The Orange Fairy Book (21 page)

With the first rays of light the whole village was awake, and the women
set forth armed with baskets and the men with knives in order to cut up
the buffalo. Only the girl remained in her hut; and after a while she
too went to join them, groaning and weeping as she walked along.

'What are you doing here?' asked her husband when he saw her. 'If you
are ill you are better at home.'

'Oh! I could not stay alone in the village,' said she. And her
mother-in-law left off her work to come and scold her, and to tell her
that she would kill herself if she did such foolish things. But the
girl would not listen and sat down and looked on.

When they had divided the buffalo's flesh, and each woman had the
family portion in her basket, the stranger wife got up and said:

'Let me have the head.'

'You could never carry anything so heavy,' answered the men, 'and now
you are ill besides.'

'You do not know how strong I am,' answered she. And at last they gave
it her.

She did not walk to the village with the others, but lingered behind,
and, instead of entering her hut, she slipped into the little shed
where the pots for cooking and storing maize were kept. Then she laid
down the buffalo's head and sat beside it. Her husband came to seek
her, and begged her to leave the shed and go to bed, as she must be
tired out; but the girl would not stir, neither would she attend to the
words of her mother-in-law.

'I wish you would leave me alone!' she answered crossly. 'It is
impossible to sleep if somebody is always coming in.' And she turned
her back on them, and would not even eat the food they had brought. So
they went away, and the young man soon stretched himself out on his
mat; but his wife's odd conduct made him anxious, and he lay wake all
night, listening.

When all was still the girl made a fire and boiled some water in a pot.
As soon as it was quite hot she shook in the medicine that she had
brought from home, and then, taking the buffalo's head, she made
incisions with her little knife behind the ear, and close to the temple
where the shot had struck him. Next she applied the horn to the spot
and blew with all her force till, at length, the blood began to move.
After that she spread some of the deer fat out of the calabash over the
wound, which she held in the steam of the hot water. Last of all, she
sang in a low voice a dirge over the Rover of the Plain.

As she chanted the final words the head moved, and the limbs came back.
The buffalo began to feel alive again and shook his horns, and stood
up and stretched himself. Unluckily it was just at this moment that
the husband said to himself:

'I wonder if she is crying still, and what is the matter with her!
Perhaps I had better go and see.' And he got up and, calling her by
name, went out to the shed.

'Go away! I don't want you!' she cried angrily. But it was too late.
The buffalo had fallen to the ground, dead, and with the wound in his
head as before.

The young man who, unlike most of his tribe, was afraid of his wife,
returned to his bed without having seen anything, but wondering very
much what she could be doing all this time. After waiting a few
minutes, she began her task over again, and at the end the buffalo
stood on his feet as before. But just as the girl was rejoicing that
her work was completed, in came the husband once more to see what his
wife was doing; and this time he sat himself down in the hut, and said
that he wished to watch whatever was going on. Then the girl took up
the pitcher and all her other things and left the shed, trying for the
third time to bring the buffalo back to life.

She was too late; the dawn was already breaking, and the head fell to
the ground, dead and corrupt as it was before.

The girl entered the hut, where her husband and his mother were getting
ready to go out.

'I want to go down to the lake, and bathe,' said she.

'But you could never walk so far,' answered they. 'You are so tired,
as it is, that you can hardly stand!'

However, in spite of their warnings, the girl left the hut in the
direction of the lake. Very soon she came back weeping, and sobbed out:

'I met some one in the village who lives in my country, and he told me
that my mother is very, very ill, and if I do not go to her at once she
will be dead before I arrive. I will return as soon as I can, and now
farewell.' And she set forth in the direction of the mountains. But
this story was not true; she knew nothing about her mother, only she
wanted an excuse to go home and tell her family that their prophecies
had come true, and that the buffalo was dead.

Balancing her basket on her head, she walked along, and directly she
had left the village behind her she broke out into the song of the
Rover of the Plain, and at last, at the end of the day, she came to the
group of huts where her parents lived. Her friends all ran to meet
her, and, weeping, she told them that the buffalo was dead.

This sad news spread like lightning through the country, and the people
flocked from far and near to bewail the loss of the beast who had been
their pride.

'If you had only listened to us,' they cried, 'he would be alive now.
But you refused all the little girls we offered you, and would have
nothing but the buffalo. And remember what the medicine-man said: "If
the buffalo dies you die also!"'

So they bewailed their fate, one to the other, and for a while they did
not perceive that the girl's husband was sitting in their midst,
leaning his gun against a tree. Then one man, turning, beheld him, and
bowed mockingly.

'Hail, murderer! hail! you have slain us all!'

The young man stared, not knowing what he meant, and answered,
wonderingly:

'I shot a buffalo; is that why you call me a murderer?'

'A buffalo—yes; but the servant of your wife! It was he who carried
the wood and drew the water. Did you not know it?'

'No; I did not know it,' replied the husband in surprise. 'Why did no
one tell me? Of course I should not have shot him!'

'Well, he is dead,' answered they, 'and we must die too.'

At this the girl took a cup in which some poisonous herbs had been
crushed, and holding it in her hands, she wailed: 'O my father, Rover
of the Plain!' Then drinking a deep draught from it, fell back dead.
One by one her parents, her brothers and her sisters, drank also and
died, singing a dirge to the memory of the buffalo.

The girl's husband looked on with horror; and returned sadly home
across the mountains, and, entering his hut, threw himself on the
ground. At first he was too tired to speak; but at length he raised
his head and told all the story to his father and mother, who sat
watching him. When he had finished they shook their heads and said:

'Now you see that we spoke no idle words when we told you that ill
would come of your marriage! We offered you a good and hard- working
wife, and you would have none of her. And it is not only your wife you
have lost, but your fortune also. For who will give you back your
money if they are all dead?'

'It is true, O my father,' answered the young man. But in his heart he
thought more of the loss of his wife than of the money he had given for
her.

(From L'Etude Ethnographique sur les Baronga, par Henri Junod.)

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who loved each other
dearly, and would have been perfectly happy if they had only had a
little son or daughter to play with. They never talked about it, and
always pretended that there was nothing in the world to wish for; but,
sometimes when they looked at other people's children, their faces grew
sad, and their courtiers and attendants knew the reason why.

One day the queen was sitting alone by the side of a waterfall which
sprung from some rocks in the large park adjoining the castle. She was
feeling more than usually miserable, and had sent away her ladies so
that no one might witness her grief. Suddenly she heard a rustling
movement in the pool below the waterfall, and, on glancing up, she saw
a large crab climbing on to a stone beside her.

'Great queen,' said the crab, 'I am here to tell you that the desire of
your heart will soon be granted. But first you must permit me to lead
you to the palace of the fairies, which, though hard by, has never been
seen by mortal eyes because of the thick clouds that surround it. When
there you will know more; that is, if you will trust yourself to me.'

The queen had never before heard an animal speak, and was struck dumb
with surprise. However, she was so enchanted at the words of the crab
that she smiled sweetly and held out her hand; it was taken, not by the
crab, which had stood there only a moment before, but by a little old
woman smartly dressed in white and crimson with green ribbons in her
grey hair. And, wonderful to say, not a drop of water fell from her
clothes.

The old woman ran lightly down a path along which the queen had been a
hundred times before, but it seemed so different she could hardly
believe it was the same. Instead of having to push her way through
nettles and brambles, roses and jasmine hung about her head, while
under her feet the ground was sweet with violets. The orange trees
were so tall and thick that, even at mid-day, the sun was never too
hot, and at the end of the path was a glimmer of something so dazzling
that the queen had to shade her eyes, and peep at it only between her
fingers.

'What can it be?' she asked, turning to her guide; who answered:

'Oh, that is the fairies' palace, and here are some of them coming to
meet us.'

As she spoke the gates swung back and six fairies approached, each
bearing in her hand a flower made of precious stones, but so like a
real one that it was only by touching you could tell the difference.

'Madam,' they said, 'we know not how to thank you for this mark of your
confidence, but have the happiness to tell you that in a short time you
will have a little daughter.'

The queen was so enchanted at this news that she nearly fainted with
joy; but when she was able to speak, she poured out all her gratitude
to the fairies for their promised gift.

'And now,' she said, 'I ought not to stay any longer, for my husband
will think that I have run away, or that some evil beast has devoured
me.'

In a little while it happened just as the fairies had foretold, and a
baby girl was born in the palace. Of course both the king and queen
were delighted, and the child was called Desiree, which means
'desired,' for she had been 'desired' for five years before her birth.

At first the queen could think of nothing but her new plaything, but
then she remembered the fairies who had sent it to her. Bidding her
ladies bring her the posy of jewelled flowers which had been given her
at the palace, she took each flower in her hand and called it by name,
and, in turn, each fairy appeared before her. But, as unluckily often
happens, the one to whom she owed the most, the crab-fairy, was
forgotten, and by this, as in the case of other babies you have read
about, much mischief was wrought.

However, for the moment all was gaiety in the palace, and everybody
inside ran to the windows to watch the fairies' carriages, for no two
were alike. One had a car of ebony, drawn by white pigeons, another
was lying back in her ivory chariot, driving ten black crows, while the
rest had chosen rare woods or many-coloured sea-shells, with scarlet
and blue macaws, long-tailed peacocks, or green love-birds for horses.
These carriages were only used on occasions of state, for when they
went to war flying dragons, fiery serpents, lions or leopards, took the
place of the beautiful birds.

The fairies entered the queen's chamber followed by little dwarfs who
carried their presents and looked much prouder than their mistresses.
One by one their burdens were spread upon the ground, and no one had
ever seen such lovely things. Everything that a baby could possibly
wear or play with was there, and besides, they had other and more
precious gifts to give her, which only children who have fairies for
godmothers can ever hope to possess.

They were all gathered round the heap of pink cushions on which the
baby lay asleep, when a shadow seemed to fall between them and the sun,
while a cold wind blew through the room. Everybody looked up, and
there was the crab- fairy, who had grown as tall as the ceiling in her
anger.

'So I am forgotten!' cried she, in a voice so loud that the queen
trembled as she heard it. 'Who was it soothed you in your trouble?
Who was it led you to the fairies? Who was it brought you back in
safety to your home again? Yet I—I—am overlooked, while these who
have done nothing in comparison, are petted and thanked.'

The queen, almost dumb with terror, in vain tried to think of some
explanation or apology; but there was none, and she could only confess
her fault and implore forgiveness. The fairies also did their best to
soften the wrath of their sister, and knowing that, like many plain
people who are not fairies, she was very vain, they entreated her to
drop her crab's disguise, and to become once more the charming person
they were accustomed to see.

For some time the enraged fairy would listen to nothing; but at length
the flatteries began to take effect. The crab's shell fell from her,
she shrank into her usual size, and lost some of her fierce expression.

'Well,' she said, 'I will not cause the princess's death, as I had
meant to do, but at the same time she will have to bear the punishment
of her mother's fault, as many other children have done before her.
The sentence I pass upon her is, that if she is allowed to see one ray
of daylight before her fifteenth birthday she will rue it bitterly, and
it may perhaps cost her her life.' And with these words she vanished
by the window through which she came, while the fairies comforted the
weeping queen and took counsel how best the princess might be kept safe
during her childhood.