THE ORANGE FAIRY BOOK illustrated edition E-Book

Anon E. Mouse

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Germany and Europe had the Grimm Bothers and the UK and English speaking nations had Andrew Lang. Here is his ORANGE FAIRY BOOK, yet another volume in his Many Coloured Fairy Book series. This extraordinary volume contains 33 old and forgotten folk and fairy tales including stories like The Magic Mirror, The Ugly Duckling, The Goldsmith’s Fortune, The Enchanted Wreath, The Clever Cat and many, many more. These stories originate from Jutland, Rhodesia/Zimbabwe, Uganda, India, Scotland, Denmark and various European countries. The stories are brought to life by illustrations from H J Ford. Herein are 8 full page colour plates, 19 full page pen and ink drawings and a further 33 in-text vignettes. There was a time when the president of the Folk Lore Society believed it was not acceptable for the editors of the day, in particular Mr Andrew Lang and Mr. Joseph Jacobs, to publish fairy books. Their reply was that they did not see any harm in it, and they were ready to 'put themselves on their country,' and be tried by a jury of children.  And so they were proving the President of the FLS wrong. This book also contains many references to fairies. As to whether there are really any fairies or not, is a difficult question.  Andrew Lang never saw any himself, but he knew several people who have seen them-in the Highlands-and heard their music.  If ever you are near Nether Lochaber, go to the Fairy Hill, and you may hear the music your-self, as grown-up people have done, but you must go on a fine day.  If fairies really do not exist, why do so many people believe in them, the world over?  The ancient Greeks, the old Egyptians, the Hindus, the Chinese, the Africans and even the Native Americans claim to have seen them and it is unlikely that so many different peoples would have seen and heard them?  The Editor cannot say 'good-bye' without advising children, as they pursue their studies, to read The Rose and the Ring, by the late Mr. Thackeray.  He believes this book is quite indispensable in every child's library, and parents should be urged to purchase it at the first opportunity, as without it no education is really complete.

Leseprobe

THE ORANGE FAIRY BOOKEdited byANDREW LANGTHE LANG FAIRY BOOKSCROWN EDITIONWith Numerous Illustrations byH. J. FORDOriginally Published ByLONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.LONDON · NEW YORK · TORONTO, BOMBAY[1906, 1911, 1914, 1917, 1919, 1922, 1925, 1927, 1929 & 1937]

Resurrected byABELA PUBLISHING, LONDON[2017]

The Orange Fairy Book

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2017

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

2017

ISBN-13: 978-8-826098-97-5

email: [email protected]

Website: www.AbelaPublishing.com

PREFACE

The children who read fairy books, or have fairy books read to them, do not read prefaces, and the parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, who give fairy books to their daughters, nieces, and cousines, leave prefaces unread. For whom, then, are prefaces written? When an author publishes a book ‘out of his own head,’ he writes the preface for his own pleasure. After reading over his book in print—to make sure that all the ‘u’s’ are not printed as ‘n’s,’ and all the ‘n’s’ as ‘u’s’ in the proper names—then the author says, mildly, in his preface, what he thinks about his own book, and what he means it to prove—if he means it to prove anything—and why it is not a better book than it is. But, perhaps, nobody reads prefaces except other authors; and critics, who hope that they will find enough in the preface to enable them to do without reading any of the book.

This appears to be the philosophy of prefaces in general, and perhaps authors might be more daring and candid than they are with advantage, and write regular criticisms of their own books in their prefaces, for nobody can be so good a critic of himself as the author—if he has a sense of humour. If he has not, the less he says in his preface the better.

These Fairy Books, however, are not written by the [vi] Editor, as he has often explained, ‘out of his own head.’ The stories are taken from those told by grannies to grandchildren in many countries and in many languages—French, Italian, Spanish, Catalan, Gaelic, Icelandic, Cherokee, African, Indian, Australian, Slavonic, Eskimo, and what not. The stories are not literal, or word by word translations, but have been altered in many ways to make them suitable for children. Much has been left out in places, and the narrative has been broken up into conversations, the characters telling each other how matters stand, and speaking for themselves, as children, and some older people, prefer them to do. In many tales, fairly cruel and savage deeds are done, and these have been softened down as much as possible; though it is impossible, even if it were desirable, to conceal the circumstance that popular stories were never intended to be tracts and nothing else. Though they usually take the side of courage and kindness, and the virtues in general, the old story-tellers admire successful cunning as much as Homer does in the Odyssey. At least, if the cunning hero, human or animal, is the weaker, like Odysseus, Brer Rabbit, and many others, the story-teller sees little in intellect but superior cunning, by which tiny Jack gets the better of the giants. In the fairy tales of no country are ‘improper’ incidents common, which is to the credit of human nature, as they were obviously composed mainly for children. It is not difficult to get rid of this element when it does occur in popular tales.

The old puzzle remains a puzzle—why do the stories [vii] of the remotest people so closely resemble each other? Of course, in the immeasurable past, they have been carried about by conquering races, and learned by conquering races from vanquished peoples. Slaves carried far from home brought their stories with them into captivity. Wanderers, travellers, shipwrecked men, merchants, and wives stolen from alien tribes have diffused the stories; gipsies and Jews have peddled them about; Roman soldiers of many different races, moved here and there about the Empire, have trafficked in them. From the remotest days men have been wanderers, and wherever they went their stories accompanied them. The slave trade might take a Greek to Persia, a Persian to Greece; an Egyptian woman to Phœnicia; a Babylonian to Egypt; a Scandinavian child might be carried with the amber from the Baltic to the Adriatic; or a Sidonian to Ophir, wherever Ophir may have been; while the Portuguese may have borne their tales to South Africa, or to Asia, and thence brought back other tales to Egypt. The stories wandered wherever the Buddhist missionaries went, and the earliest French voyageurs told them to the Red Indians. These facts help to account for the sameness of the stories everywhere; and the uniformity of human fancy in early societies must be the cause of many other resemblances.

In this volume there are stories from the natives of Rhodesia, collected by Mr. Fairbridge, who speaks the native language, and one is brought by Mr. Cripps from another part of Africa, Uganda. Three tales from the Punjaub were collected and translated by Major [viii] Campbell. Various savage tales, which needed a good deal of editing, are derived from the learned pages of the ‘Journal of the Anthropological Institute.’ With these exceptions, and ‘The Magic Book,’ translated by Mrs. Pedersen, from ‘Eventyr fra Jylland,’ by Mr. Ewald Tang Kristensen (Stories from Jutland), all the tales have been done, from various sources, by Mrs. Lang, who has modified, where it seemed desirable, all the narratives.

CONTENTS

The Story of the Hero Makóma

The Magic Mirror

Story of the King who Would See Paradise

How Isuro the Rabbit Tricked Gudu

Ian, the Soldier’s Son

The Fox and the Wolf

How Ian Direach Got the Blue Falcon

The Ugly Duckling

The Two Caskets

The Goldsmith’s Fortune

The Enchanted Wreath

The Foolish Weaver

The Clever Cat

The Story of Manus

Pinkel the Thief

The Adventures of a Jackal

The Adventures of the Jackal’s Eldest Son

The Adventures of the Younger Son of the Jackal

The Three Treasures of the Giants

The Rover of the Plain

The White Doe

The Girl-Fish

The Owl and the Eagle

The Frog and the Lion Fairy

The Adventures of Covan the Brown-haired

The Princess Bella-Flor

The Bird of Truth

The Mink and the Wolf

Adventures of an Indian Brave

How the Stalos Were Tricked

Andras Baive

The White Slipper

The Magic Book

ILLUSTRATIONS

COLOURED PLATES

Ian and the Blue Falcon

The Three Maidens Sitting on the Rocks

‘Ashes, Ashes!’ Twittered the Sparrows

Standing in the Shelter of a Tree, He Watched Her a Long While

The Queen and the Crab

The Crown Returns to the Queen of the Fishes

How José Found the Princess Bella-Flor

The Princess Imprisoned in the Summer-house

FULL-PAGE PLATES

Makóma Leaps into the Pool of Crocodiles

Makóma Gets Entangled by a Hair of Chin-débou Máu-giri

Makóma in the Hands of Sákatirína

The Knight and the Raven

Ian Breaks the Giant’s Chain

The Princess Finds Herself a Prisoner on the Ship

How Ian Direach Returned Home, and How His Stepmother Fell as a Bundle of Sticks

‘That is an End of You,’ She Said. But She Was Wrong, for it Was only the Beginning

The Princess Returns from the Sea

The Giants Find Jack in the Treasure Room

The Uninvited Fairy

How the Queen Met the Lion-Fairy

The King on his Dragon Fights his Way through the Monsters to the Queen and Muffette

Doran-Donn Brings the Salmon to Covan the Brown-Haired

‘We Never Waste Time When We Are Helping Others’

‘Who Are You who Dare to Knock at my Door?’

The Little Boy Sees the Stalo in the Wood

IN TEXT

Makóma Throws his Hammer at the Fire-eater

Gopáni-Kúfa Sees a Strange Sight

Shasása Hides the Mirror

No One Knows What Was there Shown to the King

The Old King Sees Himself Reflected in the Shields of the Bodyguard

Gudu Drops a Stone into the Water

‘Where Did You Get that from?’ Asked Isuro

How Gudu Danced and the Bones Rattled

Ian Finds the Youngest Sister

The Seven Big Women Fall over the Crag

She Found Sitting Round Her a Whole Circle of Cats

‘Take the Black! Take the Black!’ Cried the Cats

Three Little Doves Were Seated on the Handle of the Axe

The Stepmother Tries to Drown the Princess

The Jew Brings the Jewels to the Princess

I Go to Seek my Fortune Alone

The Cat Lets Fall the Stone

How Manus Got the Lion’s Cub

Pinkel Brings the Witch’s Lantern to the King

Pinkel Steals the Witch’s Goat

The Brothers Ill-treat Poor Jack

The Rover of the Plain Does the Girl’s Work

Last of All She Sang in a Low Voice a Dirge over the Rover of the Plain

For a Minute They Looked at Each Other

‘A Small Dragon Crept in and Terrified Her’

Ardan Pursues the Golden Cock and the Silver Hen

The King Jumps into the Cauldron

How the Boy Found the Bird of Truth

The Mink is Very Rude to the Grandmother Wolf

Andras Baive Shoots the Stalo

Balancin’s Delight at the White Slipper

Gilguerillo Falls in Love with Princess Diamantina

‘Just as He Was Going to Strike’

THE ORANGEFAIRY BOOK

THE STORY OF THE HERO MAKÓMA

From the Senna (Oral Tradition)

Once upon a time, at the town of Senna on the banks of the Zambesi, was born a child. He was not like other children, for he was very tall and strong; over his shoulder he carried a big sack, and in his hand an iron hammer. He could also speak like a grown man, but usually he was very silent.

One day his mother said to him: ‘My child, by what name shall we know you?’

And he answered: ‘Call all the head men of Senna here to the river’s bank.’ And his mother called the head men of the town, and when they had come he led them down to a deep black pool in the river where all the fierce crocodiles lived.

‘O great men!’ he said, while they all listened, ‘which of you will leap into the pool and overcome the crocodiles?’ But no one would come forward. So he turned and sprang into the water and disappeared.

The people held their breath, for they thought: ‘Surely the boy is bewitched and throws away his life, for the crocodiles will eat him!’ Then suddenly the ground trembled, and the pool, heaving and swirling, became red with blood, and presently the boy rising to the surface swam on shore.

But he was no longer just a boy! He was stronger than any man and very tall and handsome, so that the people shouted with gladness when they saw him.

‘Now, O my people!’ he cried waving his hand, ‘you know my name—I am Makóma, “the Greater”; for have I not slain the crocodiles in the pool where none would venture?’

Then he said to his mother: ‘Rest gently, my mother, for I go to make a home for myself and become a hero.’ Then, entering his hut, he took Nu-éndo, his iron hammer, and throwing the sack over his shoulder, he went away.

Makóma crossed the Zambesi, and for many moons he wandered towards the north and west until he came to a very hilly country where, one day, he met a huge giant making mountains.

‘Greeting,’ shouted Makóma, ‘who are you?’

‘I am Chi-éswa-mapíri, who makes the mountains,’ answered the giant, ‘and who are you?’

‘I am Makóma, which signifies “greater,”’ answered he.

‘Greater than who?’ asked the giant.

‘Greater than you!’ answered Makóma.

The giant gave a roar and rushed upon him. Makóma said nothing, but swinging his great hammer, Nu-éndo, he struck the giant upon the head.

He struck him so hard a blow that the giant shrank into quite a little man, who fell upon his knees saying: ‘You are indeed greater than I, O Makóma; take me with you to be your slave!’ So Makóma picked him up and dropped him into the sack that he carried upon his back.

He was greater than ever now, for all the giant’s strength had gone into him; and he resumed his journey, carrying his burden with as little difficulty as an eagle might carry a hare.

Before long he came to a country broken up with huge stones and immense clods of earth. Looking over one of the heaps he saw a giant wrapped in dust dragging out the very earth and hurling it in handfuls on either side of him.

‘Who are you,’ cried Makóma, ‘that pulls up the earth in this way?’

‘I am Chi-dúbula-táka,’ said he, ‘and I am making the river-beds.’

‘Do you know who I am?’ said Makóma. ‘I am he that is called “greater”!’

‘Greater than who?’ thundered the giant.

‘Greater than you!’ answered Makóma.

With a shout, Chi-dúbula-táka seized a great clod of earth and launched it at Makóma. But the hero had his sack held over his left arm and the stones and earth fell harmlessly upon it, and, tightly gripping his iron hammer, he rushed in and struck the giant to the ground. Chi-dúbula-táka grovelled before him, all the while growing smaller and smaller; and when he had become a convenient size Makóma picked him up and put him into the sack beside Chi-éswa-mapíri.

He went on his way even greater than before, as all the river-maker’s power had become his; and at last he came to a forest of bao-babs and thorn trees. He was astonished at their size, for everyone was full grown and larger than any trees he had ever seen, and close by he saw Chi-gwísa-míti, the giant who was planting the forest.

Chi-gwísa-míti was taller than either of his brothers, but Makóma was not afraid and called out to him: ‘Who are you, O Big One?’

‘I,’ said the giant, ‘am Chi-gwísa-míti, and I am planting these bao-babs and thorns as food for my children the elephants.’

‘Leave off!’ shouted the hero, ‘for I am Makóma, and would like to exchange a blow with thee!’

The giant, plucking up a monster bao-bab by the roots, struck heavily at Makóma; but the hero sprang aside, and as the weapon sank deep into the soft earth, whirled Nu-éndo the hammer round his head and felled the giant with one blow.

So terrible was the stroke that Chi-gwísa-míti shrivelled up as the other giants had done; and when he had got back his breath he begged Makóma to take him as his servant. ‘For,’ said he, ‘it is honourable to serve a man so great as thou.’

Makóma, after placing him in his sack, proceeded upon his journey, and travelling for many days he at last reached a country so barren and rocky that not a single living thing grew upon it—everywhere reigned grim desolation. And in the midst of this dead region he found a man eating fire.

‘What are you doing?’ demanded Makóma.

‘I am eating fire,’ answered the man, laughing; ‘and my name is Chi-ídea-móto, for I am the flame-spirit, and can waste and destroy what I like.’

‘You are wrong,’ said Makóma; ‘for I am Makóma, who is “greater” than you—and you cannot destroy me!’

The fire-eater laughed again, and blew a flame at Makóma. But the hero sprang behind a rock—just in time, for the ground upon which he had been standing was turned to molten glass, like an overbaked pot, by the heat of the flame-spirit’s breath.

Then the hero flung his iron hammer at Chi-ídea-móto, and, striking him, it knocked him helpless; so Makóma placed him in the sack, Woro-nówu, with the other great men that he had overcome.

And now, truly, Makóma was a very great hero; for he had the strength to make hills, the industry to lead rivers over dry wastes, foresight and wisdom in planting trees, and the power of producing fire when he wished.

Wandering on he arrived one day at a great plain, well watered and full of game; and in the very middle of it, close to a large river, was a grassy spot, very pleasant to make a home upon.

Makóma was so delighted with the little meadow that he sat down under a large tree, and removing the sack from his shoulder, took out all the giants and set them before him. ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘I have travelled far and am weary. Is not this such a place as would suit a hero for his home? Let us then go, to-morrow, to bring in timber to make a kraal.’

So the next day Makóma and the giants set out to get poles to build the kraal, leaving only Chi-éswa-mapíri to look after the place and cook some venison which they had killed. In the evening, when they returned, they found the giant helpless and tied to a tree by one enormous hair!

‘How is it,’ said Makóma, astonished, ‘that we find you thus bound and helpless?’

‘O Chief,’ answered Chi-éswa-mapíri, ‘at midday a man came out of the river; he was of immense stature, and his grey moustaches were of such length that I could not see where they ended! He demanded of me “Who is thy master?” And I answered: “Makóma, the greatest of heroes.” Then the man seized me, and pulling a hair from his moustache, tied me to this tree—even as you see me.’

Makóma was very wroth, but he said nothing, and drawing his finger-nail across the hair (which was as thick and strong as palm rope) cut it, and set free the mountain-maker.

The three following days exactly the same thing happened, only each time with a different one of the party; and on the fourth day Makóma stayed in camp when the others went to cut poles, saying that he would see for himself what sort of man this was that lived in the river and whose moustaches were so long that they extended beyond men’s sight.

So when the giants had gone he swept and tidied the camp and put some venison on the fire to roast. At midday, when the sun was right overhead, he heard a rumbling noise from the river, and looking up he saw the head and shoulders of an enormous man emerging from it. And behold! right down the river-bed and up the river-bed, till they faded into the blue distance, stretched the giant’s grey moustaches!

‘Who are you?’ bellowed the giant, as soon as he was out of the water.

‘I am he that is called Makóma,’ answered the hero; ‘and, before I slay thee, tell me also what is thy name and what thou doest in the river?’

‘My name is Chin-débou Máu-giri,’ said the giant. ‘My home is in the river, for my moustache is the grey fever-mist that hangs above the water, and with which I bind all those that come unto me so that they die.’

‘You cannot bind me!’ shouted Makóma, rushing upon him and striking with his hammer. But the river giant was so slimy that the blow slid harmlessly off his green chest, and as Makóma stumbled and tried to regain his balance, the giant swung one of his long hairs around him and tripped him up.

For a moment Makóma was helpless, but remembering the power of the flame-spirit which had entered into him, he breathed a fiery breath upon the giant’s hair and cut himself free.

As Chin-débou Máu-giri leaned forward to seize him the hero flung his sack Woro-nówu over the giant’s slippery head, and gripping his iron hammer, struck him again; this time the blow alighted upon the dry sack and Chin-débou Máu-giri fell dead.

When the four giants returned at sunset with the poles they rejoiced to find that Makóma had overcome the fever-spirit, and they feasted on the roast venison till far into the night; but in the morning, when they awoke, Makóma was already warming his hands at the fire, and his face was gloomy.

‘In the darkness of the night, O my friends,’ he said presently, ‘the white spirits of my fathers came unto me and spoke, saying: “Get thee hence, Makóma, for thou shalt have no rest until thou hast found and fought with Sákatirína, who has five heads, and is very great and strong; so take leave of thy friends, for thou must go alone.”’

Then the giants were very sad, and bewailed the loss of their hero; but Makóma comforted them, and gave back to each the gifts he had taken from them. Then bidding them ‘Farewell,’ he went on his way.

Makóma travelled far towards the west; over rough mountains and water-logged morasses, fording deep rivers, and tramping for days across dry deserts where most men would have died, until at length he arrived at a hut standing near some large peaks, and inside the hut were two beautiful women.

‘Greeting!’ said the hero. ‘Is this the country of Sákatirína of five heads, whom I am seeking?’

‘We greet you, O Great One!’ answered the women. ‘We are the wives of Sákatirína; your search is at an end, for there stands he whom you seek!’ And they pointed to what Makóma had thought were two tall mountain peaks. ‘Those are his legs,’ they said; ‘his body you cannot see, for it is hidden in the clouds.’

Makóma was astonished when he beheld how tall was the giant; but, nothing daunted, he went forward until he reached one of Sákatirína’s legs, which he struck heavily with Nu-éndo. Nothing happened, so he hit again and then again until, presently, he heard a tired, far-away voice saying: ‘Who is it that scratches my feet?’

And Makóma shouted as loud as he could, answering: ‘It is I, Makóma, who is called “Greater”!’ And he listened, but there was no answer.

Then Makóma collected all the dead brushwood and trees that he could find, and making an enormous pile round the giant’s legs, set a light to it.

This time the giant spoke; his voice was very terrible, for it was the rumble of thunder in the clouds. ‘Who is it,’ he said, ‘making that fire smoulder around my feet?’

‘It is I, Makóma!’ shouted the hero. ‘And I have come from far away to see thee, O Sákatirína, for the spirits of my fathers bade me go seek and fight with thee, lest I should grow fat, and weary of myself.’

There was silence for a while, and then the giant spoke softly: ‘It is good, O Makóma!’ he said. ‘For I too have grown weary. There is no man so great as I, therefore I am all alone. Guard thyself!’ And bending suddenly he seized the hero in his hands and dashed him upon the ground. And lo! instead of death, Makóma had found life, for he sprang to his feet mightier in strength and stature than before, and rushing in he gripped the giant by the waist and wrestled with him.

Hour by hour they fought, and mountains rolled beneath their feet like pebbles in a flood; now Makóma would break away, and summoning up his strength, strike the giant with Nu-éndo his iron hammer, and Sákatirína would pluck up the mountains and hurl them upon the hero, but neither one could slay the other. At last, upon the second day, they grappled so strongly that they could not break away; but their strength was failing, and, just as the sun was sinking, they fell together to the ground, insensible.

In the morning when they awoke, Mulímo the Great Spirit was standing by them; and he said: ‘O Makóma and Sákatirína! Ye are heroes so great that no man may come against you. Therefore ye will leave the world and take up your home with me in the clouds.’ And as he spake the heroes became invisible to the people of the Earth, and were no more seen among them.

(Native A Rhodesian / Zimbabwean Tale.The Senna people are an ethnic group, with origins in Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe.)

THE MAGIC MIRROR

From the Senna

A long, long while ago, before ever the White Men were seen in Senna, there lived a man called Gopáni-Kúfa.