On a Pincushion · Siegfrid and Handa (2/2)

“That’s not my business,” said the Owl. “I want your eye, and I will not get you the shoes without it. I am very blind, and I think I might see better with your eye than I do with my own.”

“Very well, then,” said Siegfrid, sighing. “Bring me the boots and shoes, and you shall have what you want.”

“Come back at twelve tonight to this same place, and you will find all the boots and shoes here,” croaked the Owl, and then he went to sleep again, and Siegfrid wandered about the forest alone, for the Hare soon scampered away, saying she would be back at night. But Siegfrid would not go home for fear he should be kept there, and not allowed to go back to the forest.

He cried at the thought of losing one of his bright brown eyes. “But I would give both my eyes for Handa,” he said to himself, “only then I should not be able to see her at all.”

The evening wore away, and when twelve⁠—o’clock came, he went back to the place where he had left the Owl, and there, on a large bare spot under the trees, were heaped in a pile all the boots and shoes that the old man had sold since he came to the village.

Most were nearly worn out; some, indeed, were nothing more than old soles with little bits of leather hanging to them; but there they all were. There was the pretty pair of blue shoes that had first tempted Lisbeth, with the rosette torn off and worn quite white, and with great holes in the sides, and there also was the pair which Alys had bought like them.

On one side of the heap was the Owl, and the Hare sat beside him.

“There they all are,” said the Owl. “Now let me be paid.”

Siegfrid sighed, but he would not break his promise; so he took out his right eye and gave it to the Owl, who flew away with it, hooting in triumph.

“I hope Handa will know me,” he thought; and he felt almost inclined to cry, but he would not let the Hare see it, so he only said⁠—

“Let us set fire to them at once, then.”

“First listen to me,” said the Hare, “for when the shoes begin to burn I shall run off. When they have quite burnt out, you will find a heap of black ashes, and amongst them you must search carefully, and you will find a pair of sandals that seem not the least burnt or singed. These you must put on, and then stamp hard upon the ground, and it will open, and in front of you, you will see a long dark passage which leads to the underground cavern in which sit Handa and her companions. The sandals will last till you again step out of the passage into the forest, and then they will crumble and fall to pieces as if they had been burnt. So now goodbye. I should not have told you if you had not let me out of the trap.”

“Goodbye, kind Hare, and thank you for telling me,” said Siegfrid, as the Hare ran off.

Then he took a bit of dry wood and set it alight, and placed it under the pile of boots. They soon caught fire, and burnt steadily, but Siegfrid noticed that they made no noise except a low hissing like water boiling. The pile went on burning for some time, and then went out quite suddenly, with a loud bang, leaving no sparks or smoke, and when Siegfrid felt among the ashes he found they were quite cold. He searched among them as the Hare had directed, and at the bottom of the heap he found a pair of sandals, which seemed to be quite unhurt by the fire. He drew them on to his feet, and then standing in the middle of the ashes stamped hard. At once he felt the earth begin to move, and a great hole opened in front of him, which appeared to be the beginning of a long dark passage.

Siegfrid summoned all his courage, and sitting on the edge of the hole dropped gently into the passage, and ran down it. It was quite dark, and so narrow that if he moved either of his hands he knocked the walls, and if he stretched his neck he touched the ceiling. There was only just room for him to walk, so that there was no fear of his losing his way. He went on and on, and still there was no light or no opening to right or to left. Then he began to call. He called “Handa, Handa, Handa!” and the name rang back to him from every side, but he knew it was not Handa’s voice he heard, but only a mocking echo. He feared the Hare had deceived him, and he might go on wandering in this dark passage forever. He felt inclined to sit down and cry in despair, but there was no room to sit down, and just as he grew so tired that he thought he could go no farther, he saw in the distance a dim red light, and making one last effort he ran towards it. He found it came from a large bare vault, into which the passage led, and which was quite brilliantly lighted, though there was neither candle, lamp, nor window. On the farther side of the vault were sitting in a row what he at first believed to be six statues, but on looking a second time, to his great joy, he saw it was Handa and her five companions.

“Handa!” he cried. “Come, it is I.” But Handa never moved, but sat as if she were turned to stone, looking straight in front of her. Then Siegfrid remembered the magic shoes on her feet, and running to her pulled them off at once. Handa jumped up, and the first thing she said was, “Siegfrid, what have you done to your eye?”

Siegfrid told her all that had happened, and how he had given his eye to the Owl, and said he did not care for the loss of his eye now that he had found her; but Handa cried, and told him that she had rather the old man had killed her than that he should have lost his eye.

Then they turned to the five other little girls, who still sat like marble figures, and Siegfrid drew the shoes from their feet, and one by one they sprang up, and thanked him for coming to save them. Siegfrid showed them the long dark passage, and then led the way up it, the children following close behind him.

When they got to the opening in the forest, they saw that the sun was shining brightly, so that four or five hours had passed since Siegfrid had burnt the shoes, although it had seemed much less.

He helped all the children out of the hole, and then jumped out himself, but no sooner were his feet again upon the grass than the sandals fell from them and crumbled to bits, as if they too had been burnt to ashes, and at the same moment the hole in the ground closed up, and no mark was left where it had been.

The miller, Handa’s father, was so wearied with searching, that he was obliged to lie down to sleep that night, but at sunrise he sprang up to start again on the hunt after the lost children.

When he was dressed he could not find his boots anywhere.

“ ’Tis very odd,” he said, “for I know I placed them here. Wife, have you seen my boots?” But the wife said she had seen nothing of them, and, what was very strange, she could not find her own boots either.

“Never mind,” quoth he, “I can walk as well without boots.”

So he started with his feet bare, but when he came to the roadside where the old man was as usual putting up his stall, he paused.

“Neighbour,” he said, “could you let me have a pair of very cheap boots this morning? I can’t find my own anywhere.”

And the old man answered as usual⁠—

“Come, buy! come, buy!

Shoes for all.

Who’ll try? who’ll try?”

As the miller took up some of the boots to choose a pair, he looked at the old man and said, “Why, friend, what’s wrong? Are you ill? You have grown very pale and thin in the night.”

But the old man said nothing, and the miller chose a pair of boots which he thought likely to fit, and put them on. But no sooner were they on his feet than they crumbled and fell to pieces as if they had been burnt to ashes. At this the miller stared, but the little old man turned paler than before, and he began to shake with fear.

“Why, man,” cried the miller, “what ails the boots? They are as rotten as an old potato. Give me another pair.” So he chose another pair, and put them on, but the same thing happened again. The moment they were upon his feet they crumbled and fell away like dry ashes. At this the miller flew into a violent rage.

“What do you mean by selling such things?” he cried. “Give me another pair, and be sure that this time they are sound, for if they go like the last I’ll beat you black and blue. No man shall serve me such a trick three times.”

But now the old man began to tremble in every limb, and his teeth chattered in his head with fear, whilst every moment he looked thinner and smaller, for he knew now that his wicked charms had been broken.

The miller took the third pair of boots, but they were just like the other two, and at this his rage knew no bounds. He seized the old man by the collar, to drag him into the marketplace, there to flog him soundly before all the people. But as he came near it he saw a great crowd, and there, in the centre of it, were Siegfrid and Handa and the five little girls.

When Handa saw her father she ran straight into his arms, and he let go the little old man, who crouched upon the ground. Siegfrid told the miller and the people all that had happened, and they all turned to look for the wicked old man who had caused all the trouble.

“What shall we do to him?” they cried.

“How shall we punish him?”

“Let us beat him,” said one.

“Let us put him in prison,” said another.

“Nay,” said Siegfrid, “his punishment will come of itself. See! it is coming already;” and when they looked at him, as he still crouched on the ground in front of the miller, they saw that he was already only half his former size, and that every moment he grew smaller and smaller. All the people stood staring at him and held their breath in intense astonishment, for the old man now shrank so fast that soon he would not be visible at all. Smaller and smaller he grew every moment, till at last he was nothing but a mere speck, and then he was gone altogether.

For a few moments everyone was silent; at last the miller said, “Let us all be thankful that he is gone. And now see here: Siegfrid has brought us back our girls, and has lost his eye for them; how shall we reward him?”

Then all the people turned and looked at Siegfrid, who stood beside Handa.

“We will give him whatever he likes best,” cried one.

“We will work for him all his life,” said another.

“Nay,” said Siegfrid, “I don’t want that, but promise me that as long as my father works well for you and makes you good shoes, you will not buy them of anyone else. You brought all your troubles on yourselves by your cruelty in leaving him to starve after he had worked for you all his life.”

“The boy is right,” said the miller; “we behaved very wickedly and selfishly, and we have been justly punished for our conduct.”

Little by little everything in the village grew better. The fever went, and the thick fogs cleared away; the cottages were rebuilt, and fresh rains fell and revived the parched grass. Still, though all soon looked bright and cheerful as ever, the people knew that it could never be the same as before the old man came to it. They knew that the charm was broken, and that theirs was no better than all the other villages in the world. But it always was a very happy home to Siegfrid, who, when he grew up, was the village shoemaker, and married Handa, and lived happily to the end of his days.