Oldal 165 [165]
THE THREE CITRONS
She climbed the tree and hid herself in it, all but her lovely
face, which, encircled by the foliage, was reflected in the
transparent fountain as in a clear mirror.
Now there was a negress, by the name of Lucy, who lived
in the neighborhood, and who was sent every day by her
mistress to the fountain for water. Lucy came, as usual,
with her pitcher on her shoulder, and just as she was about
to fill it, she spied the image of the fairy in the spring.
The fool, who had never seen herself, thought that the
face was her own. "Poor Lucy!” she cried. " What!
you, so fresh and beautiful, are forced by your mistress to
carry water like a beast of burden! No, never!" And in
her vanity she dashed the pitcher to the ground and
returned home.
When her mistress asked her why she had broken the
pitcher, the slave shrugged her shoulders and said, “The
pitcher that goes often to the well is soon broken. Upon
this her mistress gave her a little wooden cask and
ordered her to go back immediately and fill 1t at the
fountain.
The negress ran to the spring, and, gazing lovingly at
the beautiful image in the water, sighed and said, "No,
I am not an ape, as I am so often told; I am more beautiful
than my mistress. Mules may carry casks—not I!" She
dashed the cask on the ground, broke it in a thousand
pieces, and returned to her mistress, grumbling.
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