The Fairy Princess Of Ergetz [Jewish Fairy Tales And Legends]
I
In a great and beautiful city that stood by the sea, an old man lay dying. Mar Shalmon was his name, and he was the richest man in the land. Propped up with pillows on a richly decorated bed in a luxurious chamber, he gazed, with tears in his eyes, through the open window at the setting sun. Like a ball of fire it sank lower and lower until it almost seemed to rest on the tranquil waters beyond the harbor. Suddenly, Mar Shalmon roused himself.
"Where
is my son, Bar Shalmon?" he asked in a feeble voice, and his hand crept
tremblingly along the silken coverlet of the bed as if in search of something.
"I
am here, my father," replied his son who was standing by the side of his
bed. His eyes were moist with tears, but his voice was steady.
"My
son," said the old man, slowly, and with some difficulty, "I am about
to leave this world. My soul will take flight from this frail body when the sun
has sunk behind the horizon. I have lived long and have amassed great wealth
which will soon be thine. Use it well, as I have taught thee, for thou, my son,
art a man of learning, as befits our noble Jewish faith. One thing I must ask
thee to promise me."
"I
will, my father," returned Bar Shalmon, sobbing.
"Nay,
weep not, my son," said the old man. "My day is ended; my life has
not been ill-spent. I would spare thee the pain that was mine in my early days,
when, as a merchant, I garnered my fortune. The sea out there that will soon
swallow up the sun is calm now. But beware of it, my son, for it is
treacherous. Promise me—nay, swear unto me—that never wilt thou cross it to
foreign lands."
Bar
Shalmon placed his hands on those of his father.
"Solemnly
I swear," he said, in a broken voice, "to do thy wish—never to
journey on the sea, but to remain here in this, my native land. 'Tis a vow
before thee, my father. "
"'Tis
an oath before heaven," said the old man. "Guard it, keep it, and
heaven will bless thee. Remember! See, the sun is sinking."
Mar
Shalmon fell back upon his pillows and spoke no more. Bar Shalmon stood gazing
out of the window until the sun had disappeared, and then, silently sobbing, he
left the chamber of death.
The
whole city wept when the sad news was made known, for Mar Shalmon was a man of
great charity, and almost all the inhabitants followed the remains to the
grave. Then Bar Shalmon, his son, took his father's place of honor in the city,
and in him, too, the poor and needy found a friend whose purse was ever open
and whose counsel was ever wisdom.
Thus
years passed away.
One
day there arrived in the harbor of the city a strange ship from a distant land.
Its captain spoke a tongue unknown, and Bar Shalmon, being a man of profound
knowledge, was sent for. He alone in the city could understand the language of
the captain. To his astonishment, he learned that the cargo of the vessel was
for Mar Shalmon, his father.
"I
am the son of Mar Shalmon," he said. "My father is dead, and all his
possessions he left to me."
"Then,
verily, art thou the most fortunate mortal, and the richest, on earth,"
answered the captain. "My good ship is filled with a vast store of jewels,
precious stones and other treasures. And know you, O most favored son of Mar
Shalmon, this cargo is but a small portion of the wealth that is thine in a
land across the sea."
"'Tis
strange," said Bar Shalmon, in surprise; "my father said nought of
this to me. I knew that in his younger days he had traded with distant lands,
but nothing did he ever say of possessions there. And, moreover, he warned me
never to leave this shore."
The
captain looked perplexed.
"I
understand it not," he said. "I am but performing my father's
bidding. He was thy father's servant, and long years did he wait for Mar
Shalmon's return to claim his riches. On his death-bed he bade me vow that I
would seek his master, or his son, and this have I done."
He
produced documents, and there could be no doubt that the vast wealth mentioned
in them belonged now to Bar Shalmon.
"Thou
art now my master," said the captain, "and must return with me to the
land across the sea to claim thine inheritance. In another year it will be too
late, for by the laws of the country it will be forfeit."
"I
cannot return with thee," said Bar Shalmon. "I have a vow before
heaven never to voyage on the sea."
"In
very truth, I understand thee not, as my father understood not thine," he
replied. "My father was wont to say that Mar Shalmon was strange and
peradventure not possessed of all his senses to neglect his store of wealth and
treasure."
With
an angry gesture Bar Shalmon stopped the captain, but he was sorely troubled.
He recalled now that his father had often spoken mysteriously of foreign lands,
and he wondered, indeed, whether Mar Shalmon could have been in his proper
senses not to have breathed a word of his riches abroad. For days he discussed
the matter with the captain, who at last persuaded him to make the journey.
"Fear
not thy vow," said the captain. "Thy worthy father must, of a truth,
have been bereft of reason in failing to tell thee of his full estate, and an
oath to a man of mind unsound is not binding. That is the law in our
land."
"So
it is here," returned Bar Shalmon, and with this remark his last scruple
vanished.
He
bade a tender farewell to his wife, his child, and his friends, and set sail on
the strange ship to the land beyond the sea.
For
three days all went well, but on the fourth the ship was becalmed and the sails
flapped lazily against the masts. The sailors had nothing to do but lie on deck
and wait for a breeze, and Bar Shalmon took advantage of the occasion to treat
them to a feast.
Suddenly,
in the midst of the feasting, they felt the ship begin to move. There was no
wind, but the vessel sped along very swiftly. The captain himself rushed to the
helm. To his alarm he found the vessel beyond control.
"The
ship is bewitched," he exclaimed. "There is no wind, and no current,
and yet we are being borne along as if driven before a storm. We shall be
lost."
Panic
seized the sailors, and Bar Shalmon was unable to pacify them.
"Someone
on board has brought us ill-luck," said the boatswain, looking pointedly
at Bar Shalmon; "we shall have to heave him overboard."
His
comrades assented and rushed toward Bar Shalmon.
Just
at that moment, however, the look-out in the bow cried excitedly, "Land
ahead!"
The
ship still refused to answer the helm and grounded on a sandbank. She shivered
from stem to stern but did not break up. No rocks were visible, only a desolate
tract of desert land was to be seen, with here and there a solitary tree.
"We
seem to have sustained no damage," said the captain, when he had recovered
from his first astonishment, "but how we are going to get afloat again I
do not know. This land is quite strange to me."
He
could not find it marked on any of his charts or maps, and the sailors stood
looking gloomily at the mysterious shore .
"Had
we not better explore the land?" said Bar Shalmon.
"No,
no," exclaimed the boatswain, excitedly. "See, no breakers strike on
the shore. This is not a human land. This is a domain of demons. We are lost
unless we cast overboard the one who has brought on us this ill-luck."
Said
Bar Shalmon, "I will land, and I will give fifty silver crowns to all who
land with me."
Not
one of the sailors moved, however, even when he offered fifty golden crowns,
and at last Bar Shalmon said he would land alone, although the captain strongly
urged him not to do so.
Bar
Shalmon sprang lightly to the shore, and as he did so the ship shook violently.
"What
did I tell you?" shouted the boatswain. "Bar Shalmon is the one who
has brought us this misfortune. Now we shall refloat the ship."
But
it still remained firmly fixed on the sand. Bar Shalmon walked towards a tree
and climbed it. In a few moments he returned, holding a twig in his hand.
"The
land stretches away for miles just as you see it here," he called to the
captain. "There is no sign of man or habitation."
He
prepared to board the vessel again, but the sailors would not allow him. The boatswain
stood in the bow and threatened him with a sword. Bar Shalmon raised the twig
to ward off the blow and struck the ship which shivered from stern to stern
again.
"Is
not this proof that the vessel is bewitched?" cried the sailors, and when
the captain sternly bade them remember that Bar Shalmon was their master, they
threatened him too.
Bar
Shalmon, amused at the fears of the men, again struck the vessel with the twig.
Once more it trembled. A third time he raised the twig.
"If
the ship is bewitched," he said, "something will happen after the
third blow."
"Swish"
sounded the branch through the air, and the third blow fell on the vessel's
bow. Something did happen. The ship almost leaped from the sand, and before Bar
Shalmon could realize what had happened it was speeding swiftly away.
"Come
back, come back," he screamed, and he could see the captain struggling
with the helm. But the vessel refused to answer, and Bar Shalmon saw it grow
smaller and smaller and finally disappear. He was alone on an uninhabited
desert land.
"What
a wretched plight for the richest man in the world," he said to himself,
and the next moment he realized that he was in danger indeed.
A
terrible roar made him look around. To his horror he saw a lion making toward
him. As quick as a flash Bar Shalmon ran to the tree and hastily scrambled into the branches.
The lion dashed itself furiously against the trunk of the tree, but, for the
present, Bar Shalmon was safe. Night, however, was coming on, and the lion
squatted at the foot of the tree, evidently intending to wait for him. All
night the lion remained, roaring at intervals, and Bar Shalmon clung to one of
the upper branches afraid to sleep lest he should fall off and be devoured.
When morning broke, a new danger threatened him. A huge eagle flew round the
tree and darted at him with its cruel beak. Then the great bird settled on the
thickest branch, and Bar Shalmon moved stealthily forward with a knife which he
drew from his belt. He crept behind the bird, but as he approached it spread
its big wings, and Bar Shalmon, to prevent himself being swept from the tree,
dropped the knife and clutched at the bird's feathers. Immediately, to his
dismay, the bird rose from the tree. Bar Shalmon clung to its back with all his
might.
Higher
and higher soared the eagle until the trees below looked like mere dots on the
land. Swiftly flew the eagle over miles and miles of desert until Bar Shalmon
began to feel giddy. He was faint with hunger and feared that he would not be
able to retain his hold. All day the bird flew without resting, across island
and sea. No houses, no ships, no human beings could be seen. Toward night,
however, Bar Shalmon, to his great joy, beheld the lights of a city surrounded
by trees, and as the eagle came near, he made a bold dive to the earth.
Headlong he plunged downward. He seemed to be hours in falling. At last he
struck a tree. The branches broke beneath the weight and force of his falling
body, and he continued to plunge downward. The branches tore his clothes to shreds
and bruised his body, but they broke his terrible fall, and when at last he
reached the ground he was not much hurt.
II
Bar
Shalmon found himself on the outskirts of the city, and cautiously he crept
forward. To his intense relief, he saw that the first building was a synagogue.
The door, however, was locked. Weary, sore, and weak with long fasting, Bar
Shalmon sank down on the steps and sobbed like a child.
Something
touched him on the arm. He looked up. By the light of the moon he saw a boy
standing before him. Such a queer boy he was, too. He had cloven feet, and his
coat, if it was a coat, seemed to be made in the shape of wings.
"Ivri Onochi ," said Bar Shalmon, "I am a
Hebrew."
"So
am I," said the boy. "Follow me."
He
walked in front with a strange hobble, and when they reached a house at the
back of the synagogue, he leaped from the ground, spreading his coat wings as
he did so, to a window about twenty feet from the ground. The next moment a
door opened, and Bar Shalmon, to his surprise, saw that the boy had jumped
straight through the window down to the door which he had unfastened from the inside. The boy
motioned him to enter a room. He did so. An aged man, who he saw was a rabbi,
rose to greet him.
"Peace
be with you," said the rabbi, and pointed to a seat. He clapped his hand
and immediately a table with food appeared before Bar Shalmon. The latter was
far too hungry to ask any questions just then, and the rabbi was silent, too,
while he ate. When he had finished, the rabbi clapped his hands and the table
vanished.
"Now
tell me your story," said the rabbi.
Bar
Shalmon did so.
"Alas!
I am an unhappy man," he concluded. "I have been punished for
breaking my vow. Help me to return to my home. I will reward thee well, and
will atone for my sin."
"Thy
story is indeed sad," said the rabbi, gravely, "but thou knowest not
the full extent of thy unfortunate plight. Art thou aware what land it is into
which thou hast been cast?"
"No,"
said Bar Shalmon, becoming afraid again.
"Know
then," said the rabbi, "thou art not in a land of human beings. Thou
hast fallen into Ergetz, the land of demons, of djinns, and of fairies."
"But
art thou not a Jew?" asked Bar Shalmon, in astonishment.
"Truly,"
replied the rabbi. "Even in this realm we have all manner of religions
just as you mortals have."
"What
will happen to me?" asked Bar Shalmon, in a whisper.
"I
know not," replied the rabbi. "Few mortals come here, and mostly, I
fear they are put to death. The demons love them not."
"Woe,
woe is me," cried Bar Shalmon, "I am undone."
"Weep
not," said the rabbi. "I, as a Jew, love not death by violence and
torture, and will endeavor to save thee."
"I
thank thee," cried Bar Shalmon.
"Let
thy thanks wait," said the rabbi, kindly. "There is human blood in my
veins. My great-grandfather was a mortal who fell into this land and was not
put to death. Being of mortal descent, I have been made rabbi. Perhaps thou
wilt find favor here and be permitted to live and settle in this land."
"But
I desire to return home," said Bar Shalmon.
The
rabbi shook his head.
"Thou
must sleep now," he said.
He
passed his hands over Bar Shalmon's eyes and he fell into a profound slumber.
When he awoke it was daylight, and the boy stood by his couch. He made a sign to Bar
Shalmon to follow, and through an underground passage he conducted him into the
synagogue and placed him near the rabbi.
"Thy
presence has become known," whispered the rabbi, and even as he spoke a
great noise was heard. It was like the wild chattering of many high-pitched
voices. Through all the windows and the doors a strange crowd poured into the
synagogue. There were demons of all shapes and sizes. Some had big bodies with
tiny heads, others huge heads and quaint little bodies. Some had great staring
eyes, others had long wide mouths, and many had only one leg each. They
surrounded Bar Shalmon with threatening gestures and noises. The rabbi ascended
the pulpit.
"Silence!"
he commanded, and immediately the noise ceased. "Ye who thirst for mortal
blood, desecrate not this holy building wherein I am master. What ye have to
say must wait until after the morning service."
Silently
and patiently they waited, sitting in all manner of queer places. Some of them
perched on the backs of the seats, a few clung like great big flies to the pillars,
others sat on the window-sills, and several of the tiniest hung from the
rafters in the ceiling. As soon as the service was over, the clamor broke out
anew.
"Give
to us the perjurer," screamed the demons. "He is not fit to
live."
With
some difficulty, the rabbi stilled the tumult, and said:
"Listen
unto me, ye demons and sprites of the land of Ergetz. This man has fallen into
my hands, and I am responsible for him. Our king, Ashmedai, must know of his
arrival. We must not condemn a man unheard. Let us petition the king to grant
him a fair trial."
After
some demur, the demons agreed to this proposal, and they trooped out of the
synagogue in the same peculiar manner in which they came. Each was compelled to
leave by the same door or window at which he entered.
Bar
Shalmon was carried off to the palace of King Ashmedai, preceded and followed
by a noisy crowd of demons and fairies. There seemed to be millions of them,
all clattering and pointing at him. They hobbled and hopped over the ground,
jumped into the air, sprang from housetop to housetop, made sudden appearances
from holes in the ground and vanished through solid walls.
The
palace was a vast building of white marble that seemed as delicate as lace
work. It stood in a magnificent square where many beautiful fountains spouted
jets of crystal water. King Ashmedai came forth on the balcony, and at his
appearance all the demons and fairies became silent and went down on their
knees.
"What
will ye with me?" he cried, in a voice of thunder, and the rabbi
approached and bowed before his majesty.
"A
mortal, a Jew, has fallen into my hands," he said, "and thy subjects
crave for his blood. He is a perjurer, they say. Gracious majesty, I would
petition for a trial."
"What
manner of mortal is he?" asked Ashmedai .
Bar
Shalmon stepped forward.
"Jump
up here so I may see thee," commanded the king.
"Jump,
jump," cried the crowd.
"I
cannot," said Bar Shalmon, as he looked up at the balcony thirty feet
above the ground.
"Try,"
said the rabbi.
Bar
Shalmon did try, and found, the moment he lifted his feet from the ground, that
he was standing on the balcony.
"Neatly
done," said the king. "I see thou art quick at learning."
"So
my teachers always said," replied Bar Shalmon.
"A
proper answer," said the king. "Thou art, then, a scholar."
"In
my own land," returned Bar Shalmon, "men said I was great among the
learned."
"So,"
said the king. "And canst thou impart the wisdom of man and of the human
world to others?"
"I
can," said Bar Shalmon.
"We
shall see," said the king. "I have a son with a desire for such
knowledge. If thou canst make him acquainted with thy store of learning, thy
life shall be spared. The petition for a trial is granted."
The
king waved his scepter and two slaves seized Bar Shalmon by the arms. He felt
himself lifted from the balcony and carried swiftly through the air. Across the
vast square the slaves flew with him, and when over the largest of the
fountains they loosened their hold. Bar Shalmon thought he would fall into the
fountain, but to his amazement he found himself standing on the roof of a
building. By his side was the rabbi.
"Where
are we?" asked Bar Shalmon. "I feel bewildered."
"We
are at the Court of Justice, one hundred miles from the palace," replied
the rabbi.
A
door appeared before them. They stepped through, and found themselves in a
beautiful hall. Three judges in red robes and purple wigs were seated on a
platform, and an immense crowd filled the galleries in the same queer way as in
the synagogue. Bar Shalmon was placed on a small platform in front of the
judges. A tiny sprite, only about six inches high, stood on another small
platform at his right hand and commenced to read from a scroll that seemed to
have no ending. He read the whole account of Bar Shalmon's life. Not one little
event was missing.
"The
charge against Bar Shalmon, the mortal," the sprite concluded, "is
that he has violated the solemn oath sworn at his father's death-bed. "
Then
the rabbi pleaded for him and declared that the oath was not binding because
Bar Shalmon's father had not informed him of his treasures abroad and could not
therefore have been in his right senses. Further, he added, Bar Shalmon was a
scholar and the king desired him to teach his wisdom to the crown prince.
The
chief justice rose to pronounce sentence.
"Bar
Shalmon," he said, "rightly thou shouldst die for thy broken oath. It
is a grievous sin. But there is the doubt that thy father may not have been in
his right mind. Therefore, thy life shall be spared."
Bar
Shalmon expressed his thanks.
"When
may I return to my home?" he asked.
"Never,"
replied the chief justice.
Bar
Shalmon left the court, feeling very downhearted. He was safe now. The demons
dared not molest him, but he longed to return to his home.
"How
am I to get back to the palace?" he asked the rabbi. "Perhaps after I
have imparted my learning to the crown prince, the king will allow me to return
to my native land."
"That
I cannot say. Come, fly with me," said the rabbi.
"Fly!"
"Yes;
see thou hast wings."
Bar
Shalmon noticed that he was now wearing a garment just like all the demons.
When he spread his arms, he found he could fly, and he sailed swiftly through
the air to the palace. With these wings, he thought, he would be able to fly
home.
"Think
not that," said the rabbi, who seemed to be able to read his thoughts,
"for thy wings are useless beyond this land."
Bar
Shalmon found that it would be best for him to carry out his instructions for
the present, and he set himself diligently to teach the crown prince. The
prince was an apt pupil, and the two became great friends. King Ashmedai was
delighted and made Bar Shalmon one of his favorites.
One
day the king said to him: "I am about to leave the city for a while to
undertake a campaign against a rebellious tribe of demons thousands of miles
away. I must take the crown prince with me. I leave thee in charge of the
palace."
The
king gave him a huge bunch of keys.
"These,"
he said, "will admit into all but one of the thousand rooms in the palace.
For that one there is no key, and thou must not enter it. Beware. "
For
several days Bar Shalmon amused himself by examining the hundreds of rooms in
the vast palace until one day he came to the door for which he had no key. He
forgot the king's warning and his promise to obey.
"Open
this door for me," he said to his attendants, but they replied that they
could not.
"You
must," he said angrily, "burst it open."
"We
do not know how to burst open a door," they said. "We are not mortal.
If we were permitted to enter the room we should just walk through the
walls."
Bar
Shalmon could not do this, so he put his shoulder to the door and it yielded
quite easily.
A
strange sight met his gaze. A beautiful woman, the most beautiful he had ever
seen, was seated on a throne of gold, surrounded by fairy attendants who
vanished the moment he entered.
"Who
art thou?" asked Bar Shalmon, in great astonishment.
"The
daughter of the king," replied the princess, "and thy future
wife."
"Indeed!
How know you that?" he asked.
"Thou
hast broken thy promise to my father, the king, not to enter this room,"
she replied. "Therefore, thou must die, unless—"
"Tell
me quickly," interrupted Bar Shalmon, turning pale, "how my life can
be saved."
"Thou
must ask my father for my hand," replied the princess. "Only by becoming
my husband canst thou be saved."
"But
I have a wife and child in my native land," said Bar Shalmon, sorely
troubled.
"Thou
hast now forfeited thy hopes of return," said the princess, slowly.
"Once more hast thou broken a promise. It seems to come easy to thee
now."
Bar
Shalmon had no wish to die, and he waited, in fear and trembling for the king's
return. Immediately he heard of King Ashmedai's approach, he hastened to meet
him and flung himself on the ground at his majesty's feet.
"O
King," he cried, "I have seen thy daughter, the princess, and I
desire to make her my wife."
"I
cannot refuse," returned the king. "Such is our law—that he who first
sees the princess must become her husband, or die. But, have a care, Bar
Shalmon. Thou must swear to love and be faithful ever."
"I
swear," said Bar Shalmon.
The
wedding took place with much ceremony. The princess was attended by a thousand
fairy bridesmaids, and the whole city was brilliantly decorated and illuminated
until Bar Shalmon was almost blinded by the dazzling spectacle
.
The
rabbi performed the marriage ceremony, and Bar Shalmon had to swear an oath by
word of mouth and in writing that he loved the princess and would never desert
her. He was given a beautiful palace full of jewels as a dowry, and the wedding
festivities lasted six months. All the fairies and demons invited them in turn;
they had to attend banquets and parties and dances in grottoes and caves and in
the depths of the fairy fountains in the square. Never before in Ergetz had
there been such elaborate rejoicings.
III
Some
years rolled by and still Bar Shalmon thought of his native land. One day the
princess found him weeping quietly.
"Why
art thou sad, husband mine?" she asked. "Dost thou no longer love me,
and am I not beautiful now?"
"No,
it is not that," he said, but for a long time he refused to say more. At
last he confessed that he had an intense longing to see his home again.
"But
thou art bound to me by an oath," said the princess.
"I
know," replied Bar Shalmon, "and I shall not break it. Permit me to
visit my home for a brief while, and I will return and prove myself more
devoted to thee than ever."
On
these conditions, the princess agreed that he should take leave for a whole
year. A big, black demon flew swiftly with him to his native city.
No
sooner had Bar Shalmon placed his feet on the ground than he determined not to
return to the land of Ergetz.
"Tell
thy royal mistress," he said to the demon, "that I shall never return
to her."
He
tore his clothes to make himself look poor, but his wife was overjoyed to see
him. She had mourned him as dead. He did not tell of his adventures, but merely
said he had been ship-wrecked and had worked his way back as a poor sailor. He
was delighted to be among human beings again, to hear his own language and to
see solid buildings that did not appear and disappear just when they pleased,
and as the days passed he began to think his adventures in fairyland were but a
dream.
Meanwhile,
the princess waited patiently until the year was ended.
Then
she sent the big, black demon to bring Bar Shalmon back.
Bar
Shalmon met the messenger one night when walking alone in his garden.
"I
have come to take thee back," said the demon .
Bar
Shalmon was startled. He had forgotten that the year was up. He felt that he
was lost, but as the demon did not seize him by force, he saw that there was a
possibility of escape.
"Return
and tell thy mistress I refuse," he said.
"I
will take thee by force," said the demon.
"Thou
canst not," Bar Shalmon said, "for I am the son-in-law of the
king."
The
demon was helpless and returned to Ergetz alone.
King
Ashmedai was very angry, but the princess counseled patience.
"I
will devise means to bring my husband back," she said. "I will send
other messengers."
Thus
it was that Bar Shalmon found a troupe of beautiful fairies in the garden the
next evening. They tried their utmost to induce him to return with them, but he
would not listen. Every day different messengers came—big, ugly demons who
threatened, pretty fairies who tried to coax him, and troublesome sprites and
goblins who only annoyed him. Bar Shalmon could not move without encountering
messengers from the princess in all manner of queer places. Nobody else could
see them, and often he was heard talking to invisible people. His friends began
to regard him as strange in his behavior.
King
Ashmedai grew angrier every day, and he threatened to go for Bar Shalmon
himself.
"Nay,
I will go," said the princess; "it will be impossible for my husband
to resist me."
She
selected a large number of attendants, and the swift flight of the princess and
her retinue through the air caused a violent storm to rage over the lands they
crossed. Like a thick black cloud they swooped down on the land where Bar
Shalmon dwelt, and their weird cries seemed like the wild shrieking of a mighty
hurricane. Down they swept in a tremendous storm such as the city had never
known. Then, as quickly as it came, the storm ceased, and the people who had
fled into their houses, ventured forth again.
The
little son of Bar Shalmon went out into the garden, but quickly rushed back
into the house.
"Father,
come forth and see," he cried. "The garden is full of strange
creatures brought by the storm. All manner of creeping, crawling things have
invaded the garden—lizards, toads, and myriads of insects. The trees, the
shrubs, the paths are covered, and some shine in the twilight like tiny
lanterns."
Bar
Shalmon went out into the garden, but he did not see toads and lizards. What he
beheld was a vast array of demons and goblins and sprites, and in a rose-bush
the princess, his wife, shining like a star, surrounded by her attendant
fairies. She stretched forth her arms to him .
"Husband
mine," she pleaded, "I have come to implore thee to return to the
land of Ergetz with me. Sadly have I missed thee; long have I waited for thy
coming, and difficult has it been to appease my father's anger. Come, husband
mine, return with me; a great welcome awaits thee."
"I
will not return," said Bar Shalmon.
"Kill
him, kill him," shrieked the demons, and they surrounded him,
gesticulating fiercely.
"Nay,
harm him not," commanded the princess. "Think well, Bar Shalmon, ere
you answer again. The sun has set and night is upon us. Think well, until
sunrise. Come to me, return, and all shall be well. Refuse, and thou shalt be
dealt with as thou hast merited. Think well before the sunrise."
"And
what will happen at sunrise, if I refuse?" asked Bar Shalmon.
"Thou
shalt see," returned the princess. "Bethink thee well, and remember,
I await thee here until the sunrise."
"I
have answered; I defy thee," said Bar Shalmon, and he went indoors.
Night
passed with strange, mournful music in the garden, and the sun rose in its
glory and spread its golden beams over the city. And with the coming of the
light, more strange sounds woke the people of the city. A wondrous sight met
their gaze in the market place. It was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of
the queerest creatures they had ever seen, goblins and brownies, demons and
fairies. Dainty little elves ran about the square to the delight of the
children, and quaint sprites clambered up the lamposts and squatted on the
gables of the council house. On the steps of that building was a glittering
array of fairies and attendant genii, and in their midst stood the princess, a
dazzling vision, radiant as the dawn.
The
mayor of the city knew not what to do. He put on his chain of office and made a
long speech of welcome to the princess.
"Thank
you for your cordial welcome," said the princess, in reply, "and you
the mayor, and ye the good people of this city of mortals, hearken unto me. I
am the princess of the Fairyland of Ergetz where my father, Ashmedai, rules as
king. There is one among ye who is my husband."
"Who
is he?" the crowd asked in astonishment.
"Bar
Shalmon is his name," replied the princess, "and to him am I bound by
vows that may not be broken."
"'Tis
false," cried Bar Shalmon from the crowd.
"'Tis
true. Behold our son," answered the princess, and there stepped forward a
dainty elfin boy whose face was the image of Bar Shalmon.
"I
ask of you mortals of the city," the princess continued, "but one
thing, justice—that same justice which we in the land of Ergetz did give unto
Bar Shalmon when, after breaking his oath unto his father, he set sail for a foreign
land and was
delivered into our hands. We spared his life; we granted his petition for a new
trial. I but ask that ye should grant me the same petition. Hear me in your
Court of Justice."
"Thy
request is but reasonable, princess," said the mayor. "It shall not
be said that strangers here are refused justice. Bar Shalmon, follow me."
He
led the way into the Chamber of Justice, and the magistrates of the city heard
all that the princess and her witnesses, among whom was the rabbi, and also all
that Bar Shalmon, had to say.
"'Tis
plain," said the mayor, delivering judgment, "that her royal
highness, the princess of the Fairyland of Ergetz, has spoken that which is
true. But Bar Shalmon has in this city wife and child to whom he is bound by
ties that may not be broken. Bar Shalmon must divorce the princess and return
unto her the dowry received by him on their marriage."
"If
such be your law, I am content," said the princess.
"What
sayest thou, Bar Shalmon?" asked the mayor.
"Oh!
I'm content," he answered gruffly. "I agree to anything that will rid
me of the demon princess."
The
princess flushed crimson with shame and rage at these cruel words.
"These
words I have not deserved," she exclaimed, proudly. "I have loved
thee, and have been faithful unto thee, Bar Shalmon. I accept the decree of
your laws and shall return to the land of Ergetz a widow. I ask not for your
pity. I ask but for that which is my right, one last kiss."
"Very
well," said Bar Shalmon, still more gruffly, "anything to have done
with thee."
The
princess stepped proudly forward to him and kissed him on the lips.
Bar
Shalmon turned deadly pale and would have fallen had not his friends caught
him.
"Take
thy punishment for all thy sins," cried the princess, haughtily, "for
thy broken vows and thy false promises—thy perjury to thy God, to thy father,
to my father and to me."
As
she spoke Bar Shalmon fell dead at her feet. At a sign from the princess, her
retinue of fairies and demons flew out of the building and up into the air with
their royal mistress in their midst and vanished.
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