Tuesday’s Serial: “The Princess and the Goblin” by George MacDonald (in English) - II

CHAPTER 5 - The Princess Lets Well Alone

When she woke the next morning, the first thing she heard was the rain still falling. Indeed, this day was so like the last that it would have been difficult to tell where was the use of It. The first thing she thought of, however, was not the rain, but the lady in the tower; and the first question that occupied her thoughts was whether she should not ask the nurse to fulfil her promise this very morning, and go with her to find her grandmother as soon as she had had her breakfast. But she came to the conclusion that perhaps the lady would not be pleased if she took anyone to see her without first asking leave; especially as it was pretty evident, seeing she lived on pigeons' eggs, and cooked them herself, that she did not want the household to know she was there. So the princess resolved to take the first opportunity of running up alone and asking whether she might bring her nurse. She believed the fact that she could not otherwise convince her she was telling the truth would have much weight with her grandmother.

The princess and her nurse were the best of friends all dressing-time, and the princess in consequence ate an enormous little breakfast.

'I wonder, Lootie'—that was her pet name for her nurse—'what pigeons' eggs taste like?' she said, as she was eating her egg—not quite a common one, for they always picked out the pinky ones for her.

'We'll get you a pigeon's egg, and you shall judge for yourself,' said the nurse.

'Oh, no, no!' returned Irene, suddenly reflecting they might disturb the old lady in getting it, and that even if they did not, she would have one less in consequence.

'What a strange creature you are,' said the nurse—'first to want a thing and then to refuse it!'

But she did not say it crossly, and the princess never minded any remarks that were not unfriendly.

'Well, you see, Lootie, there are reasons,' she returned, and said no more, for she did not want to bring up the subject of their former strife, lest her nurse should offer to go before she had had her grandmother's permission to bring her. Of course she could refuse to take her, but then she would believe her less than ever.

Now the nurse, as she said herself afterwards, could not be every moment in the room; and as never before yesterday had the princess given her the smallest reason for anxiety, it had not yet come into her head to watch her more closely. So she soon gave her a chance, and, the very first that offered, Irene was off and up the stairs again.

This day's adventure, however, did not turn out like yesterday's, although it began like it; and indeed to-day is very seldom like yesterday, if people would note the differences—even when it rains. The princess ran through passage after passage, and could not find the stair of the tower. My own suspicion is that she had not gone up high enough, and was searching on the second instead of the third floor. When she turned to go back, she failed equally in her search after the stair. She was lost once more.

Something made it even worse to bear this time, and it was no wonder that she cried again. Suddenly it occurred to her that it was after having cried before that she had found her grandmother's stair. She got up at once, wiped her eyes, and started upon a fresh quest.

This time, although she did not find what she hoped, she found what was next best: she did not come on a stair that went up, but she came upon one that went down. It was evidently not the stair she had come up, yet it was a good deal better than none; so down she went, and was singing merrily before she reached the bottom. There, to her surprise, she found herself in the kitchen. Although she was not allowed to go there alone, her nurse had often taken her, and she was a great favourite with the servants. So there was a general rush at her the moment she appeared, for every one wanted to have her; and the report of where she was soon reached the nurse's ears. She came at once to fetch her; but she never suspected how she had got there, and the princess kept her own counsel.

Her failure to find the old lady not only disappointed her, but made her very thoughtful. Sometimes she came almost to the nurse's opinion that she had dreamed all about her; but that fancy never lasted very long. She wondered much whether she should ever see her again, and thought it very sad not to have been able to find her when she particularly wanted her. She resolved to say nothing more to her nurse on the subject, seeing it was so little in her power to prove her words.

CHAPTER 6 - The Little Miner

The next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the rain poured like water from a full sponge. The princess was very fond of being out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that the weather was no better. But the mist was not of such a dark dingy grey; there was light in it; and as the hours went on it grew brighter and brighter, until it was almost too brilliant to look at; and late in the afternoon the sun broke out so gloriously that Irene clapped her hands, crying:

'See, see, Lootie! The sun has had his face washed. Look how bright he is! Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how happy I am!'

Lootie was very glad to please the princess. She got her hat and cloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for the road was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, and it was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rain ceased. The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great, overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almost too white for the eyes to bear. Between them the sky shone with a deeper and purer blue, because of the rain. The trees on the roadside were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels. The only things that were no brighter for the rain were the brooks that ran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystal to a muddy brown; but what they lost in colour they gained in sound—or at least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical as before. But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streams tumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she too had been confined to the house for three days.

At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it was time to be going back. She made the remark again and again, but, every time, the princess begged her to go on just a little farther and a little farther; reminding her that it was much easier to go downhill, and saying that when they did turn they would be at home in a moment. So on and on they did go, now to look at a group of ferns over whose tops a stream was pouring in a watery arch, now to pick a shining stone from a rock by the wayside, now to watch the flight of some bird. Suddenly the shadow of a great mountain peak came up from behind, and shot in front of them. When the nurse saw it, she started and shook, and catching hold of the princess's hand turned and began to run down the hill.

'What's all the haste, nursie?' asked Irene, running alongside of her.

'We must not be out a moment longer.'

'But we can't help being out a good many moments longer.'

It was too true. The nurse almost cried. They were much too far from home. It was against express orders to be out with the princess one moment after the sun was down; and they were nearly a mile up the mountain! If His Majesty, Irene's papa, were to hear of it, Lootie would certainly be dismissed; and to leave the princess would break her heart. It was no wonder she ran. But Irene was not in the least frightened, not knowing anything to be frightened at. She kept on chattering as well as she could, but it was not easy.

'Lootie! Lootie! why do you run so fast? It shakes my teeth when I talk.'

'Then don't talk,' said Lootie.

'But the princess went on talking. She was always saying: 'Look, look, Lootie!' but Lootie paid no more heed to anything she said, only ran on.

'Look, look, Lootie! Don't you see that funny man peeping over the rock?'

Lootie only ran the faster. They had to pass the rock, and when they came nearer, the princess saw it was only a lump of the rock itself that she had taken for a man.

'Look, look, Lootie! There's such a curious creature at the foot of that old tree. Look at it, Lootie! It's making faces at us, I do think.'

Lootie gave a stifled cry, and ran faster still—so fast that Irene's little legs could not keep up with her, and she fell with a crash. It was a hard downhill road, and she had been running very fast—so it was no wonder she began to cry. This put the nurse nearly beside herself; but all she could do was to run on, the moment she got the princess on her feet again.

'Who's that laughing at me?' said the princess, trying to keep in her sobs, and running too fast for her grazed knees.

'Nobody, child,' said the nurse, almost angrily.

But that instant there came a burst of coarse tittering from somewhere near, and a hoarse indistinct voice that seemed to say: 'Lies! lies! lies!'

'Oh!' cried the nurse with a sigh that was almost a scream, and ran on faster than ever.

'Nursie! Lootie! I can't run any more. Do let us walk a bit.'

'What am I to do?' said the nurse. 'Here, I will carry you.'

She caught her up; but found her much too heavy to run with, and had to set her down again. Then she looked wildly about her, gave a great cry, and said:

'We've taken the wrong turning somewhere, and I don't know where we are. We are lost, lost!'

The terror she was in had quite bewildered her. It was true enough they had lost the way. They had been running down into a little valley in which there was no house to be seen.

Now Irene did not know what good reason there was for her nurse's terror, for the servants had all strict orders never to mention the goblins to her, but it was very discomposing to see her nurse in such a fright. Before, however, she had time to grow thoroughly alarmed like her, she heard the sound of whistling, and that revived her. Presently she saw a boy coming up the road from the valley to meet them. He was the whistler; but before they met his whistling changed to singing. And this is something like what he sang:

'Ring! dod! bang!

Go the hammers' clang!

Hit and turn and bore!

Whizz and puff and roar!

Thus we rive the rocks,

Force the goblin locks.—

See the shining ore!

One, two, three—

Bright as gold can be!

Four, five, six—

Shovels, mattocks, picks!

Seven, eight, nine—

Light your lamp at mine.

Ten, eleven, twelve—

Loosely hold the helve.

We're the merry miner-boys,

Make the goblins hold their noise.'

'I wish YOU would hold your noise,' said the nurse rudely, for the very word GOBLIN at such a time and in such a place made her tremble. It would bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy them in that way. But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not stop his singing.

'Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—

This is worth the siftin';

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—

There's the match, and lay't in.

Nineteen, twenty—

Goblins in a plenty.'

'Do be quiet,' cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek. But the boy, who was now close at hand, still went on.

'Hush! scush! scurry!

There you go in a hurry!

Gobble! gobble! goblin!

There you go a wobblin';

Hobble, hobble, hobblin'—

Cobble! cobble! cobblin'!

Hob-bob-goblin!—

Huuuuuh!'

'There!' said the boy, as he stood still opposite them. 'There! that'll do for them. They can't bear singing, and they can't stand that song. They can't sing themselves, for they have no more voice than a crow; and they don't like other people to sing.'

The boy was dressed in a miner's dress, with a curious cap on his head. He was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in which he worked and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks. He was about twelve years old. His face was almost too pale for beauty, which came of his being so little in the open air and the sunlight—for even vegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merry indeed—perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and his bearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.

'I saw them,' he went on, 'as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. I knew they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. They won't touch you so long as I'm with you.'

'Why, who are you?' asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with which he spoke to them.

'I'm Peter's son.'

'Who's Peter?'

'Peter the miner.'

'I don't know him.' 'I'm his son, though.'

'And why should the goblins mind you, pray?'

'Because I don't mind them. I'm used to them.'

'What difference does that make?'

'If you're not afraid of them, they're afraid of you. I'm not afraid of them. That's all. But it's all that's wanted—up here, that is. It's a different thing down there. They won't always mind that song even, down there. And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at him awfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrong one, they—oh! don't they give it him!'

'What do they do to him?' asked Irene, with a trembling voice.

'Don't go frightening the princess,' said the nurse.

'The princess!' repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap. 'I beg your pardon; but you oughtn't to be out so late. Everybody knows that's against the law.'

'Yes, indeed it is!' said the nurse, beginning to cry again. 'And I shall have to suffer for it.'

'What does that matter?' said the boy. 'It must be your fault. It is the princess who will suffer for it. I hope they didn't hear you call her the princess. If they did, they're sure to know her again: they're awfully sharp.'

'Lootie! Lootie!' cried the princess. 'Take me home.'

'Don't go on like that,' said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely. 'How could I help it? I lost my way.'

'You shouldn't have been out so late. You wouldn't have lost your way if you hadn't been frightened,' said the boy. 'Come along. I'll soon set you right again. Shall I carry your little Highness?'

'Impertinence!' murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, for she thought if she made him angry he might take his revenge by telling someone belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come to the king's ears. 'No, thank you,' said Irene. 'I can walk very well, though I can't run so fast as nursie. If you will give me one hand, Lootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.'

They soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.

'Now let's run,' said the nurse.

'No, no!' said the little miner. 'That's the worst thing you can do. If you hadn't run before, you would not have lost your way. And if you run now, they will be after you in a moment.'

'I don't want to run,' said Irene.

'You don't think of me,' said the nurse.

'Yes, I do, Lootie. The boy says they won't touch us if we don't run.'

'Yes, but if they know at the house that I've kept you out so late I shall be turned away, and that would break my heart.'

'Turned away, Lootie! Who would turn you away?'

'Your papa, child.'

'But I'll tell him it was all my fault. And you know it was, Lootie.'

'He won't mind that. I'm sure he won't.'

'Then I'll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to take away my own dear Lootie.'

The nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more. They went on, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.

'I want to talk to you,' said Irene to the little miner; 'but it's so awkward! I don't know your name.'

'My name's Curdie, little princess.'

'What a funny name! Curdie! What more?'

'Curdie Peterson. What's your name, please?'

'Irene.'

'What more?'

'I don't know what more. What more is my name, Lootie?'

'Princesses haven't got more than one name. They don't want it.'

'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'

'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly. 'He shall do no such thing.'

'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'

'Your Royal Highness.' 'My Royal Highness! What's that? No, no, Lootie. I won't be called names. I don't like them. You told me once yourself it's only rude children that call names; and I'm sure Curdie wouldn't be rude. Curdie, my name's Irene.'

'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed he enjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call you anything. I like your name very much.'

He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she was too frightened to speak. She was staring at something a few yards before them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocks so that only one could pass at a time.

'It is very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,' said Irene.

'I'm not going out of my way yet,' said Curdie. 'It's on the other side of those rocks the path turns off to my father's.'

'You wouldn't think of leaving us till we're safe home, I'm sure,' gasped the nurse.

'Of course not,' said Curdie.

'You dear, good, kind Curdie! I'll give you a kiss when we get home,' said the princess.

The nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held. But at that instant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like a great lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One after another it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, but it was now too dark to tell what they were. The nurse began to tremble from head to foot. Irene clasped Curdie's hand yet faster, and Curdie began to sing again:

'One, two—

Hit and hew!

Three, four—

Blast and bore!

Five, six—

There's a fix!

Seven, eight—

Hold it straight!

Nine, ten—

Hit again!

Hurry! scurry!

Bother! smother!

There's a toad

In the road!

Smash it!

Squash it!

Fry it!

Dry it!

You're another!

Up and off!

There's enough!—

Huuuuuh!'

As he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion, and rushed at the thing in the road as if he would trample it under his feet. It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rocks like a huge spider. Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene's hand again. She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they had passed the rocks. A few yards more and she found herself on a part of the road she knew, and was able to speak again.

'Do you know, Curdie, I don't quite like your song: it sounds to me rather rude,' she said.

'Well, perhaps it is,' answered Curdie. 'I never thought of that; it's a way we have. We do it because they don't like it.'

'Who don't like it?'

'The cobs, as we call them.'

'Don't!' said the nurse.

'Why not?' said Curdie.

'I beg you won't. Please don't.'

'Oh! if you ask me that way, of course, I won't; though I don't a bit know why. Look! there are the lights of your great house down below. You'll be at home in five minutes now.'

Nothing more happened. They reached home in safety. Nobody had missed them, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the door belonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them. The nurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good night to Curdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was just throwing her arms round Curdie's neck, when she caught her again and dragged her away.

'Lootie! Lootie! I promised a kiss,' cried Irene.

'A princess mustn't give kisses. It's not at all proper,' said Lootie.

'But I promised,' said the princess.

'There's no occasion; he's only a miner-boy.'

'He's a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us. Lootie! Lootie! I promised.'

'Then you shouldn't have promised.'

'Lootie, I promised him a kiss.'

'Your Royal Highness,' said Lootie, suddenly grown very respectful, 'must come in directly.'

'Nurse, a princess must not break her word,' said Irene, drawing herself up and standing stock-still.

Lootie did not know which the king might count the worst—to let the princess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She did not know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he would have counted neither of them the worse. However much he might have disliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had her break her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, the nurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a great difficulty, for, if she insisted, someone might hear the princess cry and run to see, and then all would come out. But here Curdie came again to the rescue.

'Never mind, Princess Irene,' he said. 'You mustn't kiss me tonight. But you shan't break your word. I will come another time. You may be sure I will.'

'Oh, thank you, Curdie!' said the princess, and stopped crying.

'Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,' said Curdie, and turned and was out of sight in a moment.

'I should like to see him!' muttered the nurse, as she carried the princess to the nursery.

'You will see him,' said Irene. 'You may be sure Curdie will keep his word. He's sure to come again.'

'I should like to see him!' repeated the nurse, and said no more. She did not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by saying more plainly what she meant. Glad enough that she had succeeded both in getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing the miner's boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future. Her carelessness had already doubled the danger she was in. Formerly the goblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge from Curdie as well.

CHAPTER 7 - The Mines

Curdie went home whistling. He resolved to say nothing about the princess for fear of getting the nurse into trouble, for while he enjoyed teasing her because of her absurdity, he was careful not to do her any harm. He saw no more of the goblins, and was soon fast asleep in his bed.

He woke in the middle of the night, and thought he heard curious noises outside. He sat up and listened; then got up, and, opening the door very quietly, went out. When he peeped round the corner, he saw, under his own window, a group of stumpy creatures, whom he at once recognized by their shape. Hardly, however, had he begun his 'One, two, three!' when they broke asunder, scurried away, and were out of sight. He returned laughing, got into bed again, and was fast asleep in a moment.

Reflecting a little over the matter in the morning, he came to the conclusion that, as nothing of the kind had ever happened before, they must be annoyed with him for interfering to protect the princess. By the time he was dressed, however, he was thinking of something quite different, for he did not value the enmity of the goblins in the least. As soon as they had had breakfast, he set off with his father for the mine.

They entered the hill by a natural opening under a huge rock, where a little stream rushed out. They followed its course for a few yards, when the passage took a turn, and sloped steeply into the heart of the hill. With many angles and windings and branchings-off, and sometimes with steps where it came upon a natural gulf, it led them deep into the hill before they arrived at the place where they were at present digging out the precious ore. This was of various kinds, for the mountain was very rich in the better sorts of metals. With flint and steel, and tinder-box, they lighted their lamps, then fixed them on their heads, and were soon hard at work with their pickaxes and shovels and hammers. Father and son were at work near each other, but not in the same gang—the passages out of which the ore was dug, they called gangs—for when the lode, or vein of ore, was small, one miner would have to dig away alone in a passage no bigger than gave him just room to work—sometimes in uncomfortable cramped positions. If they stopped for a moment they could hear everywhere around them, some nearer, some farther off, the sounds of their companions burrowing away in all directions in the inside of the great mountain—some boring holes in the rock in order to blow it up with gunpowder, others shovelling the broken ore into baskets to be carried to the mouth of the mine, others hitting away with their pickaxes. Sometimes, if the miner was in a very lonely part, he would hear only a tap-tapping, no louder than that of a woodpecker, for the sound would come from a great distance off through the solid mountain rock.

The work was hard at best, for it is very warm underground; but it was not particularly unpleasant, and some of the miners, when they wanted to earn a little more money for a particular purpose, would stop behind the rest and work all night. But you could not tell night from day down there, except from feeling tired and sleepy; for no light of the sun ever came into those gloomy regions. Some who had thus remained behind during the night, although certain there were none of their companions at work, would declare the next morning that they heard, every time they halted for a moment to take breath, a tap-tapping all about them, as if the mountain were then more full of miners than ever it was during the day; and some in consequence would never stay overnight, for all knew those were the sounds of the goblins. They worked only at night, for the miners' night was the goblins' day. Indeed, the greater number of the miners were afraid of the goblins; for there were strange stories well known amongst them of the treatment some had received whom the goblins had surprised at their work during the night. The more courageous of them, however, amongst them Peter Peterson and Curdie, who in this took after his father, had stayed in the mine all night again and again, and although they had several times encountered a few stray goblins, had never yet failed in driving them away. As I have indicated already, the chief defence against them was verse, for they hated verse of every kind, and some kinds they could not endure at all. I suspect they could not make any themselves, and that was why they disliked it so much. At all events, those who were most afraid of them were those who could neither make verses themselves nor remember the verses that other people made for them; while those who were never afraid were those who could make verses for themselves; for although there were certain old rhymes which were very effectual, yet it was well known that a new rhyme, if of the right sort, was even more distasteful to them, and therefore more effectual in putting them to flight.

Perhaps my readers may be wondering what the goblins could be about, working all night long, seeing they never carried up the ore and sold it; but when I have informed them concerning what Curdie learned the very next night, they will be able to understand.

For Curdie had determined, if his father would permit him, to remain there alone this night—and that for two reasons: first, he wanted to get extra wages that he might buy a very warm red petticoat for his mother, who had begun to complain of the cold of the mountain air sooner than usual this autumn; and second, he had just a faint hope of finding out what the goblins were about under his window the night before.

When he told his father, he made no objection, for he had great confidence in his boy's courage and resources.

'I'm sorry I can't stay with you,' said Peter; 'but I want to go and pay the parson a visit this evening, and besides I've had a bit of a headache all day.'

'I'm sorry for that, father,' said Curdie.

'Oh, it's not much. You'll be sure to take care of yourself, won't you?'

'Yes, father; I will. I'll keep a sharp look-out, I promise you.' Curdie was the only one who remained in the mine. About six o'clock the rest went away, everyone bidding him good night, and telling him to take care of himself; for he was a great favourite with them all.

'Don't forget your rhymes,' said one.

'No, no,'answered Curdie.

'It's no matter if he does,' said another, 'for he'll only have to make a new one.'

'Yes: but he mightn't be able to make it fast enough,' said another; 'and while it was cooking in his head, they might take a mean advantage and set upon him.'

'I'll do my best,' said Curdie. 'I'm not afraid.' 'We all know that,' they returned, and left him.

Monday's Illustrated Word: untitled story by Otto Binder (in English)

 - unknown artist - Whiz Comics #30 - Fawcett Publications, Inc., May 1942.

Good Readings: “Little Bear's Son” retold by Post Wheeler (in English)

In a certain Tsardom of the thirtieth realm, across three times nine lands, beyond the sea-ocean, there once lived an old peasant with his wife. They were honest and industrious, though they did not swim in cheese and butter. Indeed, they were very poor and moreover had no children, which was a great grief to them. In scanty sea sons the peasant eked Out his living by hunting wolves and bears, whose skins he marketed to buy bread.

One day he tracked a bear to its den and having killed it, he found there to his astonishment a little boy three years old, naked and sturdy, whom the bear had stolen and had been rearing like a cub. The peasant took the little boy home, called in the priest, had him baptized Ivashko Medvedko, which is to say 'Ivan, Bear's- Son," and began to bring him up as his own.

The lad grew not by years, but by hours, as fast as if someone were dragging him upstairs, until when he was fifteen he was of a man's height and stronger than anyone in the whole countryside. He did not realize his own strength, so that before long, as he played with the other lads of the village, accidents began to happen. When he would seize a playmate by the hand it was a piece of luck if he did not pull the hand off, and arms and even heads were separated from their bodies when he was made angry.

This naturally produced much trouble, and finally his neighbors came to the old peasant and said: "Thou art our neighbor and our countryman and we have no quarrel with thee. But as for thy 'bear's-son,' he should be thrust forth from the village. We do not choose longer to have our little children maimed by his antics."

The old man was sad and sorry, for he loved the lad and knew that he was of a good heart and meant no mischief. Little Bear's-Son noticed his downcast looks and asked: "Why art thou so sad, little grandfather? Who has taken away thy happiness?"

"Ah, little Grandson," said the old man, sighing heavily, "thou hast been my only comfort. Now our neighbors have determined to expel thee from the village, and what wilt thou do, and how wilt thou live?"

"Well, little Grandfather," answered he, "this is truly a great misfortune, but it cannot be helped. Go thou, I pray, and buy me an iron club of twenty-five poods weight. Let me remain here but three weeks longer, to exercise and develop my body, and then I shall leave thee to make mine own way in the white world, to show myself and to be seen." The old man went and bought the heavy iron club, loaded it in a cart and brought it home, and with it Little Bear's-Son began each day to exercise.

Now near by was a green meadow on which stood three fir-trees; the first was fifteen reaches around, the second twenty, and the third twenty-five. When the first week was ended he went to the meadow, seized the first fir-tree and putting forth all his strength, pulled it over. He went home and exercised with his iron club a second week, and at the end of that time he went to the meadow, seized the second fir-tree, bent it down to the ground and broke it into two pieces. He went home and exercised with his iron club yet a third week, and going to the meadow, he seized the third fir-tree and with a single jerk tore it up by the roots. So mighty was his strength that the earth shook, the forest moaned, the sea-ocean began to boil and the fjr-tree was reduced to powder. "Now," said Little Bear's Soil, "I am so strong that I fear not even a witch," and bidding farewell, with tears, to the old man and the old woman, he thrust his iron club into his girdle and went whither his eyes looked.

Whether he wandered a long way or a short way, he came at length to a river three versts wide. On its bank knelt a giant, as tall as a birch sapling, and as thick as a hayrick, with his mouth stretched wide in the water, catching fish with his mustache. When he caught one, he kindled a fire on his tongue, roasted and swallowed it.

"Health to thee, Giant," said Little Bear's-Son. "Who art thou?"

"Health to thee," answered the other. "My name is Usynia [Mustache-man]. Whither goest thou?"

"Whither my eyes look," replied Little Bear's-Son. "Wilt thou come with me? It is merrier with companion ship. Thou art of a goodly size and shouldst be a man of strength."

"As for that," said the giant, "my strength is nothing. For a really strong man, they say thou must go to him who is named Ivashko Medvedko."

"That is my name," said Little Bear's-Son.

"Then will I go with thee right willingly," said the other, and he left off his fishing and they journeyed on together.

They traveled for a day, when they came to a valley in which a giant four yards tall was at work. He was carrying earth thither, a whole hill at a time, and mending the roads with it.

"Health to thee," said Little Bear's-Son. "What art thou called?"

"Health to thee," replied the giant. "My name is Gorynia [Hill-man]. Whither doth God lead you?"

"Whither our eyes look," said Little Bear's-Son. "Thou art a strong man, I see. But why dost thou toil so hard?"

"Because I am dull," answered the other. "There is no war and the Tsardom is at peace; so, having nothing to do, I amuse myself. But as for strength, I have little enough compared with a certain youth named Ivashko Medvedko."

"I am he," said Little Bear's-Son.

"Then take me with you," said the giant, "and I will be thy younger brother." And he left his road-making and journeyed on with the others.

They traveled for two days, when they passed through a forest of oak-trees, and in it they perceived a third giant as tall as a barn, at work making all the oaks of the same height. If one was too tall, he drove it further into the earth with a blow of his fist, and if too short, he pulled it up to the proper level.

"Health to thee!" said Little Bear's-Son. "Thou art in deed a mighty man. What is thy name?"

"Health to thee!" responded the giant. "My name is Dubynia [Oak-man]. But my strength is as naught compared with that of a certain Ivashko Medvedko that I have heard tell of."

"I am that one," said Little Bear's-Son. "Wilt thou go with us and be our comrade?"

"That I will," answered the giant. "Whither doth your path lead?"

"Whither our eyes look," said Little Bear's-Son, and the third giant left his work in the oak forest and went with them.

They traveled, all four together, for three days, when they came to a wilderness full of all kinds of game, and Little Bear's-Son said: "Of what profit is it for us to wander further through the white world? Let us build a house here and dwell in ease and comfort."

The three giants agreed. All immediately set to work clearing the stubble and preparing the timbers and before nightfall the dwelling was completed. It was built of the hugest trees and was big enough to shelter comfortably forty ordinary men. When it was finished they made a hunt and killed and snared beasts and fowl to fill their larder.

The next morning Little Bear's-Son said: "Each day three of us must hunt so that we lack not food, while the fourth stays at home to guard our house and to cook for the rest. Let us cast lots, therefore, to see who shall stay at home today." They cast lots and it fell to Usynia, he of the huge mustache, to remain, and the other three went away to hunt.

When they had departed Usynia took flesh and fowl and prepared a fit meal for his comrades when they should return, and boiled and baked and roasted whatever pleased his soul. When all was ready he washed his head, and sitting down under the window, began to comb his curly locks with a comb.

Suddenly it thundered, the wind began to moan, the earth began to shake and the wild, thick, silent forest bent down to the ground. Usynia grew faint and giddy and everything seemed to turn green. As he looked out of the window, he saw the earth begin to rise, and from under it lifted a huge stone, and from beneath the stone came a Baba Yaga, riding in a great iron mortar, driving with the pestle and sweeping away her trail behind her with a kitchen broom.

Usynia was badly frightened but he opened the door, and when the old witch came in, wished her good health and gave her a bench to sit on.

"Canst thou not see, thou great lump," snarled the Baba Yaga, "that I am hungry? Give me to eat!"

Usynia took a roast duck from the oven and some bread and salt, and set them before her. She ate all greedily and demanded more. He brought another piece of meat, but it was so small that she flew into a rage. "Is this how thou servest me?" she cried, and seizing him with her bony arms, she dragged him from side to side of the room, bumped his head on the floor, beat him almost to death with her iron pestle and threw him under the table. Then she cut a strip of skin from his back, snatched everything out of the oven and ate it, bones and all, and drove away in her mortar.

When the bruised giant came to his senses, he tied his handkerchief about his head and sat groaning till his comrades returned.

Seeing, they asked: "Art thou in pain, that thou hast bound up thy head? And where is our supper?"

"Ah, little brothers," he replied, "I have been able neither to boil nor to roast for you. The oven is new and the smoke poured out into the room till it gave me a headache." So Little Bear's-Son and his two comrades prepared their meals themselves.

The next day Gorynia remained at home. He roasted and fried to his heart's content, and when all was done, he washed his head and began to comb his hair, when all at once it lightened, hail began to fall and the trees of the dense, sleepy forest bent over to the ground. He grew faint and giddy and everything seemed to turn green. Then he saw the earth stir, the stone lift, and from beneath it the Baba Yaga came riding in her mortar, driving with the pestle and sweeping away her trail with her kitchen broom.

Gorynia was too frightened to hide himself, and the old witch came in without knocking. "Health to thee, Grandmother!" said the giant, and bade her sit down.

"Dost thou not see that I am hungry and thirsty?" she snapped. "Fetch me food!"

He set a piece of venison and a cup of kvass before her.

She ate and drank and asked for more, and he brought her another piece of meat. This, however, being smaller than the first, did not please her fancy. "Is it thus thou servest me?" she shrieked, and gripping him by the hair with her skinny hands, she dragged him from corner to corner, beat his head against the walls and belabored him with her iron pestle till his senses left him. Then she cut a strip of flesh from his back, threw him under the bench, ate all that he had cooked and drove away.

When the others returned from their hunting, they found Gorynia sitting with his head bandaged and groaning louder than had Usynia the day before. "Alas, little brothers!" he said, when they questioned him, "the wood was damp and would not burn, and from trying to bake and roast for you, my head aches as if it would burst!" So the three cooked their own supper and went to bed.

The next day Dubynia was left at home, while the others hunted, and to him the same thing happened also. The Baba Yaga appeared, beat him black and blue with her pestle, cut a strip of flesh from his back, threw him into a corner, ate the supper and drove away. He also sat groaning till the others returned, when he said: "Little brothers, I have been able neither to boil nor to bake for you, for the dampers of the stove would not close, and the gas from the burning wood made me giddy and caused my poor little head to ache as if it must split in two!" So the others got themselves something to eat and went to sleep.

On the fourth day it came the turn of Little Bear's-Son to stay. He put the house to rights, boiled, baked and roasted, and when all was prepared, washed his head, sat down under the window and began to comb his hair. Suddenly rain began to fall, the forest complained and bowed down and everything turned green before his eyes; then the earth parted, the great stone tilted, and out from the hole came the Baba Yaga, riding in her mortar, driving with her pestle and sweeping out her path behind her with the kitchen broom.

Little Bear's-Son was not frightened, however, nor was he made giddy. He fetched his iron club of twenty-five poods, stood it ready in a corner and opened the door. "Health to thee, Grandmother!" he said.

She hobbled in and sat down, grinding all her teeth and smiling. "Fool!" she said. "Why dost thou not offer me something to eat and drink? Canst thou not see that I am famished?"

"The food that I have cooked," he replied, "is for my comrades, not for thee!"

The old witch snatched up her pestle and sprang upon him, thinking to treat him as she had the others, but he seized her by her gray locks, grasped his iron club, and began to beat her till even her witch's body suffered tortures and she howled for mercy. He stayed not his hand, however, till she was half dead. Then he threw her into a cupboard and locked the door.

Presently the three giants returned, expecting, each one of them, to find Little Bear's-Son well beaten and their supper gone. But he welcomed them, bade them sit down and brought from the oven foods of all sorts, deliciously cooked and in plenty. The giants ate and drank their fill, each one saying to himself: "Surely the Baba Yaga did not come to our brother today!"

When the supper was ended, Little Bear's-Son heated the bath for his comrades and all went to bathe. Now, because the witch had cut the strips of flesh from their backs, each of the three giants tried to stand always with his face toward Little Bear's-Son, lest he see the scar. So at length he asked: "Brothers, why do ye stand thus facing me, like men who fear to show their shoulders?" They turned themselves about then, and he asked: "Why are the scars upon your backs?"

Then Usynia said: "The day I stayed at home the smoke of the fire blinded my eyes, so that I touched the stove and the hot iron seared me." Gorynia said: "When I remained, the wood was damp, and in filling the stove with dry, a fagot dropped from my shoulder and tore my flesh." And Dubynia said: "When I was left behind, the gas from the oven made me giddy, so that I slipped and fell upon thy iron club."

Then Little Bear's-Son laughed, and opening the cup. board door, dragged from thence the Baba Yaga. "Here, my brothers," he said, "are the smoke, the dampness, and the gas."

Now the old witch was cunning, and she pretended to be still senseless from her beating. She opened one eye a little, however, and seeing her chance, suddenly leaped into her mortar, whirled through the doorway, and in another moment had disappeared beneath the huge stone.

The three giants, angered to find their secret discovered, were still more furious to see the Baba Yaga outwit them. They ran to the stone and put forth all their strength to turn it, but were unable. Then Little Bear's-Son went to the stone, lifted it and hurled it a verst away. Beneath it was a great dark hole, like the burrow of an enormous fox.

"Brothers," said Little Bear's-Son, "the witch is in this abyss. She is now our mortal enemy and if we do not kill her, she will drive us, one by one, out of the white world. Which of us shall follow her?"

The three giants, however, had tasted the Baba Yaga's power and had no relish for attacking her under the ground. Dubynia hid behind Gorynia and Gorynia slunk behind Usynia and Usynia looked up at the blue sky as if he had not heard. "Well," said Little Bear's-Son, "it seems that I must be the one to go." He bade them, then, cut into strips the hides of the beasts they had trapped and killed, and to twist the strips into a long rope. He planted a great post in the ground, tied one end of the rope to this and threw the other end into the dark hole. "Now, little brothers," he said, "remain here and watch, one of you at a time. If ye see the rope quiver and shake, lay hold of it straightway and hoist me out."

Little Bear's-Son put food in his pouch, bade the giants farewell and grasping the hide-rope, lowered himself into the yawning abyss. Whether it was a long way or a short way, the rope held and was sufficient and at length he reached the bottom. There he found a trodden path which led him through a long underground passage, till finally lie emerged into another world-the world that lies under the earth. He found there a sun and moon, tall trees and wide rivers and green meadows like those of the upper world, but there were no human beings to be seen, nothing but great birds flying in flocks.

He wandered a day, and two, and three, and on the fourth day he came, in a forest, to a wretched little hut standing on fowls' legs and turning round and round without ceasing. About it was a garden and in the garden was a beautiful damsel plucking flowers.

He greeted her and she said: "Health to thee, good youth, but what dost thou here? This is the house of a Baba Yaga, who if thou remainest will surely devour thee!"

"It is she I seek," he answered.

"Thou art a brave man," the damsel said. "But the witch is a hundred times more powerful here, where she is stir- rounded by her enchantments, than in the upper world. She is now asleep but presently she will wake and ride away. Hide thou in the forest till she is gone and I will show thee a way by which, perchance, thou mayest overcome her. Only promise truly that if thou dost succeed, thou wilt take me back with thee to the white world whence she carried me away."

Little Bear's-Son gave the maiden this promise, and concealed himself in the forest, and after a while he felt the ground rumble and saw the trees shiver and bow down, and out of the hut came the Baba Yaga, riding away in her great iron mortar, driving with the pestle and sweeping out her trail behind her with her kitchen broom. When she was out of sight, he hastened to the hut and the damsel, taking him into the cellar, showed him two great casks full of water, one on the right side and the other on the left.

"Drink," she bade him, "from the right cask, as much as thou canst hold."

He stooped down and took a long drink, when she asked: "How strong art thou now?"

"I am so strong," he answered, "that with one finger could lift and carry away this cask."

"Drink again," she commanded.

Again he drank. "Now," she asked, "how much strength is in thee?"

"I am so strong," he replied, "that if I chose, with one hand I could lift and turn about this whole hut!"

"Listen well," she said, "to what I tell thee. The cask from which thou hast drunk contains Strong Water. It is this which gives the Baba Yaga her strength. The cask on the left holds Weak 'Water, and whoever drinks from it is made quickly powerless. As soon as the witch appears, seize tightly her pestle before she lays it down, and loose not thy grip as thou lovest thy life. She will try to shake thee off, but thou art now so strong that she will not be able to do so. Failing in this, she will hasten here to drink of the Strong Water. Change, therefore, now, the two casks and put each in the place of the other, so that she will be deceived and will drink of the Weak Water, and then thou mayest kill her. When thou drawest thy sword, however, strike but a single stroke. Her mortar, her pestle, and her broom, all her faithful servants, will cry out to thee to strike again, but if thou strikest a second stroke, she will instantly come to life again. Beware also to draw thy sword before she has drunk of the 'Weak Water, for until then it will be powerless against her spells."

Little Bear's-Son immediately changed the places of the two casks, putting the right one on the left hand and the Weak Water where the Strong Water had been. And soon, as he conversed with the lovely maiden in the garden, the trees began to sob and the timbers of the hut to creak, and the Baba Yaga came riding home. Little Bear's-Son hid himself behind a hedge and the old witch stopped and leaped down from her mortar.

"Poo! poo!" she cried, smelling around her. "I smell a Russian smell! Who has visited here?"

"No one, Grandmother," said the damsel. "How could one from the upper world find his way here?"

"Well," said the Baba Yaga, "I fear no one here save a Russian named Ivashko Medvedko, and he is so far away at this moment that it would take a he-crow a year to fly hither with one of his bones."

"Thou liest, old witch!" cried Little Bear's-Son, and with the words sprang out and seized hold of her iron pestle. The Baba Yaga whistled and spat and howled with rage, but try as she might, she could not shake him off. She tore away in a whirlwind, over the tree-tops of the forest, striving to dash him down to pieces. She whirled him high over a broad river, trying to fling him down to drown, threatening him with all dreadful tortures. But Little Bear's- Son held on with all the strength he had gained from drinking the Strong Water, and she could not break his hold. She dragged him back and forth over the whole under world in vain, till at length even she grew tired. Then back she flew to the hut and dropping her pestle, pounced down into the cellar and began to drink from the cask on the right hand.

Hardly, however, had the Baba Yaga rushed from the cellar to attack Little Bear's Son again, than she became all at once as weak as a blade of grass, and drawing his sword, with a single blow, he cut off her wicked old head.

Instantly the iron mortar and pestle and the kitchen broom cried out to him: "Strike again! Strike again!" But, remembering what the damsel had said, he answered: "A brave man's sword strikes not twice," and sheathed it.

Little Bear's-Son made a great fire in the forest and burned the witch's body to ashes. Then, taking the lovely maiden with him, he set out on his return to the upper world.

For two days they journeyed, and on the second day rain began to fall, so that they took refuge under a tree. Near by Little Bear's-Son saw a great bird's nest with fledglings in it, and pitying the young ones, which were being drenched, he hung his cloak the nest to protect them. Presently the rain ceased and they went on till they reached the under ground passage and followed it to the place where the hide- rope hung. Little Bear's-Son tied the damsel to its end and shook it, and one of the three giants, who was watching above, ran to fetch the other two and they began to pull up the rope.

When they saw the beauty of the maiden, however, the three giants were envious of their comrade and each wished her for his wife. So they agreed together and when they had hoisted Little Bear's-Son, in his turn, almost to the top, they cut the rope and let him fall and straightway began to quarrel over which of them should marry her.

Little Bear's-Son was terribly hurt by his fall, but so strong had he become that be was not killed. He lay on his back one day, he lay on his side two days and three, and then he managed to walk through the long passage into the under-world again. While he wandered there, wondering what he should do, there came flying one of the huge birds whose flocks he had seen, and alighting near him, it spoke to him with a human voice.

"Thou didst have pity on my fledglings, Ivashko Medvedko," it said, "and in return for this I will serve thee a service. Ask of me what thou wilt."

"If thou art able," replied Little Bear's-Son, "take me out into the white world."

"It is a hard service," said the bird, "but there is a way I know and I will carry thee. The journey, however, will take three months. Go now into the forest and snare much game and twist a wicker basket and fill it. Mount my back with this and whenever I turn my head as I fly feed me."

Little Bear's-Son did as he was bidden. He made a great basket, filled it with game and mounted with it to the back of the huge bird, which at once rose into the air and flew away like a hurricane. It flew day after day, without stop ping. As often as it turned its head, he fed it with some of the game from the basket, and when it had flown for three months and the basket was almost empty, it carried him out into the white world, set him down in a grassy meadow bade him farewell and flew away.

Whether it was a long way or a short way, Little Bear's Son came at length to his own Tsardom and to the forest wherein stood the house that he and the three giants had built. A little way within the forest he saw a green law and on it a lovely girl was tending cows. He drew near and found to his surprise that she was none other than the damsel he had rescued from the hut of the Baba Yaga.

She greeted him with joy and told him all that had befallen her: how the giants had quarreled over her, how they had fought each day for an hour, but as no one of them was stronger than another, had not been able to decide and had made her tend their cattle till one should prevail. Then he kissed her on the mouth and said he: "Thou shalt wed no one of those faithless brothers of mine, but I will wed thee myself."

Little Bear's-Son sent her on before him, and coming to the hut where the three giants sat at the window drinking, pulled his cap over his face and in a humble tone asked for a drink of kvass.

"Be off with thee!" grunted Usynia, without turning his head.

"We want no beggars here!" snarled Gorynia.

"Kvass, forsooth!" shouted Dubynia. "Thou shalt have a taste of my club instead!''

Then little Bear's-Son took off his cap and they recognized him. They turned pale with fright and making for the door, ran away as if the Tartars were after them, and were never seen in that Tsardom a And Little Bear's- Son married the lovely damsel and they dwelt in that house all their lives in such peace and comfort that they wanted nothing they did not have and had nothing they did not want.

Wheeler, Post. Russian Wonder Tales. New York: The Century Company, 1912.

Amazon.com: Buy the book in paperback.

Friday's Sung Word: "Seu Voronoff" by Lamartine Babo e João Rossi (in Portuguese)

Toda gente agora pode
Ser bem forte, ser um "taco"

Ser bem agil como um bode
E ter alma de macaco.
A velhice na cidade
Canta em coro a nova estrofe,
E já sente a mocidade
Que lhe trouxe o Voronoff!

"Seu" Voronoff...*
"Seu" Voronoff...
Numa grande operação
Faz da tripa o coração.

Operado foi na "pança"
Um velhote com "chiquê"
Ele vai virar criança
Das cartilhas do A.B.C
Um sujeito que operou-se
Logo, após, sentiu-se mal.
Voronoff desculpou-se...
Que houve troca de animal!

*Dr. Serge Abrahamovitch Voronoff (1866-1951).

 

 You can hear "Seu" Voronoff" sung by Francisco Alves and Lamartine Babo here.