The Olive Fairy Book

‘Have patience, my son, yet awhile. Another six months must go by before you arrive at the palace where she dwells with the rest of the women. And, even so, think well, when you can, as should you fail to make her speak, you will have to pay forfeit with your life, as others have done. So beware!’

But the prince only laughed at this counsel – as others had also done.

After three months they found themselves on the top of another mountain, and the prince saw with surprise that its sides were coloured a beautiful red. Perched on some cliffs, not far off, was a small village, and the prince proposed to his friend that they should go and rest there. The villagers, on their part, welcomed them gladly, and gave them food to eat and beds to sleep on, and thankful indeed were the two travellers to repose their weary limbs.

The next morning they asked their host if he could tell them whether they were still many days’ journey from the princess, and whether he knew why the mountain was so much redder than other mountains.

‘For three and a half more months you must still pursue your way,’ answered he, ‘and by that time you will find yourselves at the gate of the princess’s palace. As for the colour of the mountain, that comes from the soft hue of her cheeks and mouth, which shines through the seven veils which cover her. But none have ever beheld her face, for she sits there, uttering no word, though one hears whispers of many having lost their lives for her sake.’

The prince, however, would listen no further; and thanking the man for his kindness, he jumped up and, with the steward, set out to climb the mountain.

On and on and on they went, sleeping under the trees or in caves, and living upon berries and any fish they could catch in the rivers. But at length, when their clothes were nearly in rags and their legs so tired that they could hardly walk any further, they saw on the top of the next mountain a palace of yellow marble.

‘There it is, at last,’ cried the prince; and fresh blood seemed to spring in his veins. But as he and his companion began to climb towards the top they paused in horror, for the ground was white with dead men’s skulls. It was the prince who first recovered his voice, and he said to his friend, as carelessly as he could:

‘These must be the skulls of the men who tried to make the princess speak and failed. Well, if we fail too, our bones will strew the ground likewise.’

‘Oh! turn back now, my prince, while there is yet time,’ entreated his companion. ‘Your father gave you into my charge; but when we set out I did not know that certain death lay before us.’

‘Take heart, O Lala, take heart!’ answered the prince. ‘A man can but die once. And, besides, the princess will have to speak some day, you know.’

So they went on again, past skulls and dead men’s bones in all degrees of whiteness. And by-and-by they reached another village, where they determined to rest for a little while, so that their wits might be fresh and bright for the task that lay before them. But this time, though the people were kind and friendly, their faces were gloomy, and every now and then woeful cries would rend the air.

‘Oh! my brother, have I lost you?’ ‘Oh! my son, shall I see you no more?’ And then, as the prince and his companion asked the meaning of these laments – which, indeed, was plain enough – the answer was given:

‘Ah, you also have come hither to die! This town belongs to the father of the princess, and when any rash man seeks to move the princess to speech he must first obtain leave of the sultan. If that is granted him he is then led into the presence of the princess. What happens afterwards, perhaps the sight of these bones may help you to guess.’

The young man bowed his head in token of thanks, and stood thoughtful for a short time. Then, turning to the Lala, he said:

‘Well, our destiny will soon be decided! Meanwhile we will find out all we can, and do nothing rashly.’

For two or three days they wandered about the bazaars, keeping their eyes and ears open, when, one morning, they met a man carrying a nightingale in a cage. The bird was singing so joyously that the prince stopped to listen, and at once offered to buy him from his owner.

‘Oh, why cumber yourself with such a useless thing,’ cried the Lala in disgust; ‘have you not enough to occupy your hands and mind, without taking an extra burden?’ But the prince, who liked having his own way, paid no heed to him, and paying the high price asked by the man, he carried the bird back to the inn, and hung him up in his chamber. That evening, as he was sitting alone, trying to think of something that would make the princess talk, and failing altogether, the nightingale pecked open her cage door, which was lightly fastened by a stick, and, perching on his shoulder, murmured softly in his ear:

‘What makes you so sad, my prince?’ The young man started. In his native country birds did not talk, and, like many people, he was always rather afraid of what he did not understand. But in a moment he felt ashamed of his folly, and explained that he had travelled for more than a year, and over thousands of miles, to win the hand of the sultan’s daughter. And now that he had reached his goal he could think of no plan to force her to speak.

‘Oh! do not trouble your head about that,’ replied the bird, ‘it is quite easy! Go this evening to the women’s apartments, and take me with you, and when you enter the princess’s private chamber hide me under the pedestal which supports the great golden candlestick. The princess herself will be wrapped so thickly in her seven veils that she can see nothing, neither can her face be seen by anyone. Then inquire after her health, but she will remain quite silent; and next say that you are sorry to have disturbed her, and that you will have a little talk with the pedestal of the candlestick. When you speak I will answer.’

The prince threw his mantle over the bird, and started for the palace, where he begged an audience of the sultan. This was soon granted him, and leaving the nightingale hidden by the mantle, in a dark corner outside the door, he walked up to the throne on which his highness was sitting, and bowed low before him.

‘What is your request?’ asked the sultan, looking closely at the young man, who was tall and handsome; but when he heard the tale he shook his head pityingly.

‘If you can make her speak she shall be your wife,’ answered he; ‘but if not – did you mark the skulls that strewed the mountain side?’

‘Some day a man is bound to break the spell, O sultan,’ replied the youth boldly; ‘and why should not I be he as well as another? At any rate, my word is pledged, and I cannot draw back now.’

‘Well, go if you must,’ said the sultan. And he bade his attendants lead the way to the chamber of the princess, but to allow the young man to enter alone.

Catching up, unseen, his mantle and the cage as they passed into the dark corridor – for by this time night was coming on – the youth found himself standing in a room bare except for a pile of silken cushions, and one tall golden candlestick. His heart beat high as he looked at the cushions, and knew that, shrouded within the shining veils that covered them, lay the much longed-for princess. Then, fearful that after all other eyes might be watching him, he hastily placed the nightingale under the open pedestal on which the candlestick was resting, and turning again he steadied his voice, and besought the princess to tell him of her well-being.

Not by even a movement of her hand did the princess show that she had heard, and the young man, who of course expected this, went on to speak of his travels and of the strange countries he had passed through; but not a sound broke the silence.

‘I see clearly that you are interested in none of these things,’ said he at last, ‘and as I have been forced to hold my peace for so many months, I feel that now I really must talk to somebody, so I shall go and address my conversation to the candlestick.’ And with that he crossed the room behind the princess, and cried: ‘O fairest of candlesticks, how are you?’

‘Very well indeed, my lord,’ answered the nightingale; ‘but I wonder how many years have gone by since any one has spoken with me. And, now that you have come, rest, I pray you, awhile, and listen to my story.’

‘Willingly,’ replied the youth, curling himself up on the floor, for there was no cushion for him to sit on.

‘Once upon a time,’ began the nightingale, ‘there lived a pasha whose daughter was the most beautiful maiden in the whole kingdom. Suitors she had in plenty, but she was not easy to please, and at length there were only three whom she felt she could even think of marrying. Not knowing which of the three she liked best, she took counsel with her father, who summoned the young men into his presence, and then told them that they must each of them learn some trade, and whichever of them proved the cleverest at the end of six months should become the husband of the princess.

‘Though the three suitors may have been secretly disappointed, they could not help feeling that this test was quite fair, and left the palace together, talking as they went of what handicrafts they might set themselves to follow. The day was hot, and when they reached a spring that gushed out of the side of the mountain, they stopped to drink and rest, and then one of them said:

‘“It will be best that we should each seek our fortunes alone; so let us put our rings under this stone, and go our separate ways. And the first one who returns hither will take his ring, and the others will take theirs. Thus we shall know whether we have all fulfilled the commands of the pasha, or if some accident has befallen any of us.”

‘“Good,” replied the other two. And three rings were placed in a little hole, and carefully covered again by the stone.

‘Then they parted, and for six months they knew naught of each other, till, on the day appointed, they met at the spring. Right glad they all were, and eagerly they talked of what they had done, and how the time had been spent.

‘“I think I shall win the princess,” said the eldest, with a laugh, “for it is not everybody that is able to accomplish a whole year’s journey in an hour!”

‘“That is very clever, certainly,” answered his friend; “but if you are to govern a kingdom it may be still more useful to have the power of seeing what is happening at a distance; and that is what I have learnt,” replied the second.

‘“No, no, my dear comrades,” cried the third, “your trades are all very well; but when the pasha hears that I can bring back the dead to life he will know which of us three is to be his son-in-law. But come, there only remain a few hours of the six months he granted us. It is time that we hastened back to the palace.”

‘“Stop a moment,” said the second, “it would be well to know what is going on in the palace.” And plucking some small leaves from a tree near by, he muttered some words and made some signs, and laid them on his eyes. In an instant he turned pale, and uttered a cry.

‘“What is it? What is it?” exclaimed the others; and, with a shaking voice, he gasped:

‘“The princess is lying on her bed, and has barely a few minutes to live. Oh! can no one save her?”

‘“I can,” answered the third, taking a small box from his turban; “this ointment will cure any illness. But how to reach her in time?”

‘“Give it to me,” said the first. And he wished himself by the bedside of the princess, which was surrounded by the sultan and his weeping courtiers. Clearly there was not a second to lose, for the princess had grown unconscious, and her face cold. Plunging his finger into the ointment he touched her eyes, mouth and ears with the paste, and with beating heart awaited the result.

‘It was swifter than he supposed. As he looked the colour came back into her cheeks, and she smiled up at her father. The sultan, almost speechless with joy at this sudden change, embraced his daughter tenderly, and then turned to the young man to whom he owed her life:

‘“Are you not one of those three whom I sent forth to learn a trade six months ago?” asked he. And the young man answered yes, and that the other two were even now on their way to the palace, so that the sultan might judge between them.’

At this point in his story the nightingale stopped, and asked the prince which of the three he thought had the best right to the princess.

‘The one who had learned how to prepare the ointment,’ replied he.

‘But if it had not been for the man who could see what was happening at a distance they would never have known that the princess was ill,’ said the nightingale. ‘I would give it to him.’ And the strife between them waxed hot, till, suddenly, the listening princess started up from her cushions and cried:

‘Oh, you fools! cannot you understand that if it had not been for him who had power to reach the palace in time the ointment itself would have been useless, for death would have claimed her? It is he and no other who ought to have the princess!’

At the first sound of the princess’s voice, a slave, who was standing at the door, ran at full speed to tell the sultan of the miracle which had taken place, and the delighted father hastened to the spot. But by this time the princess perceived that she had fallen into a trap which had been cunningly laid for her, and would not utter another word. All she could be prevailed on to do was to make signs to her father that the man who wished to be her husband must induce her to speak three times. And she smiled to herself beneath her seven veils as she thought of the impossibility of that.