Once upon a time there was a country, more beautiful than all other lands
and the castle of the Duke, its ruler, lay beside a lake that was bluer
than the deepest indigo. A long time ago the Knight Wendelin and his
squire George chanced upon this lake, but they found nothing save waste
fields and bleak rocks around it, yet the shores must formerly have borne
a different aspect, for there were shattered columns and broken-nosed
statues lying on the ground. Against the hillside there were remains of
ancient walls that once, undoubtedly, had supported terraces of vines,
but the rains had long washed the soil from the rocks, and among the
caves and crannies of the fallen stonework, and ruined cellars, foxes,
bats, and other animals had found a home.
The knight was no antiquary, but as he looked about him his curiosity was
excited: “What can have happened here?” he said, and his squire wondered
also, and followed his master. The latter led his horse to the edge of
the water to let him drink, for though he had seen many watercourses in
the land, he had found nothing in them save stones, and boulders, and
sand.
“What if this lake should be salt, like the Dead Sea in the Holy Land?”
the knight asked, and the squire answered:
“Ugh, that would be a thousand pities!” As the former raised his hand to
his mouth to taste the water, wishing indeed that it were wine, he
suddenly heard a strange noise. It was mournful and complaining, but
very soft and sweet. It seemed to be the voice of an unhappy woman, and
this pleased the knight, for he had ridden forth in search of adventures.
He had already been successful in several encounters, and from George’s
saddle hung the tail-tips of seven dragons which his master had killed.
But a woman with a musical, appealing voice, in great danger, offered a
rare opportunity to a knight. Wendelin had not yet had any such
experience. The squire saw his master’s eyes sparkle with pleasure,
and scratched his head thinking: “Distress brings tears to most peoples’
eyes, but there is no knowing what will delight a knight like him!”
The waters of the lake proved to be not salt, but wonderfully sweet.
When Wendelin reached the grotto from which the complaining notes came,
he found a beautiful young woman, more lovely than any one the grey-
haired George had ever seen. She was pale, but her lips shone moist and
red like the pulp of strawberries, her eyes were as clear and blue as the
sky over the Holy Land, and her hair glistened as if it had been spun of
the sunbeams. The knight’s heart beat fast at the sight of her
loveliness; he could not speak, but he noticed that her hands and feet
were bound with chains, and that her beautiful hair was entwined about a
circle of emeralds that hung by a chain from the ceiling. She marked
neither the knight nor the squire, who stood shading his eyes with his
hand in order to see her the better.
Hot rage took possession of the heart of Wendelin when he saw the tears
rain down from the lady’s large eyes onto her gown, which was already as
wet as if she had just been drawn from the lake.
When the knight noticed this, an overwhelming pity chased the anger from
his heart, and George, who was a soft-hearted man, sobbed aloud at her
pitiful appearance. The voice of the knight, too, was unsteady as he
called to the fair prisoner that he was a German, Wendelin by name, and
that he had set out on a knightly quest to kill dragons, and to draw his
sword for all who were oppressed. He had already conquered in many
combats, and nothing would please him better than to fight for her.
At this she ceased to weep, but she shook her head gently–her hair being
chained impeded her motion,–and answered sadly. “My enemy is too
powerful. You are young and beautiful, and the darling, perhaps, of a
loving mother at home, I cannot bear that you should suffer the same fate
as the others. Behold that nut-tree over there! What seem to be white
gourds hanging on its naked branches are their skulls! Go your way
quickly, for the evil spirit that keeps me prisoner, and will not release
me until I have sworn an oath to become his wife, will soon return. His
name is Misdral, he is very fierce and mighty, and lives among the waste
rocks over there on the north shore of the lake. You have my thanks for
your good intention, and now proceed on your journey.” The knight,
however, did not follow her advice, but approached the beautiful woman
without more words, and caught hold of her hair to unbind it from the
ring. No sooner had he touched the emeralds than two brown snakes came
hissing towards him.
“Oho!” exclaimed Sir Wendelin. With one hand he caught their two necks
together in his powerful grip, with the other he grasped their tails,
tore them in two, and threw them out onto the cliffs above the lake.
When the imprisoned lady saw this, she heaved a deep sigh of relief and
spoke: “Now I believe that you will be able to liberate me. Draw this
ring from my finger!”
The knight obeyed and as he touched the lady’s fingers, which were
slender and pointed, he felt his heart warm within him, and he would
gladly have kissed her. But he only withdrew the ring. As he forced it
onto the end of his own little finger the lady said to him: “Whenever you
turn it round you will be changed to a falcon; for you must know….But
woe to us! There, where the water is lashed into foam, is the monster
swimming towards us!”
She had hardly finished before a hideous creature drew itself out of the
lake. It looked as if it were covered with mouldering pumice-stone. Two
toads peeped from the cavities of the eyes, brown eel-grass hung dripping
and disordered over its neck and forehead, and in place of teeth there
were long iron spikes in its jaws which protruded and crossed one another
over its lips.
“A fine wooer, indeed!” thought the squire. “If the stone-clad fellow
should not possess a vulnerable spot somewhere on his body I shall
certainly lose my position!”
Similar thoughts passed through the knight’s mind, and consequently he
did not attack it with his sword, but lifting a huge piece of granite
from the ground he hurled it at the monster’s head. The creature only
sneezed, and passed its hand over its eyes as if to brush away a fly.
Then it looked round and, perceiving the knight, bellowed aloud, and
changed itself into a dragon spouting fire. Herr Wendelin rejoiced at
this, for his favourite pastime was to kill that sort of beast. He had
no sooner, however, plunged his good sword into a soft part of the
monster, and seen the blood flow from the wound, than his opponent
changed itself into a griffin, and raising itself from the ground swooped
upon him. His defence now became more difficult, as the evil spirit
continued to attack him in ever changing forms, but Sir Wendelin was no
coward, and knew well how to use his arm and sword. At length, however,
the knight began to feel that his strength was deserting him; his sword
seemed to grow heavier and heavier in his hand, and his legs felt as if
an hundredweight had been attached to them. His squire, noting his
fatigue, grew faint, and began to think the best thing for him would be
to ride off, for the fight was likely to end badly for his master. The
knight’s knees were trembling under him, and as the monster, in the form
of a unicorn, charged against his shield he fell to the ground.
The creature shrank suddenly together and in the guise of a black, agile
rat shot towards him.
Sir Wendelin felt that he was losing consciousness, he heard faintly a
voice from the grotto where the lady was imprisoned calling to him: “The
ring, remember the ring!”
He was just able to turn with his thumb the ring on his little finger.
Immediately he felt himself lighter and freer than he had ever felt
before, and his heart seemed to harden to a steel spring, while a gay and
reckless mood came over him. A wild desire to fly took possession of him
at the same time, and it seemed as if he were only fourteen years old
once more. Some strange force impelled him aloft into the air, to which
he yielded, spreading the two large wings, that he suddenly found himself
in possession of, as naturally as if he had used them all his life. He
soon felt the feathers on his back stroked by the clouds, and yet he saw
everything below him on the earth more distinctly than ever before. Even
the smallest things appeared perfectly clear to his sharpened eyes, and
yet he seemed to see them as if reflected in a brilliant mirror. He
could distinguish even the hairs on the rat and suddenly another impulse
came over him–the impulse to stoop down and catch the long-tailed vermin
in his beak and claws. Wendelin had been changed into a falcon, and the
rat struggled in vain to escape his powerful attack.
The prisoner had followed the combat first with anxiety, then with joy.
While the falcon held the rat in his claws and struck him with his beak
again and again, she called the squire to her, and bade him free her from
her chains. This was no distasteful task for George, indeed it gave him
so much pleasure that he was in no hurry to finish.
When at last all her bonds were loosened, she stood very erect, and
lifted her arms, and each moment seemed to make her more lovely and more
beautiful. Then she grasped the circle of emeralds, about which the
enchanter had wound her golden hair, and waving it high in the air,
cried: “Falcon, return to the shape you were before. Misdral, hear thy
sentence!”
Wendelin assumed immediately his knightly guise, which seemed very clumsy
to him after having been a falcon. The rat lengthened itself and
expanded until it was once more the giant covered with pumicestone; it
walked no longer erect, however, but crawled along the ground at the feet
of the beautiful woman, whimpering and howling like a whipped cur. She
then said to it: “At last I possess the emerald circlet, in which
resides your power over me. I can destroy you, but my name is Clementine
and so I will grant you mercy. I will only banish you to your rocks.
There you shall remain until the last hour of the last day. Papaluka,
Papaluka,–Emerald, perform thy duty!”
The giant of pumice-stone immediately glowed like molten iron. Once he
raised his clenched fist towards Wendelin, and then plunged into the lake
where the hissing and foaming waters closed over him. The lady and the
knight were left alone together. When she asked him what reward he
desired, he could only answer that he wished to have her for his wife,
and to take her to his home in Germany; but she blushed and answered
sadly: “I may not leave this country, and it is not permitted to me to
become the wife of any mortal man. But I know how heroes should be
rewarded, and I offer you my lips to kiss.”
He knelt down before her and she took his head between her slim hands and
pressed her mouth against his.
George, the squire, saw this, sighed deeply, and wondered: “Why was my
father only a miller? What favours are granted to a knight like that!
But I hope the kiss won’t be the end of it all; for, unless she is a
miserly fairy, there ought to be much more substantial pay for his
services in store for him.”
But Clementine bestowed even a richer reward than he had expected upon
her rescuer. When she discovered that a lock of the brown hair on
Wendelin’s left temple had turned grey during the conflict with the evil
monster, she said to him: ‘All this land shall belong to you henceforth,
and because you have grown grey in your courageous fight with evil, you
shall be known from this time forward as Duke Greylock. Every prince,
yea, even the Emperor himself, will recognize the title which I confer
upon you as my saviour, and when the race, of which you are to be the
progenitor, is blessed with offspring, I will stand godmother to every
first-born. All the sons of your house from first to last, whether they
be dark or fair, or brown, shall bear the grey lock. It will be a sign
unto your posterity that much good fortune awaits them. My authority,
however, is limited, and if at any time a higher power should hinder me
from exerting my influence in behalf of one of your grandsons, then will
the grey lock be missing from his head, and it will depend altogether on
himself how his life unfolds itself. One thing more. Give me back my
ring and take instead this mirror, which will always show to you and
yours whatever you hold most dear, even when you are far away from it.”
“Then it will ever be granted to me to bring your face before my eyes,
oh! lovely lady!” the knight exclaimed.
The fairy laughed and answered: “No, Duke Greylock–the mirror can only
reflect the forms of mortals. I know a wife awaiting you, whom you will
rather see than any picture in the glass, even were it that of a fairy.
Receive my thanks once more! you are duke, enter now into your dukedom!”
With these words she disappeared. A gentle rustling and tinkling was
heard through the air, the waste ground covered itself with fresh green,
the dry river beds filled with clear running water, and on their banks
appeared blooming meadows, shady groves and forests. The broken walls
against the hillsides fitted themselves together, rose higher and
supported once more the terraces covered with vine stocks and fruit-
trees. Villages and cities grew into form and lay cradled in the
landscape. Beautiful gardens bloomed forth, full of gay flowers, olive-
trees, orange-trees, citron, and fig, and pomegranate-trees, each covered
with its golden fruit of many-seeded apples. In the neighbourhood of the
grotto in which the fairy had been imprisoned a park of incomparable
beauty grew into view, where brooks whispered and fountains played, and
shady pergolas appeared, formed of gold and silver trellises, over which
a thousand luxuriant creepers clambered, holding by their little tendril
hands.
The fallen columns stood up again, the mutilated marble statues found new
noses and arms, and in the background of all this growing magnificence
the young duke perceived-at first dimly, as if obscured by mists, then
more distinctly-the outline of a palace with loggia, balconies, columned
halls, and statues in bronze and marble around the cornice of its flat
roof.
George, the squire, gazed in openmouthed wonder, and his mouth remained
open until he entered the fore-court of the palace. Then he only closed
it to give his jaws a little rest before their future labours began, for
such a good smell from the kitchen greeted him that he ordered the
willing cook to satisfy immediately the demands of his appetite, as his
hunger was greater than his curiosity.
Sir Wendelin continued his way through the passages, chambers, halls, and
courts. Everywhere servants, guards, and heyducks swarmed, and from the
stables he heard the stamping of many horses, and the jingle of their
halter chains as they rattled them against their well-filled mangers.
Choruses of trumpeters played inspiriting fanfares, and from the
assembled people in the forecourt a thousand voices shouted again and
again: “Hail to his Grace Duke Greylock, Wendelin the First! Long may he
live!”
The knight bowed graciously to his good people, and when the Chancellor
stepped forward, and after a deep reverence set forth in a carefully
prepared speech the great services which the duke had rendered to the
country, Wendelin listened with polite attention, though he himself was
quite ignorant of what the old man was talking about.
Sir Wendelin had lived through so many adventures that it pleased him now
to sit peacefully on his throne, and he did his best to be worthy of the
honours which the fairy had conferred upon him. After he had learned the
duties of a ruler from A to Z, he returned to Germany to woo his cousin
Walpurga. He led her back to his palace, and for many years they
governed the beautiful land together. All of the five sons which his
wife bore to him, came into the world with the grey lock. They all grew
to be brave men and loyal subjects of their father, whom they served
faithfully in war, holding fraternally together and greatly enlarging the
boundaries of his dukedom by their prowess.
A long time passed and generation after generation of the descendants of
the worthy Sir Wendelin followed one another. The first-born son always
bore the name of the progenitor of the family, and the fairy Clementine
always appeared at the baptism. No one ever saw her; but a gentle
tinkling through the palace betrayed her presence, and when that ceased,
the grey lock on the infant’s temple was always found to have twisted
itself into a curl.
At the end of five hundred years, Wendelin XV. was carried to his grave.
No Greylock had ever possessed a more luxuriant grey curl than his, and
yet he had died young. The wise men of the land said that even to the
most favoured only a fixed measure of happiness and good luck was
granted, and that Wendelin XV. had enjoyed his full share in the space of
thirty years.
Certain it is that from childhood everything had prospered with this
duke. His people had expected great things of him when he was only crown
prince, and he did not disappoint them when he came to the throne. Every
one had loved him. Under his leadership the army had marched from one
victory to another. While he held the sceptre one abundant harvest
followed another, and he had married the most beautiful and most virtuous
daughter of the mightiest prince in the kingdom.
In the midst of a hot conflict, and at the moment that his own army sent
up a shout of victory, he met his death. Everything that the heart of
man could desire had been accorded to him, except the one joy of
possessing a son and heir. But he had left the world in the hope that
that wish, too, would be fulfilled.
Black banners floated from the battlements of the castle, the columns at
its entrance were wreathed in crape, the gold state-coaches were painted
black, and the manes and tails of the duke’s horses bound with ribbons of
the same sombre hue. The master of the hunt had the gaily-colored birds
in the park dyed, the schoolmaster had the copy-books of the boys covered
with black, the merry minstrels in the land sang only sad strains, and
every subject wore mourning. When the ruby-red nose of the guardian of
the Court cellar gradually changed to a bluish tint during this time, the
Court marshal thought it only natural. Even the babies were swaddled in
black bands. And besides all this outward show, the hearts too were sad,
and saddest of all was that of the young widowed duchess. She also had
laid aside all bright colours, and went about in deepest mourning, only
her eyes, despite the Court orders in regard to sombre hues, were bright
red from weeping.
She would have wished to die that she might not be separated from her
husband, save for a sweet, all-powerful hope which held her to this
world; and the prospect of holy duties, like faint rays of sunshine,
threw their light over her future, which would otherwise have seemed as
dark as the habits of the Court about her.
Thus five long months passed. On the first morning of the sixth month
cannon thundered from the citadel of the capital. One salvo followed
another, making the air tremble, but the firing did not waken the
citizens, for not one of them had closed an eye the foregoing night,
which, according to the oldest inhabitants, had been unprecedented. From
the rocky district on the north shore of the lake, where Misdral lived,
a fearful thunder-storm had arisen, and spread over the city and ducal
palace. There was a rolling and rumbling of thunder and howling of wind,
such as might have heralded the Day of judgment. The lightning had not,
as usual, rent the darkness with long, jagged flashes, but had fallen to
the ground as great fiery balls which, however, had set nothing aflame.
The watchmen on the towers asserted that above the black clouds a silver-
white mist had floated, like a stream of milk over dark wool, and that in
the midst of the rumbling and crashing of the thunder they had heard the
sweet tones of harps. Many of the burghers said that they too had heard
it, and the ducal Maker of Musical Instruments declared that the notes
sounded as if they had come from a fine harpsichord–though not from one
of the best–which some one had played between heaven and earth.
As soon as the firing of cannon began, all the people ran into the
streets, and the street-cleaners, who were sweeping up the tiles and
broken bits of slate that the storm had torn from the roofs, leaned on
their brooms and listened. The Constable was using a great deal of
powder; the time seemed long to the men and women who were counting the
number of reports, and there seemed no end to the noise. Sixty guns
meant a princess, one hundred and one meant a prince. When the sixty-
first was heard, there was great rejoicing, for then they knew that the
duchess had borne a son; when, however, another shot followed the one
hundred and first, a clever advocate suggested that perhaps there were
two princesses. When one hundred and sixty-one guns had been fired, they
said it might be a boy and a girl; when the one hundred and eightieth
came, the schoolmaster, whose wife had presented him with seven
daughters, exclaimed: “Perhaps there are triplets, ‘feminini generis!”
But this supposition was confuted by the next shot. When the firing
ceased after the two hundred and second gun, the people knew that their
beloved duchess was the mother of twin boys.
The city went crazy with joy. Flags bearing the national colours were
hoisted in place of the mourning banners. In the show-windows of the
drapers’ shops red, blue, and yellow stuffs were exhibited once more, and
the courtiers smoothed the wrinkles out of their brows, and practised
their smiles again.
Every one was delighted, with the exception of the Astrologer, and a few
old women and wise men, who drew long faces, and said that children born
in such a night had undoubtedly come into the world under inauspicious
signs. In the ducal palace itself the joy was not unclouded, and it was
precisely the most faithful and devoted of the servants who seemed most
depressed, and who held long conferences together.
Both of the boys were well formed and healthy, but the second-born lacked
the grey curl which heretofore had never failed to mark each new-born
Greylock.
Pepe, the Major-domo, who was a direct descendant of George, the squire,
and who knew the history of the ducal family better than any one else,
for he had learned it from his grandfather, was so dejected that one
would have imagined a great misfortune had befallen him, and in the
evenings, when he sat over his wine in company with the Keeper of the
Cellar, the Keeper of the Plate and the Decker of the Table, he could not
resist giving expression to his presentiments. His conviction that Bad
Luck had knocked at the door of the hitherto fortunate Greylocks was
finally shared by his companions.
That an unhappy future awaited the second boy was the firm belief, not
only of the servants, but of the whole Court. The unlucky horoscope cast
by the Astrologer was known to all, the wise men of the land confirmed it
by their predictions, and soon it was proved that even the fairy
Clementine was powerless to avert the misfortune that threatened the
youngest prince. On the day of the baptism, neither the gentle tinkling
sound, nor the sweet perfume, which had heretofore announced her
presence, were perceptible. That she had not deserted the ducal house
altogether was shown by the fact that the lock on the temple of the
first-born twined itself into a perfect curl. The lock on the left
temple of the second son remained brown, and not a sign of grey could be
discovered even with a magnifying glass. The heart of the young mother
was filled with alarm, and she called the old nurse who had taken care of
her dead husband when he was a baby, to ask her what had happened at his
baptism, and the old woman burst into tears, and ended by betraying the
gloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise men. That a Greylock should
go through life without the white curl was unheard of, was awful! And
the old nurse called the poor little creature, “an ill-starred child, a
dear pitiable princeling.”
Then the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a dragon
attack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and she bade
them bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before her, she
stroked the little round body, the straight back, and well-shaped legs
with her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a beautifully-formed,
well-developed child, her child, her very own, and nothing was lacking
save the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at him; at last she
leaned over him and whispered: “You sweet little darling, you are just
as good, and just as much of a Greylock as your brother. He will be
duke, but that is no great piece of luck, and we will not begrudge it to
him. His subjects will some day give him enough anxiety. He must grow
to be a mighty man for their sakes, and I doubt not that his nurse gives
him better nourishment to that end than I could who am only a weak woman.
But you, you poor, dear, little ill-omened mite, I shall nourish you
myself, and if your life is unhappy it shall not be because I have not
done my best.”
When the Chief Priest came to her, to ask her what name she had chosen
for the second boy–the first, of course, was to be Wendelin XVI–she
remembered her dream, and answered quickly: “Let him be named George,
for it was he who killed the dragon.”
The old man understood her meaning, and answered earnestly: “That is a
good name for him.”
Time passed, and both of the princes flourished. George was nourished by
his own mother, Wendelin by a hired nurse. They learned to babble and
coo, then to walk and talk, for in this respect the sons of dukes with
grey locks are just like other boys. And yet no two children are alike,
and if any schoolmaster tried to write an exhaustive treatise on the
subject of education, it would have to contain as many chapters as there
are boys and girls in the world, and it would not be one of the thinnest
books ever published.
The ducal twins from the beginning exhibited great differences.
Wendelin’s hair was straight and, save for the grey lock, which hung over
his left temple like a mark of interrogation, jet black; George, on the
contrary, had curly brown hair. Their size remained equal until their
seventh year, when the younger brother began to outstrip the older. They
loved one another very fondly, but the amusements that pleased one failed
to attract the other; even their eyes seemed to have been made on
different patterns, for many things that seemed white to George appeared
black to his brother.
Both received equal care and were never left alone. The older brother
found this but natural, and he liked to lie still, and be fanned, or have
the flies brushed away from him, and to have some one read fairy stories,
which he loved, aloud to him until he dozed off to sleep. It was
astonishing how long and how soundly he could sleep. The courtiers said
that he was laying up a store of strength, to meet the demands that would
be made upon him when he came to the throne.
Even before he could speak plainly, he had learned to let others wait
upon him, and would never lift his little finger to do anything for
himself. His passive face and large melancholy eyes were wonderfully
beautiful, and inspired even his mother with a feeling of awe and
respect. She never had cause to feel anxious about him, for there
was no better, nor more obedient child in the whole land.
The ill-omened boy, George, was the exact opposite of his brother. He,
on the contrary, had to be watched and tended, for his veins seemed to
run quicksilver. One would have been justified in saying that he went
out to meet the misfortune which was so surely awaiting him. Whenever it
was possible he gave his nurses and attendants the slip. He planned
dangerous games, and incited the children of the castle servants and
gardeners to carry out the mischief which he had contrived.
But his favorite pastime was building. Sometimes he would erect houses
of red stone, often he would dig great caves of many chambers and halls
in the sand. At this work he was much more energetic than his humbler
playfellows, and he would be dirty and dripping with perspiration when he
returned to the castle. The courtiers would shake their heads over him
in disapprobation, and then look approvingly at Wendelin, who was a true
royal child and never got his white hands dirty.
There was no doubt but that George was cast in a less aristocratic mould
than his brother. When Wendelin complained of the heat, George would
spring into the lake for a swim, and when Wendelin was freezing, George
would praise the fresh bracing air. The duchess often sighed for a
thousand eyes that she might the better look after him, and she
constantly had to scold and reprove him, whereas her other son never
heard anything but soft words from her. But then George would fly into
her arms in a most unprincely manner, and she would kiss him and hug him,
as if she never wanted to let him go, while her caresses of her elder son
were restricted to a kiss on his forehead, or to stroking his hair.
George was by no means so beautiful as his brother; he had only a fresh
boyish face, but his eyes were exceptionally deep and truthful, and his
mother always found in them a perfect reflection of what was in her own
heart.
The two boys were as happy as is every child who grows up in the sunshine
of its mother’s love, but the lords and ladies about the Court, and the
castle-servants felt that misfortune had already begun to dog the
footsteps of the younger prince. How constantly he was in disgrace with
the duchess! And the accidents that had already happened in the eleven
years of his life were too numerous to count. While bathing he had
ventured too far out into the lake and had been nearly drowned; once,
while riding in the ring, he had been thrown over the barriers by an
unmanageable horse; indeed the Court-physician was certain to be called
from his night’s rest at least once a month, to bind up bloody wounds in
the young prince’s bead, or bruises on his body.
No one, save the Seneschal of the Royal Household, and the Master of
Ceremonies bore the unruly boy any malice, but every one pitied him as an
ill-starred child. With what relentlessness his evil destiny pursued him
was first made clear when a stone house, which he, together with some
other boys, had built, fell down on top of him. When they drew him out
from under the blocks and stones he was unconscious, and the Major-domo,
who had been attracted by the cries of George’s companions, carried him
into the prince’s room, laid him on the bed, and watched by him until the
physician was called.
The old nurse, Nonna, aided the Majordomo, and these two faithful souls
confided their anxiety to one another. They recalled the unlucky signs
that had accompanied his entrance into the world, and Pepe expressed his
fear that the unfortunate child would not come to life again.
“‘Tis very sad,” he continued, “but I doubt not it would be better for
the ducal family if Heaven were now to remove him, for an early death is,
after all, preferable to a long life of vexation and misery.”
The boy heard this conversation word for word, for, although he could
move neither hand nor foot, and kept his eyes closed, his hearing and
understanding were wide awake.
Old Nonna had shed many tears during good Pepe’s speech, and he was
trying to comfort her when George suddenly sat up, rubbed his eyes with
the back of his hands, stretched himself, and then, agile as a brook
trout, sprang out of bed.
The two old people screamed in their astonishment, then laughed louder in
their joy; but the Court physician, who was just entering the room,
looked very much disgusted and disappointed, for he saw the beautiful
prospect of saving the life of one of the royal children dissolve before
his very eyes.
At the time of this accident the Duchess was away from home. On her
return she forced herself to reprove George for his recklessness before
she yielded fully to her motherly affection. When George threw his arms
around her neck and asked her if it were really true that he was an ill-
starred child, and would never have anything but bad luck as long as he
lived, she nearly burst into tears. But she restrained herself, called
Pepe and Nouna a couple of old geese, and the “signs,” which they had
talked about, stupid nonsense. Then she left the room hurriedly and
George thought that he heard her crying outside. He had gathered from
her tone that she was not convinced of what she was saying, and was only
trying to quiet his fears, and from that hour he, too, regarded himself
as a child destined to adversity. This was indeed unfortunate, yet it
had its compensation, for each morning he anticipated an unhappy day, and
when in the evening he looked back on nothing but pleasure and sunshine,
he went to bed with a heart full of gratitude for the good which he had
enjoyed but which did not rightfully belong to him. From this time his
mother had him more carefully guarded than before, she herself even
followed him about anxiously, like a hen who has hatched a duckling, and
forbade him to build any more stone-houses.
The noble Duchess was just then weighed down with other cares. One of
her neighbors, a king, who had often been defeated in battle by her
husband and her husband’s father, thought it an excellent opportunity,
while the duchy of the Greylocks was ruled only by a woman and her
Councillors, to invade the land, and win back some of the provinces which
he had formerly lost. Moustache, her Field-marshal, had led forth the
army, and a battle was now imminent, which like all other battles, must
end either in victory or defeat.
One day a messenger came from the camp, bringing a letter from the brave
marshal, who demanded more troops, saying that the enemy far out-numbered
him. Then the Prime Minister called the Great Council together, from
which, of course, the Duchess could not be absent, and during the time
that she presided over the Councillors’ meeting, she lost sight of George
for the first time for many weeks.
The naughty boy was delighted. He slipped out of the castle, whence his
older brother would not move, on account of the bad weather, went down to
the shore of the lake, and finding that it was unusually rough, he,
together with the son of the head-gondolier, sprang into a small boat,
and drove it with powerful strokes out among the waves. The wind lifted
the brown curls of the boy, and whenever a large wave bore the skiff
aloft on its crest, he shouted with joy. Hitherto he had only been
allowed to go on the lake in a well manned, safe boat, and then the
sailors were under orders to keep to the southern half of the lake.
Consequently an excursion on the water had seemed but a mild amusement;
but to be his own master, and to fight thus untrammelled against the
winds and waves was pleasure such as he had never before experienced.
He had never yet visited the northern part of the lake, there where it
was so dark, and mysterious, and where–as old Nonna used to relate–evil
spirits dwelt, and a giant covered with pumice-stone was compelled by a
curse to live. Perhaps, if he could only get to the other shore, he
might see a ghost! That was a tempting prospect! So he turned the bow
of the boat towards the north, and bidding his companion to row hard, did
the same himself.
As they got further north, the waves increased in size, a storm arose and
blew fiercely in their faces; but the rougher the lake became, the gayer
and more boisterous grew George’s mood.
His companion began to be afraid, and begged that they might return, but
George, though it was not his custom, made his princely authority felt,
and sternly commanded the boy to do as he was bid.
All at once it became dark around them, and it seemed as if a powerful
sea-horse must have got under the skiff and lifted it with his back, for
George was hurled into the air. Then he felt himself caught by a rushing
whirlpool which sucked him in its circles to the bottom. He lost breath
and consciousness. When he came to himself again, he found himself in a
closed cave, amidst strange forms of grey-brown, dripping stalactites.
Above the arches of the roof he heard a loud, grunting laugh, and a
voice, that sounded like the hoarse howl of a dog, cried several times:
“Here we have the Wendelin brood! At last I have the Greylock!”
Then George remembered all that he had overheard Pepe and Nonna relate,
and all that he had coaxed out of them by his questions. He had fallen
into the hands of the evil spirit, Misdral, and now the real misfortune,
which had threatened him ever since his birth, was to begin. He was
freezing cold, and very hungry, and as he thought of the beautiful
gardens at home, of the well-spread table in his father’s castle, at
which he used to sit so comfortably in his high-backed chair, and of the
well-fed lackeys, he felt quite faint.
He also realized what terrible anxiety his absence would cause his
mother. He could see her running about, weeping, with her hair in
disorder, seeking him every where.
When he was smaller she had often taken him into her bed and played
“Little Red Riding Hood” with him, and he said to himself that for that
and many succeeding nights she would find no rest on her silken cushions,
but would wet them with her tears. These recollections brought him to
the verge of weeping, but the next instant he stamped his foot angrily,
in rage against his weakness.
He was only thirteen years old, but he was a true Greylock, and fear and
cowardice were as unknown to him as to his ancestor, Wendelin I. So when
he heard the voice of the wicked Misdral again, and listened to the
curses which it heaped upon his family, George’s anger grew so hot that
he picked up a stone, as the first Wendelin had done five hundred years
before, to hurl it in the monster’s wrinkled face. But Misdral did not
show himself, and George had to give up the expectation of seeing him,
for he gathered from the conversation between the two spirits that,
owing to an oath which he had given to the fairy, Misdral dared not lay
hands on a Wendelin, and that, therefore, he had planned to starve him
(George) to death. This prospect seemed all the more dreadful to the boy
because of his hunger at that moment.
The cave was lighted by a hole in the roof of rocks, and as George could
cry no more, and had raged enough against himself and the wicked Misdral,
there was nothing further for him to do but to look about his prison, and
examine the stalactites which surrounded him on all sides. One of them
looked like a pulpit, a second like a camel, a third made him laugh, for
it had a face with a bottle-nose, like that of the chief wine cooper at
the castle. On one of the columns he thought he discerned the figure of
a weeping woman, and this made his eyes fill with tears again. But he
did not mean to cry any more, so he turned his attention to the ceiling.
Some of the stalactites that hung from it looked like great icicles, and
some of them looked like damp, grey clothes hung out to dry. This
recalled the appearance of the wash hanging in the garden behind the
palace–a long stocking, or an unusually large shirt descending below the
rest of the clothes–and he remembered how, in the fall, after the
harvest, the clothes-lines used to be tied to the plum-trees, and the
ends decorated with branches still bearing the blue, juicy fruit, and
then his hunger became so ravenous that he buckled his belt tighter round
his waist and groaned aloud.
Night fell. The cave grew dark, and he tried to sleep, but could not,
although the drops of water splashed soothingly, and monotonously from
the roof into the pools below.
The later it grew, the more he was tormented by his hunger, and the
flapping of the bats, which he could not see in the dark. He longed for
it to be morning, and more than once, in his great need, he lifted his
hands and prayed for deliverance, and yet more passionately for a piece
of bread, and the coming of day. Then he sat lost in thought, and bit
his nails, for the sake of having something to chew. He was aroused by a
splash in one of the puddles on the Hoor. It must be a fish! He sat up
to listen, and it seemed as if some one called to him gently. He pricked
up his ears sharply, and then!–no, he had not deceived himself, for the
friendly words came distinctly from below: “George, my poor boy, are you
awake?”
How they comforted him, and how quickly he sprang up in answer to the
question! At last he was saved. That was as certain to him as that
twice two makes four, although it might have been otherwise.
Over the pool, from which the small voice had sounded, appeared now a dim
light, a beautiful goldfish lifted its head out of the water, opened its
round mouth, and said, in a scarcely audible tone,–for a real fish finds
it difficult to speak, because it has no lungs,–that George’s godmother,
the fairy Clementine, had sent it. Its mistress was by no means pleased
with George’s disobedience; but, as he was otherwise a good boy, and she
was pledged to aid the Greylocks, she would help him out of his
difficulty this time.
The boy cried: “Take me home take me home, take me to my mother!”
“That would indeed be the simplest thing to do,” replied the fish, “and
it lies in our power to fulfil your wish; but, if my mistress frees you
from the power of the wicked Misdral, she must promise him in exchange
that another ill shall befall your house. Your army is in the field, and
if you return to your family, then will the giant help your enemies; they
will defeat you, will capture your capital, and possibly something evil
might befall your mother.”
George sprang up and waved his hand in negation. Then his curly head
fell, and he said sadly, but decisively: “I will stay here and starve.”
The fish in his delight slapped the water with his tail until it splashed
high, and continued, although his first speech had already made him
hoarse:
“No, no; it need not be so bad as that. If you are willing to go into
the world as a poor boy, and never to tell any one that you are a prince,
nor what your name is, nor whence you come, then no enemy will be able to
do your army or the lady duchess any harm.”
“And shall I never see my mother and Wendelin again?” George asked,
and the tears poured down over his cheeks like the water over the
stalactites.
“Oh yes!” the fish replied, “if you are courageous, and do something
good and great, then you may return to your home.”
“Something good and great,” George repeated, “that will be very
difficult; and, if I should succeed in doing something that I thought
good and great, how could I know whether the fairy considered it so?”
“Whenever the grey lock grows on your head, you may declare yourself to
be the son of a duke and go home;” the fish whispered. “Follow me. I
will light the way for you. It is lucky that you have run about so much
and are so thin, otherwise you might stick fast on the way. Now pay
attention. This pool drains itself, through a passage under the
mountain, into the lake. I shall swim in front of you until we come to
the big basin into which the springs of these mountains empty their
waters. After that I must keep to the right, in order to get back into
the lake, but you must take the left passage, and let the current carry
you along for an hour, when it will join the head of the great Vitale
river, and flow out into the open air. Continue with the stream until it
turns towards the east, then you must climb over the mountains, and keep
ever northwards. Hold your hand under my mouth that I may give you money
for your journey.”
George did as he was bid, and the fish poured forty shining groschen into
his hand. Each one of them would pay for a day’s nourishment and a
night’s lodging.
The fish then dived under, George plunged after it into the pool, and
followed the shimmering light that emanated from his scaly guide.
Sometimes the rocky passages, through which he crawled on his stomach in
shallow water, became so small that he bumped his head, and had to press
his shoulders together in order to pass, and often he thought that he
would stick fast among the rocks, like a hatchet in a block of wood.
He always managed to free himself, however, and finally reached the big
basin, where a crowd of maidens with green hair and scaly tails were
sporting, and they invited him to come and play tag with them. But the
fish advised him not to stop with the idle hussies, and then parted from
him.
George was alone once more, and he let himself be borne along on the
rushing subterranean stream. At length it poured out into the open air,
as the Vitale river, and the boy fell with it over a wall of rock into a
large pool surrounded by thick greenery. There was a great splash, the
trout were frightened to death, a dog began to bark, and a shepherd, who
was sitting on the bank, sprang up, for the coloured bundle that had just
shot over the falls, now arose from the water and bore the form of a
pretty boy of thirteen years.
This apparition soon stood before him, puffing, and dripping, and
regarding, with greedy eyes, the bread and cheese which the old man was
eating. The shepherd was very, very old, and deaf, but he understood the
language of the boy’s eyes, and as he had just milked the goats, he held
out a cup of the milk to him with a friendly gesture, and broke off a
piece of bread for him. Then he invited George to sit down beside him in
the sun, which had been up for an hour.
The prince had never before eaten such a meal, but as he sat there in the
sun, munching the bread, and drinking goats’ milk, he would have thought
any one a fool who called him an ill-fated child.
After he had satisfied his hunger, he thanked the shepherd, and offered
him one of the groschen which the fish had given him, but the old man
refused it.
George insisted, for it hurt his pride to take anything as a gift from a
man clad in rags, but the shepherd still declined, and added, after he
had noticed the fine clothes of the little prince, which the water had
not entirely spoiled: “What the poor man gives gladly, no gold can repay.
Keep your groschen.”
George blushed scarlet, put his money in his pocket, and replied: “Then
may God reward you.” The words sprang naturally and easily to his lips,
and yet they were the very ones that the beggars in the duchy of the
Greylocks always used.
He ran along by the side of the stream quite fast, in order to dry his
clothes, until it was noon, and many thoughts passed through his mind,
but so rapidly that he could hardly remember whether they were gay or
sad. When at last he sat down to rest under a flowering elder bush, he
thought of his mother, and of the great sorrow that he was causing her,
of his brother, and Norma, and old Pepe, and his heart failed him, and he
wept. He might never see them again, for how could he ever accomplish
anything that was good and great, and yet the fish had demanded it of
him! For three days he continued to be very dejected, and whenever he
passed boys at play, or boys and maidens dancing and singing under the
trees, he would say to himself: “You are happy, for you were not born
under an evil star as I was.”
The first night he slept in a mill, the second in an inn, the third in a
smithy. just as he was leaving in the early morning a horseman rode
rapidly past, and called out to the smith, who was standing in front of
the shop: “The battle is lost. The King is flying. The Greylocks are
marching on the capital.”
George laughed aloud, and the messenger hearing him, made a cut at him
with his riding-whip, but missed him, and the boy ran away. George felt
as if some one had removed the burden that had been weighing him down
during his wanderings, and he reflected that, if he had remained a
prince, and had been at that moment comfortably at home, instead of
wandering until he was footsore along the highways, Moustache,
the Field-marshal, would have lost the battle.
It was still early when he reached the spot where the river turned to the
east. From this point he was to go northwards. He found a path that led
from the bank of the river, through the woods, across the mountain chain.
The dew still hung on the grass, and above in the oaks and beeches, it
seemed as if all the birds were holding high festival, there was such a
fluttering, and calling, and chirping, and trilling, and singing, while
the woodpecker beat time. The sunshine played among the branches, and
fell through onto the flowery earth, where it lay among the shadows of
the leaves like so many round pieces of gold. Although George was
climbing the mountain, his breath came freely, and all at once, without
any reason, he burst into song. He sang a song at the top of his voice,
there in the woods, that he had learned from the gardeners. At noon he
thought he had reached the top of the mountain, but behind again a yet
higher peak arose, and so, after he had eaten the bread and butter which
the blacksmith’s wife had given him, he continued his way and, as the sun
was setting, attained the summit of the second mountain, which was the
highest far and near.
Once more he beheld the river which, sparkling and bright, wound through
the green plain like a silver snake. Smaller hills covered with forests
fell away on all sides and the tops of the trees caught the radiance of
the sinking sun. Over the snow-fields of the further mountain-ranges, a
rosy shimmer spread that made him think of the peach blossoms at home; a
purple mist obscured the rocky peaks behind him and there, far away to
the south, was a tiny speck of blue. That might be his own dear lake,
which he was never to see again. It was all so wonderfully beautiful and
his heart filled to overflowing with memories and hopes. Neither to the
right nor to the left, whither he turned his eyes, were there any
boundaries to be seen. How wide, how immeasurably wide was the world
which, in the future, was to be his home, in the place of the small
walled garden of the castle. Two eagles were floating round in circles
under the softly-glowing fleecy clouds, and George said to himself that
he was as free and untrammelled on the earth as they were in the air;
suddenly a feeling of delight in his liberty overcame him, he snatched
his cap from his head and, waving it aloft, tore down the mountain, as if
he were running for a wager. That night he found hospitable housing in
the cell of a hermit.
After this he derived much pleasure from his wanderings. He was a child
born to bad luck–no denial could change that–nevertheless a child
destined to good fortune could hardly have been more contented than he.
On the thirtieth day of his journeying he met with a travelling companion
in the lower countries, which he had reached some time before. This was
a stone-mason’s son, who was much older than George, but who accepted the
gay young vagabond as his comrade. The youth was returning home after
his wanderings as a journeyman and, as he soon discovered that George was
a clever, trustworthy boy with all his wits about him, he persuaded him
to offer himself as apprentice to the stone-mason, who was an excellent
master in his business. His name was Kraft, and he gladly received his
son’s companion as apprentice, George having spent his last groschen that
very day, and thus the little prince was turned into a stone-mason’s
apprentice.
In the castle of the Greylocks, meanwhile, there was sorrow and
lamentation. The boy who had ventured onto the lake with George, managed
to save his life and returned home the following morning, and to repeated
questionings he had only the one answer to make–that he had seen the
prince drown before his very eyes. With this information the Court had
to content itself; but not the duchess, for a king will give up his
throne sooner than a mother the hope of seeing her child again. She
possessed indeed one means by which she could know beyond doubt whether
her darling were alive or dead, namely the magic mirror which the fairy
had given to the first Wendelin, and in which, ever since, the Greylocks
had been able to see what they held most dear. In this glass she had
seen her husband fall from his horse and die. Once again she took it out
of the ivory casket in which it was kept; but so long as George sat
imprisoned in the cave of the evil spirit, nothing was to be seen on its
smooth surface. That was ominous, yet she ceased not to hope, and
thought: “If he were dead, I should see his corpse.” She sat the whole
night staring in the mirror. In the morning a messenger from the army of
the Greylocks arrived, bringing word that the enemy was pressing upon
them and that a battle would have to be fought before the fresh troops,
which Moustache, the field-marshal, had asked for, could arrive.
The issue was doubtful, and the duchess would better have everything
ready for her flight and that of the princes, and, in case of the worst,
to carry with her the crown jewels, the royal seal and a store of gold.
The chancellor ordered all of these things to be packed in chests and
warned the servants not to forget to add his dressing-gown. Then he
begged the noble widow to look into the glass and to let him know as soon
as there was any reflection of the battle.
Presently she saw the two armies fall upon each other, but her longing to
see her son overcame her immediately, and behold, there in the glass he
appeared, seated by the side of an old ragged shepherd and eating bread
and cheese, his clothes were soaked and there was no possibility of his
changing them. This worried her and she at once pictured him with a cold
or lying helpless in the open air, stricken down by fever or inflammation
of the lungs. Henceforth she thought no more about the decisive battle,
and forgot all else during the hours that she sat and followed George’s
movements. Then she sent for huntsmen, for messengers and for all the
professors who studied geography, botany, or geology, and bade them look
into the mirror, and asked them if they knew where those mountains were,
of which they saw the reflection. The smooth surface showed only the
immediate surroundings of the boy, and no one could tell what the
district was where George wandered. Thereupon she sent messengers
towards all points of the compass to seek him.
Thus half the day passed, and when the chancellor came again in the
afternoon to inquire after the fortunes of the battle, the duchess was
frightened, for she had entirely forgotten the conflict.
She therefore commanded the mirror to show her again the army and
Moustache, the field-marshal, who was a cousin of her late husband. She
beheld with dismay that the ranks of her soldiers were wavering. The
chancellor saw it, too; he put his hand to his narrow forehead and cried:
“Everything is lost! My office, your Highness, and the land! I must to
the treasury, to the stables! The enemy–flight–our brave soldiers–I
pray your Highness to keep a watch over the battle! More important
duties. . . .”
He withdrew, and when half an hour later he returned, very red in the
face from all the orders that he had given, and looked over the duchess’
shoulder, unperceived into the mirror, he started back and cried out
angrily, as no true courtier ought ever to allow himself to do in the
presence of his sovereign: “By the blood of my ancestors! A boy climbing
a mountain. And there is such dire need to know . . .”
The duchess sighed and called the battle once more into view. During the
time that she had been watching her son, things had taken a better turn.
This pleased her greatly, and the chancellor exclaimed: “Did I not
prophesy this to your Highness. The circumstances were such that the
victory was bound to be ours. Brave Moustache! I had such confidence in
him that I saw the caravans bearing the treasure depart, without a pang
of uneasiness. Will your Highness be good enough to have them recalled.”
After this the duchess had no further opportunity to see the reflection
of her boy until the battle was decided and the victory theirs beyond a
doubt; then she could use the mirror to gratify the desire of her heart.
When George walked along dejectedly, she thought: “Is that my heedless
boy?” and when he looked about him gaily once more to see what mischief
he could get into, she rejoiced, yet it troubled her, too, to have him
appear so free from all grief, she feared that he might have entirely
forgotten her.
All the expeditions that she sent in search of him were fruitless; but
she knew from the glass that he had become apprentice to a stone-mason
and had hard work to do. This made her very sad. He was indeed a child
born to misfortune, and when she saw him eat out of the same bowl with
his companions, food so coarse, that her very dogs would have despised
it, she felt that the misery into which he had fallen was too deep, too
awful. Yet, strange to relate, he always seemed gay, despite these ills,
whereas Wendelin, the heir to the throne, grew more peevish every day.
The duchy of this fortunate youth had been enlarged by the late
successful war, and the assembly of the states of the empire was debating
whether it should not be made a kingdom. He possessed everything that it
was in the power of man to desire, and yet, with each new month, he
seemed to become more unhappy and dejected.
When the heir to the throne drove out in his gilt coach and the duchess
heard of the enthusiasm exhibited by the people, or saw him sitting at a
feast of pheasants, smacking his lips and drawing the asparagus between
his teeth, she reflected on his brother’s hard lot and could not help
feeling angry with her fortunate son for possessing all the gifts that
Destiny refused to her poor outcast George.
Once when the duchess looked in the mirror, she saw George who had
carefully taken a clock to pieces, trying to put it together again.
A moment later the chancellor and the master of ceremonies came up behind
her in order to look into the glass also. No sooner had they done so
than they set up a loud outcry, and behaved as if the enemy had invaded
the land again.
“The poor, miserable, pitiable, ill-starred princeling!” one of them
exclaimed. “A Greylock, it is unheard of, abominable, sacrilegious,” the
other moaned. They had indeed beheld a dreadful sight, for they had seen
the son of Wendelin XV. beaten over the back by a common workman with a
stick. The duchess had to witness many similar outrages later when she
saw George in the school to which the stone-mason sent his promising
apprentice. Alas! how long the poor child had to bend over
