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‘Over the road they fly,
Traced by no mortal eye.’

“Then they perched themselves stiffly on the branches and peeped down mockingly at the scholar, while two impudent titmice cried out: ‘There stands the conjurer listening to us and cannot make out what has happened to him.’ ‘Well, how he will stare!’ screamed the whole troop, and off they flew with a chirping which sounded half like laughter.

“The scholar now felt something thrown in his face, and looking up, saw an ill-bred squirrel that had flung a hollow nut at his forehead, and now lay flat with his belly upon the bough, staring him full in the face, and crying: ‘The full one for me, the hollow for thee!’ ‘Ye misbehaved rabble, let the strange gentleman alone,’ cried a black and white magpie that came wagging her tail up to him, through the grass. She then seated herself on the student’s shoulder, and said into his ear: ‘You must not judge of us all according to these uncourteous beasts, learned sir, there are well bred folks among us. Only see, through that aperture, yonder wise gentleman, the wild boar, how quietly he stands and eats his acorns, and fosters his thoughts in silence. Willingly I will give you my company and tell you all that I know, for talking is my delight, especially with old people.’

“‘There you are out in your reckoning,’ said the student, ‘I am still young.’

“‘Heavens, how men can deceive themselves,’ cried the magpie, and she looked very thoughtful.

“The student now thought he heard, from the depth of the wood, a sigh, the sound of which penetrated his heart. He asked the cause of his white and black companion, and she told him she would ask two lizards, who were eating their breakfast. He accordingly went, with the magpie on his shoulder, to the place where these creatures were to be found, and beheld a very pretty sight. The two lizards, sure enough, were genteel young ladies, for they sat under a great mushroom, which stretched its golden yellow roof over them like a splendid marquee. There they sat imbibing, with their little brown tongues, the dew from the grass, and then wiping their mouths with one of the blades, they went to take a walk together in a neighbouring grove of fern, which seemingly belonged to the one who had invited her friend to the visit. ‘Shack! shack!’ cried the magpie, ‘the gentleman wants to know who it was that sighed.’ The lizards raised their heads, waggled their tails and cried,

‘In the bower by the spring the Princess sleeps;
Safely the spider the lady keeps.’

“‘Hem,’ said the magpie, shaking her head, ‘to think that one can be so forgetful. To be sure in the adjoining beechen-bower slumbers the fair Princess Doralice, about whom wicked King Spider has spun his web. Oh, if you could save her, learned sir!’ The student’s heart was stirred, and he asked the magpie where the bower was. The bird flew before him, from bough to bough, to show him the way, till at last they came to a quiet meadow, enclosed all round, through which a streamlet, taking its source from a cleft in the rocks, was flowing among some pretty bowers formed by beech-trees. These trees had struck their branches into the earth, and thus arched over the ground like a roof, through which the fine leaves of the fern were peering forth, forming as it were the gables and loopholes of the little leafy dwelling. Upon these the magpie sprang, peeped through a loophole, and whispered mysteriously, ‘Here sleeps the princess!” The student approached with beating heart, knelt before the opening of the bower and looked within. Ah, there was a sight that set his whole soul and senses into a commotion more violent than when he uttered the magical word! On the moss, which rose like a pillow round its fair burden, the loveliest maiden was lying asleep. Her head was somewhat raised, one arm was placed under it, and her white fingers glistened through the gold-brown hair, which in long soft streams delicately wound about her neck and bosom. With unspeakable delight and, at the same time, with a feeling of melancholy the student gazed upon the noble face, the purple lips, the full white limbs, which cast a bright reflection on the dark moss. The circumstance that the sleeper, as if oppressed by some mysterious weight, appeared to breathe in a soft agony, only rendered her more charming in his eyes; he felt that his heart was captivated for ever, and that those lips alone could still his passion. ‘Is it not a shame,’ said the magpie, as she hopped through the hole into the bower and perched on the sleeper’s arm, ‘that so lovely a princess should thus be bound by a web?’ ‘A web?’ asked the student; ‘she is indeed lying there wrapped in her white veil.’ ‘Oh, folly!’ cried the magpie, ‘I tell you that is all cobweb, and King Spider made it.’ ‘But who is King Spider?’