ONCE on a time there was a little old peasant who had but one small field no bigger than the palm of your hand, and all full of stones and briars. He had set up a hayrick in it, and there he lived, digging, sowing, and weeding, from year's end to year's end, and farming it as best he could.
When it was time to rest he would pull a whistle from his pocket, and "Ti-tiriti-ti" went the tune, always the same one; then he would go to work again.
But all this time the poor little bit of a field, full of stones and briars, yielded him more profits than a farm. When his neighbours gathered in twenty times what they had sown, he was sure to have a hundredfold, to say the least.
Some of his neighbours were full of spite and envy. At one time not one of them would have taken that bit of ground, even as a gift; and now that he had it, there was nothing they would not have done to get it away from him.
"I say, neighbour, don't you want to get rid of that heap of stones? . . . I know someone who would pay you three times its value."
But the peasant would answer:
"These stones are all my own, Not even the king on his throne can make me give them away!""
And another would say: "Neighbour, don't you want to get rid of these stones? I know somebody who would be glad to pay you three times their value."
But the answer was always:
"These stones are all my own,
Not even the king on his throne
Can make me give them away!""
Now, it once happened that the king passed that way, accompanied by his ministers. When he saw the little field (which looked more like a garden, so green and flourishing was its crop, while the corn in the fields round about was so poor and faded it looked like the bristles of an old brush), he stopped, struck with amazement, and said to his ministers, "What a fine crop of corn! I would willingly buy that field."
"May it please your majesty, but it is not for sale. It belongs to a very odd sort of man, who answers all offers with these words:
"These stones are all my own,
Not even the king on his throne
Can make me give them away!""
"Oh, I should like to see if he'll answer me that way!" said the king; and he ordered the peasant to be called to him.
"Is it true that you would not give up your field even to the king?"
"You have so many fields, what good would my poor heap of stones do you?"
"But supposing he wanted them . . .?"
"Supposing he wanted them? . . . Ah!
"These stones are all my own,
Not even the king on his throne
Can make me give them away!""
The king made believe to have taken no offence at this; but during the night he sent a hundred guardsmen to trample down the crop without making any noise, so as not to leave so much as one blade of grass standing upright. You may think what a sight met the peasant's eyes the next morning when he came out from his hayrick. Everything destroyed! And all his kind neighbours standing there staring over the hedge with the greatest satisfaction, though they tried to look as if they were sorry.
"Ah, neighbour, neighbour!" said they. " If you had but sold your heap of stones in time, this misfortune would not have befallen you!"
But to all this he answered not a word, just as though they had not been speaking to him. When they had all taken themselves off about their business, he pulled his whistle out of his pocket, and "Ti-tiriti-ti" the corn began to rise up again; and "Ti-tiriti-ti" it all stood up quite straight, as if nothing had happened to it.
The king, quite sure of his affair, sent for the peasant and began, "I hear there is someone who bears you a grudge, my man, and that last night your crop of corn was half-destroyed. Now, sell me that heap of stones of yours; when the folk know they are mine they'll keep at a respectful distance."
"Please, what has been told you is not true; my crop is finer than ever."
The king bit his lips. So, then, his orders had not been obeyed! And he blamed the ministers. But when they told him that the poor guardsmen could not even move they had stamped so hard all night, he was astounded.
"Then to-night turn all my flocks into the field!"
Next morning, when the peasant came out from his hayrick, what a sight he beheld! The ground was perfectly stripped and as smooth as satin.
And his good neighbours, as usual, were saying:
"Ah, neighbour, neighbour! If you had but taken advice, and sold that heap of stones there, this new misfortune would not have fallen upon you!"
But he, without a word, went shuffling about as if they had not been speaking to him.
When at last they had all gone about their business, out he pulled his whistle, and "Ti-tiriti-ti" the corn began to sprout up again; and "Ti-tiriti-ti" the corn was waving high and green, as if nothing had ever happened to it.
This time the king was quite sure he had won the day. He wanted to see that man! Just think what a face he would make!
So no sooner did the peasant come into his presence than he said. "There really must be someone who bears you a grudge, poor fellow. I hear that last night your crop of corn was again quite destroyed. Come now! You sell me that heap of stones of yours; when the people know they belong to me, they'll look at them from a respectful distance."
"But my crop is not destroyed. It is finer than ever!"
The king bit his lips for spite. Then his orders had not been obeyed this time either!
And he found fault with his ministers. But the ministers told him that the nocks had eaten so much during the night that the sheep were all swollen to bursting, and that half of them had already died of repletion! The king was more astonished than ever.
"There is some mystery in all this. You must find it out. I give you three days' time!"
Now. there was no joking with the king. The ministers set to scratching their bald heads, in hopes of getting some idea out of them, and they thought and thought! . . .
At last one proposed to go in the night-time, and hide behind that accursed peasant's hayrick till daybreak. Who could know what might happen? That was a good idea! So they went; and as there were several openings in the rick, they set to peeping in through them.
All night the king was not able to close an eye for thinking of what had happened, and next morning, first thing, he had his ministers called to him.
"Oh, please! What a sight we have seen! What a sight we have seen!"
"What have you seen then? You look mighty well pleased, all of you."
"Well, that peasant has a whistle, and the moment he begins to play on it, the inside of his hayrick changes into a sumptuous castle."
"And then?"
"And then out comes a young girl, more lovely than sunlight; and he plays "Ti-tiriti-ti" and makes her dance to his playing. After that he says to her:
"Fair daughter, if the king would win your hand,
Seven years in sun and rain then must he stand.
If seven years in sun and rain he will not bide,
Then, daughter, you can never be his bride!"
"And then?"
"And then he began playing again, and in a twinkling the splendid palace once more became a hayrick."
"I'll give it to him with his sun and rain! But let us first see this miracle of beauty!"
And the next night he went, accompanied by his ministers. And behold! the peasant pulled out his whistle from his pocket; and "Ti-tiriti-ti" in a trice the haystack was changed into a royal dwelling; and, "Titiriti-ti" the lovely maiden appeared and began to dance. At that sight the king went clean out of his wits. "Oh, what a beauty she is! She shall be mine! She shall be mine!" And without losing any time he began knocking at the entrance.
The peasant stopped playing; and all at once the royal palace became a hayrick again; but there was no sign of its opening; and the king, though burning with impatience, was forced to go home as he had come. Before dawn, however, he sent a messenger in great haste. The king wanted to see the peasant immediately.
The peasant came and presented himself. What did the king command of him?
"My will is that you give me your daughter for my bride. She shall be made queen, and you prime minister."
"Please, but there is a condition to fulfil:
"Whoever would win my daughter's hand
Seven years in sun and rain must stand.
If seven years he stand not in sun and in rain
Whoever he be, he shall woo her in vain."
The king would have rarely liked to give him such sun and rain as he would not forget in a hurry. But then there was the maiden at stake, and for love of her he would do anything.
So he shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "Then I shall wait seven years in sun and rain." He placed the government of his kingdom in the hands of the ministers for all the time he would be absent, and went to live with the old peasant, exposed all day to the scorching sun, or the pouring rain, even when it came down in bucketfuls.
Poor king! After a short time no one would have been able to recognise him; his skin was burnt to such a degree that he seemed made of terracotta. But he had one compensation, however. Every now and again, when it was night, the peasant would pull out his whistle, and before beginning his tune would say to him, "You must remember well that
"Who touches rends,
Who speaks offends!"
And then "Ti-tiriti-ti," in less time than I tell you the hayrick became a sumptuous palace, and "Ti-tiriti-ti" the maiden appeared, more beautiful than the sun, moon and stars!
All the time she danced the king simply devoured her with his eyes. He had to make a great effort not to rush up to her, fold her in his arms, and say, "You shall be my queen!" His great love for her, and the fear of losing her, alone kept him back.
Six years, six months, and six days had already flown. The king rubbed his hands for joy. Soon, very soon, that maiden, more beautiful than the sun, moon and stars, would become his bride, and he would return to his castle, a king as before, only much, much happier than he had ever been!
But bad luck would have it that one night the peasant took out his whistle as usual and began playing without reminding him,
"Who touches rends,
Who speaks offends!"
When he saw her the king could no longer restrain himself, and running up to the fair maiden, embraced her, crying, "You shall be my queen! You shall be my queen!"
Like a flash of lightning the maiden was turned into a knotty trunk of a tree!
"Yet I had warned you!" said the peasant,
"Who touches rends,
Who speaks offends!""
The king seemed turned to stone with grief and amazement. Must he begin all over again? Yes, he must begin all over again. Well, over again he began. He roasted himself in the sun.
"Sun, fair sun above,
I suffer here for love!"
He let himself be drenched by the rain.
"Rain, good, gentle rain,
For the maid I suffer pain."
And when the peasant would pull his whistle out of his pocket, and, "Ti-tiriti-ti," the maiden appeared and began to dance, he devoured her with his eyes from a corner, but as quiet and still as oil, for he did not feel inclined to begin all over again another time. And again six years six months, and six days had passed away, and the king began to rub his hands for joy.
But misfortune would have it that one night, when the maiden was dancing to the sound of the peasant's whistle as she had never danced before, with such grace! such elegance! the king could stand it no longer, and rushing up to her, embraced her, crying, "Ah, my queen! my queen!"
And what should he find in his arms again but the knotty trunk of a tree!
"Ah, king, king," said the old peasant, "I told you,
"Who touches rends,
Who speaks offends!""
The wretched King stood stock-still in dismay and disappointment. " Must I begin all over again?"
"Yes, you must begin all over again!" And he began again
"Sun, fair sun above,
I suffer here for love!"
He let himself be drenched by the rain.
"Rain, good, gentle rain,
For the maid I suffer pain."
This time, however, he was more on his guard, and when at last the seven years appointed had passed, he won the maiden more beautiful than sunlight. He could hardly believe it was true.
But what had happened in the meanwhile? Well, his ministers and subjects, thinking he had gone mad, had forgotten all about him, and had conferred the crown, some years before, on one of his relations. So when the king presented himself at his castle with his fair bride leaning on his arm, the soldiers who stood at the gate as sentinels, said, "You cannot pass here, sir! You cannot pass here!"
"I am the king! call down my ministers!" But the old ones he had known were all dead, and those of the new king let him talk till he was tired. He then turned to his people. "How is this? Do you not recognise your king?" The people very civilly laughed in his face, but otherwise paid him not the slightest attention. Quite in despair he went back to the peasant's little field, where the hayrick once stood; but to his surprise he saw a splendid building worthy of being a king's castle. He went upstairs, but instead of the peasant there came forward to meet him a handsome old man with a flowing white beard. It was no other than the great wizard Druscell!
"Don't lose heart!" he said, and taking the king by the hand he led him into a splendid hall where stood a large basin full of clear water. The wizard, seizing the basin, poured its contents on his head, and the king, from being a rather elderly-looking man, once more became a blooming youth, as when he was but twenty years of age.
Then the wizard said to him: "Look out of the window and play on this whistle, and you shall see!"
And so the king did, playing "Ti-tiriti-ti" and behold a large army of magnificent men clad in full armour came streaming over the hills and down into the valley.
War was declared, and while the soldiers fought, he stood on the top of a rising ground and played away "Ti-tiriti-ti", never stopping till the battle was won.
Then he returned to his own castle, conquering and triumphant. To celebrate his wedding with the fair maid he loved so well, gave his people a whole month of feasting and merry- making.
And soon was given to him a son and heir,
And they all lived happily without a care.
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