DIE K?NIGSKINDER (The Kingly Children)

In the midst of the dense Hella Woods, at the back of which towered the great mountain known as the Hellagebirge, a small clearing had been made in one of the sunny glades; and here, many miles away from human habitation, a mysterious old witch had made her abode. A rough, tumble-down hut served her for shelter, winter and summer alike; and for companion she had a little maiden whom she had kidnapped when but a tiny toddler, and whom she had brought up to look upon her as her grandmother, to mind her geese for her and to assist in the brewing of her magic potions.

The little goose-girl, since babyhood, had never beheld any other human being, and was never permitted to wander beyond sight of the hut; but she knew that other people existed, since she had heard the old dame speak of the folk she had seen in her own journeyings to and fro, and whom she often cursed when muttering her evil spells.

In vain did the captured child ask for news of the bright world beyond the forest depths, and express her longings for beautiful things, for fair companions, and for the love and joy that her youth demanded; for, in reply, she only gained cruel beatings and harder tasks than ever, and she learned to hide her longings and to find pleasure in her secret thoughts.

When she was good and obedient, she was set to mind the geese and prevent them from straying far into the woodland depths; and this was a task she loved, for then she could sit outside in the sunshine, or gaze at the reflection of her own pretty face in the sparkling streamlet, and even deck herself with flowers when the old witch was not looking.

The geese all loved her, since she was gentle with them and regarded them as her friends, as well as the other birds and timid wild creatures that dwelt in the woods; and one fair dove that nested in a neighbouring linden-tree, she loved above them all, for its soft cooing often brought her comfort when she was sad at heart.

One sunny day, the little goose-girl lay stretched on a hillock beneath the linden-tree, whilst the geese snapped and plucked at the grass around her, or splashed in the pond close by; and as she lay there, she pulled at the daisies and hummed softly to herself, whilst her feathered friend, the gentle dove, cooed softly on a branch above.

Though still clad in a short, ragged gown, she was now in the first flush of fair young maidenhood, and possessed marvellous beauty, with the natural grace and noble bearing of a Princess; and in spite of the red kerchief which so tightly swathed her head, a few stray golden locks escaped to betray the hidden wealth of her woman's crowning glory.

She lay thus sweetly day-dreaming in full sight of the hut, on the roof of which hopped a tame raven cawing to a big yellow tom-cat on the ground below; but, presently, she was interrupted by the old witch, who popped her head out of the window and began to scold the girl for letting the geese stray too far.

The goose-girl sprang up and collected the geese together once more; and then, hearing the witch still calling to her, she entered the little garden, where she stopped again to gaze at a lovely golden-yellow lily-bud growing there, sighing because it refused to open to the light of day.

The old dame, however, soon dragged her away with a cuff, and, putting a kettle into her hands, bade her draw water from the trough near by; and when the girl stooped again to smile at her fair reflection in the water, she scolded her more than ever, and set her to knead a magic cake.

The goose-girl made the cake, kneading into it various strange powders and herbs given her for the purpose by the witch; and when it was done, she held it high above her head, declaring that he who ate of it should see his sweetheart quickly. The old witch, however, snatched it from her and declared instead that it would bring death to those who ate of it.

The girl, full of horror, ran off to rest beneath the linden-tree and seek comfort from her pet dove; and presently, the old witch departed into the forest depths beyond, to gather simples and loathsome things for her potions, first telling the young captive that it was useless for her to try to wander away, since she had cast a spell over the bushes and briars, and that they would thus hold her back.

As soon as the dame had departed, the little goose-girl's spirits rose at once, so that she began to sing and dance in the sunshine; and then, snatching up a wreath of wild-flowers she had made earlier in the day and hidden in a bush, she set it on her head, and ran to gaze at her reflection in the water trough.

The charming picture she saw there delighted her, and she called to the geese to come and admire her also; but whilst she laughed at their quacking and rejoiced in her own fair looks, she was suddenly addressed by a stranger, and, turning in haste, found herself face to face with a handsome youth, who, though clad in garments torn and travel-stained, yet had the proud and kingly air of one of royal birth.

Though at first terrified, the goose-girl gazed in amazement at the stranger, her fear quickly vanishing in wonder, admiration, and delight; and when the youth laughed at her surprise and begged her to give him greeting, she asked in awestruck tones:—"Are you a man?"

The stranger laughingly assured her that he was, keeping his own eyes fixed upon her face, for, though he had beheld many fair maidens before, he had never yet been confronted with one of such dazzling loveliness as this ragged child.

He told her that he was a king's son, but that, dissatisfied with the emptiness of his life, he had wandered forth from his royal home to seek adventures in the wide world and to gain renown alone and unaided, but that his sword had gained him little glory yet, and that his wanderings had reduced him to the point of beggary; and then he asked her if he might quench his thirst at the trough, begging her also to drink with him.

The goose-girl gladly agreed to his request; and afterwards she led him to her favourite nook beneath the linden-tree, where the pair sat together and gazed into each other's eyes, still entranced by their mutual beauty.

The King's Son could scarce believe his companion to be aught but a fairy, so fresh and fair were her looks; and his eyes grew more and more tender as, in answer to her wondering questions, he told her the uses of his flashing sword, of his father's kingship, of his own yearnings and dissatisfaction, and of his wanderings and adventures, in which he had learned to brave dangers, to despise wounds, and to take a proud delight in freedom and the joy of living.

The little goose-girl listened, enthralled and spellbound, to his every word; and when, at the end of his recital, the King's Son asked her if she had ever heard of anyone so foolish before, she put her hands in his and said earnestly:—"Nay; with thee I'd go, for thou hast grown so dear to me!"

For answer, the King's Son clasped the maiden in his arms in a tender embrace, telling her that she should indeed wander forth with him, since she was his love and he was hers; and after a long passionate kiss, the lovers remained silent for a while, too happy for words and lost to their surroundings.

Suddenly, however, a gust of wind blew off the goose-girl's wreath; and springing up in dismay, she ran after it. But the King's Son picked it up first, and thrusting it into the bosom of his tunic, declared he should keep it as a love token; and though his companion wept and entreated him to restore it to her, since it was precious in her sight as the symbol of her maidenhood, he refused to give it up.

Then, seeing that she still grieved for it, the King's Son unfastened a small bundle he had with him, and drawing from it a golden crown, he made as though he would place it upon her head in place of the one she had lost. But the goose-girl was afraid, and refused to allow him to place the crown on her head, declaring that she liked her own pretty flower wreath better, since she cared nothing for gold and jewels, but only wanted love and peacefulness; and the King's Son flung the golden crown into the grass, and putting his arms around the maiden, offered her his love once more and the protection of his good sword, if she would go forth with him.

The goose-girl said that his love was the only thing she valued, and that she would now gladly go with him; and, hand in hand, the happy pair ran to the edge of the wood. There, another strong gust of wind nearly took their breath away, and the straying geese came flocking around the goose-girl, who now stood stock-still and terrified, as she remembered the witch's parting words; and when the King's Son impatiently asked her what was wrong, she cried out wildly that she dared not leave the place, since a magic spell had been cast over the bushes and that they were holding her back.

The King's Son, not understanding her terror, but thinking that she cared more for her geese than for his love, was offended and declared that he would leave her if this was the case; and when the goose-girl, once more failing to free herself from the spell of magic she felt was cast around her, and fearful of the consequences of her disobedience to the witch, sank sobbing to the ground, the royal youth, beside himself with wrath and disappointment, poured forth angry reproaches upon the poor girl, declaring that a beggar-maid such as she was not fit to mate with kings, and that she would never behold him again unless a miracle should happen—until a star of light should fall from the heavens above into the opened heart of her closed lily-bud.

With these words the King's Son rushed away into the depths of the forest, and was quickly lost to sight; and the goose-girl, overcome with despair, flung herself face downwards on the grass, weeping and wailing because she had not been born a kingly child and the equal of her royal lover, whom she believed would not then have deserted her, forgetting that, if she had but conquered her fears, she would not have lost him.

She was quickly roused from her grief, however, by hearing the approaching steps of the witch; and hastily picking up the golden crown which still lay in the grass beside her, she slipped it over the head of her favourite goose and drove the bird behind a neighbouring bush just as the old dame appeared.

The witch, nevertheless, quickly guessed that a stranger had been with the girl, whom she forced to tell her the whole story of the visit of the King's Son; and then, hearing approaching sounds of music played upon a fiddle, together with men's voices, she cuffed the weeping maiden and bundled her into the hut, slamming the door just as three more strangers issued forth from the wood.

These were a fiddler, a woodcutter, and a broom-maker, who had all come thither to consult the witch, having been sent with an important message to her from the councillors and inhabitants of the town of Hellabrunn; but the two latter were a couple of cowards—though they had boasted of their great courage before setting out—and now that they had at last reached their goal, they trembled with fright, and would gladly have returned without delivering their message, in spite of the reward they had been promised.

The fiddler, however, was a seer, or wise man, who, having a brave and pure heart, had no fear of evil influences; and boldly marching up to the hut, he knocked long and loudly at the door, which was instantly opened by the witch, who angrily bade the three strangers begone if they valued their lives.

The woodcutter and the broom-maker shivered in their shoes on hearing these words, being mortally afraid of the dealer in magic; but the fiddler, after merrily paying a number of flowery compliments to the old hag, whose sour visage he pretended to admire, bade the quaking pair state their business.

In fear and trembling, the two cowards began to mumble out their message; but the fiddler soon pushed them to one side and told the tale himself. He stated that the good people of Hellabrunn had recently lost their beloved old King, who had died without leaving an heir to succeed him; and since they longed for a new and glorious ruler to place upon the empty throne, the present ambassadors had been sent to the wise witch-woman to ask if, by means of her magic, she could tell them where they could quickest find the ruler they sought, who might be either a prince or a princess, but who must be of royal birth and of the kingly kind.

Even as he spoke, the fiddler caught sight of the little goose-girl peeping out of the window; and recognising at once by her noble air that she must be of royal birth, he was filled with joy, and knew that here he should find a queen, at least.

He said nothing of what he had seen, however, but made a sign to the maiden to keep in hiding for the moment; and in reply to the petition, the old witch, eager to be rid of her unwelcome visitor, and remembering that the King's Son had departed towards the town, told the ambassadors that they might ring the joy-bells in Hellabrunn next day, since he who was of royal birth and worthy to be their King, even though he might come without pomp and poorly clad, would be the first person to enter their town at noon on the morrow—adding, moreover, that the townsfolk were all fools, and through their own stupidity would as likely as not lose the good King they sought; with which parting shaft, she retired into the hut and slammed the door once more.

The broom-maker and the woodcutter chuckled as they realised that by bringing this good news, they would certainly gain the fine reward which had been offered by the councillors and greybeards of the town; and the fiddler, disgusted with their mercenary natures, drove them away from the place, and then returned alone to the hut, determined to free the captive maiden, whom he felt sure was of royal birth.

He soon forced the old witch to bring forth the goose-girl; and when he had heard the old dame's story of how she had come by the child, he proved by a corresponding story he now remembered that the maiden was indeed of royal birth, and declared that she should come away with him to reign as Queen in Hellabrunn, since she was worthy to be the bride of the King's Son, who was to enter the town as its ruler on the morrow.

Full of joy on thus learning that she was a kingly child, the goose-girl quickly fetched out the hidden golden crown she had refused to wear that morning; and shaking down her long golden hair, which fell like a dazzling mantle around her, she placed the crown upon her head.

Twilight had now fallen; and the goose-girl, longing for a sign that she should indeed behold her royal lover once again, fell upon her knees and prayed for a token to be given to her; and, to her joy, a star of light fell from the heavens above into the heart of her beautiful golden lily-bud, which opened at that moment to receive it.

And now, full of exultation as she remembered the words of the King's Son, the goose-girl, no longer afraid of the old witch, whose power over her was thus broken, ran quickly out into the dark woodlands, closely followed by the happy fiddler, who sang merrily to the cheerful music of his fiddle; and the angry old hag was left alone, deprived of her captive, to curse and grind her teeth with rage.

Early next morning the worthy folk of Hellabrunn turned out in good time, in order to decorate their town and make preparations to receive their promised King; for the woodcutter and the broom-maker had returned the evening before with the news that the first person to enter the city gates at noon next day would be the royal ruler they desired—and, inflated with their own importance and eager to gain additional praises from the people, they gave out that the new ruler would come in a golden car, be clad in dazzling garments, and be surrounded by a splendour of great glory.

The consequence was that when the eventful day dawned, the expected royal stranger was already in their midst, unknown to anyone; for the King's Son, footsore, ragged, and travel-stained, had entered the town the evening before, passing through the gates unnoticed, being merely regarded by the gate-keepers as a poor beggar.

But the royal youth, though faint with hunger and weariness, was too proud to beg; and finding a sheltered spot behind the swine-pen adjoining an inn which stood at the entrance to the town, he passed the night there.

He slept until late in the morning, and then arose wearily; and knowing nothing of the excitement that prevailed in the town, he wandered into the yard of the inn. Here he was greeted by the inn-keeper's daughter, who had seated herself thus close to the town gates in the hope of being the first person to welcome the expected King; and being possessed of handsome looks, he greatly attracted the coquettish maiden who was eager for a new sweetheart, and always ready for a flirtation.

She ordered a maid to bring out for the hungry stranger some food, which, however, was so coarse that the King's Son could not touch it, though he gladly drank a little of the sour wine that accompanied it; and then the inn-keeper's daughter drew him aside and made him sit down with her upon a bench, brazenly inviting him to kiss her. But the King's Son refused to do so; and when he presently drew forth the little goose-girl's wreath of flowers from the bosom of his tunic, and pressed it tenderly to his lips instead, the bold hussy, furious at the rebuff, boxed his ears and rushed away into the inn in a pet.

The King's Son, heedless of the girl's tantrum, put the wreath back into his tunic, longing for the time when he should see his beloved one again; for he had long since regretted his hasty words to her of the day before, and knew now that she was his love for ever.

To such straits had he been reduced by his wanderings, however, that, since he was too proud to beg for food, he determined to work for it; so when the inn-keeper presently appeared in the courtyard, he asked him for employment, and gladly accepted the lowly work of a swineherd which was all the busy landlord had to offer him.

By this time a bustling crowd of townsfolk in gala attire had gathered together in the square before the closed city gates; and the worthy councillors and elders seated themselves on a decorated da?s, ready to receive the expected King, all chattering at once, every now and again stopping to listen eagerly to the exaggerated tales of their previous day's adventures told by the woodcutter and the broom-maker. The latter had brought his fifteen children with him, one of whom, a pretty little flaxen-haired girl of ten summers, immediately noticed the King's Son, and hastened to make friends with him; and the royal youth gladly played with the fair child, grateful for her welcome.

The King's Son next inquired the reason for the gay assemblage; and on learning that the people were actually in need of a king, and were, in fact, even now expecting a stranger of royal birth presently to appear in their midst, whom they were prepared to acclaim as their ruler, he for the moment, rejoiced, feeling that he, himself, must be the King prophesied for them. Too soon, however, he realised that they were not worthy to be the people of a great king, for when he described to them the kingly qualities of true nobility they should hope to find in their coming ruler, they all laughed him to scorn, declaring that they only looked for one who would do as their smug councillors bade him.

Then, seeing also that they expected their new King to appear before them in dazzling garments, he asked them if, supposing the stranger came before them clad in ragged or travel-stained apparel instead, they would still have sufficient wisdom and discernment to recognise him as of royal birth by his kingly bearing and nobility of heart; and when, in reply, they ridiculed the idea that royalty could be recognised by any other means than by obviously royal garments, the King's Son felt such contempt for their small-minded vulgar conception of kingship that his dark eyes flashed with scorn, and he passionately denounced them as unworthy to be the subjects of a real king.

A hubbub quickly ensued, since the dull, self-satisfied townsfolk were offended at hearing such home-truths from a ragged stranger; and when the inn-keeper's daughter now came forward and maliciously declared that she had supplied food to him for which he had not paid, the people accused him of being a thief, and rushed upon him with sticks, declaring that they would beat the life out of him.

At this moment, however, their hands were stayed by the clanging of the noon-tide bells, which suddenly rang out; and all the people drew back as the town gates were flung wide open, since this was the hour at which they expected the royal stranger to appear.

To their amazement and disappointment, however, no gorgeous king stood before them; but through the open gates there passed the fair young goose-girl, still clad in her short ragged gown, but with a golden crown upon her long, flowing locks. She was attended by her flock of faithful geese, and closely followed by the fiddler; and all the people stared in astonishment as she addressed the King's Son, holding out her arms to him and telling him that she was now worthy to wear his crown, since her love had cast out all her fears, and she would evermore be true and faithful to him.

The King's Son, full of joy, rushed forward to clasp the beautiful maiden in his arms, pouring forth sweet tender words of love and devotion, and addressing her as his queen.

On hearing the poorly-clad strangers thus addressing each other as king and queen, the crowd burst forth into peals of derisive laughter; and though the fiddler eagerly declared that the loving pair were indeed of royal birth and entreated his neighbours to receive them as their rulers, bidding all to observe that they possessed the noble bearing that only belonged to kingly children, the stupid people of Hellabrunn would have none of them, but drove out the King's Son and the beautiful royal goose-girl with contumely from their town, and closed the gates upon them.

Only one amongst them all believed the words of the fiddler; and this was the broom-maker's little flaxen-haired daughter, who flung herself weeping upon the ground, crying out aloud that they had driven forth from their midst the noble and gracious kingly children who had been sent to rule over them.

But no one paid any heed to the weeping little child, for all were too busy hustling the poor fiddler off to the town gaol, where they kept him for many months as a captive, because he had asked them to accept a couple of ragged strangers as their rulers.

Not satisfied with this, they also sent a party of stalwart men to seize the old witch, since they considered that she had deceived them, whereas, for once in her life, the old dame had told them the truth; and they burnt her at the stake as a dealer in magic which was of no avail.

When at last the fiddler was released from prison, it was winter-time; and he would certainly have starved had not the broom-maker's little flaxen-haired daughter brought him food, and helped him to reach the witch's deserted hut, for he was still lame from the broken leg he had received when dragged off to prison. He gladly made friends with the little maid, and was filled with great gladness when she told him that she had persuaded all the other children in the town into the belief that the luckless pair of strangers whom their parents and elders had so stupidly driven from their midst were indeed the expected King and Queen whose coming had been prophesied—the kingly children who were worthy to be their rulers; and one day, all the children came trooping out through the snow-clad woods to entreat him to go forth with them to seek the royal lovers whom they believed were still wandering in the forest.

At first the fiddler, wishing to spare them from exposure to the cold, asked them to wait until the spring should appear; but when they told him that by that time the kingly children might have perished, he agreed to go with them and guide them in their search.

That same day, whilst they thus talked together, the broom-maker and the woodcutter appeared with the news that the fiddler had now been forgiven by the townsfolk, who desired him to return to them, and cheer them with his merry music once more; but the fiddler indignantly refused to dwell with people who were too stupid and mean-spirited to understand the true meaning of noble kingship, and who had not the discernment to recognise a king, even though he came before them in humble garments. He turned aside, therefore, and led the children away into the woods to begin their search; and the broom-maker and the woodcutter took shelter for awhile in the hut, shutting the window and door to keep out the cold.

The Hellabrunn children were right in their belief that the royal wanderers were still in the forest; for, a little later in the day, the King's Son struggled out into the snow-clad glade, bearing in his arms the beautiful goose-girl, who was too exhausted and numbed with cold to walk another step. During the months that had passed they had found many sheltered spots in which to rest and partake of the scanty food which the woodlands had yielded to them; but now, at last, they had come to the end of all their resources and were dying for want of food and from exposure to the cold.

Seeing that the hut was occupied, the King's Son knocked at the door, and when it was opened, entreated for some food for his companion; but the stingy pair within refused to part with anything without payment.

The King's Son was in despair, for he had no money left; then taking the golden crown which he had always managed to preserve until now, he broke it and offered half in payment for the ancient cake which the woodcutter had found in a cupboard, and which had been left there by the old witch. The greedy woodcutter, however, demanded both the pieces of gold; and the King's Son, now thinking only of his beloved one's dire necessity, eagerly flung the entire crown to him, receiving in return the precious stale cake.

The goose-girl revived somewhat for the moment after swallowing some of the cake, and insisted upon her companion taking some of it too; and then the pair talked happily together for awhile in their weak low voices, recalling the bright days of the autumn-time when they had sat together in the sunshine and decked one another with flowers.

But the cake they had partaken of was a poisoned one, and the King's Son and the goose-girl soon felt that they were dying; and as another storm began to blow and the snowflakes quickly covered the royal lovers as they lay in each other's arms, they kissed one another tenderly for the last time, and softly sank into the sleep of death.

And there they were found at last by the fiddler and the children of Hellabrunn, who all fell on their knees and wept for the sad fate of the royal pair who had come to a people who knew them not—a people who, in their folly and stupidity, had driven forth their promised king and queen to perish in the forest, thus shutting out from their midst the light of a great glory that might have been theirs, because they lacked discernment to recognise the fact that inward nobility of heart and mind makes for true kingship, and not the outward pomp of fine raiment and gorgeous surroundings!

Alas, short-sighted, misguided townsfolk! And, alas, poor rejected kingly children!