation in Popular Tales from the Norse. In Dasent, the passage in question reads: ‘when the evening came on, she clomb up into a tall tree, which grew over

264 258

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

a spring, and there she made herself up to sleep that night. Close by lay a castle, and from that castle came early every morning a maid to draw water, to make the Prince’s tea, from the spring over which the lassie was sitting. So the maid looked down into the spring, saw the lovely face in the water, and thought it was her own; then she flung away the pitcher and ran home’. See Popular Tales from the Norse (New York: Appleton, 1859), p. 176. 25 W: this article is signed ‘W’ in the St Andrews University Magazine. In a volume of the magazine kept at the University library at St Andrews, there is a hand written note identifying ‘W’ in this and several other articles as Andrew Lang (Special Collections StALF1119.A2M2A). Lang later republished the stories under his own name. See ‘A Note on the Texts’, p. 29.

The Princess Nobody 1 Richard Doyle: (1824–83), commonly known as ‘Dickie Doyle’; Victorian painter and illustrator, celebrated for his depiction of fairies. For discussion of Lang’s commission to write The Princess Nobody in response to Doyle’s picture collection In Fairyland: A Series of Pictures from the Elf-World (1870) see Introduction, pp. 9–10, and Jan Susina, ‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass in a Kaleidoscope: Andrew Lang Mixes Up Richard Doyle’s In Fairyland’, Marvels & Tales 17:1 (2003), pp. 100–19. 2 Branxholm Park: an estate on the Scottish Borders and home of Grieve family. Charles John Grieve married Leonora Lang’s sister Elizabeth Willing Alleyne in 1870, and the dedication is to their children, Andrew and Leonora Lang’s nieces and nephews. 3

The Teviot: river in the Scottish Borders.

4 the Ark: Noah’s Ark, built to ensure the survival of humanity and animals following the deluge commanded by God in the Bible (Genesis, 6–9). 5 a merry coil: Lang uses this phrase several times in his work – in the long poem Helen of Troy (1882) and the novel The Monk of Fife (1896). The ‘mortal coil’ of Hamlet’s soliloquy is transformed from an articulation of the suffering and struggle of life into an affirmation of pleasure and play. 6 Mr. Royle: Vernon Royle (1859–1929), English cricketer who played for Lancashire in the 1870s and 1880s, and toured Australia in 1878–9; noted for his skill in fielding. 7 Here you may see … climbing up the stalk: this is the first of ten passages in The Princess Nobody in which, as Jan Susina notes, Lang ‘specifically draws the reader’s attention to Doyle’s illustration’ (‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass’, p. 111). For Doyles’ illustration see cover and Figure 3.

265 259

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

8 They had no child: Lang draws on two familiar folk tale motifs in this passage: T513 ‘Conception from wish’, and T553 ‘Thumbling born as a result of hasty wish’. The motif of the wished for child is a recurrent one in Lang’s writing. See, for instance, the opening situations of ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’ and Prince Prigio in this volume. 9 NIENTE: the name of the baby (meaning ‘nothing’ in Italian, as Lang explains) recalls that of the protagonist of the Scottish folk tale collected by Lang, titled ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’. See this volume pp. 52–5. 10 married to a horrid rude Dwarf: Lang evokes the situation of Princess Toute-Belle in Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy’s ‘Le Nain jaune’ (1697, ‘The Yellow Dwarf ’), which also furnishes him with a fictional scenario in Prince Ricardo. pp. 188–194. See pp. 188–94. 11 the Prince Comical: motif L112, ‘Hero of unpromising appearance’. Lang’s scenario here is perhaps closest to that in Charles Perrault’s ‘Riquet à la Houppe’ (‘Riquet-with-the-Tuft’) in which an ugly but intelligent man courts a beautiful but stupid princess. See Perrault, The Complete Fairy Tales in Verse and Prose: A Dual-Language Book, ed. and trans. Stanley Appelbaum (New York: Dover, 2002), pp. 176–89. The use of aptronymic naming is characteristic of French fairy tales of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. 12 armies had been led … Humming Birds: Lang alludes to instances in mythology where animals have been involved in battle. Woodpeckers and wolves were sacred to Mars, the Roman god of War; in Norse mythology the wolf Fenrir engages in the struggle of Ragnarök; and in Aztec mythology, the war deity Huitzilopochtli is identified with the humming bird. 13 Then she touched him with her wand … as ever was seen: Susina observes that ‘the transformation of Prince Comical into Prince Charming is a neat trick on Lang’s part in that it allows him to use two different Doyle figures as the hero of his tale (‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass’, p. 112). Such transformations are also conventional in fairy tales (motif D52.2 ‘Ugly man becomes handsome’). In Perrault’s ‘Riquet à la Houppe’, the ugly Riquet is made attractive because a fairy has given the princess he wishes to marry the power to make the man she loves handsome. See Perrault, The Complete Fairy Tales, pp. 185–6. 14 bartizan: architectural feature of Medieval European castles: a turret with battlements that projects from castle walls or parapets. The word is Scottish in origin, and the feature is common in Scottish castles, which may explain Lang’s preference for it. 15 lingering in the enchanted land: in d’Aulnoy’s ‘L’Île de la félicité’ (1690, ‘The Island of Happiness’) the protagonists linger too long on a magical island, and when the hero finally leaves to pursue his duty he realises that a disproportionate number of years have passed and it is time for death to claim him. For the story, see Jack Zipes, (ed. and trans.), Beauties Beasts and Enchantments: Classic French Fairy Tales (New York: Penguin, 1989), pp. 299–308.

266 260

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

16 never call me by my own name: motif C435.1, ‘Tabu: uttering spouse’s name’. Lang writes about prohibitions against the use of names in folklore in his anthropological work Custom and Myth, published in the same year as The Princess Nobody. See Lang, The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected Writings of Andrew Lang, ed. Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1, p. 71. 17 It can’t be Sybil, can it: here, and in the manner in which the prince learns the princess’s true name, Lang references the familiar name-guessing motif from ATU 500 ‘The Name of the Helper’, classified by Stith Thompson as C432.1 ‘Guessing the name of a supernatural creature gives power over him’. 18 some nations … name of her husband: in Custom and Myth Lang attributes this practice to the Zulus, and also cites the Welsh fairy tales published by John Rhys in which ‘the husband may not even know the name of his fairy bride, on pain of losing her forever’. See Lang, Selected Writings, vol. 1, p. 71. 19 the favourite charger of Puck: there is no mention of Puck riding a bat in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream; but one of Ariel’s songs in The Tempest includes the line ‘On the bat’s back I do fly’ (5.1.91) and Ariel was commonly depicted flying on a bat in illustrations and artworks, notably, Henry Singleton’s popular painting Ariel on a Bat’s Back (1819). 20 he kissed her across the Mushroom: see Figure 3. Susina observes that Lang reorders the sequence of Doyle’s images here in order to transform a tragedy into a comedy (‘Like the Fragments of Coloured Glass’, p. 111 and 113). In plate 8 of Doyle’s In Fairyland (‘a little play, in Three Acts’), the image of the fairies kissing across a mushroom precedes the scene of separation. Lang inverts this to make the kissing scene follow the rejection, transforming the kiss into a representation of reconciliation. 21

Journeys end in lovers meeting: Lang quotes Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, 2.3.43.

22 Black Rod: the title of an official in the British parliament with responsibility for the organisation of ceremonies and events in the Palace of Westminster. The title in full is Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod or (now) Lady Usher of the Black Rod. 23 ERANT OLIM REX QUIDAM ET REGINA: The first line of Lucius Apuleius’s story of Cupid and Psyche in the second century Latin prose romance Metamorphoses (also known as The Golden Ass) reads ‘Erant in quadam civitate rex et regina’ (‘there was once in a certain city a king and a queen’). See Apuleius, Metamorphoses, ed. J. Arthur Hanson, Loeb Classical Library 44, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press), vol. 1, 4.28.1. Lang’s version of this opening formula is translated in the poem that follows the quotation as: ‘There lived a King once, and a Queen’. 24 Au Temps jadis! as Perrault says: French, ‘a long time ago’ or ‘in former times’; Perrault uses the phrase in the verse dedication of his Histoires ou Contes du temps passé (1697, Stories, or Tales of Times Passed). See The Complete Fairy Tales, p. 114.

267 261

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

The Gold of Fairnilee 1 Jeanie Lang, Larra: Jeanie Lang is Lang’s niece (1877–1908), daughter of his brother Patrick who had emigrated to Australia in 1878. ‘Larra’ is a town in Victoria, Australia, where a number of the Langs of Selkirkshire had settled, and which must have been the residence for Jeanie in 1888. In the first edition of The Gold of Fairnilee, ‘Lappa’ is printed at this point, but has been corrected to ‘Larra’ in the text as it appears in Lang’s My Own Fairy Book (1895). 2 Camp of Rink: the remains of an Iron Age stone fortification and settlement on Rink Hill in Selkirkshire. 3

Bunyips: supernatural creatures in Australian Aboriginal mythology.

4 the old Scotch house: in what follows, Lang describes the house of Fairnilee, situated on the River Tweed near Caddonfoot in Selkirkshire, close to his childhood home. There is evidence of a house on this site from the sixteenth century, though the present remains are estimated to be from a construction of about 1600. See ‘Fairnilee: GDL00175’ on the Historic Environment Scotland website, < http://portal.historicenvironment.scot/designation/GDL00175> (accessed 21 May 2018). In Lang’s youth, the house was a popular picturesque ruin, as depicted here, and as described by Lang in an article on the house for the Illustrated London News titled ‘An Old Chair and an Old House’ 2897 (27 October 1894), p. 534. In this article Lang identifies the house as the former residence of the Kers of Faldonside in ‘about 1490’, and latterly as the home of the Rutherford family, and in particular Alison Rutherford (later Cockburn) (1712–94), the poet who knew both Walter Scott and Robert Burns (see also note 14). The house is also significant for Lang because it is associated with the traditional ballad ‘Thomas the Rhymer’: in Scott’s poem on the theme the deer that come to fetch Thomas the Rhymer to Fairyland are described as being ‘as white as snow on Fairnalie’, and in a note to this Scott records that ‘Fairnalie’, ‘an ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire’, is the location that the Fairy Queen proposes to meet Thomas in a ‘popular edition’ of the ballad. See Walter Scott, The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 4 vols. (Edinburgh: Robert Cadell, 1849), vol. 4, p. 164. In later years, Lang’s childhood friend, the industrialist Alexander Roberts, bought the land and commissioned a new house near to the ruin from the architect John James Burnet (completed 1904–6). Roger Lancelyn Green speculates that Roberts became familiar with the site during youthful fishing trips with Lang. See Andrew Lang: A Critical Biography (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946), p. 6. See also the account and illustration of Fairnilee provided by Andrew Lang and his brother John in Highways and Byways in the Border, second edition (London: Macmillan, 1914), pp. 319–22. Fairnilee has variant spellings; in manuscript Lang has used both ‘Fernilea’ and ‘Fernielea’ before settling on the current spelling. See Andrew Lang, ‘The Gold of Fairnilee’, unpublished manuscript, MS-2379, box 1.3, Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at Austin, p. 1 and p. 3. 5 corners: the published first edition has ‘corner’ here, as does the text in Lang’s My Own Fairy Book, but in the manuscript Lang has written corners (‘The Gold of Fairnilee’, unpublished manuscript, p. 2). The sense of the sentence suggests

268 262

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

that there are ‘little round towers’ at multiple corners, so the present edition reverts to the manuscript text on the assumption that ‘corner’ is a printer’s error. The frontispiece illustration to The Gold of Fairnilee by T. Scott shows Fairnilee with towers (or ‘bartisans’) at the two front corners of the house. 6 the Tweed: the River Tweed, or Tweed Water, flows east from the Lowther Hills to Berwick-Upon-Tweed in Northumberland. In his essay collection Angling Sketches (1891) Lang writes of the Tweed and its tributaries the River Teviot, Ettrick Water, and (via Ettrick Water) Yarrow Water: ‘These are the waters with which our boyhood was mainly engaged; it is a pleasure to name and number them … One seemed forsaken in an enchanted world; one might see the two white fairy deer flit by, bringing to us, as to Thomas Rhymer, the tidings that we must back to Fairyland’. See Angling Sketches, second edition (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1895), p. 35. Lang’s pleasure in the area, and his sense of its enchantment, breathe through The Gold of Fairnilee. 7 Nancy the old nurse: Green argues that this is a portrait of Lang’s own childhood nurse, also named Nancy, and described by his aunt in her memoirs as ‘old and very Scotch’. See Green, Andrew Lang, p. 7, and E. M. Sellar, Recollections and Impressions (Edinburgh: Blackwood, 1907), p. 112. 8 Simon Grieve: the Grieves were a prominent Border family. Leonora Lang’s sister, Elizabeth, married Charles Grieve of Branxholm Park, and Lang dedicated The Princess Nobody to his Grieve nephews and nieces. 9 Lady Ker: the Ker Clan (sometimes Kerr) played an important role in Scottish border history. George MacDonald Fraser notes that ‘the Kerrs were, with the possible exception of the Scotts, the leading tribe of the Scottish Middle March, which they frequently ruled as Wardens. However, no family was more active in reiving [raiding]’. See Fraser, The Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers, revised edition (London: Harper Collins, 1995), p. 62. In his column ‘At the Sign of the Ship’ for June 1889 Lang wonders whether ‘the Kers of Faldonside’ will be ‘down on this humble head’ because he has ‘told a tale in which one of them was carried off to Fairyland’. See Longman’s Magazine 14:80 (June 1889), p. 220. 10 going to fight the English: as Lang indicates subsequently, this is the Battle of Flodden (9 September 1513) fought between Scottish forces under the command of King James IV and English forces under the Earl of Surrey. The Scots had invaded England in support of France, intending to divert English troops from Henry VIII’s campaign against Louis XII. The English were victorious in the battle and James IV was killed along with a significant proportion of his nobility and approximately 10,000 Scottish soldiers. 11 the day of Flodden fight: see note 10. Lang misdates the Battle of Flodden, which was 9 September. In manuscript Lang initially gives ‘1713’ as the date of the action, and the phrase ‘the day of Flodden fight’ is missing, suggesting that Lang was undecided, at this early point of the story, about when it should be set (‘The Gold of Fairnilee’, unpublished manuscript, p. 8). 1713 would have made this a narrative about incipient Jacobite uprising. The Flodden setting has been established definitively by MS p. 12.

269 263

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

12 Ettrick and Yarrow: see note 6. The conjunction is especially significant, since Carterhaugh, the setting of the ballad ‘Tamlane’, is located where Ettrick Water meets Yarrow Water. See Walter Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 2, pp. 337–50. 13 James IV: of Scotland, House of Stewart (latterly Stuart); ruled from 1488 until his death at the Battle of Flodden in 1513. 14 Flowers of the Forest: Lang alludes to the Scottish song included in Walter Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Scott notes that the lyrics had been composed in imitation of ‘[t]he manner of ancient minstrels’ by ‘a lady of family in Roxburghshire’ (Jean Elliot c. 1756), and that the lines are ‘joined to the remembrance of the fatal battle of Flodden’. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 3, p. 333–7. A version of this song was also composed by the poet Alison Cockburn (née Rutherford) (1712–94) who lived in the house at Fairnilee. Scott includes this poem in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border as ‘Flowers of the Forest: Part Second’ and notes that it is by ‘the late Mrs Cockburn, daughter of Rutherford of Fairnalie, in Selkirkshire’. See vol. 3, p. 338. 15 Randal was a strange child… happen to him: Lang offers a free interpretation of the second part of the nurse’s statement which expresses a wish that he may not become deranged, or be doomed to an unusual fate. The word ‘fey’ also invokes the fairies via the Old French, fae. In manuscript, Lang has ‘mauna’ in place of ‘may na’, suggesting a subsequent effort on the part of Lang or his publisher to adjust the text for a non-Scottish readership (‘The Gold of Fairnilee’, unpublished manuscript, p. 12). 16 At that time … steal each other’s cows time about: for accounts of the Border Reivers (raiders), see Fraser, The Steel Bonnets, and Alistair Moffat, The Reivers: The Story of the Border Reivers, second edition (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2017). 17 Yetholm: Town Yetholm and Kirk Yetholm are towns in the Scottish Borders, and historical centres of the Scottish Romany community. 18

Southron: English person, from South of the border.

19 Liddesdale: the valley of Liddel Water, and a point of transit between England and Scotland. 20 the ha’ o’ Hardriding: in Northumberland, near Bardon Mill, close to the Scottish Borders, historical home of the Ridley family. 21 Why, it’s a bairn! … over its blue eyes: this episode recalls a story told about the Border reiver Walter Scott of Harden (known as ‘Auld Wat’), who is said to have returned from a raid with a child (in this instance male) accidentally bundled up in the spoils. John Leyden, in his long poem Scenes of Infancy: Descriptive of Teviotdale (1803), describes the discovery of the child by Scott’s wife, Mary, known as the Flower of Yarrow, in terms that anticipate Lang: ‘Amid the piles of spoil that strew’d the ground, / Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound; / With trembling haste the youthful matron flew, / And from the hurried heaps an infant drew’. Leyden also gives an account of the abducted child’s

270 264

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

subsequent life, which involves a rejection of the martial struggles that led to his abduction, and his development into a poet. See Leyden, Scenes of Infancy (Kelso: Rutherford and Craig, 1875) p. 47. 22 The Red Cock’s crawing ower Hardriding Ha’ this day: this image has popular provenance and is also used by Lang in his short story ‘In Castle Perilous’ (1886) in which the verse prophecy ‘When Mackenzie lies in the perilous ha’ / The wild Red Cock on the roof shall craw’ is taken to mean that ‘the castle shall be burned down’. See In the Wrong Paradise and Other Stories, second edition (London: Kegan Paul, Trench and Co., 1886), p. 272. 23 Jane Musgrave: the surname suggests that Jane belongs to an established Anglo-Scottish border family, themselves historically associated with border raids. Fraser notes that the Musgraves were a ‘powerful family of Cumberland who had a long record of service to the English Crown, both as soldiers and March officers.’ Their roles as Wardens of the March, Fraser observes, did not ‘inhibit their extra-legal activities’. See The Steel Bonnets, p. 65. 24 Caddon Burn … Burn of Peel: Caddon Burn (or Caddon Water) is a small river that joins the Tweed; the Burn of Peel is beneath Peel Fell on the AngloScottish border. 25 the Red Etin: fantastic creature from a Scottish folk tale of the same name, described as a monster with three heads. The narrative appears in Robert Chambers’ Popular Rhymes of Scotland (1826), and is also mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland (1549). See Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, third edition (Edinburgh: W. & R. Chambers, 1841), p. 48, and pp. 89–95. Lang also includes the story in The Blue Fairy Book (1889). 26 Whuppity Stoorie: a character in a Scottish folk tale of the same name. As is common in the tale type ATU 500 (‘The Name of the Helper’) the story concerns a woman who must guess an unusual name (in this case, of a fairy) in order to prevent the abduction of her child. The story appears in Robert Chambers’ Popular Rhymes of Scotland, and was taken from the manuscript of his deceased friend Charles K. Sharpe, where it is attributed to ‘Nurse Jenny’. See Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, pp. 72–7. 27 birr, birr: Lang takes this sound from Chambers’ text, in which ‘the goodwife o’ Kittlerumpit’ hears ‘the birring o’ a lint-wheel’ as she approaches Whuppity Stoorie’s ‘quarry-hole’. See Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 74. 28 the kelpie that lives in Cauldshiels Loch: Lang’s account of this story echoes the account given by Walter Scott to the visiting American writer Washington Irving in 1817. Scott told Irving that Cauldshiels Loch was believed locally to be ‘haunted by a bogle in the shape of a water bull, which lived in the deep parts, and now and then came forth upon dry land and made a tremendous roaring, that shook the very hills.’ See Washington Irving, Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey (Philadelphia: Carey, Lea and Blanchard, 1835), p. 80. 29 Shellycoat: fantastical creature that inhabits rivers, and is especially common in the area of the Ettrick forest. Scott describes the Shellycoat in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 1, pp. 206–7.

271 265

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

30 Brownies: Chambers offers an account of Brownies in Popular Rhymes of Scotland that is comparable to Lang’s (see pp. 325–7). For Lang on the subject of Brownies see also his introduction to Robert Kirk’s The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies (London: Nutt, 1893), pp. xxiv–xxv, and his article ‘Argument for the Existence of a Brownie’, The Illustrated London News 2814 (25 March 1893), p. 370. 31 Eildon Hills: fabled location of the Eildon tree, where Thomas the Rhymer delivered his prophecies. In the ballad of ‘Thomas the Rhymer’, Thomas encounters ‘the queen of fair Elfland’ at Eildon Tree and commits himself, by a kiss, to seven years in her service. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 4, pp. 117–18. See also Lang and Lang, Highways and Byways in the Border, pp. 217–19. 32 good folk: a euphemism, referring indirectly to fairies. Robert Kirk, in his seventeenth century treatise known as The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies, which Lang edited and introduced in 1893, suggests that ‘Siths, or FAIRIES’ are referred to as ‘Sleagh Maith, or the Good People … to prevent the Dint of their ill Attempts’ (p.5). Lang explores the practice of prohibiting the naming of supernatural creatures in his essay ‘Cupid, Psyche and the “Sun-Frog”’ in Custom and Myth (1884). See Lang, The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected Writings of Andrew Lang, ed. Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1, p. 71 and p. 75. 33 Atween the wet … Fairnilee doth lie: Lang adapts a rhyme that appears in Chambers’ Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 240: ‘Atween the wat grund and the dry / The gowd o’ Tamleuchar doth lie’. 34

the Camp of Rink … circle of stonework: see note 2.

35 the old rhyme: printed in Scotch dialect in Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 324. 36 Not myself, but my mother … bonny a bairn as ever you saw: this story appears under the title ‘The Changeling’ in Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, pp. 70–2, and, along with ‘Whuppity Stoorie’ is attributed to ‘Nurse Jenny’. See note 26. 37

mavises: song thrushes.

38 the English … won the day: Lang echoes a line from the penultimate stanza of Jean Elliot’s ‘Flowers of the Forest’: ‘The English for ance, by guile wan the day’. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 3, p. 336. See also note 14. 39 Laird’s man, of Gala: a servant at Gala House in Galashiels; this was the seat of the Pringle family in the sixteenth century, though there wasn’t a formal ‘Laird of Gala’ until Hugh Scott, son of Mary and Walter Scott of Harden (see notes 21 and 74), was given the title in the early seventeenth century. 40 Redcap … woman of the hairy hand: Redcap is a malevolent spirit of Border folklore that haunts old castles, crushes its victims to death with stones, and soaks its cap in their blood. Walter Scott mentions the Redcap in his notes to the ballad ‘Lord Soulis’ since this fourteenth century tyrant of Hermitage Castle (see note

272 266

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

50) was supposed to have a Redcap as a familiar. See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 4, p. 243 and 244. The woman of the hairy hand is Maag Moulach, a spirit said to haunt Tulloch Gorm. Investigations into the truth of this apparition by the church are mentioned by Thomas Pennant in A Tour in Scotland (London: Benjamin White, 1772), part 2, p. 13. 41 The Wishing Well: in the ballad of ‘Tamlane’ the well at Carterhaugh is the enchanted location that allows transit to fairy land. See Walter Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 2, p. 338. 42

a shaveling: derogatory term for a tonsured monk.

43

bannocks: form of flat bread baked in Scotland.

44 A muckle gliff … weary braes: ‘a big fright you have given us, and a weary traipse up the weary hills’. 45 nicht o’ St. John: St John’s Eve, 23 June; the night prior to the Christian celebration of the birth of John the Baptist, also the Summer solstice. The festivities included bonfires, lit to ward off malignant spirits and witches that were thought to have power at the midnight hour (see for instance, ‘The Eve of St John’, in Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 4, p. 189). In some of these festivities, cattle were driven through the fires to guard them against supernatural harm. 46 Newark … Foulshiels: locations opposite one another on the banks of the River Yarrow in the Scottish Borders. ‘Newark’s stately tower’, according to Lang and his brother John, is ‘the most famous, and … most beautiful of all the Border strongholds’. See Lang and Lang, Highways and Byways in the Border, p. 315. 47 Sir John Murray’s at Philiphaugh: Philiphaugh, on the banks of the Yarrow River in the Scottish borders, is a former seat of the Murray family. The outlaw John Murray (d. 1510) is celebrated in the ballad included by Scott in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border titled ‘The Sang of the Outlaw Murray’ (vol. 1, pp. 369–91). Simon Grieve is referring to the son and successor of the outlaw. 48

the blessed rood o’ grace: the crucifix.

49 the Debatable Land: disputed territory between Scotland and England, possessed by neither nation. 50 up Tweed to the Crook … by Liddel water: locations in the Scottish Borders on the River Tweed and its tributaries. Catslack Tower in Yarrow was burned to the ground by the English in 1548 causing the deaths of Elizabeth Kerr of Cessford (Lady Buccleuch) and her family. Hermitage castle in Roxburghshire dates from the thirteenth century and, in the period depicted, was occupied by the Hepburns of Bothwell. 51 Armstrongs and Grahames: prominent Border clans located in the debatable lands who engaged in raids into both England and Scotland. See Fraser, Steel Bonnets, p. 57 and 60. Scott prefaces the ballad ‘Johnie Armstrang’ in The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border with an essay on the Armstrong family, in which he identifies them as ‘the most lawless of the Border depredators’ (vol. 1, p. 392).

273 267

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

52 Melrose Abbey: St Mary’s Abbey in Melrose on the Scottish Borders; a Cistercian monastery founded in the twelfth century. 53 a dreadful tax … country of Darkness: the tax, or ‘teind’, paid by the fairies to Hell, is a recurrent feature of the ballads of ‘Tamlane’ and ‘Thomas the Rhymer’. See E. B. Lyle, ‘The Teind to Hell in “Tam Lin”’, Folklore 81:3 (1970), pp. 177–81. 54 singing her fairy song: in the novel’s front matter, Lang attributes this song to a friend whose initials he gives as ‘F. De Q. M’. This is Lang’s cousin Florence Anne De Quincey MacCunn (née Sellar), who later authored biographies of John Knox (1895) and Mary Stuart (1905), and an account of Walter Scott’s social circle titled Sir Walter Scott’s Friends (Edinburgh: Blackwood, 1909), which includes a description of ‘Alison Rutherford of Fairnalee’ (p. 5). Florence MacCunn also collaborated with Lang on several of the Coloured Fairy Books and on The True Story Book (1893), which Lang dedicates to her in a poem. 55 The Ill Years: the Seven Ill Years is the name given to a famine in Scotland in the 1690s that claimed between 60,000 and 180,000 lives. Lang applies this name to an earlier event. 56 before the Reformation: the Protestant reformation of the Church that took place in sixteenth century Europe. 57 to St. Boswell and St. Rule’s … St. Andrew’s on the sea: the shrine at Saint Boswell on the River Tweed in Roxburghshire commemorated the seventh century monk of Melrose Abbey (Boisil). Saint Rule (or Regulus) is the legendary Greek monk who brought relics of Saint Andrew to Scotland in the fourth century CE, giving the town of St Andrews its name, and Scotland its patron saint. 58 the Abbey of St. Alban’s … shrine of Canterbury: pilgrimages to the Abbey of St Albans (now St Albans Cathedral) and to the shrine of Thomas à Beckett in Canterbury Cathedral would have entailed a journeys of some 350 and 400 miles respectively. 59

Flower of Yarrow: see notes 21 and 74.

60 It is said that … on snails: this story is also relayed by Walter Scott in Tales of a Grandfather (History of Scotland) (Edinburgh: Robert Cadell, 1842), vol. 2, pp. 116–17. Scott identifies the story as ‘traditional’. 61 spirit of the well: at this point in his manuscript Lang describes a rose bush beside the well. The description has subsequently been crossed through, and the roses moved further into the wood, possibly to allow for Jeanie’s dramatic journey deeper into the wood, following the smell of the roses. The roses have also been changed from red to white. (Lang, ‘The Gold of Fairnilee’, unpublished manuscript, p. 81). 62 a milk-white steed: in the ballad of ‘Tamlane’, Tamlane rides a ‘milk-white steed’ whilst enchanted and Janet is instructed to ‘grip ye to the milk-white steed’ and ‘pu’ the rider down’ in order to begin the disenchantment. Likewise in ‘Thomas the Rhymer’, the Queen of Elfland rides a ‘milk-white steed’. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 2, p. 345, and vol. 4, p. 118.

274 268

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

63 a great shadowy rose tree … wild roses: Janet summons Tamlane in the ballad by plucking ‘a double rose’. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 2, p. 341. 64 a dwarf … with a very angry face: in Scott’s version of the ballad ‘Tamlane’ (‘The Young Tamlane’) ‘a wee wee man’ appears when Janet plucks ‘a red red rose’ by the well at Carterhaugh, and demands to know ‘Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet?’ See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 2, p. 338. The dwarf here also bears comparison to the Yellow Dwarf in Lang’s Prince Ricardo. See this volume, p. 190. 65 the Fairy Queen and Fairyland: the following account of Randal’s experiences draws upon the descriptions of fairy abduction in the ballads of ‘Thomas the Rhymer’ and ‘Tamlane’. For Lang’s selection of these ballads and his commentary see Andrew Lang (ed.) A Collection of Ballads (London: Chapman and Hall, 1897), pp. 10–18, and 231–3. Lang anthologises Robert Burns’s version of the ‘Tamlane’ ballad, titled ‘Tam Lin’. 66 the Fairy Queen showed him three paths: in the ballad of ‘Thomas the Rhymer’, the Queen of Elfland shows Thomas three roads in a ‘desert wide’: the ‘narrow road … of righteousness’, the ‘braid braid road … of wickedness’, and the ‘bonny road … to fair Elfland’. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 4, p. 119. 67 Thomas the Rhymer … Ercildoune: Scottish poet of the thirteenth century, attributed powers of prophecy in popular legend, and a hero of ballad tradition. According to traditional lore, Thomas the Rhymer was carried away to fairy land by the Fairy Queen and remained there for seven years, gaining his powers of prophecy in the process. Scott notes that ‘the residence, and probably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed’. See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 4, p. 110. Ercildoune is now known as Earlston. For Lang’s commentary on Thomas the Rhymer, see A Collection of Ballads, pp. 232–3, and Lang and Lang, Highways and Byways in the Border, pp. 217–19. 68 But when I touched my eyes with it … all turned waste and ugly: Scott notes that stories concerning a liquid or ointment from fairy land that grants its users special vision are widespread in the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, and traces such stories back as far, at least, as the Otia Imperialia of Gervase of Tilbury (c. 1211 CE) in which a tale is told of a woman who, having been abducted by Dracae (water spirits) and made to serve as a nurse for seven years, accidentally touches her eye with some ‘serpent grease’ that enables her to see the Dracae as they mingle themselves with people. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 2, p. 267. In the Lilac Fairy Book, Lang includes a story taken from Patrick Kennedy’s Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts (1866), in which a woman is carried to a magnificent castle by a ‘dark man’, given ‘a bottle of green ointment’, and told to rub it on a child. When she accidentally rubs the ointment on her own eye, she sees through the enchantment: the castle becomes a cave, the people are ‘poverty-bitten creatures’ and their ‘rich dresses’ are ‘rags’. See Lang, The Lilac Fairy Book (London: Longmans Green and Co., 1910), pp. 54–61. 69

lang syne: Scots dialect, ‘long since’: in the distant past.

275 269

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

70 Catrail: an ancient earthwork made up of a ditch and bank that runs approximately eleven and half miles across the valley of the river Teviot. The purpose of the earthwork is not known, though it is commonly supposed to mark a territorial boundary. In Highways and Byways in the Border, Andrew Lang and his brother John note that ‘the learned derive the word from the Welsh cad, Gaelic Cath, ‘a battle,’ and some think that the work defended the Border of the Christian Cymric folk of Strathclyde from the Pagan English of Northumbria’; given the inadequacy of the ditch as a military defence, however, their preferred interpretation is that ‘the word Catrail is a mere old English nickname for a ditch which they did not understand, the cat’s trail’ (p. 2). 71 built by the old Britons … many hundreds of years ago: the Roman invasion of Scotland (Caledonia) began c. 71 CE. The Roman fort at Oakwood (or Aikwood) in Selkirkshire was established c. 80 CE. 72 a pair of spurs in a dish for all our dinner: this story is told of Mary Scott, ‘Flower of Yarrow,’ wife of the Border reiver Walter Scott of Harden (‘Auld Wat’). In the introduction to Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Scott writes: ‘when the last bullock was killed and devoured, it was the lady’s custom to place on the table a dish which, on being uncovered, was found to contain a pair of clean spurs, a hint to the riders that they must shift for their next meal’. See vol. 1, p. 211, n. 2. Scott also includes in his collection a poem on the theme by John Marriott titled ‘The Feast of Spurs.’ See vol. 4, pp. 375–8. 73 jack: as Lang indicates in an earlier footnote, this is plate-jack, or armour. In the ballad ‘The Eve of St John’ the Baron of Smayleho’me prepares for battle with his ‘Scottish spear’, his ‘plate-jack … braced, and his helmet … laced’. See Scott, Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. 4, p. 185. 74 she was Fortune: Roman goddess, personifying good luck; she sits on the wheel of fortune. 75

ancient gold coins … before Julius Caesar came: Celtic coins, prior to 54 CE.

76 S. P. Q. R.: an abbreviation signifying the Roman Empire; the letters stand for the Latin phrase Senatus Populusque Romanus (The Senate and People of Rome). 77 strange beasts with wings, and heads like lions: the winged lion is traditionally the symbol of St Mark, and later became the emblem of Venice. Lang may intend to suggest that the Roman owners of these plates were Christian. The hoard more generally shows the hybridisation of culture in action: diverse mythologies, languages, and faiths have been hastily bundled together. 78 and charred earth: at this point in the manuscript Lang has written ‘The End’; with the subsequent passages appearing as an addition (‘The Gold of Fairnilee’, unpublished manuscript, p. 127). 79 Henry II: (1519–59) King of France, who ruled from 1547 until his death in 1559. The connections between Henry’s court and Scotland were strong: Mary Queen of Scots was raised at Henry’s court and married his son, Francis, in 1558, who then became King Consort of Scotland.

276 270

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

80 Sir Walter Scott: (1771–1832), preeminent Scottish poet and novelist of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and a major influence for Lang. Scott is buried at Dryburgh Abbey by the River Tweed, as are Randal and Jean in the story. According to Green, Lang himself wished to be buried at Caddon-foot, further west along the river, so that he could lie ‘like Scott within the sound of Tweed’, but his request to buy a plot was turned down because he was not a parishioner. See Andrew Lang, p. 102. In his literary biography, ‘Adventures Among Books’, Lang gives Scott primacy in shaping his imaginative conception of the Borders: ‘Scott peopled for us the rivers and burnsides with his reivers; the Fairy Queen came out of Eildon Hill and haunted Carterhaugh’. See Adventures Among Books (London: Longmans, 1905), p. 10.

Prince Prigio 1 Alma … Violet: young friends and relations of Andrew and Leonora Lang. Alma Margaret Alleyne (1873–1953) and Thyra Blanche Alleyne (1875–1954) were daughters of Leonora’s brother, Forster McGeachy Alleyne (1845–1913). Thyra later became a prominent educationalist and principal of College Hall in London. 2 Blue, Red, Green and Yellow Fairy Books: these were the four Coloured Fairy Books to have been published by 1895 when My Own Fairy Book was issued. 3 kingdom of Pantouflia: the name of Lang’s imaginary European kingdom derives from the French for slipper, gesturing to the inactive and nonconfrontational character of the Pantouflians, and perhaps also alludes to the ‘pantoufle de verre’ owned by the King’s grandmother, Cinderella I. In an illuminating note following the publication of an article in Folklore, Sanjay Sircar relays the insights of a correspondent, Maureen Crago, on the further implications of the word in French: ‘“En pantoufles” means to be “in slippers, free and easy,” a “pantouflard” is “a man who loves his slippered ease, a stay-at-home,” and slang has “raisonner comme une pantoufle,” literally, “to reason like a slipper, to talk nonsense, to talk through one’s hat”.’ See Sircar, ‘A Note on Pantouflia’, Folklore 111:1 (2000), p. 118. 4 Hypnotidæ: derived from the Ancient Greek word for sleep; perhaps also alluding to Hypnos, Greek god of sleep. 5 dormant, proper, on a field vert: heraldic terms indicating that the dormouse is lying down, depicted in its natural colours, and set against a background of green. The choice of animal and its posture reinforces the family’s refusal of traditional modes of chivalric heroism. 6 Cyprus … in a cave: Lang may have in mind the Dragon’s Cave near Pomos in Cyprus which tradition holds to have been inhabited by a dragon that protected the coastline. 7

Sir Walter Scott: see The Gold of Fairnilee, note 80.

8

Thomas the Rhymer: see The Gold of Fairnilee, note 4.

277 271

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

9 ALLEN QUATERMAIN: Allan Quatermain (Lang misspells the first name) is the fictional protagonist of a series of novels by Lang’s friend Henry Rider Haggard. The novel Allan Quatermain (1887), published two years prior to Prince Prigio, records Quatermain’s death, hence Lang describes him as ‘late’. The suggestion here that Haggard supplied the idea for the Benson chapter is confirmed by a letter Lang sent to Haggard on 1 January [1889] in which he reports ‘I’ve worked in your dodge in my fairy tale … When the Butler seems to have killed the Nana and is to marry the king’s niece – I rather think it is fun’ (the Andrew Lang Collection, University of St Andrews Library, MS38260, Letter 31). For Lang’s use of Nana as a name for the monster (an abbreviation of Nanaboulélé), see note 12. 10 erudition of a Lady: Leonora Lang identified this lady as her niece, also a dedicatee of the novel – Thyra Blanche Alleyne. See Roger Lancelyn Green, Andrew Lang; A Critical Biography with a Short-title Bibliography of the Works of Andrew Lang (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946), p. 93. 11 Firedrake: from the Old English, and ultimately Old German, fýr-draca (fire dragon). The creature makes an appearance in Beowulf (line 5371). 12 Revue des Traditione Populaires: the journal title is in fact Revue des Traditions Populaires. The French folklorist Paul Sébillot (1843–1918) was the journal editor; the contributor and translator of this story, ‘Semumu et Semumunyané’, was Édouard Jacottet. Nanaboulèlès (Jacottet has grave accents rather than acutes) are described as ‘des animaux terribles, qui déchirent et dévorent tous ceux qui les approchent’ (terrible animals that rend and devour all who approach them). See E. Jacottet, ‘Légendes et contes Bassoutos: Semumu et Semumunyané’, Revue des Traditions Populaires 3 (1888), pp. 654–62 (quotation, pp. 635–6). Lang had initially planned to call the novel ‘Prince Prigio, or the Nanaboulélé and the Clever Prince’, but eventually shortened the title and changed the name of his monster to Firedrake. See Notes on the Texts, pp. 36–7. 13 Voyage à la Lune of M. CYRANO DE BERGÉRAC: Lang refers to Cyrano de Bergerac’s novel L’Autre Monde: ou les États et Empires de la Lune (The Other World: or, the States and Empires of the Moon), published in 1657, and known in English as A Voyage to the Moon following a translation by Samuel Derrick in 1753. In fact, the figure of the remora appears in the sequel to A Voyage to the Moon, Les États et Empires du Soleil (The States and Empires of the Sun), in which the protagonist of the story witnesses a mortal struggle between a fiery hot salamander and an icy cold species of remora known as a ‘frozen-nose’. The remora is victorious. See The Comical History of the States and Empires of the World of the Sun, trans. A. Lovell (London: Henry Rhodes, 1687), pp. 163–7. 14 they had no children: the motif of the childless couple who long for offspring features in the Scottish narrative collected by Lang, ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’ (see pp. 52–5). Lang also makes use of this common folktale motif in the opening of Princess Nobody (see p. 62).

278 272

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

15 Cinderella … thrust out before her: the narratives cited in this passage appear in Charles Perrault’s Histoires ou Contes du Temps passé (1697, Stories, or Tales of Times Passed), an edition of which Lang had completed a year before the publication of Prince Prigio. Lang self-consciously signals the literary tradition within which (and against which) he is writing. 16 the Marquis de Carabas: the fabricated title given by Puss to the protagonist of Charles Perrault’s ‘Le Maître chat, ou le Chat botté’ (‘The Master Cat, or Puss in Boots’) in order he may pass himself off as nobly born. 17 Madame La Belle au Bois-dormant: French, ‘Madam Sleeping Beauty in the Wood’, alluding to the story in Perrault’s collection. 18 The fairies … invited: the invitation of fairies to the christening of a child and the giving of fairy gifts derives from Perrault’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’, though Lang has altered the convention significantly, not least by making the child male. ‘Sleeping Beauty’ (ATU 410) is the first of three stories that Lang makes substantial use of in Prince Prigio, the latter two being ‘The Dragon Slayer’ (ATU 300), and ‘The Water of Life’ (ATU 551). 19 One offered a purse … wished to find himself: Lang draws eclectically upon motifs from a range of traditions. Each of these ‘fairy properties’ is assigned a motif number and entry by Stith Thompson as follows: Motif D1192 ‘Magic purse’, D1470.1.13 ‘Magic wishing-hat’, D1521.1 ‘Seven-league boots’, D1361.15 ‘Magic cap renders invisible’, and D1520.19 ‘Magic transportation by carpet’. 20 lumber-room: an out-of-the-way room for storing wood or old furniture; also, in this context, symbolic of the refusal of the fantastic by enlightened rationalism. Angela Carter uses a similar image, possibly influenced by Lang, when she notes that the ‘raw material’ of her work, including fairy tales and myths, was retrieved from ‘the lumber room of the Western European imagination’. See ‘Notes from the Front Line’, Shaking a Leg: Collected Writings (London: Penguin, 1998), p. 39. 21 properties: theatre ‘props’. Lang perhaps intends a comment upon the relegation of fairy tale traditions to the comic sphere of the pantomime. 22

rusty bacon: rancid bacon

23 rat-catcher in breeding terriers: professional rat catchers bred terriers to chase rats into inaccessible spaces. 24 not to eat peas with his knife: a lapse of etiquette associated with boorishness in the Victorian period, and here allied with a cultural stereotype. 25 an art with which she had long been perfectly familiar: in manuscript Lang has first written ‘how to suck eggs’, but has crossed this through and replaced it with the present text, allowing his readers an opportunity for deduction. See Andrew Lang, ‘Prince Prigio’, unpublished manuscript, MS-2379, box 1.8–2.5, Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at Austin, p. 13.

279 273

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

26 About the Firedrake: in manuscript at this point Lang has initially written ‘About the Nanaboulélé’, and subsequently revised this in a pencil annotation to Firedrake (‘Prince Prigio’, unpublished manuscript, p. 14). The annotations indicate that for much of the composition of Prince Prigio Lang was thinking of his monster as the Nanaboulélé. 27 King Grognio: the name suggests grogginess, and perhaps groaning, in conformity with the other allusions to sleepiness and inaction on the part of the Pantouflian monarchy; it also invokes the name of the jollier sounding monarch of William Makepeace Thackeray’s The Rose and the Ring (1855), King Giglio, who is later identified as Grognio’s great-grandfather. In manuscript, the king is not named at this point, and subsequently appears as King Coloroso (‘Prince Prigio’, unpublished manuscript, p. 87). The manuscript also shows that Lang initially made the king considerably cleverer than he becomes in the final published text. Alterations to the name and character of the king were made in the course of composition. 28 Sixteen shillings and fourteen … which, of course, it is: in British currency of the period (which Pantouflia apparently has) 12 pence amounted to a shilling and 20 shillings to a pound, so Prigio’s sums are correct whilst his father’s are not. 29 if a king sent his three sons … got the crown: motif H1242 ‘Youngest brother alone succeeds on quest’. Lang challenges this conventional expectation to comic effect. 30 SET FAIR: on the barometer dial ‘Set Fair’ indicates that hot weather will continue. 31 bring him the horns … of the Firedrake: this form of proof is common in tales of the ‘Dragon Slayer’ type (ATU 300), as is the later provision of an additional proof that distinguishes the false claimant from the true hero. See Thompson: motif H105 ‘Parts of slain animals as token of slaying’; H105.4 ‘Head of monster as token (proof ) of slaying’. 32 whipping tops: tops that are spun by means of a string that is pulled rapidly away; a juvenile pursuit that marks them out as too young for the confrontation with the Firedrake. 33 garden-engine: a water tank on wheels with a pump and spraying implement, often in the form of a wheelbarrow; commonly used in the Victorian period. Alphonso’s use of this homely device as a weapon against the Firedrake is intended to be absurd. 34 The violet is a blossom sweet …Firedrake!: the poem involves a coded satire upon arguments of the solar mythologists, and in particular George Cox, who, in an effort to prove that the story of Jason originated in a solar myth, had argued that the etymology of Jason’s name associates him with the word ‘violet’ and therefore with ‘violet coloured sunset clouds’. Lang offers a scathing critique of this surprising deduction in his essay ‘Household Tales: Their Origin, Diffusion, and Relations to the Higher Myths.’ See The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected Writings of Andrew Lang, ed. Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1,

280 274

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

pp. 100–1. Lang resumes this covert satirical commentary later in the novel when he tempts solar mythologists to interpret the battle between the hot Firedrake and the cold Remora as an allegory of the setting of the sun and the coming of night. 35 purement fabuleux: this is Jacottet’s description of nanaboulèlès. See ‘Légendes et contes Bassoutos’, p. 655 n. 2. See also note 12 above. 36 he climbed up a turret-stair … a kind of garret: Lang alludes directly to the text of Perrault’s ‘La belle au bois dormant’ here, cementing the parallel between Prigio and Sleeping Beauty. Perrault’s text reads ‘il arriva que la jeune princesse courant un jour dans le château, et montant de chambre en chambre, alla jusqu’au haut d’un donjon dans un petit galetas’. Stanley Appelbaum translates: ‘it came about that the princess, wandering through the castle one day, and climbing the stairs from one room to another, reached the very top of a tower, where there was a small garret’. See Charles Perrault, The Complete Fairy Tales in Verse and Prose: A Dual Language Edition, ed. and trans. Stanley Appelbaum pp. 118–19. (Mineola: Dover, 2002), pp. 118–9. 37 Gluckstein: glück in German means happiness; so Gluckstein is a place of contentment. Lang may also have in mind the Grimms’ tale ‘Hans im Glück’ (‘Hans in Luck’). 38 twenty-one leagues away – sixty-three long miles: Lang sets mathematical challenges for his young readers, who are meant to deduce that one league equates to three miles, and that Prigio can cover the twenty one leagues in three steps because he wears seven-league boots. 39

Kellner: German for ‘waiter’.

40 Fortunatus’s purse: this magical self-replenishing purse features in the early sixteenth century German chapbook Ausgabe des Fortunatus (1509) and in the English play inspired by the German tradition, The Pleasant Comedie of Old Fortunatus by Thomas Dekker (1599). The latter may have been in Lang’s mind as a result of the recent edition of Dekker’s works published by his contemporary Ernest Rhys (1887). Lang’s version of the story appears as ‘Fortunatus and his Purse’ in The Grey Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1900), pp. 74–83. 41 He walked among the guests … their conversation: the motif of the ruler who walks unseen or disguised amongst his people and hears their true thoughts and feeling expressed is common in tradition (N467 ‘King in disguise to learn secrets of his subjects’). Notably, Shakespeare makes use of the device in Henry V. 42 he was kind … first in everything: there is an element of autobiography here. Writing of Lang at Balliol College, A. G. C. Liddell notes that he and others ‘occasionally had recourse to Andrew Lang, whose good nature and extraordinary powers of disquisition made him willing and able to knock off an essay on any subject in half an hour.’ See Liddell, Notes from the Life of an Ordinary Mortal, second edition (London: John Murray, 1911), p. 70.

281 275

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

43 Prince Hussein bought… at Bisnagar: in ‘The Story of Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Paribanou’ from The Arabian Nights. This is also a story about three brothers, in which the younger brothers succeed in their quests whilst the eldest (Prince Hussein) fails. The version Lang included in The Blue Fairy Book (1889) is adapted – and considerably abridged – from Jonathan Scott’s 1811 English translation of Antoine Galland’s French text, Les mille et une nuits. See Scott (trans.), ‘The Story of Prince Ahmed, and the Fairy Perie Banou’, The Arabian Nights Entertainments, 6 vols (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown, 1811), vol. 5, pp. 255–341. 44

Stumpfelbahn: ‘stumpf ’ in German indicates dullness or stupidity.

45 the spyglass … in the bazaar in Schiraz: in ‘The Story of Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Paribanou.’ See note 43. 46 Monsieur Cyrano de Bergerac: see note 13. 47 Remora: see note 13. Lang’s description of the Remora is partially indebted to Cyrano de Bergerac’s. In Lovell’s translation, it is a ‘gross, square and heavy Animal [that presents] a Body scaled all over with Ysicles’, it has large eyes like ‘Chrystal-plates’ that convey a ‘shivering Winter-cold’, and it causes the air around it to condense into snow and the earth to harden into ice. See de Bergerac, The Comical History of the States and Empires of the World of the Sun, p. 166. 48 Salamander Furiosus of Buffon: George-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon (1707–88); French naturalist and author of the influential thirty-six volume Histoire Naturelle. In his entry on salamanders, Buffon, cites the ancient misconception that the salamander is ‘a lizard that is bred from heat, that lives in the flames, and feeds upon fire’; ‘[i]t will be needless to say,’ Buffon writes, ‘that there is no such animal existing’. See Buffon’s Natural History, Abridged (London: C. and G. Kearsley, 1791), p. 506. Lang playfully revises this rationalist refutation of the fantastic by falsely attributing an entry on the ‘Salamander Furiosus’ to Buffon. 49 Captain Kopzoffski: Lang pays homage to Thackeray’s Rose and the Ring in which the Captain of the Guards is named Kutasoff Hedzoff. 50 Philippine: also fillipeen or philopena: a forfeit, derived from a game in which an individual finding a double kernelled nut offers the second kernel to another person in return for a forfeit. This folk practice has a playful and flirtatious dimension and so operates here as an indication of the growing intimacy between Prigio and Rosalind. 51 Giglio I: Titmarsh, cited in Lang’s footnote, was a pseudonym used by William Makepeace Thackeray. Lang uses the family genealogy of his characters to establish the literary genealogy of his work. 52 mum: an informal rendering of ‘madam’ or ‘ma’am’, used colloquially in Britain in the period and associated with the servant classes. 53

282 276

Mr. Arrowsmith: James Williams Arrowsmith (1839–1913), Lang’s publisher.

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

54 Prigio est pret: in manuscript Lang has only ‘I am ready’, so the French motto Prigio est pret (‘Prigio is ready’) is a later addition (Lang, ‘Prince Prigio’, unpublished manuscript, p. 131). The brisk motto serves to emphasise Prigio’s departure from the more customary Pantouflian endorsement of a sedate and quiet life. 55 cut the cat’s head clean off: this motif (D711 ‘Disenchantment by decapitation’; D712.1.1 ‘disenchantment by cutting off animal’s limbs’) is most familiar from Marie-Catherine D’Aulnoy’s story ‘The White Cat’. Following the act of mutilation in D’Aulnoy’s tale the white cat is transformed into a princess. Lang identifies this outcome as ‘improbable’ and replaces it with a superficially more scientific, but in fact equally improbable, reanimation. 56 AQVA. DE. FONTE. LEONVM: this features in ‘The Story of Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Paribanou’ from which Lang also borrows Prince Hussain’s magic carpet and Prince Ali’s ivory spyglass. See note 43. 57 I’ll! – … Let every child guess: in manuscript Lang completes Prigio’s sentence; following ‘I’ll’ he writes: ‘pour the magic water on the body of the Firedrake, and bring him back to life! That will frighten them’ (‘Prince Prigio’, unpublished manuscript, p. 147). The omission of this statement, and the invitation to readers to speculate, are the result of subsequent alterations. 58 Front de Boeuf and Brian du Bois Gilbert: characters from Walter Scott’s novel Ivanhoe (1819). 59

travelling by post: the Queen has returned by post chaise.

Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia 1 Guy Campbell: not definitively identified, but possibly Guy Colin Campbell (1885–1960), who went on to write on the history of golf. 2 Prince Charlie: Charles Edward Stuart (1720–88), who laid claim to the British throne as the grandson of James II and led the unsuccessful Jacobite uprising against the Hanoverian monarchy in 1745. 3 Yellow Dwarf: the eponymous villain of Marie-Catherine D’Aulnoy’s story ‘Le Nain jaune’ (1697). Lang had included the story in The Blue Fairy Book (1889), and in his literary autobiography identifies it as being amongst his ‘first memories of Romance’. See Adventures Among Books (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1905), p. 5. 4 ploughed: contemporary slang associated particularly with exams at Oxford University meaning ‘the act or fact of rejecting a candidate in an examination’ (OED). Lang has Ricardo use slang to show his neglect of his education, but later in the novel, following his return to his books, Ricardo reforms his language. See for instance his modification of ‘polished off’ on p. 189.

283 277

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

5 Jaqueline: in manuscript Lang initially names the Princess ‘Emmiline’ or ‘Emmie’, but the first two instances of this name have been crossed through and replaced with ‘Jaqueline’. See Andrew Lang, ‘Prince Ricardo’, unpublished manuscript, MS-2379, box 2.7–3.1, Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at Austin, ch. 1, p.8. By the conclusion of Chapter 1 Lang had shifted from ‘Emmiliene’ to ‘Jaqueline’, possibly because of the comedic potential of the abbreviation used by Ricardo. 6

the Fairy Paribanou herself: see Prince Prigio, note 43.

7 Caesar Borgia: (1475/6–1507) Italian nobleman who became a cardinal and ultimately ruler of a state created for him by his father, Pope Alexander VI. Because of his reputation for political intrigue and ruthlessness, and perhaps also because of his promiscuity (he had at least eleven illegitimate children), he is not the ideal subject for polite conversation. 8 Edwin and Morcar: eleventh century Anglo-Saxon noblemen who were involved in a series of struggles for power during and immediately after the Norman Conquest. Their story is told by the mouse in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) in order to help the various animals that have been soaked in Alice’s tears dry off, because, as the mouse declares, it is the ‘driest thing’ he knows. See The Annotated Alice, ed. Martin Gardner, definitive edition (New York: Norton, 2000), p. 30. Lang uses the story for a similar reason: as an example of dry discourse not well-suited for polite conversation. 9 [Footnote] Psychical Society: The Society for Psychical Research, established in 1882 to investigate psychical phenomena. For Lang’s involvement with the Society, of which he became president in 1911, see Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson (eds), ‘Introduction to Volume 1’, The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected Writings of Andrew Lang (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1, pp. 41–4. 10 Andromeda: in Ancient Greek myth Perseus rescues Andromeda from the sea-monster Cetus. Lang includes the story of Perseus and Andromeda in his Tales of Troy and Greece (1907). 11 Ethiopia: in Greek mythology Andromeda is a princess of Ethiopia. In the source text Lang has Ricardo add ‘They were niggers’ at this point. This has been removed from the main text in the present edition. 12

muffing: OED, ‘anything clumsily or badly done or bungled’.

13

Picquet: more commonly, piquet – a card game.

14 whose name was Semiramis: Lang had a black cat called Semiramis, named after the semi-legendary female ruler of the Assyrian empire in the ninth century BCE. See Roger Lancelyn Green, Andrew Lang; A Critical Biography with a Short-title Bibliography of the Works of Andrew Lang (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946), p. 194. 15 her Cornelius Agrippa: this is De occulta philosophia (Of Occult Philosophy, 1531–3) by the influential German scholar of the occult Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim (1486–1535). This work appeared in three separate books;

284 278

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

the fourth book, which Jaqueline consults in this passage, did not come to light until 1559, and is generally regarded as being the work of a different author falsely attributed to Agrippa. The description of ‘drinking the moon’ does not appear in any of Agrippa’s books, so Lang is engaging in a playful piece of spurious scholarship. 16 duffers: persons ‘without practical ability’ (OED); this slang term is now common in the United Kingdom, but was relatively recent when Lang made use of it, having appeared only since the 1840s. The OED cites a passage from Lang’s Angling Sketches (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1891) as an example of its application: ‘next to being an expert, it is well to be a contented duffer’ (p. 8). 17 about 1697: the year of publication of Perrault’s Histoires ou Contes du temps passé (Stories, or Tales of Times Passed) in which ‘Petit Poucet’ (‘Hop-o’-myThumb’) appears. 18 Andrea Ferrara: Italian sword maker of the sixteenth century who settled in Scotland and brought with him knowledge of continental sword making. Andrea Ferrara blades were reputed to be of extremely high quality. 19

Purse of Fortunatus: see Prince Prigio, note 40.

20 Euclid: Ancient Greek mathematician; standard in the curriculum for late Victorian schoolchildren. 21 quoting the poet: Thomas Hood (1799–1845). The line appears in the poem ‘The Lady’s Dream’ (1827). 22 a Polish invasion of Russia: Lang intends this as a satirical inversion of contemporary political realities. Russian annexation of Poland, and the suppression of Polish culture by Russia, was a theme of political discourse in the period Lang was writing. 23

Blue Mantle: Bluemantle Pursuivant, an office in the College of Arms.

24 He must be an ignorant fellow: in his biography of Charles Edward Stuart, Lang notes that ‘Charles was the very worst speller of his century’. See Prince Charles Edward Stuart: The Young Chevalier, second edition (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1903), p. 29. 25 Charles, P. W.: Charles signs himself Prince of Wales to signify his belief that he is the rightful heir to the English throne. 26 I being fifteen next birthday: Charles was born on 31 December 1720, so this places the action of the scene in 1735. 27 Gaeta: Charles had observed the siege of the Italian city of Gaeta in 1734 by Charles III of Spain (at the point, Duke of Parma). The siege took place in the course of the Polish War of Succession, and concluded with the defeat of the Habsburg defenders of the town.

285 279

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

28 Bruce: Robert I (1274–1329), King of the Scots, also known as Robert the Bruce, led Scotland in a successful war of independence against the English, culminating at the Battle of Bannockburn (1314). Charles Stuart was a descendant of Robert the Bruce, hence his determination to prove worthy of the ‘blud’ of this iconic national hero. 29 Sir Harry Bohun: Sir Henry de Bohun; an English knight killed by Robert the Bruce with an axe blow to the head at the Battle of Bannockburn (1314). Dick also refers to the anecdotal story in which Robert the Bruce, whilst an outlaw, was inspired to continue his struggle against the English after watching a spider making repeated attempts to swing itself between rafters and eventually succeeding. 30 King James: James Francis Edward Stuart (1688–1766), son of James II of England and Ireland and VII of Scotland who had been deposed during the Glorious Revolution of 1688 and forced to live in exile. Following his father’s death James laid claim to the English and Scottish thrones, and several efforts were made to secure this claim by force, including the Jacobite rising of 1715. All attempts were unsuccessful, however, so Charles’s description of his father as a king is a matter of assertion rather than fact and helps explain his nickname, ‘The Old Pretender’. 31 the Elector of Hannover: on the death of Queen Anne, James Francis Edward Stuart asserted his claim to the British throne as her half-brother, but Catholic claims had been prevented by the Act of Succession of 1701, so succession passed instead to Anne’s Protestant second cousin, George I, Elector of Hanover, and thence to George II. In this scene Charles insists on using the German title for his Hanoverian rivals because he will not recognise the legitimacy of their British kingship. 32 on the throne of his fathers: Lang was sympathetic to these objectives, even though they do not arise from a sound historical understanding on the part of Ricardo. Writing to William Blackwood on 17 December [1898] Lang notes that he would refuse on principle ‘to celebrate the present occupant of the throne,’ and on many other occasions he gives voice to similar Jacobite sympathies. See Marysa Demoor, Andrew Lang (1844–1912): Late Victorian Humanist and Journalistic Critic, unpublished PhD thesis, 2 vols (Diss. Ghent University, 1983), vol. 1, p. 148. Whilst writing his later biography of Charles Edward Stuart, however, Lang became increasingly disillusioned with the character of Charles, declaring him a ‘foredoomed wretch’ in a letter to Herbert Maxwell (26 February [1900]; quoted in Demoor, Andrew Lang, vol. 1, p. 147). In the biography, Lang describes Charles as ‘always self-centred and petulant’, and notes that ‘misfortune was to sour and not strengthen a character which was never strong’. See Prince Charles Edward Stuart, p. 41. 33 Villa Borghese: landscape garden in Rome that became a regular haunt for the exiled Stuarts whilst they were living at the Palazzo Muti. See Lord Elcho, A Short Account of the Affairs of Scotland in 1744, 1745 and 1746, ed. Evan Charteris (Edinburgh: Douglas, 1897), p. 25.

286 280

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

34 Beatrix Esmond: a character in William Makepeace Thackeray’s historical novel The History of Henry Esmond (1852). Beatrix engages in an attempt to restore James Stuart to the British throne, but the effort is thwarted in part because James is distracted by his amorous interest in her. Lang’s allusion to Thackeray’s novel provides a precedent for his own fusion of fictional and historical characters. 35 he was the picture of a little dandy: Lang draws upon his knowledge of Stuart portraiture in these descriptions. Writing in his column ‘At the Sign of the Ship’ in Longman’s Magazine for July 1892 (20:117) Lang describes a French engraving of Charles Stuart as a child in which he is ‘the most perfect little dandy and hero in his jewels and embroidered coat’ (p. 330). 36 Harry: Henry Benedict Stuart (1725–1807), brother of Charles Edward, made Duke of York by his father, and later a Cardinal. Like his brother he was born in exile in Rome. 37 golf: there is historical precedent for this scene; David Wemyss, Lord Elcho, visiting Charles in the gardens of the Villa Borghese during his stay in Rome (1740–1) watched the prince playing a ‘Scotch game called golf ’. See Elcho, A Short Account of the Affairs of Scotland, p. 25. In his biography, Lang also notes that Charles’s ‘favourite diversion’ was golf. See Lang, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, p. 30. 38 St. James’s Palace: in Pall Mall, London; principal residence of the British monarch between 1698 when the Palace of Whitehall was destroyed by fire and 1837 when Queen Victoria made Buckingham Palace the principal royal residence. James had been born in St James’s Palace in 1688, just prior to his father’s exile in the same year. 39 Robertson’s shop at St. Andrew’s: Golf equipment shop selling high quality clubs and balls made by the Robertson family of St Andrews. When Lang was a child Allan Robertson (1815 – 1859) was the uncontested champion golfer of St Andrews. See Alistair Beaton Adamson, Allan Robertson, Golfer: His Life and Times (Worcestershire: Grant Books, 1985). 40 claymore: Scottish sword in use from the fifteenth century and associated with the struggle of Highland Scotland against the English. 41 parried in prime, riposted … on the hand: fencing terms meaning that Charles makes a defensive manoeuvre to block Dick’s attack, then counter attacks, hitting Dick on the hand with his sword. 42

A moi, mes gardes: French, ‘to me, my guards’.

43

Carluccio: Charles Italianised.

44 Lord Lovat’s snuff-mull: Simon Fraser, 11th Lord Lovat, supported the Jacobite cause in the uprising of 1745 and was subsequently executed. A snuff mull is a large box for containing snuff. Lang perhaps has in mind the snuff mull in the National Museum Scotland owned by the Jacobite Colonel Donald Murchison who fought in the rebellion of 1715.

287 281

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

45 Gortuleg: more commonly ‘Gorthleck’, near Inverness. Charles is thought to have sought concealment at Gorthleck House after the Battle of Culloden. 46 cairngorm: a mountain in the Scottish highlands near to Lord Lovat’s seat at Gorthleck. The representation of the mountain combined with the arms of the House of Frazer identifies the snuff mull unmistakably as Lovat’s. 47 John Sobieski: John III Sobieski, King of Poland from 1674–96 and greatgrandfather of Charles Edward Stuart. 48 a ring which makes all men faithful to the wearer: Lang makes Ricardo the source of the secret signature ring by which messengers of Charles were able to prove their allegiance. 49 the famous Weapon Salve … The Lay of the Last Minstrel: in Canto 3, verse 13 of Sir Walter Scott’s narrative poem The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805) Lady Branksome heals William of Deloraine by removing a splintered lance from a wound in his chest and smearing a salve on it. In a long note designed to explicate this episode (note 8), Scott reprints a passage from a work by the English courtier and natural historian Sir Kenelm Digby (1603–65) in which Digby describes a comparable ‘cure by sympathy’. See Scott, The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A Poem, 8th edition (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, 1808), p. lxx–lxxiv. 50 Mercure de France: French newspaper, established in the seventeenth century as Mercure galant and issued under the title Mercure de France from 1724 to 1825. Lang may have had it in mind since the title had been relaunched as a literary review in 1890 and was publishing the work of Symbolist poets Lang was familiar with. 51 un, deux; doublez, degagez, vite; contre de carte: French fencing terms: ‘one, two’, ‘double’ (double touch), ‘disengage’ (a kind of feint), ‘quick’, and ‘contre de carte’ is perhaps derived from ‘contre quarte’ – a parry. 52 Yellow Dwarf: see note 3 above. Many of the details that follow reference d’Aulnoy’s story. 53 the King of the Golden Mines … Princess Frutilla: in ‘The Yellow Dwarf ’ d’Aulnoy’s heroine is in fact named Toute-Belle (literally, ‘All-Beautiful’, but rendered as ‘Bellissima’ in Lang’s Blue Fairy Book). ‘Frutilla’ is the name given to the heroine of the English adaptation of ‘The White Cat’ (titled ‘The Story of Prince Lupin’) that appears in the collection Mother Bunch’s Fairy Tales from c. 1773. In d’Aulnoy’s story, Toute-Belle and her lover the King of the Golden Mines are overcome by the Dwarf, despite the assistance of a friendly mermaid. The King of the Golden Mines is stabbed to death and Toute-Belle dies of a broken heart, at which point the mermaid transforms them into intertwining trees. 54 diamond sword … Golden Mines: in d’Aulnoy’s story the mermaid gives the King of the Golden Mines a sword fashioned from a single diamond which has magical properties. Once the Dwarf seizes the sword the lovers are powerless against him.

288 282

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

55 Dandie Dinmont terrier, named Pepper: the dog breed is named after a character in Walter Scott’s novel Guy Mannering (1815) who owns a number of terriers, all named ‘Pepper’ or ‘Mustard’. Lang may also have selected this breed because of its association with the Scottish Borders. 56 crocodiles’ eggs … Dwarf ’s lions: in d’Aulnoy’s ‘The Yellow Dwarf ’ a cake made of crocodiles’ eggs, millet flour and sugar candy is used to pacify the Dwarf ’s lions. In his literary autobiography Lang records the impression that these ‘strange cakes’ had made upon him as a child of five (Adventures Among Books, p. 5). 57 Jaunia, or Daunia: this name for the Dwarf ’s domain – a play on the French for yellow – is an innovation of Lang’s, as are the rose coloured spectacles that counteract the yellowness. 58 Blinkers: this insult employed by the Dwarf is inspired by the spectacles that Ricardo is wearing. 59 Fairy of the Desert: in d’Aulnoy’s story, the Dwarf is under the protection of this malignant fairy, but rather than a vulture she takes the form of a griffin. 60 disengaged, feinted … in seconde: terms used in fencing. 61

lâche: French, ‘coward’ or ‘recreant’.

62 a thrust in tierce: fencing manoeuvre, the sword is held with the blade up to the outside and palm down. 63 Gig-lamps: the lamps used on horse-drawn carriages. In manuscript Lang has first written ‘Blinkers’ then revised to the present text at a later date (‘Prince Ricardo’, unpublished manuscript, ch. 6, p. 29). The insult is obscure, but, like ‘Blinkers’, appears to allude to Ricardo’s spectacles. 64 he died in harness: Lang echoes this phrase when he comments upon Prince Prigio in the Preface to The Lilac Fairy Book (1910): ‘I hate cruelty: I never put a wicked stepmother in a barrel and send her tobogganing down a hill. It is true that Prince Ricardo did kill the Yellow Dwarf; but that was in fair fight, sword in hand, and the dwarf, peace to his ashes! died in harness’. See Andrew Lang, The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected Writings of Andrew Lang, ed. Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1, p. 164. 65 her family pyramid, in the Egyptian desert: d’Aulnoy does not specify that the Fairy of the Desert is Egyptian, though the crocodiles and the millet flour favoured by her lions make this a likely assumption. Lang may also intend a cryptic allusion to his preferred theory, that European fairies were derived from Egyptian Hathors. See Lang, Selected Writings, vol. 1, p. 128. 66 The Giant who does not know when he has had Enough: this character seems to be partly of Lang’s invention, although the figure of the persistent (but rather dense) giant who is defeated by a plucky young hero is familiar from British chapbooks of the nineteenth century. Lang’s reference to a manuscript of ‘about 1875’ in his footnote is likely to be to W. S. Fortey’s The History of Jack the Giant

289 283

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

Killer (1860) which Lang also uses as the basis for the story ‘The History of Jack the Giant Killer’ in The Blue Fairy Book, though the giant in this story is unable to reassemble himself. The motif of the giant who can reconnect severed body parts appears in early fictions such as the old Irish Fled Bricrenn (eighth century CE), in which a giant, having been decapitated, is able to reconnect his severed head (a motif that recurs in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight). Orrilo, the brigand in Orlando Furioso, which Lang draws upon later in the novel, also has the capacity to reassemble himself after being sliced apart: ‘dismembering would not finish him off, for if he had a hand or leg cut off, he stuck it back on as though it were of wax.’ See Ludovico Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, trans. Guido Waldman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), canto 15, verses 64–73. 67 once a year her people … keeping him quiet: Inca capacocha ceremonies, involving human sacrifice, were conducted to allay natural disasters such as earthquakes. 68 Manoa, the City of the Sun: the legendary city in South America that Raleigh searched for and did not find during his expeditions to discover El Dorado. 69 Mount Roraima: in the Pakaraima chain of mountains that borders Guyana, Brazil and Venezuela. Walter Raleigh described this mountain following his expedition to Guyana in 1595 in search of El Dorado. 70

in an old Italian poem: Orlando Furioso (1532) by Ludovico Ariosto.

71 Italian knight, Astolfo: Astolfo is in fact the son of the King of England. He journeys to the moon to recover the wits of Orlando in a chariot pulled by four fiery steeds belonging to Saint John (canto 34, verses 68–92); at other points in the narrative he also rides a winged steed called a hippogryph (canto 22, verses 24–5). Like Ricardo, Astolfo is aided in his quests by a number of magical objects, including a magic horn that produces a destructive sound (canto 20, verse 89), and a magic lance that tips all men out of their saddle on first impact (canto 23, verse 15). 72 madly crammed … right-hand shoe: from Lewis Carroll’s ‘Haddock’s Eyes’ in Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (1871). The original line is: ‘madly squeeze a right-hand foot / Into a left-hand shoe’. See Carroll, The Annotated Alice, p. 246. 73 Shakspeare: Lang uses this variant spelling of Shakespeare’s name purposefully, following the arguments made for alternative spellings by the scholars Edmond Malone and George Steevens. See John Louis Haney, The Name of William Shakespeare (Philadelphia: Egerton, 1906), p. 45. 74 Homer: Lang takes the opportunity to jibe at his opponents in the literary debates he was engaged in as a scholar. In particular, Lang was an ardent opponent of those scholars who argued that The Iliad and The Odyssey were not the work of a single author, but a patchwork of writings by various poets collated under the convenient moniker of ‘Homer’. Lang’s arguments on Homer are formulated, amongst other places, in his study Homer and the Epic (London: Longman’s, Green and Co., 1893), published in the same year as Prince Ricardo.

290 284

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

75 Sir Walter Raleigh and the Spaniards could never find: after reading a Spanish account of the fabulous golden city of El Dorado in 1594, Raleigh launched an expedition to South America to search for it. The elusive city was not found, though Raleigh’s account of the voyage, The Discovery of Guiana (1596), records other marvellous discoveries. 76 Pachacamac: (also ‘Pacha Kamaq’), deity of the pre-Incan Ichma people in what is now Peru, later adopted as a god by the Incas. In Quechua the name means ‘Creator of the World’ or ‘Earth Maker’, he was also ‘protector of the crops, but bringer of earthquakes for those who neglect his cult’. See Stuart Fleming, ‘The Mummies of Pachacamac’, Expedition Magazine 28:3 (1986), p. 41. A cemetery at the site of Pachacamac (also the name of the excavation) suggests that Pachacamac was served by mamacuna (chosen women, or ‘Virgins of the Sun’) who were destined for sacrificial death by strangulation (Fleming, ‘The Mummies of Pachacamac’, p. 40). Lang’s interest in the topic is likely to have been sparked by contemporary study of the area. Shortly after the publication of Prince Ricardo, in 1896, the archaeologist Max Uhle began his excavation of Pachacamac, and Uhle had worked closely with the anthropologist Adolf Bastian, whose Die Culturländer des Alten America (Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1878) is a possible source of information for Lang. 77 the prophecy of the Cord of the Venerable Knots: the Incas made use of knotted cords, known as quipus (or khipus) as a means of recording information. 78

cunturs : Quechua, ‘condors’.

79 Temples of the Sun: the Temple of the Sun is a pyramid on the archaeological site of Pachacamac. 80 you may see one like it … in the Mexican room: Lang perhaps has in mind the Aztec ‘turquoise mosaic’ skull unearthed in Mexico and acquired by the British Museum in the 1860s. 81 father’s plucked again: as with ‘ploughed’ (note 4) Lang uses Oxford University slang here. To be ‘plucked’ means to be rejected at an examination (OED). 82

Water o Life from the Fountain of Lions: see Prince Prigio, p. 150 and note 56.

83 No need such kings should ever die: Lang misquotes a line from Robert Browning’s verse drama Pippa Passes (1841). In a song, Pippa imagines an idealised ancient king and concludes with the observation ‘No need the king should ever die’. Overhearing her a character named Luigi responds more cynically ‘No need that sort of King should ever die!’. Lang identifies Prigio with Pippa’s more ideal king. See The Works of Robert Browning, ed. Tim Cook (London: Wordsworth, 1994), p. 180. Lang had also quoted the line in his column ‘At the Sign of the Ship’ in Longman’s Magazine in December 1887 (p. 240) in connection with the notion that Otto von Bismarck was presenting successive Kaisers as the same Emperor.

291 285

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

‘The Terrible Head’ 1 The Terrible Head: Lang adapts the Ancient Greek story of Perseus, using as his sources the Bibliotheca of Apollodorus (2.4.1–6), the twelfth Pythian Ode of Pindar, and a fragment of lyric poetry by Simonides. The names of protagonists and places in the Greek myth have been removed so that the story appears more like a fairy tale appropriate for the Coloured Fairy Books. For a translation of Apollodorus, see Robin Hard (ed. and trans.) The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 64–8. For Pindar, see The Odes of Pindar, trans. Geoffrey S. Conway (London: J. M. Dent, 1972), pp. 165–8. 2 Not very long after … a little boy: in Greek mythology the god Zeus takes the form of a stream of gold to impregnate Danae whilst she is imprisoned in the brass chamber constructed on the orders of King Acrisius. Perseus is the resulting child. See Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 2.4.1. With his young readership in mind, Lang leaves the sexual act implicit. 3 this was her song: Lang adapts a fragmentary lyric from Simonides, in which Danae sings to comfort the baby Perseus whilst they are at sea in the brass-bound chest. In Alphonso Gerald Newcomer’s translation (1896), Simonides’ lyric begins: ‘O child, what woes are mine! Yet thou sleep’st sound. / In infant heedlessness thou slumberest / Within the bronze-nailed chest, / While lampless night and darkness swathe thee round.’ See A Library of the World’s Best Literature, ed. Charles Dudley Warner (New York: Cosimo, 2008), vol. 34, p. 13,467. 4 whose face was very beautiful: Lang follows Pindar in identifying Medusa as beautiful. See The Odes of Pindar, p. 167, where Medusa is described as ‘faircheeked’. Apollodorus, at this point, mentions her monstrosity, but not her attractiveness, though he notes later that Athena had sought the head of Medusa because she had once ‘claimed to rival the goddess in beauty’. See Bibliotheca 2.4.3, and Hard (trans.), The Library, p.67. p. 67. 5 a staff in his hand with golden wings on it … wings on his cap and on his shoes: Lang does not name Hermes, who appears to Perseus alongside Athene at this point in the Greek myth, but he retains the iconography of the god: the Kerykeion (herald’s staff), and the winged hat and sandals. 6 a Cap of Darkness … with which he might fly in the air: Lang makes use of these devices throughout his fiction and non-fiction. Here he gives the names of the magical items as they are known in folk tale rather than in the Greek myth. In Apollodorus (2.4.2), these items are the cap of Hades, an ‘adamantine sickle’, and the ‘winged sandals’ of Hermes. See Hard (trans.), The Library, pp.65–6 and p. 201 (notes). 7 Three Grey Sisters: in Greek mythology these are the Graii (also Graeae or Graiae) – Enyo, Pephredo and Deino, sisters of the Gorgons. See Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, 2.4.2.

292 286

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

8 Three Fairies of the Garden: in the source narrative Perseus is sent to the nymphs (probably of the Garden of the Hesperides, though Apollodorus does not specify) to obtain the objects he needs to overcome the Medusa. Lang has transformed the nymphs into familiar fairy tale entities that a young Victorian reader would readily recognise and identify with. 9 the northern peoples … great wagons: Lang intends his readers to recognise the Mongols of Central Asia from this description, who drank fermented mare’s milk, called airag. The journey of his hero is an innovation of Lang’s. 10 to a place where the world ends … nor any green grass: Lang expands the geography of the Greek world considerably by locating his version of the Gorgons in the Arctic. Apollodorus simply indicates that Perseus flew ‘to the ocean’ (sometimes translated as Oceania). See Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, 2.4.2. Hesiod located the Gorgons in the Western Ocean. Pausanias and Herodotus placed them in Libya. See ‘Gorgones and Medousa’, Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, http://www.theoi.com/Pontios/Gorgones.html (accessed 6 September 2018). 11 THE SONG OF THE WESTERN FAIRIES: this is an original composition by Lang, and is listed by Roger Lancelyn Green as one of his uncollected poems. See Andrew Lang: A Critical Biography (Leicester: Edmund Ward, 1946), p. 258. 12 and a wallet: this is the kibisis described by Apollodorus (2.4.2) in which the Medusa’s head is stored. 13 its eyes fell on the head … turned into a stone: here Lang draws upon sources other than Apollodorus, possibly the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, in which the head of Medusa is used as a weapon to overcome the sea monster (25, 80–2), and in which mention is made of the petrified remains of the monster surviving by the shore (31, 8–11). For a translation of these passages see W. H. D. Rouse (trans.) Nonnus: Dionysiaca (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1911), vol. 2, pp. 257 and 423. In the Bibliotheca of Apollodorus (2.4.3) the head is only used against a rival suitor for Andromeda and the tyrant who has persecuted Perseus’s mother. 14 the people chose for king … in the great chest: this is a less surprising development in the source myth, since their rescuer Dictys is brother of the King.

‘The Story of Sigurd’ 1 This is a very old story: the story of Sigurd derives from oral traditions in Scandinavia, and is preserved most substantially in three Icelandic works: the Prose Edda of Snorri Sturluson (c. 1220 CE), the Poetic Edda (c. 1270 CE), and the late thirteenth century prose narrative, the Völsunga Saga. Eleventh century representations of events from the story have also been found on stone and rock carvings in Sweden and the British Isles. For this early history of the narrative, see Klaus Düwel, ‘On the Sigurd Representations in Great Britain and Scandinavia’, in Mohammad Ali Jazayery and Werner Winter (eds) Languages and Cultures: Studies in Honor of Edgar C. Polomé (Amsterdam: Mouton de Gruyter, 1988),

293 287

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

pp. 133–56. Lang’s primary source for the narrative is the translation into English of the Völsunga Saga made by Eiríkr Magnússon and William Morris in 1870, titled Völsunga Saga: The Story of the Volsungs and Niblungs, with certain songs from the Elder Edda. 2 in King Alfred’s time: Alfred the Great ruled as King of Wessex from 871–899 CE, and successfully repelled Viking invasions of Britain. A number of Viking Age crosses and rune stones have been discovered in the British Isles depicting episodes from the Völsunga Saga, though they are generally dated from the early eleventh century. See Düwel, ‘On the Sigurd Representations in Great Britain and Scandinavia’, pp. 133–56, and John McKinnell, ‘The Sigmundr / Sigurðr Story in an Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norse Context’ in Else Mundal (ed.) Medieval Nordic Literature in its European Context (Oslo: Dreyers Forlag, 2015), pp. 50–77. 3 They have carved on the rocks … still be seen: Lang is referring to the stone carving at Ramsundsberget in Sweden (c. 1030 CE) that shows several scenes from the saga, including Sigurd tasting dragon’s blood, and the beheading of Regin. For images and context see D. L. Ashliman, ‘The Sigurd Stone’, Folktexts: A Library of Folktales, Folklore, Fairy Tales, and Mythology, http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/ sigurdstone.html (accessed 20 August 2018). 4 Once upon a time … now he was old: Lang begins his story with the events described in Chapter 11 of Magnússon and Morris’s translation of the Völsunga Saga. The previous chapters have recounted the stories of Sigurd’s ancestors, including his grandfather Volsung and his father Sigmund. In these opening lines, Lang compresses the account of the struggle between Sigmund and King Lyngi that takes place after Hjordis, daughter of King Eylimi, elects to marry the older Sigmund in preference to her younger suitor Lyngi. The addition of the opening formula ‘Once upon a time’ and the removal of some of the names serve to make the story resemble a fairy tale appropriate for a coloured fairy book. 5 Truly you are no maid, but a King’s daughter: identity tests of this kind are common in folk tales, which may be why Lang chooses to emphasise this episode from the Völsunga Saga, in which King Alf, Prince of Denmark, on the advice of his mother, tests the identity of the disguised Hjordis. A similar form of questioning is used by the giant to establish that he has been given the right child in the story Lang collected, ‘Nicht, Nought, Nothing’ (see pp. 52–3). The reply the handmaid gives to King Alf in Lang’s retelling of the story reveals his efforts to clarify and rationalise elements of the tale for a modern readership. In Magnússon and Morris’s translation the maid replies: ‘This sign have I [of dawn], that whereas in my youth I was wont to drink much in the dawn, so now when I no longer use that manner, I am yet wont to wake up at that very same tide’. See Völsunga Saga: The Story of the Volsungs and Niblungs (London: F. S. Ellis, 1870), pp. 40–1. 6 an old man with a white beard: in the source text this is identified as the god ‘Odin himself ’. See Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga, p. 44. 7

294 288

his own father: Hreidmar, the sorcerer.

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

8 someone came by: in the source this is Loki. It is not clear why Lang suppresses the name here, which would have enabled him to avoid clumsy formulations such as ‘the person who had killed Otter’. 9 She was under a spell … and waken her: in his phrasing of this passage, Lang purposefully emphasises the parallels between Brynhild in the Völsunga Saga and ‘Sleeping Beauty’ in the popular fairy tale. 10 because she had displeased Odin the God: in the Völsunga Saga, Brynhild has incurred Odin’s displeasure by overcoming and killing his favoured warrior, Helm Gunnar. Lang may have omitted this detail because he felt the notion of a female warrior killing a man to be inappropriate for his young readers. 11 Gudrun’s witch mother: Grimhild. In Magnússon and Morris’s translation of the Völsunga Saga (p. 86) she is described as a ‘Wise-wife’ and ‘fierce-hearted’, but not explicitly as a witch. 12 Then Gunnar remembered witchcraft … exactly like Gunnar: Lang makes Gunnar the prime agent of this deception, exculpating Sigurd from blame and ensuring that he remains unblemished as a heroic protagonist. In the source text, by contrast, Sigurd is complicit with the plan to exchange appearances with Gunnar, which helps to explain Brynhild’s fury with Sigurd when the deception is uncovered. 13 she said he would never see her glad … never speaking words of kindness: Lang moderates Brynhild’s violence here; in the source text she endeavours to slay Gunnar and has to be forcibly restrained. See Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga, p. 106. 14 Brynhild determined to slay him: Brynhild’s violent antipathy to Sigurd seems excessive in Lang’s compressed narrative. In the source text, Sigurd’s behaviour is more compromising, and Brynhild’s response to him becomes more explicable as a result. Amongst other proposals, Sigurd suggests that Brynhild remain married to Gunnar and become his mistress. See Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga, p. 110. 15 her husband’s younger brother: Guttorm. In the source text Gunnar instigates Guttorm to commit the murder at the request of Brynhild. See Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga, p. 113. 16 a-weeping till her heart broke: in the Völsunga Saga, Brynhild stabs herself to death. With this alteration Lang moderates the violence of the narrative and allows Brynhild a more sentimentalised ending. See Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga, p. 126. 17 the good horse, Grani: once more Lang has adjusted the details of the story with a young Victorian readership in mind; in the Völsunga Saga it is not Grani that Sigurd is burned with but his three year old son who has been sacrificed for the purpose. See Magnússon and Morris, Völsunga Saga, pp. 127–8.

295 289

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

18 the curse of the dwarf Andvari was fulfilled: Lang concludes his story with the events described in Chapter 32 of Magnússon and Morris’s Völsunga Saga. Subsequent narrative developments, omitted by Lang, concern Gudrun’s later marriages, and the fate of her children.

‘The Fleece of Gold’ 1 The Fleece of Gold: this is Lang’s retelling of the Ancient Greek narrative of Jason and the Argonauts. In an afterword to Tales of Troy and Greece Lang notes that his sources are ‘tradition’ and the ancient Greek epic poem, the Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes (third century BCE). See Tales of Troy and Greece (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1907), p. 288. 2 The Children of the Cloud: though Lang identifies the Argonautica of Apollonius as his principal source for the story of Jason and the Argonauts, the events described in this first section (in effect, the story of the origins of the Golden Fleece for which Jason and his crew are seeking) do not form a substantial part of Apollonius’s account. One of Lang’s sources for this section is likely to have been Apollodorus, who offers an account of Ino’s scheming, the flight of Helle and Phrixus on the golden ram, the death of Helle, the naming of the Hellespont, the arrival of Phrixus in Colchis, and the sacrifice and skinning of the ram (Bibliotheca 1.9.1). There is no obvious source for the story of Athamas’s winning of the cloud goddess Nephele or for the episode in which Ino is tricked into murdering her own children, and Lang appears to be drawing upon his knowledge of common folktale motifs for these episodes. Hyginus (Fabulae 4) recounts a narrative from later in Ino’s life in which Themisto attempts to kill Ino’s children and Ino, learning of the plot, swaps the black clothes of her own children with the white clothes of Themisto’s, causing Themisto to kill the wrong children. Lang appears to have shifted this episode to earlier in Ino’s narrative and to have changed the roles to identify Ino as the perpetrator of the crime. 3 lovely soft clothes … like dew: in this description of clothing, and in the following account of the maidens’ flight, Lang purposefully invokes solar mythological interpretations of the story of Jason. Though Lang was critical of blanket applications of solar mythological theories, he may be indicating that in this context the approach is legitimate because Nephele is a nymph fashioned by Zeus from the clouds. For Lang’s extensive commentary upon the significance of the Jason myth, see his essay ‘Household Tales; Their Origin, Diffusion, and Relations to the Higher Myths’, in The Edinburgh Critical Edition of the Selected Writings of Andrew Lang, ed. Andrew Teverson, Alexandra Warwick and Leigh Wilson (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2015), vol. 1, pp. 100–1 and 116–20.

296 290

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

4 Shoon of Swiftness: it is curious that Lang should use the Scottish dialect term for ‘shoes’ at this point; he perhaps intends an allusion to Walter Scott’s novel Guy Mannering (1815) in which reference is made to ‘Jock the Giant-killer’ with ‘his shoon o’ swiftness’. See Guy Mannering, ed. P. D. Garside (London: Penguin, 2003), p. 272. 5 gold crowns in their hair: this episode bears comparison with the scene in Charles Perrault’s ‘Le petit poucet’ (1697) in which an ogre murders its own children after Petit Poucet has taken the golden crowns worn by the ogre’s sleeping daughters and switched them with the nightcaps worn by himself and his brothers. See Perrault, The Complete Fairy Tales in Verse and Prose: A Dual Language Edition, ed. and trans. Stanley Appelbaum (Mineola: Dover, 2002), pp. 190–205. 6 many of the boys became famous: in what follows, Lang provides a highly abbreviated version of the catalogue of the Argonauts that is given in the Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes; Lang has also shifted this roll call to the centaur’s cave, whereas Apollonius gives it when the Argonauts have assembled to aid Jason on his quest. See Apollonius of Rhodes, The Voyage of Argo: The Argonautica, trans. E. V. Rieu (Basingstoke: Penguin, 1959), pp. 35–41. 7 I am Jason … take back my kingdom: as is the case in many of Lang’s revisions of myths, his protagonist is more unambiguously heroic and self-assured than the classical precursor. In the Argonautica of Apollonius, Jason is frequently beset by doubts, and even expresses morbid pessimism at certain points. As E. V. Rieu notes, he ‘not only takes a back seat when action is called for, but does not scruple to infect his men with his own innate despondency’, and the Greek term that is most often applied to Jason by Apollonius is amechanos, ‘without resource’. Rieu concludes that Apollonius ‘sets out to portray, not an epic hero, but an ordinary man’. See Introduction, The Voyage of Argo, pp. 15–16. Lang’s adaptation, by contrast, presents a decided and decisive hero – at least until the concluding paragraph of the story. 8 a strange isle … unruly giants: Lang omits the first adventure of the Argonauts, in which they land on the island of Lemnos and enter into sexual relationships with the women there, who have (unknown to the Argonauts) murdered their menfolk. This omission is unsurprising given the indelicacy of the episode and Lang’s intended readership. Also omitted is the account of what follows the annihilation of these ‘unruly giants’, when the Argonauts slaughter the friendly Doliones by accident after the two groups fail to recognise one another. In the source narrative this episode serves as an ironic counterpoint to the slaughter of the giants, encouraging the reader to reflect upon the limitations of martial violence. Lang’s account offers a more straightforward endorsement of military prowess and conquest. 9 Eurytus, king of Oechalia: in Greek myth, Heracles kills Eurtyus and his sons after the king reneges on a promise to give his daughter Iole in marriage to the victor of an archery contest that Heracles has won. See Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 2.6.1 and 2.7.7.

297 291

e lielc d t erde fni ’cst i fo incotfi o a nndsr eowf l aanngd r e w l a n g s e l e c t e d cs h

10 Eunis, and Nycheia with her April eyes: here Lang borrows from his own prose translation of Theocritus, Idylls 13, in which Hylas is claimed by ‘Eunice, and Malis, and Nycheia, with her April eyes’. See Lang (ed. and trans.), Theocritus, Bion and Moschus (London: Macmillan, 1880), p. 65. 11 Polydeuces, the boxer, took up the challenge: for the account of the fight between Polydeuces and Amycus Lang draws upon Theocritus, Idylls 22, 27–133, in which, according to Lang in his afterword, the event is ‘best reported’ (Tales of Troy and Greece, p. 288). Lang gives a prose translation of this Idyll in his and Moschus, Moschus, pp. 103–12, p. 103–12, where Theocritus, Bion and wherehe healso alsoinvites invites readers readers to to ‘[c]ompare the life and truth’ of the account in Theocritus ‘with the frigid manner of the contemporary Apollonius Rhodius’ (p. 103). 12 there they slew the Harpies with their swords: either to simplify the narrative, or to provide a more conclusive end to this struggle, Lang offers a different conclusion to this episode than the one that is provided by Apollonius. In the Argonautica, the goddess Iris intervenes to stop Zetes and Calais from killing the Harpies, and instead swears a sacred oath that the Harpies will never visit Phineus again. See The Voyage of Argo, p. 81. 13 this was the ghost of Sthenelus: given the amount of narrative material that Lang leaves out in his abbreviation of Apollonius’ epic story, it is notable that he should retain this relatively uneventful aside. Lang has perhaps included the episode because of his personal and academic interest in the subject of ghosts. 14 Now Chalciope … were of her dear husband’s country: in Apollonius she also welcomes the Argonauts because her sons (the children of Phrixus) are with them, having been rescued by the Argonauts from shipwreck on the island of Ares. Chalciope subsequently helps persuade Medea to aid Jason because she is worried about the threat to her sons from Æêtes, who believes they are in a confederacy with the Argonauts. Lang merely notes that she lends assistance to the Argonauts ‘for love of Phrixus, her dead husband’. See p. 248. 15 as soon as she saw him she loved him: in Apollonius, Athene, to aid Jason, persuades her son Eros to loose one of his arrows at Medea and inspire this love in her. See The Voyage of Argo, pp. 109–13. 16 Endymion the sleeper … of the Latmian hill: in Greek myth, the moon goddess Selene falls in love with the mortal Endymion. Zeus grants Endymion a wish, and he chooses to preserve his youth and beauty in eternal sleep. Selene gazes on his beauty each night. See Apollonius, Argonautica 4.55. 17 They slew her brother Absyrtus … limb from limb: Lang reflects upon the killing of Absyrtus in his essay ‘Household Tales; Their Origin, Diffusion, and Relations to the Higher Myths’, arguing that the casting away of his limbs, which prevents the pursuit of the vengeful father, is equivalent to the delaying strategies used in the folk tale cycle in which a giant’s daughter aids the hero in his flight (subsequently classified as ATU313 ‘The Girl as Helper in the Hero’s Flight’). Lang also argues that this episode, in which, in Apollodorus, Jason licks up and spits out some of Absyrtus’s blood, preserves the traces of ‘a curious … savage Selected Writings, Writings, vol. vol. 1, p. 119–20. expiatory rite’. See Selected pp. 119–20.

298 292

s e l e cetxe d p lfai cntai otno or fy ann dorteews l a n g

18 about Medea at Athens … Ægeus’s son: the story ‘Theseus’ is the following narrative in Lang’s Tales of Troy and Greece (pp. 201–53). In Lang’s unorthodox version of the narrative Theseus befriends and is helped by his stepmother Medea after he places a herb of grace donated by Hermes in a cup of wine she has given him to drink.

299 293