Wednesday's Good Reading; "The Palace That Stood on Golden Pillars" (Sweden) as told by Benjamin Thorpe (in English).

 

There was once a peasant, who with his wife lived very, very far in the woods. They had two children, a boy and a girl. They were very poor, all their wealth consisting in a cow and a cat.

This peasant and his wife lived in a state of constant strife with each other, and you might have been sure, that if the old man desired one thing, the old woman always desired another.

It happened one day that the old woman had boiled some porridge for supper, and when it was ready, and each had received a share, the old man would scrape the pot. This the old woman opposed with all her might, asserting that the right of scraping belonged to her, and her only. Hence a desperate quarrel ensued, neither being willing to yield to the other. The end was, that the old woman snatched up the pot and the ladle and ran off, the old man with a whip following close at her heels. And away they went over hill and dale, the old woman first, and the old man close behind her; but our history does not inform us which of the two finally obtained the scraping of the pot.

When a considerable time had elapsed, and no tidings were heard of their parents, the children had no alternative but to go out into the wide world and seek their fortune. So they resolved on leaving their habitation, and dividing their inheritance. But, as it generally happens, the division was a mighty difficult affair; there being nothing to divide save the cow and the cat, and both being desirous of having the cow.

While they were discussing the point, the cat, with a most insinuating mien, approaching the sister, gently rubbed her knee, and mewed: "Take me, take me."

So, as the boy would not let go the cow, the girl gave up her pretension and contented herself with the cat. They then parted from each other, the boy with the cow going his way, and the girl with her cat wandering through the wood; but of her and her companion's adventures nothing has been related to me, until they came to a spacious and splendid palace, which lay at some distance before them.

While both travelers were on their way to the beautiful palace, the cat began to converse with his mistress, and said: "If you will follow my advice, it shall bring you luck."

The girl, who placed great confidence in her companion's prudence, promised to follow his directions. The cat thereupon desired her to take off her old garments, and climb up into a high tree, while he would go to the palace and say, that there was a princess, who had been attacked by robbers and stripped both of property and clothes. The girl did accordingly, threw off her old rags and placed herself in the tree. The cat then went; but the girl sat in a great fright, as to how the matter would turn out.

When the king, who ruled the land, was informed that a foreign princess had suffered such violence, he was exceedingly troubled, and sent his servants to invite her to the palace. The young girl was now abundantly supplied with costly attire, and whatever else she required, and accompanied the royal messengers.

On arriving at the palace, all were struck with her beauty and courteous manners; but the king's son paid her the most marked homage, and declared that he could not live without her. The queen, however, had her suspicions, and asked the beautiful princess where her residence was.

The girl answered as she had been instructed by the cat: "I dwell very far from here, in a castle called Cattenburg."

Still the old queen was not satisfied, but resolved with herself to ascertain whether the strange damsel were really a king's daughter or not. For this purpose she went to the guest-chamber, and made ready a bed for the peasant girl with soft silken bolsters, but laid secretly a bean under the sheet; "Because," thought she, " if she is a princess, she cannot fail to notice it."

The young girl was then conducted to her apartment with great state. But the cat had observed the queen's stratagem, and apprized his mistress of it. In the morning, the old queen entered, and inquired how her guest had passed the night.

The girl answered as the cat had instructed her: "All, yes, I have slept, for I was very weary after my journey; but it seemed as if I had a large mountain under me. I slept much better in my bed at Cattenburg."

The queen now thought that the damsel must have been delicately bred; yet resolved on making one more trial.

On the following evening the queen went again to the guest-chamber, and having prepared the peasant girl's bed as before, laid some peas under the first pillow; and when it was morning, entered and inquired of her guest how she had slept. But, following the cat's instructions, she answered: "Ah, yes, I have slept, for I was very tired; but it seemed as if I had large stones under me. I slept much better in my bed at Cattenburg."

The old queen now thought that she had well stood the trial, yet could not entirely dismiss her suspicions, and therefore determined on a third attempt, for the purpose of finding out whether the strange damsel really were of such high birth as she pretended to be.

When the third evening came, the queen went again to the guest-chamber, and, having prepared the bed as before, laid a straw under the second pillow; and when the queen came in the morning and inquired how she had slept, she again answered as the cat had instructed: "Ah, yes, I have slept; for I was very tired; but it seemed as if I had a large tree under me. I was much better served at Cattenburg."

The queen now found that there was no sure way of arriving at the truth in this manner, and therefore resolved on keeping watch how the strange damsel conducted herself in other respects.

On the following day the queen sent to her guest a costly dress, embroidered with silk, and with a very, very long train, such as were worn by women of high rank. The peasant girl thanked her for the present, and thought no more about it; but the cat, that was close at her elbow, apprized his mistress that the old queen would put her to another trial. When some time had passed, the queen sent to inquire whether the princess would accompany her on a walk. The peasant girl consented, and they set out. On entering a garden, the court ladies were very fearful lest they should soil their dresses, as it had rained during the night. But the strange damsel continued walking, with out heeding whether her long train was being dragged through the mud or not.

Whereupon the queen said: "My dear princess, take care of your dress."

To which the peasant girl proudly answered: "Oh, there must be more dresses to be had here besides this. I had much better when I was in my castle at Cattenburg."

Now the old queen could not think otherwise than that the damsel was accustomed to wear silk-embroidered garments, and thence concluded that she must be a king's daughter; so could no longer entertain any objection to her son's marriage, to which the peasant girl also gave her consent.

It happened one day, as the prince and his beloved were sitting conversing together, that the damsel, on looking through the window, saw her parents come running out of the wood, the old woman first with the pot, and the old man close at her heels with the ladle. At the sight the girl could not contain herself, but burst out into a loud laugh.

On the prince inquiring why she laughed so heartily, she said, as the cat had instructed her: "I cannot help laughing when I think that your palace stands on stone pillars, while mine stands on golden ones."

When the prince heard this he was greatly surprised, and said: "Your thoughts are always dwelling on the beautiful Cattenburg, and you seem to think that all things are better there than with us. We will go and see your splendid palace, let the distance be ever so great."

At this the peasant's daughter was so alarmed that she would willingly have sunk into the earth, knowing well that she had not a house, much less a palace. But there being no remedy, she put a good face on the matter, saying that she would consider on what day they should commence their journey.

When she found herself alone, she gave free vent to her trouble, and wept bitterly; for she thought of all the disgrace that would fall on her for her deceit and falsehood. While she thus sat and wept, in walked the sagacious cat, rubbed himself against her knee, and inquired the cause of her sorrow.

"I may well be sorrowful," answered the peasant's daughter; "for the king's son says that we shall go to Cattenburg; so now I am like to pay dearly for having followed thy counsel."

But the cat bade her be of good cheer, and added, that he would so manage matters, that everything should turn out better than she could imagine; at the same time telling her that the sooner they set out the better. Having had already so many proofs of the cat's wisdom, she followed his instructions, though this time with a heavy heart; for she could not free herself from the apprehension that their journey would have an unfortunate termination.

Early on the following morning, the king's son ordered chariots and drivers, and everything besides which he thought necessary for their long journey to Cattenburg. The train then set out. The prince and his betrothed went first in a gilded chariot, attended by a numerous body of knights and squires; while the cat ran foremost of all to show them the way.

After travelling for some time, the cat perceived some goatherds driving to the field a large flock of most beautiful goats; so going up to the men, he greeted them courteously, saying: "Good day, goatherds! When the king's son rides by and inquires to whom those fine goats belong, you must say they belong to the young princess at Cattenburg, who rides by the prince's side. If you do so, you shall be well rewarded; but if not, I will tear you in pieces."

On hearing this the goatherds were much surprised, but promised to obey the cat's bidding. He then pursued his way. Shortly after came the king's son riding with all his train. On seeing such beautiful goats feeding in the field, he stopped his chariot, and inquired of the herdsmen to whom they belonged.

They answered, as the cat had instructed them: "They belong to the young princess at Cattenburg, who rides by your side."

At this the king's son wondered greatly, and thought that his betrothed must be a powerful princess; and the peasant girl was not a little glad at heart, and thought that she was not the losing party, when she divided the inheritance with her brother.

They now continued their journey, the cat running foremost. After travelling for some time they came to where a number of persons were making hay in a pleasant field.

These the cat saluted very courteously, saying as before: "Good day, good people! When the king's son comes by and inquires to whom this beautiful meadow belongs, you must answer that it belongs to the princess at Cattenburg, who rides by the prince's side. If you do so, you shall be well rewarded; but if you do not do as I have said, I will tear you to atoms."

When the men heard this they were greatly surprised, and promised to say what the cat desired. The cat then ran on as before. Shortly after came the king's son in his chariot with his whole retinue. On seeing the fertile fields and the number of people, he caused his chariot to stop, and inquired who was the owner of the land.

The men, following the cat's instructions, answered: "The fields belong to the young princess at Cattenburg, who rides by your side."

The king's son was now yet more surprised, and thought that his bride must be immensely rich, seeing that she owned such beautiful hay-fields.

Resuming their journey, and preceded by the cat, they approached at length a very extensive corn-field, which swarmed with men and women, all busily employed in reaping. Here the cat again ran forth, enjoining and threatening as on the former occasions; so that when the prince came by and inquired to whom the fields belonged, he received an answer similar to the foregoing. It was now late in the evening, and the prince stopped with his attendants for the purpose of resting during the night.

But the cat took no rest, but ran hastily forwards, until he saw a beautiful castle with its towers and battlements, and supported by golden pillars. This splendid palace belonged to a fierce giant, who owned the entire neighboring country; but was at that time absent from home. The cat therefore passed through the castle gate, and transformed himself into a large loaf; then stationed himself in the key-hole, and awaited the giant's return. Early in the morning, before the dawn, the frightful giant, who was so huge and heavy that the earth shook under him as he walked, came jogging out of the forest. When he came to the castle gate, he could not open it, because of the great loaf that stuck in the key-hole.

Thereupon he became exceedingly angry, and cried: " Unlock! unlock!"

To which the cat answered: "Just wait a little, little moment, while I tell my story:

    "First they kneaded me as if they would knead me to death."

"Unlock! unlock!" cried the giant again; but the cat answered as before: "Just wait a little, little moment, while I tell my story:

 

    "First they kneaded me as if they would knead me to death;

    Then they floured me as if they would flour me to death."

 

"Unlock! unlock!" vociferated the giant in a towering passion; but the cat repeated: "Just wait a little, little moment, while I tell my story:

 

    "First they kneaded me as if they would knead me to death;

    Then they floured me as if they would flour me to death;

    Then they pricked me as if they would prick me to death."

 

The giant was now beside himself with rage, and roared out so that the whole castle shook: "Unlock! unlock!"

But the cat was not to be moved, and answered as before: "Just wait a little moment, while I tell my story:

 

    "First they kneaded me as if they would knead, me to death;

    Then they floured me as if they would flour me to death;

    Then they pricked me as if they would prick me to death;

    Then they baked me as if they would bake me to death."

 

The giant now felt uneasy, and cried out quite gently: "Unlock! unlock!" but all in vain; the loaf remained quiet in the key-hole as before.

At the same moment the cat cried out: "Only see what a beautiful girl is riding up in the sky!"

As the Troll looked up, the sun had just risen above the forest, at the sight of which he fell back and split into shivers. Such was his end.

The loaf then transformed itself again into a cat, and hastened to set everything in order for his guests.

After some time, the king's son and his fair young bride arrived with all their train. The cat went out to receive them, and bid them welcome to Cattenburg. They were now entertained most sumptuously, and there was wanting neither meat nor drink, nor any costly luxury. The noble castle was full of gold and silver, and all kinds of precious things, such as the like was never seen before or since. Shortly after the marriage was solemnized between the prince and the fair young maiden; and all who saw her wealth, thought she had good reason for saying: "I had it otherwise in my castle at Cattenburg."

The king's son and the peasant's daughter lived happily together for very many years; but I have never heard how it fared with the cat; though we may almost guess that he wanted for nothing.

Wednesday's Good Reading: “As Cegonhas” by Hans Christian Andersen (translated into Portuguese by Monteiro Lobato).

 

Um casal de cegonhas havia construído o ninho no telhado duma casa de aldeia. Lá estava a cegonha-mãe ao lado de seus quatro filhotes, cujos bicos escuros só mais tarde ficariam vermelhos como os bicos das cegonhas. Um pouco mais além, na parte mais alta do telhado, a cegonha-pai montava guarda, muito séria e tesa, de pé num pé só. Parecia feita de pau.

— É uma grande honra para minha esposa ter sentinela ao lado, murmurava ele. Os que não sabem que sou o marido pensarão que fui contratado para montar guarda e isso dá muita importância à nossa família.

Nisto apareceu na rua, embaixo, um grupo de meninos vadios. Ao verem as cegonhas puseram-se a cantar uma cantiga muito velha. Essa cantiga dizia que pouco adiantava a cegonha-pai estar montando sentinela, porque o primeiro filhote tinha de acabar preso num laço; o segundo, caído num braseiro; o terceiro, morto por uma carga de chumbo e o último, assado ao espeto.

— Escutem! exclamaram os filhotes assustadíssimos. Estão dizendo que vamos ser enforcados e assados!...

— Bobagem! exclamou a mãe-cegonha. Nada disso acontecerá.

Os meninos continuaram a cantar e apontavam para as cegonhas com o dedo. Apenas um, de nome Peter, não gostou da brincadeira e disse que não deviam estar atropelando as pobres aves que não lhes tinham feito mal nenhum. Mas os meninos insistiram e a cegonha--mãe continuou a dizer aos filhotes que não fizessem caso.

— Não se assustem com as bobagens desses vadios. Não sabem o que dizem. Veja o vosso pai como não liga nenhuma importância e continua imóvel numa perna só.

— Estamos com medo! piavam os filhotes encolhendo-se no ninho.

No dia seguinte os mesmos meninos voltaram a brincar por ali e repetiram a cantiga, assustando ainda mais as cegonhinhas recém-nascidas.

— Seremos mesmo enforcadas e assadas? indagavam elas arregalando os olhos cheios de pavor.

— Nunca! respondia com firmeza a mãe-cegonha. Eu ensinarei vocês a voar, e quando estiverem práticas iremos todas para os brejos em visita às rãs que fazem creque! creque! antes de serem devoradas.

— E depois? quiseram saber os filhotes.

— Depois nos reuniremos a todas as cegonhas desta terra para a viagem do outono. Por esse tempo vocês já devem estar voando perfeitamente e o que não voar direito será espetado pelo enorme bico do general do bando. Tratem pois de aplicar-se da melhor maneira, aproveitando bem as minhas lições.

— Mas que adianta isso, se temos de acabar no espeto? Lá estão os meninos com a mesma cantiga, outra vez...

— Eles não sabem o que dizem; só o que eu digo é certo. Depois de nos reunirmos num grande bando, voaremos para um país quente para o Egito, onde as casas são de pedra, e enormes as tais pirâmides. Nesse país há um rio que todos os anos alaga as duas margens até muito longe. Não há melhor lugar no mundo para a caçada de rãs.

— Que bom! exclamaram os filhotes entusiasmados.

— É um lugar maravilhoso! E enquanto por lá estivermos, quentinhas ao sol, por aqui todas as árvores ficarão peladas, sem uma só folha nos galhos. O frio cá é terrível no inverno. As nuvens do céu viram gelo e caem como farinha branca. É o que os homens chamam neve. Tudo fica gelado.

— E os meninos também gelam?

— Não. Mas para isso têm que ficar dentro das casas, vestidos de grossas roupas de lã ou de peles. E vocês, lá longe, gozando o bom sol e vendo tudo verdinho e florido!...

E desse modo a cegonha-mãe consolou-os.

Correu o tempo. Os filhos da cegonha já estavam crescidotes e já sabiam ficar de pé no ninho, para espiar em redor. Todos os dias o pai-cegonha trazia-lhes no bico rãs e outros bichinhos. Depois fazia trejeitos cômicos para diverti-los; revirava a cabeça até encostar na cauda, estalava o bico como se estivesse tocando castanholas e também contava casos engraçados.

Afinal chegou a época de deixar o ninho, e os quatro filhotes saíram a passeio pelo telhado, muito sem jeito e cambaleantes; ao tentarem voar quase caíram no chão.

— Muito atentos agora, disse a cegonha-mãe. Vejam como eu faço. O pescoço deve conservar-se bem esticado, assim. E o pé nesta posição — primeiro o esquerdo; depois o direito. Vamos ver.

E isto dizendo ela alçou o vôo. Entusiasmados, os filhotes tentaram fazer o mesmo — mas foi uma série de tombos, um atrás do outro.

— Não quero mais aprender a voar, disse um deles voltando ao ninho. Prefiro continuar aqui em vez de voar para o tal país quente.

— Quer então morrer entanguido no inverno ou ser assado no espeto pelos meninos?

— Não! Não! gritou o filhote assustado e veio de novo para o exercício.

No terceiro dia já sabiam voar um pouquinho; um deles experimentou pairar no espaço sem bater as asas e o resultado foi um boléu. Felizmente bateu as asas a tempo e evitou de chegar ao chão, onde os meninos, numa gritaria, o estavam esperando.

— Não acha bom darmos umas bicadas nesses meninos? perguntou outro.

— Não, já disse que só façam o que eu mandar. Temos agora de voar em redor da chaminé, da direita para a esquerda e depois da esquerda para direita. Vamos! Um, dois e três!... Bravos! Muito bem! creio que amanhã já poderão acompanhar-me ao brejo das rãs. Quero que se comportem muito direitinhos, para serem admirados, e que andem com imponência, para se tornarem respeitados.

— Mas então iremos daqui sem nos vingarmos desses meninos maus?

— O frio vingará vocês. Enquanto estiverem bem quentes lá no Egito, eles aqui vão tiritar de frio.

— Isso não basta, disse o mais valente dos quatro. Queremos tomar a nossa vingança — e todos concordaram.

O menino mais assanhado em judiar das cegonhas era um de seis anos apenas, um pirralho, mas que parecia enorme para as cegonhinhas.

E as cegonhinhas resolveram que ele pagaria por todos. E tanto amolaram a mãe-cegonha com essa história de vingança, que tempos mais tarde ela lhes deu a licença pedida — mas com uma condição.

— Primeiro quero ver como vocês se comportam no ensaio geral antes da partida para o Egito. Se se comportarem mal, o chefe os atravessará com o bico e ficarei sabendo que os meninos têm razão. Por isso quero que esperem o ensaio. Depois, se tudo correr bem, darei licença de se vingarem dos meninos.

Com medo das bicadas do chefe, as cegonhinhas aplicaram-se aos exercícios com todo o afinco e acabaram por voar tão bem como os pais. Nisto chegou o outono, e os quatro irmãos foram mandados voar sobre florestas e cidades a fim de demonstrarem o seu grau de adiantamento. Foram aprovados com distinção e receberam como prêmio uma rã e uma cobra, petiscos que muito apreciavam.

— Ora graças que chegou o momento da nossa vingança! disseram eles ao chegar.

— Isso mesmo, concordou a cegonha-mãe, e tenho cá um plano excelente. Sei onde fica a floresta na qual as cegonhas vão buscar os bebês que distribuem pela cidade. Porque somos nós que fornecemos os bebês a este povo. Ora, os pais querem sempre bebês bem bonitinhos e nós podemos trazer dos mais lindos para as casas dos meninos que não caçoaram de nós e não nos ameaçaram.

— E para os que nos ameaçaram? Para aquele que queria nos assar ao espeto?

— Para a casa desse levaremos um dos bebês mortos que existem na floresta — e ele terá de chorar quando souber que perdeu um irmãozinho. Será um bom castigo.

— E para o menino bom, que nos defendeu, o Peter?

— Para esse levaremos um casal de lindos bebês, um irmãozinho e uma irmãzinha. E em homenagem a ele vocês, cegonhinhas, ficarão com esse nome — Peter.

E foi assim que apareceram na Dinamarca as cegonhas de nome Peter.

Wednesday's Good Reading; “Jorinda and Joringel” by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (translated into English by Margaret Raine Hunt).

 

There was once an old castle in the midst of a large and thick forest, and in it an old woman who was a witch dwelt all alone. In the day-time she changed herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but in the evening she took her proper shape again as a human being. She could lure wild beasts and birds to her, and then she killed and boiled and roasted them. If any one came within one hundred paces of the castle he was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the place until she bade him be free. But whenever an innocent maiden came within this circle, she changed her into a bird, and shut her up in a wicker-work cage, and carried the cage into a room in the castle. She had about seven thousand cages of rare birds in the castle.

Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had promised to marry each other. They were still in the days of betrothal, and their greatest happiness was being together. One day in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet they went for a walk in the forest. "Take care," said Joringel, "that you do not go too near the castle."

It was a beautiful evening; the sun shone brightly between the trunks of the trees into the dark green of the forest, and the turtle-doves sang mournfully upon the young boughs of the birch-trees.

Jorinda wept now and then: she sat down in the sunshine and was sorrowful. Joringel was sorrowful too; they were as sad as if they were about to die. Then they looked around them, and were quite at a loss, for they did not know by which way they should go home. The sun was still half above the mountain and half set.

Joringel looked through the bushes, and saw the old walls of the castle close at hand. He was horror-stricken and filled with deadly fear. Jorinda was singing—

 

"My little bird, with the necklace red,

   Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,

He sings that the dove must soon be dead,

   Sings sorrow, sor——— jug, jug, jug."

 

Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a nightingale, and sang "jug, jug, jug." A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and three times cried "to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo!"

Joringel could not move: he stood there like a stone, and could neither weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.

The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket, and directly afterwards there came out of it a crooked old woman, yellow and lean, with large red eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She muttered to herself, caught the nightingale, and took it away in her hand.

Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot; the nightingale was gone. At last the woman came back, and said in a hollow voice, "Greet thee, Zachiel. If the moon shines on the cage, Zachiel, let him loose at once." Then Joringel was freed. He fell on his knees before the woman and begged that she would give him back his Jorinda, but she said that he should never have her again, and went away. He called, he wept, he lamented, but all in vain, "Ah, what is to become of me?"

Joringel went away, and at last came to a strange village; there he kept sheep for a long time. He often walked round and round the castle, but not too near to it. At last he dreamt one night that he found a blood-red flower, in the middle of which was a beautiful large pearl; that he picked the flower and went with it to the castle, and that everything he touched with the flower was freed from enchantment; he also dreamt that by means of it he recovered his Jorinda.

In the morning, when he awoke, he began to seek over hill and dale if he could find such a flower. He sought until the ninth day, and then, early in the morning, he found the blood-red flower. In the middle of it there was a large dew-drop, as big as the finest pearl.

Day and night he journeyed with this flower to the castle. When he was within a hundred paces of it he was not held fast, but walked on to the door. Joringel was full of joy; he touched the door with the flower, and it sprang open. He walked in through the courtyard, and listened for the sound of the birds. At last he heard it. He went on and found the room from whence it came, and there the witch was feeding the birds in the seven thousand cages.

When she saw Joringel she was angry, very angry, and scolded and spat poison and gall at him, but she could not come within two paces of him. He did not take any notice of her, but went and looked at the cages with the birds; but there were many hundred nightingales, how was he to find his Jorinda again?

Just then he saw the old woman quietly take away a cage with a bird in it, and go towards the door.

Swifty he sprang towards her, touched the cage with the flower, and also the old woman. She could now no longer bewitch any one; and Jorinda was standing there, clasping him round the neck, and she was as beautiful as ever!