Loe raamatut: «Granny's Wonderful Chair», lehekülg 5

The mistress could say no more, and the day passed. But that night the master thought he would like to see what went on in the garret. So when all the house were asleep he slipped out of bed, and set himself to watch at the hole in the door. The same thing happened again that the maid and the mistress saw. The little men in crimson with their torches, and the little ladies in rose-coloured velvet with their lamps, came in at the window and bowed low to the dog, the one saying, "Royal Prince, we have prepared the presents," and the other, "Royal Prince, we have prepared the jewels."

The dog said to them all: "You have done well. To-morrow, come and meet me and the Princess with horses and chariots, and let all things be done in the best way. For we will bring a stranger from this house who has never travelled with us, nor feasted in our halls before."

The little men and the little ladies said: "Your Highness's commands shall be obeyed."

When they had gone out through the window, the ugly dog stretched himself out on the straw, Childe Charity turned in her sleep, and the moon shone in on the back garret.

The master could not close his eyes any more than the maid or the mistress. He remembered to have heard his grandfather say, that somewhere near his meadows there lay a path leading to the fairies' country, and the haymakers used to see it shining through the grey summer morning, as the fairy bands went home.

Nobody had heard or seen the like for many years; but the master thought that the doings in his back garret must be a fairy business, and the ugly dog a person of great account. His chief wonder was, however, what visitor the fairies intended to take from his house; and after thinking the matter over, he was sure it must be one of his daughters – they were so handsome, and had such fine clothes.

So Childe Charity's rich uncle made it his first business that morning to get ready a breakfast of roast mutton for the ugly dog, and carry it to him in the cow-house. But not a morsel would the dog taste.

"The fairies have strange ways," said the master to himself. But he called his daughters and bade them dress themselves in their best, for he could not say which of them might be called into great company before nightfall. Childe Charity's cousins, hearing this, put on the richest of their silks and laces, and strutted like peacocks from kitchen to parlour all day.

They were in very bad humour when night fell, and nobody had come. But just as the family were sitting down to supper the ugly dog began to bark, and the old woman's knock was heard at the back door.

Childe Charity opened it, and was going to offer her bed and supper as usual, when the old woman said: "This is the shortest day in all the year, and I am going home to hold a feast after my travels. I see you have taken good care of my dog, and now if you will come with me to my house, he and I will do our best to entertain you. Here is our company."

As the old woman spoke there was a sound of far-off flutes and bugles, then a glare of lights. And a great company, clad so grandly that they shone with gold and jewels, came in open chariots, covered with gilding and drawn by snow-white horses. The first and finest of the chariots was empty. The old woman led Childe Charity to it by the hand, and the ugly dog jumped in before her.

The proud cousins, in all their finery, had by this time come to the door, but nobody wanted them. No sooner was the old woman and her dog within the chariot than a wonderful change passed over them, for the ugly old woman turned at once to a beautiful young princess, with long yellow curls and a robe of green and gold; while the ugly dog at her side started up a fair young prince, with nut-brown hair and a robe of purple and silver.

"We are," said they, as the chariots drove on, "a prince and princess of Fairyland, and there was a wager between us whether or not there were good people still to be found in these false and greedy times. One said 'Yes', and the other said 'No'."

"And I have lost," said the Prince, "and must pay the feast and presents."

Childe Charity never heard any more of that story. Some of the farmer's household, who were looking after them, said the chariots had gone one way across the meadows, some said they had gone another, and till this day they cannot agree upon the way they went.

But Childe Charity went with that noble company into a country such as she had never seen – for primroses covered all the ground, and the light was always like that of a summer evening. They took her to a royal palace, where there was nothing but feasting and dancing for seven days. She had robes of pale green and velvet to wear, and slept in a room inlaid with ivory.

When the feast was done, the Prince and Princess gave her such heaps of gold and jewels that she could not carry them; but they gave her a chariot to go home in, drawn by six white horses. On the seventh night, which happened to be Christmas time, when the farmer's family had settled in their own minds that she would never come back, and were sitting down to supper, they heard the sound of her coachman's bugle, and saw her alight with all the jewels and gold at the very back door where she had brought in the ugly old woman.

The fairy chariot drove away, and never again came back to that farmhouse after. But Childe Charity scoured and scrubbed no more, for she grew a great lady, even in the eyes of her proud cousins.

CHAPTER V
SOUR AND CIVIL

Once again King Winwealth wished to hear a story told by the wonderful chair, and orders were given for Snowflower to bring it to the King's hall. She again brought the chair and laid her head on the cushion, saying: "Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story." The voice from under the cushion at once said: "Listen to the story of Sour and Civil."

Once upon a time there stood upon the seacoast of the west country a small village of low cottages, where no one lived but fishermen. All round it was a broad beach of snow-white sand, where nothing was to be seen but gulls and other seabirds, and long tangled seaweeds cast up by the tide that came and went night and day, summer and winter.

There was no harbour or port on all that shore. Ships passed by at a distance, with their white sails set, and on the land side there lay wide grassy downs, where peasants lived and shepherds fed their flocks. There families never wanted for plenty of herrings and mackerel; and what they had to spare the landsmen bought from them at the village markets on the downs, giving them in exchange butter, cheese, and corn.

The two best fishermen in that village were the sons of two old widows, who had no other children, and happened to be near neighbours. Their family names were short, for they called the one Sour and the other Civil. They were not related to one another so far as I ever heard. But they had only one boat, and always fished together, though their names expressed the difference of their natures – for Civil never used a hard word where a soft one would do, and when Sour was not snarling at somebody, he was sure to be grumbling at everything.

Nevertheless they agreed very well, and were lucky fishers. Both were strong, active, and of good courage. On winter's night or summer's morning they would steer out to sea far beyond the boats of their neighbours, and never came home without some fish to cook and some to spare. Their mothers were proud of them, each in her own way – for the saying held good, "Like mother, like son". Dame Civil thought the whole world didn't hold a better than her son; and her boy was the only creature at whom Dame Sour didn't scold and frown.

The village was divided in opinion about the young fishermen. Some thought Civil the better; some said, without Sour he would catch nothing. So things went on, till one day about the fall of winter, when mists were gathering darkly on sea and sky, and the air was chill and frosty, all the boat-men of the hamlet went out to fish, and so did Sour and Civil.

That day they had not their usual luck. Cast their nets where they would, not a single fish came in. Their neighbours caught boatfuls, and went home, Sour said, laughing at them. But when the sea was growing crimson with the sunset, their nets were empty, and they were tired. Civil himself did not like to go home without fish – it would hurt the high opinion formed of them in the village. Besides, the sea was calm and the evening fair, and, as a last attempt, they steered still farther out, and cast their nets beside a rock which rose rough and grey above the water, and was called the Merman's Seat – from an old report that the fishermen's fathers had seen the mermen, or sea-people, sitting there on moonlight nights.

Nobody believed that rumour now, but the villagers did not like to fish there. The water was said to be very deep, and sudden squalls were apt to trouble it. But Sour and Civil were right glad to see by the moving of their lines that there was something in their net, and gladder still when they found it so heavy that all their strength was required to draw it up.

Scarcely had they landed it on the Merman's Seat, when their joy was changed to sorrow, for besides a few starved mackerel, the net held nothing but a huge ugly fish as long as Civil (who was taller than Sour), with a large snout, a long beard, and a skin covered with prickles.

"Such a horrid ugly creature!" said Sour, as they shook it out of the net on the rough rock, and gathered up the mackerel. "We needn't fish here any more. How they will mock us in the village for staying out so late, and bringing home so little!"

"Let us try again," said Civil, as he set his creel of mackerel in the boat.

"Not another cast will I make to-night;" and what more Sour would have said, was cut short by the great fish, for, looking round at them, it spoke out:

"I suppose you don't think me worth taking home in your dirty boat; but I can tell you that if you were down in my country, neither of you would be thought fit to keep me company."

Sour and Civil were very much surprised to hear the fish speak. The first could not think of a cross word to say, but Civil made answer in his usual way.

"Indeed, my lord, we beg your pardon, but our boat is too light to carry such a fish as you."

"You do well to call me lord," said the fish, "for so I am, though it was hard to expect you could have known how great I was in this dress. However, help me off the rock, for I must go home; and for your civil way of speaking I will give you my daughter in marriage, if you will come and see me this day twelvemonth."

Civil helped the great fish off the rock with as great respect as his fear would allow him. Sour was so frightened at the whole business, that he said not a word till they got safe home. But from that day forward, when he wanted to put Civil down, it was his custom to tell him and his mother that he would get no wife but the ugly fish's daughter.

Old Dame Sour heard this story from her son, and told it over the whole village. Some people wondered, but the most part laughed at it as a good joke; and Civil and his mother were never known to be angry but on that day. Dame Civil advised her son never to fish with Sour again; and Civil got an old skiff which one of the fishermen was going to break up for firewood, and cobbled it up for himself.

In that skiff he went to sea all the winter, and all the summer. But though Civil was brave and skilful, he could catch little, because his boat was bad – and everybody but his mother began to think him of no value. Sour having the good boat, got a new comrade, and had the praise of being the best fisherman.

Poor Civil's heart was getting low as the summer wore away. The fish had grown scarce on that coast, and the fishermen had to steer farther out to sea. One evening when he had toiled all day and caught nothing, Civil thought he would go farther too, and try his fortune beside the Merman's rock.

The sea was calm and the evening fair. Civil did not remember that it was the very day on which his troubles began by the great fish talking to him twelve months before. As he neared the rock the sun was setting, and much surprised was the fisherman to see upon it three fair ladies, with sea-green gowns and strings of great pearls wound round their long fair hair.

Two of them were waving their hands to him. They were the tallest and most stately ladies he had ever seen. But Civil could perceive as he came nearer that there was no colour in their cheeks, that their hair had a strange bluish shade, like that of deep sea-water, and there was a fiery look in their eyes that frightened him.

The third, who was not so tall, did not notice him at all, but kept her eyes fixed on the setting sun. Though her look was full of sadness, Civil could see that there was a faint rosy bloom on her cheek, that her hair was a golden yellow, and her eyes were mild and clear like those of his mother.

"Welcome! welcome! noble fisherman!" cried the two ladies. "Our father has sent us for you to visit him."

With one bound they leaped into his boat, bringing with them the smaller lady, who said: "Oh! bright sun and brave sky that I see so seldom!"

But Civil heard no more, for his boat went down miles deep in the sea, and he thought himself drowning. But one lady had caught him by the right arm, and the other by the left, and pulled him into the mouth of a rocky cave, still down and down, as if on a steep hillside. The cave was very long, but it grew wider as they came to the bottom.

Then Civil saw a faint light, and walked out with his fair company into the country of the sea-people. In that land there grew neither grass nor flowers, bushes nor trees, but the ground was covered with bright-coloured shells and pebbles. There were hills of marble, and rocks of spar. Over all was a cold blue sky with no sun, but a light clear and silvery as that of the harvest moon. The fisherman could see no smoking chimneys, but there were caves in the rocks of spar, and halls in the marble hills, where lived the sea-people – with whom, as old stories say, fishermen and sailors used to meet on lonely capes and headlands in the simple times of the world.

Forth they came from all parts to see the stranger. Mermen with long white beards, and mermaids such as walk with the fishermen, all clad in sea-green and decked with strings of pearls; but every one with the same colourless face, and the same wild light in their eyes.

The mermaids led Civil up one of the marble hills to a great cavern with halls and rooms like a palace. Their floors were of white marble, their walls of red granite, and the roofs inlaid with coral. Thousands of crystal lamps lit the palace. There were seats and tables hewn out of shining spar, and a great company sat feasting. But what most amazed Civil was the number of cups, flagons, and goblets, made of gold and silver, of such different shapes and patterns that they seemed to have been gathered from all the countries in the world. In the chief hall there sat a merman on a stately chair, with more jewels than all the rest about him.

Before him the mermaids brought Civil, saying: "Father, here is our guest."

"Welcome, noble fisherman!" cried the merman, in a voice which Civil remembered with terror, for it was that of the great ugly fish; "welcome to our halls! Sit down and feast with us, and then choose which of my daughters you will have for a bride."

Civil had never felt himself so greatly frightened in all his life. How was he to get home to his mother? and what would the old dame think when the dark night came without bringing him home? There was no use in talking – Civil had wisdom enough to see that. He therefore tried to take things quietly; and, having thanked the merman for so kindly inviting him, he took the seat set apart for him on his right hand.

Civil was hungry with the long day at sea, but there was no want of fare on that table; meats and wines, such as he had never tasted, were set before him in the richest of golden dishes, but, hungry as he was, the fisherman felt that everything there had the taste and smell of the sea.

If the fisherman had been the lord of lands and castles he would not have been treated with more respect. The two mermaids sat by him – one filled his plate, another filled his goblet; but the third only looked at him in a hidden, warning way when nobody saw her. Civil soon finished his share of the feast, and then the merman showed him all the fine things of his cavern.

The halls were full of company, some feasting, some dancing, and some playing all kinds of games, and in every hall there was a large number of gold and silver vessels. But Civil was most surprised when the merman brought him to a marble room full of heaps of precious stones. There were diamonds there whose value the fisherman knew not – pearls larger than ever a diver had gathered – emeralds and rubies, that would have made the jewellers of the world wonder.

The merman then said: "This is my eldest daughter's dowry."

"Good luck attend her!" said Civil. "It is the dowry of a queen."

But the merman led him on to another room. It was filled with heaps of gold coin, which seemed gathered from all times and nations. The images of all the kings that ever reigned were there.

The merman said: "This is my second daughter's dowry."

"Good luck attend her!" said Civil. "It is a dowry for a princess."

"So you may say," replied the merman. "But make up your mind which of the maidens you will marry, for the third has no portion at all, because she is not my daughter; but only, as you may see, a poor silly girl taken into my family for charity."

"Truly, my lord," said Civil, whose mind was already made up, "both your daughters are too rich and far too noble for me; therefore I choose the third. Since she is poor she will best do for a poor fisherman."

"If you choose her," said the merman, "you must wait long for a wedding. I cannot allow a girl of lower estate to be married before my own daughters." And he said a great deal more to persuade him. But Civil would not change his mind, and they returned to the hall.

There was no more attention for the fisherman, but everybody watched him well. Turn where he would, master or guest had their eyes upon him, though he made them the best speeches he could remember, and praised all their splendid things. One thing, however, was strange – there was no end to the fun and feasting. Nobody seemed tired, and nobody thought of sleep.

When Civil's very eyes closed with weariness, and he slept on one of the marble benches – no matter how many hours – there were the company feasting and dancing away; there were the thousand lamps within, and the cold moonlight without. Civil wished himself back with his mother, his net, and his cobbled skiff. Fishing would have been easier than those everlasting feasts; but there was nothing else among the sea-people – no night of rest, no working day.

Civil knew not how time went on, till, waking up from a long sleep, he saw, for the first time, that the feast was over, and the company gone. The lamps still burned, and the tables, with all their riches, stood in the empty halls; but there was no face to be seen, no sound to be heard, only a low voice singing beside the outer door. And there, sitting all alone, he found the mild-eyed maiden.

"Fair lady," said Civil, "tell me what means this quietness, and where are all the merry company?"

"You are a man of the land," said the lady, "and know not the sea-people. They never sleep but once a year, and that is at Christmas time. Then they go into the deep caverns, where there is always darkness, and sleep till the new year comes."

"It is a strange habit," said Civil; "but all folks have their way. Fair lady, as you and I are to be good friends, tell me, whence come all the wines and meats, and gold and silver vessels, seeing there are neither cornfields nor flocks here, nor any workmen?"

"The sea-people are heirs of the sea," replied the maiden; "to them come all the stores and riches that are lost in it. I know not the ways by which they come; but the lord of these halls keeps the keys of seven gates, where they go out and in. But one of the gates, which has not been open for thrice seven years, leads to a path under the sea, by which, I heard the merman say in his cups, one might reach the land.

"Good fisherman," she went on, "if by chance you gain his favour, and ever open that gate, let me bear you company; for I was born where the sun shines and the grass grows, though my country and my parents are unknown to me. All I remember is sailing in a great ship, when a storm arose, and it was wrecked, and not one soul escaped drowning but me. I was then a little child, and a brave sailor had bound me to a floating plank before he was washed away. Here the sea-people came round me like great fishes, and I went down with them to this rich and weary country. Sometimes, as a great favour, they take me up with them to see the sun; but that is seldom, for they never like to part with one who has seen their country; and, fisherman, if you ever leave them, remember to take nothing with you that belongs to them, for if it were but a shell or a pebble, that will give them power over you and yours."

"Thanks for your news, fair lady," said Civil. "A lord's daughter, doubtless, you must have been, while I am but a poor fisherman. Yet, as we have fallen into the same misfortune, let us be friends, and it may be we shall find means to get back to the sunshine together."

"You are a man of good manners," said the lady, "therefore I shall gladly be your friend; but my fear is that we shall never see the sunshine again."

"Fair speeches brought me here," said Civil, "and fair speeches may help me back, but be sure I will not go without you."

This promise cheered the lady's heart, and she and Civil spent that Christmas time seeing the wonders of the sea country. They wandered through caves like that of the great merman. The feast that had been left was spread in every hall; the tables were covered with the most costly vessels; and heaps of jewels lay on the floors of unlocked rooms. But for the lady's warning, Civil would have liked to put away some of them for his mother.