The Fairy Ring
Copyright© 2024 by Kate Douglas Wiggin
Twigmuntus, Cowbelliantus, Perchnosius
ONCE upon a time there was a king who was so very learned that no parson in the whole world could surpass him; in fact, he was so learned that ordinary folks could hardly understand what he said, nor could he understand them either. But in order to have some one to talk with he procured seven wise professors, who were not quite so learned as himself, but who were just able to interpret his learned sayings so that people could apprehend them, and who could twist and turn about the talk of ordinary folk so that it became sufficiently learned and complicated for the King to understand it.
The King had no son, but he had a daughter, and in order that she should be happily married, and the country governed according to the fundamental principles of his learning, he issued an edict that he who was so learned as to put the King and his professors to silence should have his daughter and half the kingdom there and then. But anyone who attempted the task and did not succeed should lose his head for having dared to exchange words with the King.
That was no joke; but the Princess was so fair and beautiful that it was no joke to gaze at her either. And the King did not keep her caged up, for anyone who wished could see her.
There came princes and counts and barons and parsons and doctors and learned persons from all quarters of the world; and no sooner did they see the Princess than they one and all wanted to try their luck. But, however learned they were, their learning never proved sufficient, and everyone of them lost his head.
Over in a corner of the kingdom there lived a farmer who had a son. This lad was not stupid; he was quick of apprehension and sharp-witted, and he was not afraid of anything.
When the King’s edict came to this out-of-the-way place, and the parson had read it from the pulpit, the lad wanted to try his luck. “He who nothing risks, nothing wins,” thought the lad; and so he went to the parson and told him that if he would give him lessons in the evenings, he would work for this worship in the daytime, but he wanted to become so learned that he could try a bout with the King and his professors.
“Whoever means to compete with them must be able to do something more than munch bread,” said the parson.
“That may be,” said the lad; “but I’ll try my luck.”
The parson thought, of course, that he was mad; but when he could get such a clever hand to work for him only for his keep, he thought he could not very well say no; and so the lad got what he wanted.
He worked for the parson in the daytime, and the parson read with him in the evening; and in this way they went on for some time, but at last the lad grew tired of his books.
“I am not going to sit here and read and grind away, and lose what few wits I have,” he said; “and it won’t be of much help either, for if you are lucky things will come right of themselves, and if you are not lucky you’ll never make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
And with this he pitched the books on the shelf and went his way.
All at once he came to a large forest, where the trees and the bushes were so thick that it was with difficulty he could get along. While he was thus pushing his way through, he began wondering what he should say when he came to the king’s palace, and how best he could make use of the learning he had picked up from the parson. All of a sudden the twig of a tree struck him across his mouth, so that his teeth rattled.
“That is Twigmuntus,” he said.
A little while after he came to a meadow where a cow was standing bellowing so furiously that it almost deafened him.
“That is Cowbelliantus,” he said.
He then came to a river; but as there was neither bridge nor planks across it, he had to put his clothes on his head and swim across.
While he was swimming a perch came and bit him on the nose.
“That is Perchnosius,” he said.
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