The Golden-haired Children

Once upon a time, in days long gone by, when my father was my father,

and I was my fathers son, when my father was my son, and I was my

father’s mother, once upon a time, I say, at the uttermost ends of the

world, hard by the realm of demons, stood a great city.

In this same city there dwelt three poor damsels, the daughters of a

poor wood-cutter. From morn to eve, from evening to morning, they did

nothing but sew and stitch, and when the embroideries were finished, one

of them would go to the market-place and sell them, and so purchase

wherewithal to live upon.

Now it fell out, one day, that the Padishah of that city was wroth with

the people, and in his rage he commanded that for three days and three

nights nobody should light a candle in that city. What were these three

poor sisters to do? They could not work in the dark. So they covered

their window with a large thick curtain, lit a tiny rushlight, and sat

them down to earn their daily bread.

On the third night of the prohibition, the Padishah took it into his

head to go round the city himself to see whether every one was keeping

his commandment. He chanced to step in front of the house of the three

poor damsels, and as the folds of the curtain did not quite cover the

bottom of the window he caught sight of the light within. The damsels,

however, little suspecting their danger, went on sewing and stitching

and talking amongst themselves about their poor affairs.

“Oh,” said the eldest, “if only the Padishah would wed me to his chief

cook, what delicious dishes I should have every day. Yes, and I would

embroider him for it a carpet so long that all his horses and all his

men could find room upon it.”

“As for me,” said the middling damsel, “I should like to be wedded to

the keeper of his wardrobe. What lovely splendid raiment I should then

have to put on. And then I would make the Padishah a tent so large, that

all his horses and all his men should find shelter beneath it.”

“Well,” cried the youngest damsel, “I’ll look at nobody but the Padishah

himself, and if he would only take me to wife I would bear him two

little children with golden hair. One should be a boy and the other a

girl, and a half-moon should shine on the forehead of the boy, and a

bright star should sparkle on the temples of the girl.”

The Padishah heard the discourse of the three damsels, and no sooner did

the red dawn shine in the morning sky than he sent for all three to the

palace. The eldest he gave to his head pantler, the second to his head

chamberlain, but the youngest he took for himself.

And in truth it fared excellently well with the three damsels. The

eldest got so many rich dishes to eat, that when it came to sewing the

promised carpet she could scarce move her needle for the sleep of

surfeit. So they sent her back again to the wood-cutters hut. The second

damsel, too, when they dressed her up in gold and silver raiment, would

not deign to dirty her fingers by making tents, so they sent her back

too, to keep her elder sister company.

And how about the youngest? Well, after nine months and ten days the two

elder sisters came sidling up to the palace to see if the poor thing

would really be as good as her word, and bring forth the two wondrous

children. In the gates of the palace they met an old woman, and they

persuaded her with gifts and promises to meddle in the matter. Now this

old woman was the devil’s own daughter, so that mischief and malice

were her meat and drink. She now went and picked up two pups and took

them with her to the sick woman’s bed.

And oh, my soul! the wife of the Padishah brought forth two little

children like shining stars. One was a boy, the other a girl; on the

boys forehead was a half-moon and on the girl’s a star, so that darkness

was turned to light when they were by. Then the wicked old woman

exchanged the children for the pups, and told it in the ears of the

Padishah that his wife had brought forth two pups. The Padishah was like

to have had a fit in the furiousness of his rage. He took his poor wife,

buried her up to the waist in the ground, and commanded throughout the

city that every passer-by should strike her on the head with a stone.

But no sooner had the evil witch got hold of the two children, than she

took them a long way outside the town, exposed them on the bank of a

flowing stream, and returned to the palace right glad that she had done

her work so well.

Now close to the water where the two children lay stood a hut where

lived an aged couple. The old man had a she-goat which used to go out in

the morning to graze, and come back in the evening to be milked, and

that was how the poor people kept body and soul together. One day,

however, the old woman was

surprised to find that the goat did not give one drop of milk. She

complained about it to the old man her husband, and told him to follow

the goat to see if perchance there was any one who stole the milk.

So the next day the old man went after the goat, which went right up to

the water’s edge, and then disappeared behind a tree. And what do you

think he saw? He saw a sight which would have delighted your eyes

also--two golden-haired children were lying in the grass, and the goat

went right up to them and gave them to suck. Then she bleated to them a

little, and so left them and went off to graze. And the old man was so

delighted at the sight of the little starry things, that he was like to

have lost his head for joy. So he took the little ones (Allah had not

blessed him with children of his own) and carried them to his hut and

gave them to his wife. The woman was filled with a still greater joy at

the children which Allah had given her, and took care of them, and

brought them up. But now the little goat came bleating in as if in sore

distress, but the moment she saw the children, she went to them and

suckled them, and then went out to graze again.

But time comes and goes. The two wondrous children grew up and scampered

up hill and down dale, and the dark woods were bright with the radiance

of their golden hair. They hunted the wild beasts, tended sheep, and

helped the old people by word and deed. Time came and went till the

children had grown up, and the old people had become very old indeed.

The golden-haired ones grew in strength while the silver-haired ones

grew in feebleness, till, at last, one morning they lay dead there, and

the brother and sister were left all alone. Sorely did the poor little

things weep and wail, but was ever woe mended by weeping? So they buried

their old parents, and the girl stayed at home with the little she-goat,

while the lad went a-hunting, for how to find food was now their great

care and their little care too.

One day, while he was hunting wild beasts in the forest, he met his

father, the Padishah, but he did not know it was his father, neither did

the father recognize his son. Yet the moment the Padishah beheld the

wondrously beautiful child, he longed to clasp him to his breast, and

commanded those about him to inquire of the child from whence he came.

Then one of the courtiers went up to the youth, and said: “Thou hast

shot much game there, my Bey!”--“Allah also has created much,” replied

the youth, “and there is enough for thee and for me also,” and with that

he left him like a blockhead.

But the Padishah went back to his palace, and was sick at heart because

of the boy; and when they asked what ailed him, he said that he had

seen such a wondrously beautiful child in the forest, and that he loved

him so that he could rest no more. The boy had the very golden hair and

the same radiant forehead that his wife had promised him.

The old woman was sore afraid at these words. She hastened to the

stream, saw the house, peeped in, and there sat a lovely girl, like a

moon fourteen days old. The girl entreated the old woman courteously,

and asked her what she sought. The old woman did not wait to be asked

twice; indeed, her foot was scarce across the threshold when she began

to ask the girl with honey-sweet words whether she lived all alone.

“Nay, my mother,” replied the girl; “I have a young brother. In the

day-time he goes hunting, and in the evening he comes home.”

“Dost thou not grow weary of being all alone here by thyself?” inquired

the witch.--“If even I did,” said the girl, “what can I do? I must fill

up my time as best I may.”

“Tell me now, my little diamond! dost thou dearly love this brother of

thine?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, then, my girl,” said the witch, “I’ll tell thee something, but

don’t let it go any further! When thy brother comes home this evening,

fall to weeping and wailing, and keep it up with all thy might. When

then he asks what ails thee, answer him not, and when he asks thee

again, again give him never a word. When, however, he asks thee a third

time, say that thou art tired to death with staying at home here all by

thyself, and that if he loves thee, he will go to the garden of the

Queen of the Peris, and bring thee from thence a branch. A lovelier

branch thou hast never seen all thy life long.”--The girl promised she

would do this, and the old woman went away.

Towards evening the damsel burst forth a-weeping and wailing till both

her eyes were as red as blood. The brother came home in the evening, and

was amazed to see his sister in such dire distress, yet could he not

prevail upon her to tell him the cause of it. He promised her all the

grass of the field and all the trees of the forest if she would only

tell him what was the matter, and, to satisfy the desire of his sister’s

heart, the golden-haired youth set off next morning for the garden of

the fairy queen. He went on and on, smoking his chibook and drinking

coffee, till he reached the boundaries of the fairy realm. He came to

deserts where no caravan had ever gone; he came to mountains where no

bird could ever fly; he came to valleys where no serpent can ever crawl.

But his trust was in Allah, so he went on and on till he came to an

immense desert which the eye of man had never seen nor the foot of man

trodden. In the midst of it was a beautiful palace, and by the roadside

sat the Mother of Devils, and the smell of her was as the pestilence in

the air all round about her.

The youth went straight up to the Mother of Devils, hugged her to his

breast, kissed her all over, and said: “Good-day, little mother mine! I

am thine own true lad till death!” and he kissed her hand.

“A good-day to thee also, my little son!” replied the Mother of Devils.

“If thou hadst not called me thy dear little mother, if thou hadst not

embraced me, and if thy innocent mother had not been under the earth, I

would have devoured thee at once. But tell me now, my little son,

whither away?”

The poor youth said that he wanted a branch from the garden of the Queen

of the Peris.

“Who put that word in thy mouth, my little son?” asked the woman in

amazement. “Hundreds and hundreds of talismans guard that garden, and

hundreds of souls have perished there by reason thereof.”

Yet the youth did not hold back. “I can but die once,” thought

he.--“Thou dost but go to salute thy innocent, buried mother,” said the

old woman; and then she made the youth sit down beside her and taught

him the way: “Set out on thy quest at daybreak, and never stop till

thou dost see right in front of thee a well and a forest. Draw forth

thine arrows in this forest and catch five to ten birds, but catch them

alive. Take these birds to the well, and when thou hast recited a prayer

twice over, plunge the birds into the well and cry aloud for a key. A

key will straightway be cast out of the well, take it to thee, and go on

thy way. Thou wilt come presently to a large cavern; open the door

thereof with thy key, and, as soon as thy foot is inside, stretch forth

thy right hand into the blank darkness, grip fast hold of whatever thy

hand shall touch, drag the thing quickly forth, and cast the key back

into the well again. But look not behind thee all the time, or Allah

have mercy on thy soul!”

Next day, when the red dawn was in the sky, the youth went forth on his

quest, caught the five to ten birds in the forest, got hold of the key,

opened therewith the door of the cavern, and--oh, Allah!--stretched

forth his right hand, gripped hold of something, and, without once

looking behind him, dragged it all the way to his sister’s hut, and

never stopped till he got there. Only then did he cast his eyes upon

what he had in his hand, and it was neither more nor less than a branch

from the garden of the Queen of the Peris. But what a branch it was! It

was full of little twigs, and the twigs were full of little leaves, and

there was a little bird on every little leaf, and every little bird had

a song of its own. Such music, such melody was there as would have

brought even a dead man to life again. The whole hut was filled with

joy.

Next day the youth again went forth to hunt, and, as he was pursuing the

beast of the forest, the Padishah saw him again. He exchanged a word or

two with the youth, and then returned to his palace, but he was now

sicker than ever, by reason of his love for his son.

Then the old woman strolled off to the hut again, and there she saw the

damsel sitting with the magic branch in her hand.

“Well, my girl!” said the old woman, “what did I tell thee? But that’s

nothing at all. If thy brother would only fetch thee the mirror of the

Queen of the Peris, Allah knows that thou wouldst cast that branch right

away. Give him no peace till he get it for thee.”

The witch had no sooner departed than the damsel began screaming and

wailing so that her brother was at his wit’s end how to comfort her. He

said he would take the whole world on his shoulders to please her, went

straight off to the Mother of Devils, and besought her so earnestly that

she had not the heart to say him nay.

“Thou hast made up thy mind to go under the sod to thy innocent, buried

mother, I see,” cried she, “for not by hundreds but by thousands have

human souls perished in this quest of thine.” Then she instructed the

youth whither he should go and what he should do, and he set off on his

way. He took an iron staff in his hand and tied iron sandals to his

feet, and he went on and on till he came to two doors, as the Mother of

Devils told him he would beforehand. One of these doors was open, the

other was closed. He closed the open door and opened the closed door,

and there, straight before him, was another door. In front of this door

was a lion and a sheep, and there was grass before the lion and flesh

before the sheep. He took up the flesh and laid it before the lion, then

he took up the grass and laid it before the sheep, and they let him

enter unharmed. But now he came to a third door, and in front of it were

two furnaces, and fire burned in the one and ashes smouldered in the

other. He put out the flaming furnace, stirred up the cinders in the

smouldering furnace till they blazed again, and then through the door he

went into the garden of the Peris, and from the garden into the Peri

palace. He snatched up the enchanted mirror, and was hastening away with

it when a mighty voice cried out against him so that the earth and the

heavens trembled. “Burning furnace, seize him, seize him!” cried the

voice, just as he came up to the furnace.

“I can’t,” answered the first furnace, “for he has put me out!” But the

other furnace was grateful to him for kindling it into a blaze again, so

it let him pass by too.

“Lion, lion, tear him to pieces!” cried the mighty voice from the depths

of the palace, when the youth came up to the two beasts.

“Not I,” answered the lion, “for he helped me to a good meal of

flesh!”--Nor would the sheep hurt him either, because he had given it

the grass.--“Open door! let him not out!” cried the voice from within

the palace.--“Nay, but I will!” replied the door; “for had he not opened

me I should be closed still!”--and so the golden-haired youth was not

very long in getting home, to the great joy of his sister. She snatched

at the mirror and instantly looked into it, and--Allah be praised!--she

saw the whole world in it. Then the damsel thought no more of the

Peribranch, for her eyes were glued to the mirror.

Again the youth went a-hunting, and again he caught the eye of the

Padishah. But the sight of the youth this third time so touched the

fatherly heart of the Padishah that they carried him back to his palace

half fainting. Then the witch guessed only too well how matters stood.

So she arose and went to the damsel, and so filled her foolish little

head with her tales that she persuaded her not to give her brother rest

day and night till he had brought her the Queen of the Peris herself.

“That’ll make him break his hatchet anyhow!” thought the old woman. But

the damsel rejoiced beforehand at the thought of having the Queen of the

Peris also, and in her impatience could scarce wait for her brother to

come home.

When her brother came home she shed as many tears as if she were a cloud

dripping rain. In vain her brother tried to prove to her how distant and

how dangerous was the way she would fain have him go. “I want the Queen

of the Peris, and have her I must,” cried the damsel.

So again the youth set out on his journey, went straight to the Mother

of Devils, pressed her hand, kissed her lips, pressed her lips and

kissed her hand, and said: “Oh, my mother! help me in this my sore

need!” The Mother of Devils was amazed at the valour of the man, and

never ceased dissuading him from his purpose, for every human soul that

goes on such a quest must needs perish.--“Die I may, little mother!”

cried the youth, “but I will not come back without her.”

So what could the Mother of Devils do but show him the way? “Go the same

road,” said she, “that led thee to the branch, and then go on to where

thou didst find the mirror. Thou wilt come at last to a large desert,

and beyond the desert thou wilt see two roads, but look neither to the

right hand nor yet to the left, but go right on through the sooty

darkness betwixt them. When now it begins to grow a little lighter, thou

wilt see a large cypress wood, and in this cypress wood a large tomb. In

this tomb, turned to stone, are all those who ever desired the Queen of

the Peris. Stop not there, but go right on to the palace of the Queen of

the Peris and call out her name with the full strength of thy lungs.

What will happen to thee after that not even I can tell thee.”

Next day the youth set out on his journey. He prayed by the wayside

well, opened all the gates he came to, and, looking neither to the right

hand nor to the left, went on straight before him through the sooty

darkness. All at once it began to grow a little lighter, and a large

cypress wood appeared right in front of him. The leaves of the trees

were of a burning green, and their drooping crowns hid snow-white tombs.

Nay, but they were not tombs, but stones as big as men. Nay, but they

were not stones at all, but men who had turned, who had stiffened, into

stone. There was neither man, nor spirit, nor noise, nor breath of wind,

and the youth froze with horror to his very marrow. Nevertheless he

plucked up his courage and went on his way. He looked straight before

him all the time, and his eyes were almost blinded by a dazzling light.

Was it the sun he saw? No, it was the palace of the Queen of the Peris!

Then he rallied all the strength that was left in him and shouted the

name of the Queen of the Peris with all his might, and the words had not

yet died away upon his lips when his whole body up to his knee-cap

stiffened into stone. Again he shouted with all his might, and he turned

to stone up to his navel. Then he shouted for the last time with all his

might, and stiffened up to his throat first and then up to his head,

till he became a tombstone like the rest.

But now the Queen of the Peris came into her garden, and she had silver

sandals on her feet and a golden saucer in her hand, and she drew water

from a diamond fountain, and when she watered the stone youth, life and

motion came back to him.

“Well, thou youth thou,” said the Queen of the Peris, “‘tis not enough,

then, that thou hast taken away my Peri branch and my magic mirror, but

thou must needs, forsooth, venture hither a third time! Thou shalt share

the fate of thy innocent buried mother, stone thou shalt become and

stone shalt thou remain. What brought thee hither?--speak!”

“I came for thee,” replied the youth very courageously.

“Well, as thou hast loved me so exceedingly, no harm shall befall thee,

and we will go away together.”

Then the youth begged her to have compassion on all the men she had

turned to stone and give them back their lives again. So the Peri

returned to her palace, packed up her baggage, which was small in weight

but priceless in value, filled the little golden saucer with water, and

sprinkled therewith all the stones and the whole multitude of the stones

became men. They all took horse, and as they quitted the Peri realm, the

earth trembled beneath them and the sky was shaken as if the seven

worlds and the seven heavens were mingled together, so that the youth

would have died of fright if the Queen of the Peris had not been by his

side. Never once did they look behind them, but galloped on and on till

they came to the house of the youth’s sister, and such was their joy and

gladness at seeing each other again that place could scarce be found for

the Queen of the Peris. But now the youth was in no great hurry to go

hunting as before, for he had changed hearts with the lovely Queen of

the Peris, and she was his and he was hers.

Now when the Queen of the Peris had heard the history of the children

and their parents, and the fate of their innocent mother, she said one

morning to the youth: “Go a-hunting in the forest, and thou wilt meet

the Padishah. The first thing he will do will be to invite thee to the

palace, but beware lest thou accept his invitation.” And so indeed it

turned out. Scarcely had he taken a turn in the wood than the Padishah

stood before him, and, one word leading to another, he invited the youth

to his palace, but the youth would not go.

Early next morning the Peri awoke the children, clapped her hands

together and called her Lala,[9] and immediately a huge negro sprang up

before them. So big was he that one of his lips touched the sky while

the other swept the earth. “What dost thou command me, my Sultana?”

cried the Lala.

“Fetch me hither my father’s steed!” commanded the Peri.

The negro vanished like a hurricane, and, a moment afterwards, the steed

stood before them, and the like of it was not to be found in the wide

world.

The youth leaped upon the horse, and the splendid suite of the Padishah

was already waiting for him at the roadside.

But--O Allah, forgive me!--I have forgotten the best of the story. The

Peri charged the youth as he quitted her to take heed, while he was in

the palace of the Padishah, to the neighing of his horse. At the first

neighing he was to hasten back.

So the youth went to meet the Padishah on his diamond-bridled charger,

and behind him came a gay and gallant retinue. He saluted the people on

the right hand and on the left all the way to the palace, and there they

welcomed him with a pomp the like of which was never known before. They

ate and drank and made merry till the Padishah could scarce contain

himself for joy, but then the steed neighed, the youth arose, and all

their entreaties to him to stay could not turn him from his set purpose.

He mounted his horse, invited the Padishah to be his guest on the

following day, and returned home to the Peri and his own sister.

Meanwhile the Peri dug up the mother of the children, and so put her to

rights again by her Peri arts that she became just as she was in the

days of her first youth. But she spake not a word about the mother to

the children, nor a word about the children to the mother. On the

morning of the reception of guests she rose up early and commanded that

on the spot where the little hut stood a palace should rise, the like of

which eye hath never seen nor ear heard of, and there were as many

precious stones heaped up there as were to be found in the whole

kingdom. And then the garden that surrounded that palace! There were

multitudes of flowers, each one lovelier than the other, and on every

flower there was a singing bird, and every bird had feathers aglow with

light, so that one could only look at it all open-mouthed and cry: “Oh!

oh!” And the palace itself was full of domestics, there were black harem

slaves, and white captive youths, and dancers and singers, and players

of stringed instruments--more than thou canst count, count thou never so

much, and words cannot tell of the splendour of the retinue which went

forth to greet the Padishah as a guest.

“These children are not of mortal birth!” thought the Padishah to

himself, when he beheld all these marvels, “or if they _are_ of mortal

birth a Peri must have had a hand in the matter.”

They led the Padishah into the most splendid room of the palace, they

brought him coffee and sherbet, and then the music spoke to him, and the

singing birds--oh! a man could have listened to them for ever and ever!

Then rich meats on rare and precious dishes were set before him, and

then the dancers and the jugglers diverted him till the evening.

At eventide the servants came and bowed before the Padishah and said:

“My lord! peace be with thee! They await thee in the harem!” So he

entered the harem, and there he saw before him the golden-haired youth,

with a beautiful half-moon shining on his forehead, and his bride, the

Peri-Queen, and his own consort, the Sultana, who had been buried in

the earth, and by her side a golden-haired maiden with a star sparkling

on her forehead. There stood the Padishah as if turned to stone, but his

consort ran up to him and kissed the edge of his garment, and the

Peri-Queen began to tell him the whole of her life and how everything

had happened.

The Padishah was nigh to dying in the fulness of his joy. He could

scarce believe his eyes, but he pressed his consort to his breast and

embraced the two beauteous children, and the Queen of the Peris

likewise. He forgave the sisters of the Sultana their offences, but the

old witch was mercilessly destroyed by lingering tortures. But he and

his consort and her son and the Queen of the Peris, and his daughter,

and his daughter’s bridegroom sat down to a great banquet and made

merry. Forty days and forty nights they feasted, and the blessing of

Allah was upon them.

[9] Counsellor.