Violet Fairytales. Andrew Lang

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      The queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she said to herself, ‘How can I deliver my dearest husband? If I go myself and the heathen king sees me he will just take me to be one of his wives. If I were to send one of the ministers!—but I hardly know if I can depend on them.’

      She thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head. She cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself in boy’s clothes. Then she took her lute and, without saying anything to anyone, she went forth into the wide world.

      She travelled through many lands and saw many cities, and went through many hardships before she got to the town where the heathen king lived. When she got there she walked all round the palace and at the back she saw the prison. Then she went into the great court in front of the palace, and taking her lute in her hand, she began to play so beautifully that one felt as though one could never hear enough.

      After she had played for some time she began to sing, and her voice was sweeter than the lark’s:

      ‘I come from my own country far

       Into this foreign land,

       Of all I own I take alone

       My sweet lute in my hand.

      ‘Oh! who will thank me for my song,

       Reward my simple lay?

       Like lover’s sighs it still shall rise

       To greet thee day by day.

      ‘I sing of blooming flowers

       Made sweet by sun and rain;

       Of all the bliss of love’s first kiss,

       And parting’s cruel pain.

      ‘Of the sad captive’s longing

       Within his prison wall,

       Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh

       To answer to their call.

      ‘My song begs for your pity,

       And gifts from out your store,

       And as I play my gentle lay

       I linger near your door.

      ‘And if you hear my singing

       Within your palace, sire,

       Oh! give, I pray, this happy day,

       To me my heart’s desire.’

      No sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by such a lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him.

      ‘Welcome, O lute player,’ said he. ‘Where do you come from?’

      ‘My country, sire, is far away across many seas. For years I have been wandering about the world and gaining my living by my music.’

      ‘Stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave I will give you what you ask for in your song—your heart’s desire.’

      So the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played almost all day long to the king, who could never tire of listening and almost forgot to eat or drink or to torment people. He cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he declared, ‘That’s something like playing and singing. It makes me feel as if some gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow from me.’

      After three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.

      ‘Well,’ said the king, ‘what do you desire as your reward?’

      ‘Sire, give me one of your prisoners. You have so many in your prison, and I should be glad of a companion on my journeys. When I hear his happy voice as I travel along I shall think of you and thank you.’

      ‘Come along then,’ said the king, ‘choose whom you will.’ And he took the lute player through the prison himself.

      The queen walked about amongst the prisoners, and at length she picked out her husband and took him with her on her journey. They were long on their way, but he never found out who she was, and she led him nearer and nearer to his own country.

      When they reached the frontier the prisoner said:

      ‘Let me go now, kind lad; I am no common prisoner, but the king of this country. Let me go free and ask what you will as your reward.’

      ‘Do not speak of reward,’ answered the lute player. ‘Go in peace.’

      ‘Then come with me, dear boy, and be my guest.’

      ‘When the proper time comes I shall be at your palace,’ was the reply, and so they parted.

      The queen took a short way home, got there before the king and changed her dress.

      An hour later all the people in the palace were running to and fro and crying out: ‘Our king has come back! Our king has returned to us.’

      The king greeted everyone very kindly, but he would not so much as look at the queen.

      Then he called all his council and ministers together and said to them:

      ‘See what sort of a wife I have. Here she is falling on my neck, but when I was pining in prison and sent her word of it she did nothing to help me.’

      And his council answered with one voice, ‘Sire, when news was brought from you the queen disappeared and no one knew where she went. She only returned to-day.’

      Then the king was very angry and cried, ‘Judge my faithless wife! Never would you have seen your king again, if a young lute player had not delivered him. I shall remember him with love and gratitude as long as I live.’

      Whilst the king was sitting with his council, the queen found time to disguise herself. She took her lute, and slipping into the court in front of the palace she sang, clear and sweet:

      ‘I sing the captive’s longing

       Within his prison wall,

       Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh

       To answer to their call.

      ‘My song begs for your pity,

       And gifts from out your store,

       And as I play my gentle lay

       I linger near your door.

      ‘And if you hear my singing

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