The Twins With the Golden Star.

Once upon a time something happened. If it hadn't happened, it
wouldn't be told.

There was an emperor, who ruled over a whole world, and in this world
lived an old shepherd and shepherdess, who had three daughters, Anna,
Stana, and Laptitza.

Anna, the oldest sister, was so beautiful that the sheep stopped
feeding when she went among them; Stana, the second, was so lovely
that the wolves watched the herd when she was the shepherdess, but
Laptitza, the youngest, who had a skin as white as the foam of milk,
and hair as soft as the wool of the lambkins, was as beautiful as both
of her sisters put together, beautiful as only she herself could be.

One summer day, when the sunbeams were growing less scorching, the
three sisters went to the edge of the forest to pick strawberries.

While searching for them, they heard the tramp of horses' hoofs, as if
a whole troop of cavalry were dashing up. It was the emperor's son,
hunting with his friends and courtiers, all handsome, stately youths,
sitting their horses as if they were a part of their steeds, but the
handsomest and proudest of all rode the most fiery charger, and was
the emperor's son himself.

When they saw the sisters, they curbed their horses and rode more
slowly.

"Listen to me, sisters," said Anna; "if one of those youths should
choose me for his wife, I'd knead a loaf of bread which, when he had
eaten it, would make him always feel young and brave."

"And I," said Stana, "would weave my husband a shirt, in which he
could fight against dragons, go through water without being wet, or
fire without being burned."

"But I," said Laptitza, the youngest sister, "would give my husband
two beautiful sons, twin boys with golden hair, and on their foreheads
a golden star, a star as bright as Lucifer."

The youths heard these words, and turning their horses dashed toward
the maidens.

"Sacred be thy promise, thou shalt be mine, fairest empress," cried
the emperor's son, lifting Laptitza with her berries upon his horse.

"And thou shalt be mine!" "And thou shalt be mine!" said a second and
third youth; so bearing their lovely burdens on their steeds, all
dashed back to the imperial court.

The three weddings were celebrated the very next day, and for three
days and nights the festival was held throughout the empire with great
pomp and splendor. After three days and nights the news went through
the whole country that Anna had gathered grain, ground, boiled, and
kneaded it, and made a loaf of bread, as she had promised while
picking strawberries. Then, after three more days and nights, tidings
went through the land that Stana had collected flax, dried, and
hackled it, spun it into linen, wove the cloth, and made her husband a
shirt as she had promised while seeking for her strawberries. Laptitza
alone had not yet kept her word, but great things require time.

When seven weeks had passed, counting from the wedding day, the
emperor's son, now emperor, appeared before his brave companions and
the other courtiers with a very joyous face, and in a much softer
voice than ever before informed them that henceforth he should not
leave the court for a long time, his heart moved him to stay with his
wife night and day.

So the world, the country, and the whole empire rejoiced in the
expectation of seeing something never beheld before.

But many things happen in this world, among them much that is good and
much that is evil.

The emperor had a step-mother, who had brought with her to the palace
a daughter of her first husband, a girl with beautiful hair. But woe
betide those who have such relationships.

The step-mother had intended that her daughter should become the
emperor's wife and empress of the whole country, instead of little
Milk-white, the shepherd's daughter. Therefore she determined that if
things fell out as Laptitza had promised, the emperor and the world
should believe they did not happen according to the prediction.

But the step-mother could not carry out her plan, because the emperor
remained with his wife day and night. Yet she thought that gradually,
by coaxing and cunning, she might get rid of him, and then Laptitza
would be left in her care and she would provide for every thing.

But she could not get rid of the emperor by means of a few coaxing
words. The wind blew them away, and all her craft was useless. Time
passed, the day for the fulfillment of Laptitza's promise was drawing
near, and still the emperor never left his wife.

When the step-mother saw that no plot succeeded, she felt as if a
stone were lying heavy on her heart, and sent a message to her
brother, whose kingdom was very near, to ask him to come with his
soldiers and summon the emperor to a war.

This was a clever plan and, as will be seen, not an unsuccessful one.

The emperor fairly leaped into the air in his rage, when he heard that
hostile soldiers were on the march to attack his country, and that
something would occur which had not happened for a long time--a
battle, a terrible battle, a battle between two emperors. The young
husband saw that there was no help for it, he must do what needed to
be done.

That is the way with emperors. No matter how much they wish to guard
their wives--if they hear of war, their hearts fairly leap in their
bodies, their brains swell almost to bursting, their eyes grow dim,
and leaving wife and children in God's care, they dash like the wind
to battle.

The emperor departed at the first sign of peril, moved as swiftly as
one of God's judgments, fought as only he could fight, and at dawn on
the morning of the third day was back again at the imperial court, his
heart soothed by the battle, but full of unsatisfied longing to know
what had happened during his absence.

And--this had happened. Just at dawn on the morning of the third day,
when the stars were paling in the sky, and the emperor was only three
steps from the palace-gate, the Lord's gift came down to the earth,
and Laptitza's promise was fulfilled--two beautiful twin princes,
exactly alike, each with golden hair and a golden star on his
forehead.

But the world was not to see them!

The step-mother, as wicked as her thoughts, hastily put two puppies in
the place of the beautiful twins, and buried the golden-haired
children at the corner of the palace, just under the emperor's
windows.

When the monarch entered the palace he saw and heard nothing except
the two puppies the step-mother had put in the twins' place. No words
were wasted. The emperor saw with his own eyes, and that was enough.

Laptitza had not kept her promise, and there was nothing to be done
except mete out her punishment.

He could not help it, and though his own heart was torn, commanded
that the empress should be buried to her breast in the earth and so
remain before the eyes of the world, in token of what befell those
who tried to deceive an emperor.

The next day the step-mother's wish was fulfilled. The emperor married
a second time, and again the wedding festivities lasted three days and
three nights.

But God's blessing does not rest upon unjust deeds.

The two princes found no rest in the earth. Two beautiful aspens
sprang up where they were buried, but when the step-mother saw them
she ordered them to be pulled up by the roots. The emperor, however,
said: "Let them grow, I like to see them before the window. I never
beheld such aspens before."

So the trees grew, grew as no other aspens ever had grown, every day a
year's growth, every night another year's growth, but in the dawn of
morning, when the stars were paling in the sky, three years' growth in
a single moment. When three days and three nights had passed, the two
aspens were lofty trees, lifting their boughs to the emperor's window,
and when the wind stirred the branches, he listened to their rustling
all day long.

The step-mother suspected what they were, and pondered all day trying
to find some way to get rid of the trees at any cost. It was a
difficult task, but a woman's will can squeeze milk from a stone, a
woman's cunning conquers heroes--what force can not accomplish, fair
words win, and when these fail, hypocritical tears succeed.

One morning the empress sat down on the side of her husband's bed and
began to overwhelm him with loving words and tender caresses. It was
a long time before the thread broke, but at last--even emperors are
mortal!

"Very well," he said, reluctantly, "have your own way; order the
aspens to be cut down, but one must be made into a bedstead for me,
the other for you."

This satisfied the empress. The aspens were cut down, and before night
the beds were standing in the emperor's room.

When he lay down, he felt as if he had become a hundred times heavier,
yet he had never rested so well; but it seemed to the empress as if
she were lying on thorns and nettles, so that she could not sleep all
night long.

When the emperor had fallen asleep, the beds began to creak, and amid
this creaking the empress fancied she heard words that no one else
understood.

"Is it hard for you, brother?" asked one of the beds.

"No, it isn't hard for me," replied the bed in which the emperor was
sleeping, "I am happy, for my beloved father rests upon me."

"It's hard for me," replied the other, "for on me lies a wicked soul."

So the beds talked on in the empress's ears until the dawn of morning.

When daylight came, the empress planned how she could destroy the
beds. At last she ordered two bedsteads exactly like them, and when
the emperor went hunting, placed them in his room without his
knowledge; but the aspen beds, down to the very smallest splinter, she
threw into the fire.

When they were burned so entirely that not even a bit of charcoal
remained, the empress collected the ashes and scattered them to the
winds, that they might be strewn over nine countries and seas, and not
an atom find another atom through all eternity.

But she had not noticed that just when the fire was burning brightest
two sparks rose, and soaring upward, fell again into the midst of the
deep river that flowed through the empire, where they were changed
into two little fishes with golden scales, so exactly alike that
nobody could help knowing they were twin brothers.

One day the imperial fishermen went out early in the morning, and
threw their nets into the water. Just at the moment the last stars
were fading, one of the men drew up his net and beheld what he had
never seen before: two tiny fishes with golden scales.

The other fishermen assembled to see the miracle, but when they had
beheld and admired it, determined to carry the fish alive to the
emperor for a gift.

"Don't take us there, we've just come from there, and it will be our
destruction," said one of the fishes.

"But what shall I do with you?" asked the fisherman.

"Go and gather the dew from the leaves, let us swim in it, put us in
the sun, and don't come back again till the sunbeams have dried the
dew," said the second little fish.

The fisherman did as he was told, gathered the dew from the leaves,
put the little fish into it, placed them in the sun, and did not come
back till the dew was all dried up.

But what had happened! What did he see?

Two boys, handsome princes with golden hair and a golden star on their
foreheads, so exactly alike that no one who saw them could help
knowing that they were twin brothers.

The children grew very rapidly. Every day enough for a year, and every
night enough for another year, but in the dawn of morning when the
stars paled in the sky, enough for three years in a single moment.

Besides, they grew as no other children ever had grown, three times as
fast in age, strength, and wisdom. When three days and nights had
passed, they were twelve years in age, twenty-four in strength, and
thirty-six in wisdom.

"Now let us go to our father," said one of the princes to the
fisherman.

The fisherman dressed the lads in beautiful clothing, and made each a
lambskin cap, which the boys drew low over their faces, that no one
might see their golden hair and the golden star on their foreheads,
and then took the princes to the imperial palace.

It was broad daylight when they arrived.

"We want to speak to the emperor," said one of the princes to the
guard, who stood armed at the door of the palace.

"That can't be done, he's at table," replied the soldier.

"Just because he _is_ at table," said the second prince, passing
through the door.

The guards ran up and tried to drive the boys out of the court-yard,
but the boys slipped through their fingers like quicksilver. Three
paces forward, three up, and they were standing before the great hall,
where the emperor was dining with all his court.

"We want to come in," said one of the princes sharply, to the servants
who stood at the door.

"That can't be done," one of the lackeys answered.

"Indeed! We'll see whether it can be done or not," cried the other
prince, pushing the men aside right and left.

But there were a great many lackeys, and only two princes. A tumult
and uproar arose outside, that resounded through the palace.

"What is going on out there?" asked the emperor angrily.

The princes stopped when they heard their father's voice.

"Two boys are trying to enter by force," said an attendant,
approaching the emperor.

"By force? Who seeks to enter my palace by force? Who are these boys?"
cried the emperor in the same breath.

"We know not, your majesty," replied the lackey, "but there must be
something uncommon about them, for the lads are as strong as young
lions, they overpowered the guard at the gate, and have given us
plenty to do. Besides, they are proud, they don't lift their caps from
their heads."

The emperor flushed scarlet with rage.

"Throw them out!" he cried. "Set the dogs on them."

"Never mind, we will go," said the princes, weeping at the harsh
words, as they went down the steps again.

As they reached the gate, they were stopped by a servant, who was out
of breath from running to overtake them.

"The emperor has commanded you to come back, the empress wants to see
you."

The princes hesitated, then turned, climbed the stairs, and still with
their caps on their heads appeared before the emperor.

There stood a long, wide table, at which sat all the imperial guests;
at the head was the emperor, and beside him the empress, reclining on
twelve silk cushions.

As the princes entered, one of these twelve cushions fell to the
floor, only eleven remaining under the royal lady.

"Take off your caps!" cried a courtier.

"To wear the head covered is a token of rank among men. We wish to be
what we are."

"Why, yes!" exclaimed the emperor, softened by the musical words that
fell from the boys' lips. "Remain what you are, but who are you?

Whence do you come, and what do you want?"

"We are twin brothers, members of a family that is broken in twain,
half in the earth, half at the head of the table; we come from whence
we went, and have reached the place whence we came; we have had a
long journey, have spoken in the sighing of the wind, given a voice to
wood, sang in the ripples of the water, but now we wish to chant in
human language a song you know without knowing it."

A second cushion fell from under the empress.

"Let them go home with their nonsense!" she said to her husband.

"Oh! no, let them sing," replied the emperor. "You only wanted to see
them, but I wish to hear them. Sing, boys!"

The empress was silent, and the princes began to sing the story of
their lives.

"There was once an emperor," they began, and a third cushion fell from
under the empress.

When they described the emperor's departure to the war, three cushions
fell at once, and when the princes had finished their song not a
single one remained. But when they took off their caps and showed
their golden hair and the golden star on their foreheads, guests,
courtiers and emperor closed their eyes, that they might not be
dazzled by so much radiance.

Afterward, what ought to have been from the beginning, happened.

Laptitza sat at the head of the table beside her husband, but the
step-mother's daughter served as the humblest maid in the palace, and
the wicked step-mother was fastened to the tail of a wild mare and
dragged around the earth seven times, that the whole world might know
and never forget, that whoever plans evil comes to a bad end.