IN a certain valley, long ago, there dwelt a grazier who had a wife named Barbara. The grazier was famous for his valor in encountering wolves, and there was not in all the valley a man who was his match in handling the quarter-staff. Moreover, so expert was he with a sling that he could hurl a stone a distance of a hundred yards and hit a deer between the eyes, and so kill it. With his knife he was equally skilful, and he was greatly feared in a quarrel. Yet in spite of all his prowess and courage he quailed before his wife Barbara.
She was no longer young, and her beauty was a thing of the past, but she was a woman who made herself respected. She never failed to produce a startling effect on her husband when she visited him as he was tending his herds on the mountain-sides, for no other woman ever had such a tongue. He often prayed to the saints for relief, but she continued to both plague him with her tongue and mark him with her nails.
At last he applied for advice to an old wizard who lived in a neighboring valley. He had begun telling of his troubles when the wizard interrupted him and said: “I see plainly that you are complaining bitterly, but I would have you know that I am deaf, and no matter how violently you shout and jump and gesture, what you say or do will have no effect on me. Nevertheless, let me tell you, that if you have some bright yellow gold to bestow on me, you will be heard and understood. Yes, I would hear and comprehend, even if you were dumb and had no voice whatever.”
“I will hasten to the market,” said the grazier, “and sell some of my finest beasts, and the money that I receive for them I will gladly give to you.”
So away he went and sold some of his beasts and returned to the wizard and counted out the gold-pieces one by one. Then the wizard listened patiently to his story and sent him home with a promise of speedy relief.
That very night, after the grazier and his wife were in bed, and the latter was delivering a lengthy lecture on his lack of breeding in snoring when a lady was speaking, a white figure appeared at the bedside with a mirror in its hand.
“Barbara,” said the specter, “your virtues are known to me, and as a reward you shall be restored to youth and beauty, which you shall yourself behold when you look into this mirror. But beware lest angry or vain words pass your lips, for such a lapse will be punished by hideous old age and infirmity.”
So saying, the apparition vanished. Barbara lit a lamp and occupied herself in admiring her reflection in the magic mirror. Thus the grazier was enabled to enjoy an unbroken sleep till morning, a thing he had not done for years. He had peace also on the morrow and ever after, for Barbara never allowed the mirror to pass out of her possession, and it was a constant solace to her even to the day of her death.
