Chapter II: Part 2

'How beautiful!' exclaimed the prince. 'Never will I marry till I find one with a complexion fair as this snow, and tinted like this rosy blood.'

When his day's sport was at an end, he went home and told his parents that he was going to wander over the world till he found one fair as snow, tinted like rosy blood. The parents approved his design and sent him forth.

On, on, on he went, till one day he met a little old woman, who stopped him, saying: 'Whither so fast, fair prince?'

He replied, 'I walk the earth till I find one who is fair as snow, tinted like rosy blood, to make her my wife.'

'That can I help you to, and I alone,' said the little old woman, who was a fairy; and then she gave him the three love-oranges, telling him that when he opened one such a maiden as he was in search of would appear, but he must immediately look for water and sprinkle her, or she would disappear again.

The prince took the oranges, and wandered on. On, on, on he went, till at last the fancy took him to break open one of the oranges. Immediately a beautiful maiden appeared, whose complexion was indeed fair as snow, and tinted like rosy blood, but it was only when she had already disappeared that he recollected about the water. It was too late, so on he wandered again till the fancy took him to open another orange. Instantly another maiden appeared, fairer than the other, and he lost no time in looking for water to sprinkle her, but there was none, and before he came back from the search she was gone.

On he wandered again till he was nearly home, when one day he noticed a handsome fountain standing by the road, and over against it a fine palace. The sight of the fountain made him think of his third orange, and he took it out and broke it open.

Instantly a third maiden appeared, far fairer than either of the others; with the water of the fountain he sprinkled her the moment she appeared, and she vanished not, but staid with him and loved him.

Then he said, 'You must stay here in this bower while I go on home and fetch a retinue worthy to escort you.'

In a palace opposite the fountain lived a black Saracen woman, [29] and just then she went down to the fountain to draw water, and as she looked into the water she said, 'My mistress says that I am so ugly, but I am so fair, therefore I break the pitcher and the little pitcher.' [30]

Then she looked up in the bower, and seeing the beautiful maiden, she called her down, and caressed her, and stroked her hair, and praised her beauty; but as she stroked her hair she took out a magic pin, and stuck it into her head, and instantly the maiden became a dove and perched on the side of the fountain.

Then she broke the pitcher and the little pitcher, and the prince came back.

When the prince saw the ugly black woman standing in the bower where he had left his beautiful maiden, he was quite bewildered, and looked all about for her.

'I am she whom you seek, prince,' said the woman. 'It is the sun has changed me thus while standing here waiting for you; but all will come right when I get away from the sun.'

The prince did not know what to make of it, but there was no help for it but to take her and trust to her coming right when she got away from the sun. He took her home, therefore, and right grand preparations were made for the royal marriage. Tapestries were hung on the walls, and flowers strewed the floor, while in the kitchen was the cook as busy as a bee, preparing I know not how many dishes for the royal banquet.

Then, lo, there came and perched on the kitchen window a little dove, and sang, 'Cook, cook, for whom are you cooking; for the son of the king, or the Saracen Moor? May the cook fall asleep, and may all the viands be burnt!' [31]

After this nothing would go right in the kitchen; every day all the dishes got burnt, and it was impossible to give the wedding banquet, because there was nothing fit to send up to the table. Then the king's son came into the kitchen to learn what had happened, and they showed him the dove which had done all. 'Sweet little dove!' said the prince, and, catching it in his hand, began to caress it; thus he felt the pin in its head, and pulled it out. Instantly his own fair maiden stood before him, white as snow, rosy as blood. Then the mystery was cleared up, and there was great rejoicing, and the old witch was burnt.

[This story, besides its similarities with those mentioned in note of the foregoing, is substantially the same as 'Die weisse u. die schwarze Braut' in Grimm (with his 'Schneeweisschen u. Rosenroth' it seems to have nothing in common, though the words 'Snow-white and rose-red' suggest it); but its commencement is different. The German Tale of Sneewittchen (Grimm, p. 206 has also much similarity with it: a queen sat working in a window framed with ebony; she pricks her finger, and three drops of blood that fall on the snow suggest the wish that her child may be fair as snow, red as blood, and her hair as dark as ebony. Her wishes are fulfilled, and she dies. She is succeeded by a witch-stepmother, from whom the child of wishes suffers many things, but the witch is ultimately danced to death in red-hot iron shoes. A link between them is supplied by the next following, in which the opening agrees with the German story. In Schneller's 'Legends of the Italian Tirol' are two, with a title similar to the Roman one. In the first ('I tre aranci') the girl becomes the property of a fairy, as in Filagranata. She is sent to fetch three oranges, which she does by the help of five gifts given her by an old man; but the whole ends in the good child wishing as her only reward to be restored to her mother. The other is called 'L'amor dei tre aranci.' In this the prince breaks a witch's milkjug while playing at ball, and in revenge she tells him he shall not marry till he finds 'the Love of the three oranges,' which he similarly obtains by the help of five gifts received of an old woman; when he opens them, the story goes on just like the Roman one, the verse of the dove being a little different:--

Cogo, bel cogo,
Endormeazate al fogo,
Che l'arrosto se possa brusar,
E la fiola (figlia) della stria non ne possa magnar.

and there is nothing about 'fair as snow, rosy as blood,' in it. He has another, 'Quel dalla coda di oro,' in which three golden apples or balls play a prominent part, but it belongs to another group. A second version of this, entitled 'I pomi d' oro,' however, is a strange mixture of the various Tirolean and Roman versions.

The Hungarian story of 'Vas Laczi' (Iron Ladislas) begins, like 'L'amor dei tre aranci,' by a young prince getting into a scrape with a witch, this time by breaking her basket of eggs. His punishment is the fulfilment of his first wish, and his first wish happens to be a pettish one, that the earth might swallow up his three sisters; as one of them is said to be always dressed like the sun, the second like the moon, and the third like the stars, we have a link with the German Marienkind and the Tirolean Klein-Else. Afterwards Iron Ladislas goes in search of his sisters, and encounters many heroic adventures and many transformations, in one of which a tree in a dragon's garden with golden apples is a prominent detail.

A tree with golden fruit is also an important incident in the principal and most popular of Hungarian myths, that of 'Tündér Ilona' (Fairy Helen). As it is seen depicted on the thirteen compartments of the grand staircase walls of the National Club at Pest, Tündér Ilona appears in the first as the Goddess or Queen of Summer held in thrall by the stern witch the Goddess or Queen of Winter. She is seen planting in the territory of the Earth-King a tree which represents her earnest longings after freedom, and committing it to the benign influence of the Sun-King.

The second shows this mystical tree bearing its golden fruit, which the beautiful Fairy, as if ashamed of her boldness, is hasting to pluck off, borne on a chariot formed of obedient swans. The Wind-genius wafts poppy seeds over the eyes of the armed guard the Winter-Queen had set round the tree, and lulls them to sleep.

In the third Argilus, the Earth-Prince, is seen surprising in his (up till then vain) nightly attempt to gather the golden fruit, Tündér Ilona's departing convoy. He aims an arrow at the coy plunderer; then suddenly a glance from her pierces his heart instead, and he lets the arrow harmlessly strike the ground.

The fourth portrays the happy union of Ilona and Argilus, Summer and Earth; but the Winter-Queen comes by enraged at their successful defiance of her, and cuts off Ilona's beautiful golden locks. (The people have it that these locks borne along by the winds planted the Puszta with the beautiful long feathery grass which they call 'Orphan-girl's hair'). In the distance are seen the parents of the Earth-Prince hurrying forward in search of their son.

The fifth shows Tündér Ilona waking from her delicious slumber, and on discovering the loss of the mantle of her hair, hasting back in agony to her swan-chariot. Argilus in vain stretches out his arms after her, and prays her to remain always with him.

In the sixth the scene is changed to the dwelling of the Earth-King. Prince Argilus is taking leave of his parents as he starts on his perilous journey, determined to deliver the captive Fairy.

In the seventh the Earth-Prince has advanced on his journey as far as the dwelling of a giant, of whom he asks counsel, and who appoints him three witches to show the way to regain the Tündér.

In the eighth he is seen victorious in a late conflict with three giants, from each of whom he has succeeded in gaining an instrument necessary for his purpose; from one a switch, from another a pipe, from the third a conjuring mantle. The giants throw down masses of rock upon him, but he spreads out the conjuring mantle, and committing himself to it, floats securely through the air.

In the ninth Argilus has reached the Winter-Witch's border, and prepares to engage in combat with the dragon who guards it.

The tenth is highly sensational. The Winter-Witch has thrown a deep sleep over him, and the poor Summer-Fairy strives to awaken him in vain.

In the eleventh the ardent desires of Tündér Ilona have prevailed over all the enchantments of the Winter-Witch, and at her prayer there rises up from the innermost region of the earth the fairy Iron-Queen, who brings the Tátos, the winged magic horse who is to bear the Prince through all dangers to certain victory.

The twelfth shows Argilus and Ilona once more united, enthroned side by side, and subjects bearing them offerings.

The thirteenth is a large composition symbolising the mystic union of Earth and Summer, whence sprang, says the myth, Autumn with her abundant fruits, and the great god Pan, the author of all productiveness, who called the land of his birth after his own name and blessed it with fecundity above all nations of the earth. The tree of golden fruit, the first occasion of the auspicious meeting which led to this union, is again introduced, and Tündér Ilona is again clothed in her luxuriant mantle of golden hair.]

PALOMBELLETTA. [32]

They say there was a peasant whose wife had died and left him one little girl, who was the most beautiful creature that ever was seen; no one on earth could compare with her for beauty. After a while the peasant married again: this time he married a peasant-woman who had a daughter who was the most deformed object that ever was seen; no cripple on earth could compare with her for deformity; and, moreover, her skin was quite black and shrivelled, and altogether no one could bear to look at her, she was so hideous.

One day when everyone was out, and only the fair daughter at home, the king came by from hunting thirsty, and he stopped at the cottage and asked the fair maid for a glass of water. When he saw how fair she was and with what grace she waited on him, he said, 'Fair maiden, if you will, I will come back in eight days and make you my wife.' The maiden answered, 'Indeed I will it, your Majesty!' and the king rode away.

When the stepmother came home the simple maiden told her all that had happened, and she answered her deceitfully, congratulating her on her good fortune. Before the day came round, however, she shut the fair maiden in the cellar. When the king came she went out to meet him with a smiling face, saying, 'Good day, Sire! What is your royal pleasure?' And the king answered, 'To marry your daughter am I come.' Then the stepmother brought out her own daughter to him, all wrapped up in a wide mantle, and her face covered with a thick veil, and a hood over that.

'Rest assured, good woman, that your daughter will be my tenderest care,' said the king; 'but you must take those wrappers off.'

'By no means, Sire!' exclaimed the stepmother. 'And beware you do it not. You have seen how fair she is above all the children of earth. But this exceeding beauty she has on one condition. If one breath of air strike her she loses it all. Therefore, Oh, king! let not the veil be removed.'

When the king heard that he called for another veil, and another hood, and wrapping her still more carefully round, handed her into the carriage he had brought for her, shut the door close, and rode away on horseback by her side.

When they arrived at the palace the hideous daughter of the stepmother was married to the king all wrapt up in her veils.

The stepmother, however, went into her room, full of triumph at what she had done. 'But what am I to do with the other girl!' she said to herself; 'somehow or other some day she will get out of the cellar, and the king will see her, and it will be worse for my daughter than before.' And as she knew not what to do she went to a witch to help her. 'This is what you must do,' said the witch; 'take this pin' (and she gave her a long pin with a gold head), 'and put it into the head of the maiden, and she will become a dove. Then have ready a cage, and keep her in it, and no one will ever see her for a maiden more.'

The stepmother went therefore, and bought a cage, and taking the large pin [33] down into the cellar, she drove the pin into the fair maiden's head, holding open the cage as she did so.

As soon as the pin entered the maiden's head she became a dove, but instead of flying into the cage she flew over the stepmother's head far away out of sight.

On she flew till she came to the king's palace, right against the window of the kitchen where the cook was ready preparing a great dinner for the king. The cook looked round as he heard the poor little dove beating its frightened breast against the window, and, fearful lest it should hurt itself, he opened the window.

In flew the dove as soon as he opened the window, and flew three times round his head, singing each time as she did so:--'O cook! O cook! of the royal kitchen, what shall we do with the Queen? All of you put yourselves to sleep, and may the dinner be burnt up!' [34]

As soon as she had sung this the third time the cook sank into a deep sleep; the dinner from want of attention was all burnt up; and when the king sat down to table, there was nothing to set before him.

'Where is the dinner?' exclaimed the king, as he looked over the empty table to which he had brought his bride, still wrapt up in her thick veils.

'Please your Majesty, the dinner is all burnt up as black as charcoal,' said the chamberlain; 'and the cook sits in the kitchen so fast asleep that no one can wake him.'

'Go and fetch me a dinner from the inn,' said the king; 'and the cook, when he comes to himself, let him be brought before me.'

After a time the cook came to himself, and the chamberlain brought him before the king.

'Tell me how this happened,' said the king to the cook. 'All these years you have served me well and faithfully; how is it that to-day, when the dinner should have been of the best in honour of my bride, everything is burnt up, and the king's table is left empty?'

'Indeed, the dinner had been of the best, Sire,' answered the cook. 'So had I prepared it. Only, when all was nearly ready, there came a dove flying in at the window, and flew three times round my head, singing each time,

Cook of the royal kitchen,
What shall we do with the Queen?
Sleep ye all soundly, and burnt be the meal
Which on the King's board should have been.

After that a deep sleep fell on me and I know nothing more of what happened.'

'That must have been a singular dove,' said the king; 'bring her to me and you shall be forgiven.'

The cook went down to look for the dove, and found her midway, flying to meet him.

'There is the dove, Sire,' said the cook, handing the dove to the king.

'So you spoilt my dinner, did you palombelletta,' said the king. 'But never mind; you are a dear little dove, and I forgive you,' and he put her in his breast and stroked her. Thus, as he went on stroking and fondling her, calling her 'palombelletta bella!' he felt the gold head of the stepmother's big pin through the feathers. 'What have you got in your head, palombelletta dear?' he said, and pulled the pin out.

Instantly the fair maiden stood before him in all her surpassing beauty as he had seen her at the first. 'Are you not my fair maiden who promised to marry me?' exclaimed the king.

'The very same, and no other,' replied the maiden.

'Then who is this one?' said the king, and he turned to the stepmother's daughter beside him, and tore off her veil. Then he understood the deceit that had been played on him, and he sent for the stepmother, and ordered that she and her daughter should be punished with death.

[The next group most prolific in variety of incidents is that in which the stepmother represents the evil genius of the story; sometimes there is a daughter only, sometimes a daughter and a son, and sometimes, but less frequent, a son only. Allied to it is that in which the character devolves on two elder sisters, not specified to be stepsisters, and the incidents in these two branches are closely interwoven. I give the first place to Cinderella, because it has acquired a homely importance.]

LA CENORIENTOLA. [35]

They say there was a merchant who had three daughters. When he went out into foreign countries to buy wares he told them he would bring them rare presents whatever they might ask for. The eldest asked for precious jewels, the second for rich shawls, but the youngest who was always kept out of sight in the kitchen by the others, and made to do the dirty work of the house, asked only for a little bird.

'So you want a little bird, do you! What is the use of a little bird to you!' said the sisters mocking her, and 'Papa will have something else to think of than minding little birds on a long journey.'

'But you will bring me a little bird, won't you, papa?' pleaded the little girl; 'and I can tell you that if you don't the boat you are on will stand still, and will neither move backwards nor forwards.'

The merchant went away into a far country and bought precious wares, but he forgot all about the little bird. It was only when he had got on board a boat to go down a mighty river on his homeward way, and the captain found the boat would not move by any means, that he remembered what his daughter had said to him. Then while the captain was wondering how it was the boat would not move, he went to him and told him what he had done. But the captain said, 'That is easily set right. Here close by is a garden full of thousands of birds; you can easily creep in and carry off one. One will never be missed among so many thousands.'

The merchant followed his directions and went into the garden where there were so many thousand birds that he easily caught one. The captain gave him a cage, and he brought it safely home and gave it to his daughter.

That night the elder sisters said as usual, 'We are going to the ball; you will stay at home and sweep up the place and mind the fire.'

Now all the birds in the garden which the captain had pointed out to the merchant were fairies; so when the others were gone to the ball and the youngest daughter went into her room to her bird, she said to it:

Give me splendid raiment,
And I will give you my rags. [36]

Immediately, the bird gave her the most beautiful suit of clothes, with jewels and golden slippers, and a splendid carriage and prancing horses. With these the maiden went to the ball which was at the king's palace. The moment the king saw her he fell in love with her, and would dance with no one else. The sisters were furious with the stranger because the king danced all night with her and not with them, but they had no idea it was their sister.

The second night she did the same, only the bird gave her a yet more beautiful dress, and the king did all he could to find out who she was, but she would not tell him. Then he asked her name and she said,--

'They call me Cenorientola.'

'Cenorientola,' said the king; 'what a pretty name! I never heard it before.'

He had also told the servants that they must run after her carriage and see where it went; but though they ran as fast as the wind they could not come near the pace of her horses.

The third night the sisters went to the ball and left her at home, and she staid at home with her little bird and said to it,--

Give me splendid raiment,
And I will give you my rags. [37]

Then the bird gave her a more splendid suit still, and the king paid her as much attention as ever. But to the servants he had said, 'If you don't follow fast enough tonight to see where she lives I will have all your heads cut off.' So they used such extra diligence that she in her hurry to get away dropped one of her golden slippers; this the servants picked up and brought to the king.

The next day the king sent a servant into every house in the city till he should find her whom the golden slipper fitted, but there was not one; last of all he came to the merchant's house, and he tried it on the two elder daughters and it would fit neither. Then he said,--

'There must be some other maiden in this house;' but they only shrugged their shoulders. 'It is impossible; another maiden there must be, for every maiden in the city we have seen and the slipper fits none, therefore one there must be here.'

Then they said,--

'In truth we have a little sister who sits in the kitchen and does the work. She is called Cenorientola, because she is always smutty. We are sure she never went to a ball, and it would only soil the beautiful gold slipper to let her put her smutty feet into it.'

'It may be so,' replied the king's servant, 'but we must try, nevertheless.'

So they fetched her, and the king's servant found that the shoe fitted her; and they went and told the king all.

The moment the king heard them say Cenorientola he said,--'That is she! It is the name she gave me.'

So he sent a carriage to fetch her in all haste. The bird meantime had given her a more beautiful dress than any she had had before, and priceless jewels, so that when they came to fetch her she looked quite fit to be a queen. Then the king married her; and though her sisters had behaved so ill to her she gave them two fine estates, so that all were content.

[The counterparts to the story are endless. In Grimm's 'Aschenputtel' (p. 93), the nominal German counterpart, there is a stepmother as well as two sisters, and the story turns upon the gifts each daughter craves of the father, an episode which occurs in Roman versions with different titles. His 'Die drei Männlein im Walde' ('Three Little Men in the Wood') is like it, and the other versions too, and the episode in it of the good daughter receiving the faculty of dropping a gold coin from her mouth at every word she utters, is like a Hungarian story, in which no stepmother figures, but the evil genius of the story (the Lady-in-Waiting) is plainly called a witch. In this story it is a princess, from whose footsteps rise gold pieces, her tears are pearls, and her smiles rosebuds. In one of the Siddhi Kür Stories which I have translated as 'Sagas from the far East' (p. 49) is a similar incident, and a Spanish equivalent in Note 3. A friend of mine met with a very similar legend in a convent at Quito, concerning a nun called 'the Rose of Quito,' out of whose grave a rose-tree is said to have sprung and blossomed on the morrow of her burial. It seems, however, to have an independent origin, as 'the Rose of Quito' died within the last 150 years. In the Tirolean 'Klein-Else,' or 'Aschenpfödl,' to which allusion has already been made, and which answers to it in name, we have a connexion with the last group (as in some of the succeeding Roman versions) in the sun, moon, and star dresses.

Among the Tales of Italian Tirol we find it as Zendrarola, and with a good deal of variation from any other form I have met. The story opens with a dying father as in the North Tirolean 'Klein-Else,' but it is only a rich man, not a warrior-baron, and he has three daughters instead of one. He bids them choose what gifts he shall bestow on them before he dies, and the eldest asks for a pair of earrings; the second for a dress; and the youngest for his magic sword, which gives whatever the possessor wishes for. The story is singular in this, that the elder sisters seem to have no spite. The father does not die; but, notwithstanding his recovery, he has nothing more to do with the story further than to give an unwilling consent that the youngest daughter, though his favourite, shall go forth with her sword and roam the world till she finds a husband. She only takes service in a large house in a big town, however; but there falls in love with a melancholy youth, son of a count, who lives opposite. For the sake of being nearer him, she obtains the place of kitchen-maid in his palace, and thus acquires her title of Zendrarola in a very different way from her counterparts in other lands. One day she hears he is going to a ball, and she makes her wishing-sword give her a dress like the sky; and the young Count, who has never admired anyone before, of course falls in love with her. When he comes back, he confides to his lady mother what has occurred, and Zendrarola, now again dressed as a dirty drudge, interposes that the fair one he was extolling was not prettier than herself. He silences her indignantly by giving her a poke with the shovel, and when she meets him next night in some beautiful attire, and he asks her where she comes from, she answers 'dalla palettada' (from shovel-blow). The next day the same thing happens, and he gives her a blow with the tongs, and when he asks her in the evening what her country is, she answers 'majettada' (tongs-blow); answering to Frustinaia and Stivalaia in the second Roman version of 'Maria di Legno.' He gives her a ring, which she sends up in his broth, as Klein-Else does in the pancake, and so he recognises and marries her. In one or two of the Roman versions also, the means of recognition is a ring in place of a slipper.

I do not remember any Cinderella among the Russian Tales, though there are stepmother stories, which pair off with others of the Roman. For Scotch versions I must refer the reader to Campbell's 'Highland Tales,' i. 226, and ii. 292.]

VACCARELLA. [38]

They say there was once a husband and a wife; but I don't mean that they were husband and wife of each other. The husband had lost his wife, and the wife had lost her husband, and each had one little daughter. The husband sent his daughter to the wife to be brought up along with her own daughter, and as the girl came every morning to be trained and instructed, the wife used to send a message back by her every evening, saying, 'Why doesn't your father marry me? then we should all live together, and you would no longer have this weary walk to take.'

The father, however, did not see it in the same light; but the teacher [39] continued sending the same message. In short, [40] at last she carried her point, having previously given a solemn promise to him that Maria, his little girl, should be always as tenderly treated as her own.

Not many months elapsed, however, before she began to show herself a true stepmother. After treating Maria with every kind of harshness, she at last sent her out into the Campagna to tend the cow, so as to keep her out of sight of her father, and estrange him from her. Maria had to keep the cow's stall clean with fresh litter every day; sometimes she had to take the cow out to grass, and watch that it only grazed over the right piece of land; at other times she had to go out and cut grass for the cow to eat. All this was work enough for one so young; but Maria was a kind-hearted girl, and grew fond of her cow, so that it became a pleasure to her to attend to it.

When the cruel stepmother saw this she was annoyed to find her so light-hearted over her work, and to vex her more gave her a great heap of hemp to spin. It was in vain that Maria reminded her she had never been taught to spin; the only answer she got was, 'If you don't bring it home with you to-night all properly spun you will be finely punished;' and Maria knew to her cost what that meant.

When Maria went out into the Campagna that day she was no longer light-hearted; and as she littered down the stall she stroked the cow fondly, and said to her, as she had no one else to complain to, 'Vaccarella! Vaccarella! what shall I do? I have got all this hemp to spin, and I never learnt spinning. Yet if I don't get through it somehow I shall get sadly beaten to-night. Dear little cow, tell me what to do!'

But the cow was an enchanted cow, [41] and when she heard Maria cry she turned round and said quickly and positively:--

Throw it on to the horns of me,
And go along, cut grass for me! [42]

Maria did as she was told, went out and cut a good basketful of grass, and imagine her delight on coming back with it to find all the whole lot of hemp beautifully spun.

The surprise of the stepmother was still greater than hers, at finding that she had got through her task so easily, for she had given her enough to have occupied an ordinary person a week. Next day, therefore, she determined to vex her with a more difficult task, and gave her a quantity of spun hemp [43] to weave into a piece of fine cloth. Maria's pleadings were as fruitless as before, and once more she went to tell her tale of woe to her 'dear little cow.'

Vaccarella readily gave the same answer as before:--

Throw it on to the horns of me,
And go along, cut grass for me!

Once more, when Maria came back with her basket of grass, she found all her work done, to her great surprise and delight. But her stepmother's surprise was quite of another order. That Maria should have woven the cloth, not only without instruction, but even without a loom, proved clearly enough she must have had some one to help her--a matter which roused the stepmother's jealousy in the highest degree, and wherein this help consisted she determined to find out. Accordingly, next day she gave her a shirt to make up, and then posted herself out of sight in a corner of the cow-house to see what happened. Thus she overheard Maria's complaint to her dear little cow, and Vaccarella's reply:--

Throw it on to the horns of me,
And go along, cut grass for me!

She thus also saw, what Maria did not see, that as soon as she had gone out the cow assumed the form of a woman, and sat down and stitched and stitched away till the shirt was made, and that in a surprisingly short space of time. As soon as it was finished, and before Maria came in, the woman became a cow again.

The cruel stepmother determined that Maria should be deprived of a friend who enabled her to set all her hard treatment at defiance, and next morning told her that she was going to kill the cow. Maria was broken-hearted at the announcement, but she knew it was useless to remonstrate; so she only used her greatest speed to reach her 'dear little cow,' and warn her of what was going to happen in time to make her escape.

'There is no need for me to escape,' replied Vaccarella; 'killing will not hurt me. So dry your tears, and don't be distressed. Only, after they have killed me, put your hand under my heart, and there you will find a golden ball. This ball is yours, so take it out, and whenever you are tired of your present kind of life, you have only to say to it on some fitting occasion--"Golden ball, golden ball, dress me in gold and give me a lover," [44] and you shall see what shall happen.'

Vaccarella had no time to say more, for the stepmother arrived just then with a man who slaughtered the cow at her order.

Under Vaccarella's heart Maria found the promised golden ball, which she hid away carefully against some fitting occasion for using it arose.

Not long after there was a novena [45] of a great festival, during which Maria's stepmother, with all her disposition to overwork her, durst not keep her from church, lest the neighbours should cry 'Shame!' on her.

Maria accordingly went to church with all the rest of the people, and when she had made her way through the crowd to a little distance from her stepmother, she took her golden ball out of her pocket and whispered to it--'Golden ball, golden ball, dress me in gold and give me a lover.'

Instantly the golden ball burst gently open and enveloped her, and she came out of it all radiant with beautiful clothing, like a princess. Everybody made way for her in her astonishing brightness.

The eyes of the king's son were turned upon her, no less than the eyes of all the people; and the prayers were no sooner over than he sent some of his attendants to call her and bring her to him. Before they could reach her, however, Maria had restored her beautiful raiment to the golden ball, and, in the sordid attire in which her stepmother dressed her, she could easily pass through the crowd unperceived.

At home, her stepmother could not forbear talking, like everyone else in the town, about the maiden in glittering raiment who had appeared in the midst of the church; but, of course, without the remotest suspicion that it was Maria herself. But Maria sat still and said nothing.

So it happened each day of the Novena; for, though Maria was not at all displeased with the appearance and fame of the husband whom her 'dear little cow' seemed to have appointed for her, she did not wish to be too easy a prize, and thought it but right to make him take a little trouble to win her. Thus she every day restored all her bright clothing to the golden ball before the prince's men could overtake her. Only on the last day of the Novena, when the prince, fearful lest it might also be the last on which he would have an opportunity of seeing her, had told them to use extra diligence, they were so near overtaking her that, in the hurry of the moment, she dropped a slipper. [46] This the prince's men eagerly seized, feeling no compunction in wresting it from the mean-looking wench (so Maria now looked) who disputed possession of it with them, not in the least imagining that she could be the radiant being of whom they were in search.

The Novena over, Maria once more returned to her ceaseless toil; but the stepmother's hatred had grown so great that she determined to rid herself of her altogether and in the most cruel way.

Down in the cellar there stood a large barrel, [47] which had grown dirty and mouldy from neglect, and wanted scalding out. 'Get into the barrel, Maria girl,' she bid her next morning for her task, 'and scrape it and rub it well before we scald it.'

Maria did as she was bid, and the stepmother went away to boil the water.

Meantime, the prince's men had taken Maria's slipper to him, and he, delighted to have any token of his fair one, appointed an officer to go into every house, and proclaim that the maiden whom the slipper might fit should be his bride. The officer went round from house to house, trying the slipper on everybody's foot. But it fitted no one, for it was under a spell.

But the stepmother's own daughter [48] had gone down to the cellar to help Maria, unbeknown to her mother; and it so happened that, just as she was inside the barrel and Maria outside, the king's officer happened to come by that way. He opened the door, [49] and, seeing a damsel standing within, tried on the sandal without waiting to ask leave. As the sandal fitted Maria to perfection, the officer was all impatience to carry her off to the prince, and placed her in the carriage which was waiting outside, and drove off with her before anyone had even observed his entrance.

Scarcely had all this passed than the stepmother came back, with her servants, each carrying a can of boiling water. They placed themselves in a ring round the barrel, and each emptied her charge into it. As it was the stepmother's daughter who was inside at the time, instead of Maria, it was she who got scalded to death in her place.

By-and-by, when the house was quiet, the bad stepmother went to the barrel, intending to take out the body of Maria and hide it. What was her dismay when she found, instead of Maria's body, that of her own daughter! As soon as her distress and grief subsided sufficiently to enable her to consider what she had to do, the idea suggested itself to conceal the murder by putting the blame of it on some one else. For this purpose she took the body of her daughter, and, dressing it in dry clothes, seated it on the top of the stairs against her husband's return. [50]

Presently, home he came with his ass-load of wood, and called to her daughter to come and help him unload it, as usual. But the daughter continued sitting on the top of the stairs, and moved not. Again and again he called, louder and louder, but still she moved not; till at last, irritated beyond all endurance, he hurled one of his logs of wood at her, which brought the badly-balanced corpse rolling and tumbling all the way down the stairs, just as the stepmother had designed.

The husband, however, was far from being deceived by the device. He could see the body presented no appearance of dying from a recent fall.

'Where's Maria?' he asked, as soon as he got up into the room.

'Nobody knows; she has disappeared!' replied the stepmother; nor was he slow to convince himself she was nowhere in the house.

'This is no place for me to stay in,' said the husband to himself. 'One child driven away, and one murdered; who can say what may happen next?'

Next morning, therefore, he called to him the little daughter born to him since his marriage with Maria's stepmother, and went away with her for good and all. So that bad woman was deprived, as she deserved, of her husband and all her children in one day.

Just as the father and his daughter were starting to go away, Maria drove by in a gilded coach with the prince her husband; so he had the satisfaction, and her stepmother the vexation, of seeing her triumph.

[The introduction of the wonder-working cow in this second version of the story of Cinderella cannot fail to suggest the idea that it may find its prototype in Sabala, the heavenly cow of the Ramayana. [51]

I have another Stepmother story, the place of which is here, but it is too long to give in its entirety. It begins like the last, and the next, and many others, with a widower, the teacher of whose children, a boy and girl, insists on marrying him. Soon after, of course, she turns the children out of doors; the boy is made the slave of a witch, and comes well at last out of many adventures; it is one of the nearest approaches to a heroic story that I have met with in Rome. There are details in it, however, like Filagranata and others, not actually of the Stepmother group. The girl gets taken into a Brigand's cave, and goes through adventures which befall the youngest of three sisters (without a stepmother) in the Italian-Tirolese tale of 'Le tre Sorelle,' and that, again, is precisely like another Roman story I have, in many respects different from the present one, called 'The Three Windows.' One of the adventures in the present story is, that the witch, instead of killing the girl, gives her the appearance of death, and she is shut up in a box instead of being regularly buried, and a prince, as he goes by hunting, finds her, and the means of restoring her, and marries her. This is a very common incident in another group, and occurs in the 'Siddhi Kür' story which I have given as 'The Prayer making suddenly Rich,' in 'Sagas from the Far East;' and in the third version of 'Maria de Legno,' infra, where also the girl is not even seemingly dead. I cannot forbear subjoining a quaint version of the story of Joseph, which was told me, embodying the same incident, though the story of Joseph has usually been identified with the group in which a younger brother is the hero; by Dr. Dasent, among others, who gives several examples, under the name of 'Boots.' In the Roman series this group is represented by 'Scioccolone.']

GIUSEPPE L'EBREO.

'Do you know the story of Giuseppe l'Ebreo?'

'Not by that name. Tell it me, and I'll tell you if I've heard it before.'

'There was once a moglie e marito who had seven sons.'

'Oh, do you mean the Machabees?'

'No. I don't think they were called Machabees--I don't know. But the youngest of the seven was called Joseph, and he was his father's Benjamin, and that made the others jealous of him. They used to go out in the Campagna together to feed the flocks, for in those days all were shepherds; and when the others had Joseph out there all alone they said, "Let us kill him;" and they were going to kill him; but one said, "No, we must not kill him: we will put him down a well;" and so they did.

'The next day it happened that a great king went by hunting, and as his dogs passed the well where Joseph was they scented human blood and made a great barking, and the king said, "See what the dogs have found." So they took the stone from the mouth of the well and let a cord down, and behold a beautiful boy came up--for Joseph was a beautiful boy--and he pleased the king, and he took him home and kept him as a precious jewel, he was so fair. So handsome was he, that the Queen fell in love with him; and when he wouldn't listen to her she accused him of having insulted her, and had him put into prison.

'After that the King had a strange dream: he saw three lean cows and three fat cows; and he saw the three lean cows eat up the three fat cows; and he sent for all the theologians in the country, and none of them could tell what the dream meant; but Joseph said, "I can tell what the dream means."... The rest as in the Bible.'

[Dr. Dasent gives one Norse story of a stepmother, with a stepson and daughter, which begins like the one of which I have given an abstract, but runs off into quite different incidents.]

THE KING WHO GOES OUT TO DINNER. [52]

They say there was a well-to-do peasant whose wife died leaving him two children--a boy and a girl. Both were beautiful children, but the girl was of the most inconceivable beauty.

As both were still young, and the father did not know how to supply a mother's place to them, he sent them to a woman, who was to teach them and train them, and do all that a mother would have done for them. So to her they went every day. The woman, however, was bent on marrying their father, and used to send a message every day to ask why he did not marry her. The father sent in answer that he did not want to marry; but the woman continued to repeat the same message so frequently that, wearied by her importunity, he sent an answer to the effect that when a pair of strong woollen stockings, which he also gave the children to take to her, were rotted away he would marry her, and not before. The woman took the pair of stockings and hung them up in a loft and damped them with water twice a day till they were soon quite rotted; then she showed them to the children, and told them to tell their father what they had seen. When the children went home they said, 'Papa! we saw your pair of stockings to-day; they are all rotted away.' But the father said, 'Nonsense! Those thick stockings could not have rotted in this time; there must be some unfair play.'

The next morning he gave them a large pitcher of water, and told them to take it to their teacher, saying that when all the water had dried up he would marry her, and not before. The teacher took the children up every day to see how rapidly the water diminished in the jug; but the fact was she used to go first and pour out a little every day. [53] At last she showed them the pitcher empty, and bid them tell their father that they had seen it so. 'Impossible!' said their father; but when they assured him they had seen the water in it gradually diminish day by day, he saw there was no way of disputing the fact, and that he was bound by the condition he himself had fixed.

Accordingly he married the teacher. No sooner, however, was she in possession of the house than she told the father she would not have the children about the place; they were not her children, and she could not bear the sight of them. The father expostulated, saying he had no place to send them to, but the stepmother continued so persistently in her representations that, for the sake of peace, he ceased to oppose her, and she took upon herself the task of disposing of them.

One day, therefore, she made them a large cake, [54] and putting it in a basket with a bottle of wine, she took them for a walk outside the gates. When they had gone a long, long way, she proposed that they should sit down and lunch off their cake and wine. The children were nothing loth; but, while they were eating, the stepmother slipped away unperceived, and left them alone, thinking that they would be lost. But the fact was the boy had overheard their father and mother talking about getting rid of them, and he had provided himself with a paper parcel [55] of ashes, and had strewn them all along the road they had come, unperceived by his stepmother, and so now by this track they found their way home again.

The stepmother was furious at seeing them come back, but she said nothing in order not to rouse their suspicions. A few days after, however, she made another cake and proposed to take them another walk. The children accompanied her willingly; but the little boy provided himself with a parcel of millet, and strewed the grain on the ground as they walked along. They were in no haste, therefore, to finish their refection. But, alas! when they came to trace the track by which they were to return, there was no means of finding it, for the birds had come meanwhile and eaten up all the grain. The little girl was appalled when she saw they were lost, and sat down to cry; but the little boy said, 'Never mind; our stepmother was very cross and unkind to us; perhaps we shall meet with some one who will behave better to us. Come, let us look for shelter before night comes on.' The little girl took courage at her brother's words, and, joining hands, they walked on together.

Before night they came to a little cottage, the only one in sight; so they knocked at the door. 'Who's there?' said a voice within, and when they answered 'Friends,' an old man opened the door. 'Will you please take us in and give us shelter for the night, for our stepmother has turned us out of our home?' said the little boy. 'Come in, and welcome,' answered the old man, 'and you shall be my children.' So they went in and lived with him as his children.