The Stag-prince

Once upon a time, when the servants of Allah were many, there lived a

Padishah[2] who had one son and one daughter. The Padishah grew old, his

time came, and he died; his son ruled in his stead, and he had not ruled

very long before he had squandered away his whole inheritance.

One day he said to his sister: “Little sister! all our money is spent.

If people were to hear that we had nothing left they would drive us out

of doors, and we should never be able to look our fellow-men in the face

again. Far better, therefore, if we depart and take up our abode

elsewhere.” So they tied together the little they had left, and then the

brother and sister quitted their father’s palace in the night-time, and

wandered forth into the wide world.

They went on and on till they came to a vast sandy desert, where they

were like to have fallen to the ground for the burning heat. The youth

felt that he could go not a step further, when he saw on the ground a

little puddle of water. “Little sister!” said he, “I will not go a step

further till I have drunk this water.”

“Nay, dear brother!” replied the girl, “who can tell whether it be

really water or filth? If we have held up so long, surely we can hold up

a little longer. Water we are bound to find soon.”

“I tell thee,” replied her brother, “that I’ll not go another step

further till I have drunk up this puddle, though I die for it,”--and

with that he knelt down, sucked up every drop of the dirty water, and

instantly became a stag.

The little sister wept bitterly at this mischance; but there was nothing

for it but to go on as they were. They went on and on, up hill and down

dale, right across the sandy waste till they came to a full spring

beneath a large tree, and there they sat them down and rested. “Hearken

now, little sister!” said the stag, “thou must mount up into that tree,

while I go to see if I can find something to eat.” So the girl climbed

up into the tree, and the stag went about his business, ran up hill and

down dale, caught a hare, brought it back, and he and his sister ate it

together, and so they lived from day to day and from week to week.

Now the horses of the Padishah of that country were wont to be watered

at the spring beneath the large tree. One evening the horsemen led their

horses up to it as usual, but, just as they were on the point of

drinking, they caught sight of the reflection of the damsel in the

watery mirror and reared back. The horsemen fancied that perhaps the

water was not quite pure, so they drew off the trough and filled it

afresh, but again the horses reared backwards and would not drink of it.

The horsemen knew not what to make of it, so they went and told the

Padishah.

“Perchance the water is muddy,” said the Padishah.

“Nay,” replied the horsemen, “we emptied the trough once and filled it

full again with fresh water, and yet the horses would not drink of it.”

“Go again,” said their master, “and look well about you; perchance there

is some one near the spring of whom they are afraid.”

The horsemen returned, and, looking well about the spring, cast their

eyes at last upon the large tree, on the top of which they perceived the

damsel. They immediately went back and told the Padishah. The Padishah

took the trouble to go and look for himself, and raising his eyes

perceived in the tree a damsel as lovely as the moon when she is

fourteen days old, so that he absolutely could not take his eyes off

her. “Art thou a spirit or a peri?”[3] said the Padishah to the damsel.

“I am neither a spirit nor a peri, but a mortal as thou art,” replied

the damsel.

In vain the Padishah begged her to come down from the tree. In vain he

implored her, nothing he could say would make her come down. Then the

Padishah waxed wroth. He commanded them to cut down the tree. The men

brought their axes and fell a-hewing at the tree. They hewed away at the

vast tree, they hewed and hewed until only a little strip of solid trunk

remained to be cut through; but, meanwhile, eventide had drawn nigh and

it began to grow dark, so they left off their work, which they purposed

to finish next day.

Scarcely had they departed when the stag came running out of the forest,

looked at the tree, and asked the little sister what had happened. The

girl told him that she would not descend from the tree, so they had

tried to cut it down. “Thou didst well,” replied the stag, “and take

care thou dost not come down in future, whatever they may say.” With

that he went to the tree, licked it with his tongue, and immediately the

tree grew bigger round the hewed trunk than before.

The next day, when the stag had again departed about his business, the

Padishah’s men came and saw that the tree was larger and harder round

the trunk than ever. Again they set to work hewing at the tree, and

hewed and hewed till they had cut half through it; but by that time

evening fell upon them again, and again they put off the rest of the

work till the morrow and went home.

But all their labour was lost, for the stag came again, licked the gap

in the tree with his tongue, and immediately it grew thicker and harder

than ever.

Early next morning, when the stag had only just departed, the Padishah

and his wood-cutters again came to the tree, and when they saw that the

trunk of the tree had filled up again larger and firmer than ever, they

determined to try some other means. So they went home again and sent for

a famous old witch, told her of the damsel in the tree, and promised her

a rich reward if she would, by subtlety, make the damsel come down. The

old witch willingly took the matter in hand, and bringing with her an

iron tripod, a cauldron, and sundry raw meats, placed them by the side

of the spring. She placed the tripod on the ground, and the kettle on

the top of it but upside down, drew water from the spring and poured it

not into the kettle, but on the ground beside it, and with that she kept

her eyes closed as if she were blind.

The damsel fancied she really was blind, and called to her from the

tree. “Nay but, my dear elder sister! thou hast placed the kettle on the

tripod upside down, and art pouring all the water on the ground.”

“Oh, my sweet little damsel!” cried the old woman, “that is because I

have no eyes to see with. I have brought some dirty linen with me, and

if thou dost love Allah, thou wilt come down and put the kettle right,

and help me to wash the things.” Then the damsel thought of the words of

the little stag, and she did _not_ come down.

The next day the old witch came again, stumbled about the tree, laid a

fire, and brought forth a heap of meal in order to sift it, but instead

of meal she put ashes into the sieve. “Poor silly old granny!” cried the

damsel compassionately, and then she called down from the tree to the

old woman, and told her that she was sifting ashes instead of meal. “Oh,

my dear damsel!” cried the old woman, weeping, “I am blind, I cannot

see. Come down and help me a little in my affliction.” Now the little

stag had strictly charged her that very morning not to come down from

the tree whatever might be said to her, and she obeyed the words of her

brother.

On the third day the old witch again came beneath the tree. This time

she brought a sheep with her, and brought out a knife to flay it with,

and began to jag and skin it from behind instead of cutting its throat.

The poor little sheep bleated piteously, and the damsel in the tree,

unable to endure the sight of the beast’s sufferings, came down from the

tree to put the poor thing out of its misery. Then the Padishah, who was

concealed close to the tree, rushed out and carried the damsel off to

his palace.

The damsel pleased the Padishah so mightily that he wanted to be married

to her without more ado; but the damsel would not consent till they had

brought her her brother, the little stag: until she saw him, she said,

she could have not a moment’s rest. Then the Padishah sent men out into

the forest, who caught the stag and brought him to his sister. After

that he never left his sister’s side. They lay down together, and

together they rose up. Even when the Padishah and the damsel were

wedded, the little stag was never far away from them, and in the evening

when he found out where they were, he would softly stroke each of them

all over with one of his front feet before going to sleep beside them,

and say--

“This little foot is for my sister,

That little foot is for my brother.”

But time, as men count it, passes quickly to its fulfilment, more

quickly still passes the time of fairy tales, but quickest of all flies

the time of true love. Yet our little people would have lived on happily

if there had not been a black female slave in the palace. Jealousy

devoured her at the thought that the Padishah had taken to his bosom the

ragged damsel from the tree-top rather than herself, and she watched for

an opportunity of revenge.

Now there was a beautiful garden in the palace, with a fountain in the

midst of it, and there the Sultan’s damsel used to walk about. One day,

with a golden saucer in her hand and a silver sandal on her foot, she

went towards the great fountain, and the black slave followed after her

and pushed her in. There was a big fish in the basin, and it immediately

swallowed up the Sultan’s pet damsel. Then the black slave returned to

the palace, put on the golden raiment of the Sultan’s damsel, and sat

down in her place.

In the evening the Padishah came and asked the damsel what she had done

to her face that it was so much altered. “I have walked too much in the

garden, and so the sun has tanned my face,” replied the girl. The

Padishah believed her and sat down beside her, but the little stag came

also, and when he began to stroke them both down with his fore-foot he

recognized the slave-girl as he said--

“This little foot is for my sister,

And this little foot is for my brother.”

Then it became the one wish of the slave-girl’s heart to be rid of the

little stag as quickly as possible, lest it should betray her.

So after a little thought she made herself sick, and sent for the

doctors, and gave them much money to say to the Padishah that the only

thing that could save her was the heart of the little stag to eat. So

the doctors went and told the Padishah that the sick woman must swallow

the heart of the little stag, or there was no hope for her. Then the

Padishah went to the slave-girl whom he fancied to be his pet damsel,

and asked her if it did not go against her to eat the heart of her own

brother?

“What can I do?” sighed the impostor; “if I die, what will become of my

poor little pet? If he be cut up I shall live, while he will be spared

the torments of those poor beasts that grow old and sick.” Then the

Padishah gave orders that a butcher’s knife should be whetted, and a

fire lighted, and a cauldron of water put over the fire.

The poor little stag perceived all the bustling about and ran down into

the garden to the fountain, and called out three times to his sister--

“The knife is on the stone,

The water’s on the boil,

Haste, little sister, hasten!”

And thrice she answered back to him from the fish’s maw--

“Here am I in the fish’s belly,

In my hand a golden saucer,

On my foot a silver sandal,

In my arms a little Padishah!”

For the Sultan’s pet damsel had brought forth a little son in the fish’s

belly.

Now the Padishah was intent on catching the little stag when it ran down

into the garden to the fountain, and, coming up softly behind it, heard

every word of what the brother and sister were saying to each other. He

quietly ordered all the water to be drained off the basin of the

fountain, drew up the fish, cut open its belly, and what do you think he

saw? In the belly of the fish was his wife, with a golden saucer in her

hand, and a silver sandal on her foot, and a little son in her arms.

Then the Padishah embraced his wife, and kissed his son, and brought

them both to the palace, and heard the tale of it all to the very end.

But the little stag found something in the fish’s blood, and when he had

swallowed it, he became a man again. Then he rushed to his sister, and

they embraced and wept with joy over each other’s happiness.

But the Padishah sent for his black slave-girl, and asked her which she

would like the best--four good steeds or four good swords. The

slave-girl replied: “Let the swords be for the throats of my enemies,

but give me the four steeds that I may take my pleasure on horseback.”

Then they tied the slave-girl to the tails of four good steeds, and sent

her out for a ride; and the four steeds tore the black girl into little

bits and scattered them abroad.

But the Padishah and his wife lived happily together, and the king’s son

who had been a stag abode with them; and they gave a great banquet,

which lasted four days and four nights; and they attained their desires,

and may ye, O my readers, attain your desires likewise.

[2] Emperor.

[3] Fairy.