Chapter III: Witches (15)

"Then you had better have some." And with this the devil put a plateful of gold coins into the prince's bag. The latter shook the bridle and his piebald appeared. The devil was very much alarmed at the sight, and exclaimed: "You rascal, then you associate with our arch-persecutor. Let me have back my sword and the gourd, I don't want any of your water." But the prince did not listen to him; in fact he had no time to heed the devil's words even if he had any intention of doing so, as he was already high up in the air, and the piebald now questioned him: "How shall we go, dear master? shall we fly as fast as the whirlwind, or like a flash of thought?" "Just as you please, my dear horse."

And the piebald flew away, with the prince on its back, in the direction of the fairies' well. Soon they reached their goal, and alighted on the ground, whereupon the horse said: "Well, my dear master, we have reached our destination. Put on the plaid that the first devil gave you and walk into the fairy queen's palace. The queen has just sat down to supper. Eat, drink, and enjoy yourself. Don't be afraid, nobody will know that you are there. In the meantime I will go into the silken meadow and graze with the horses of the fairy over night. I shall return in the morning and we will then fill our gourd."

And so it happened. The Green Prince put on the plaid and walked into the fairy queen's dining-room, sat down and supped, and for every glass of wine consumed by the fairy he drank two. The supper over they enjoyed themselves. Suddenly the fairy queen felt a sensation as if she were touched by a man, although she could not see anybody. She thereupon exclaimed to her fairies: "Fairies, fairies, keep the bellows going under the boiling lead. Some calamity will befall us to-night."

In the morning the piebald appeared before the castle; the Green Prince was still fast asleep, but luckily the ring squeezed his finger and he awoke and so was saved. He lost no time in going down to his horse.

"I am glad to tell you, my dear master, that all is well. They have not yet been able to see you. Let us go and get the water at once. This is how you must proceed. Stick the gourd on the point of your sword and then dip it under. But, be careful; the gourd must touch the water before my feet get wet, or else we must pay with our lives for our audacity."

The Green Prince did as he was told. He stuck the gourd on the point of the sword and dipped it into the well, before the piebald's hoofs touched the surface of the water.

"Well, my dear master, this has gone off without mishap. Let us at once go and liberate your sisters." First they visited the youngest. The Green Prince put on the plaid, and brought her away unnoticed. Then he rescued the second princess; and at last the eldest, by the aid of his plaid. And their diabolic husbands never noticed that they had been stolen. Having thus liberated his three sisters, he returned without delay to the hermit's hut.

"Well done, my son! Have you brought back any youth-giving water?" exclaimed the hermit, as he saw the prince approaching in the distance.

"To be sure, old father; I have brought plenty."

With these words the Green Prince approached the hermit, and allowed just one drop of the magic water drop on to the old man's hand; and oh, wonder! immediately a change came over him, and the old man instantly became young, and looked like a lad of sixteen.

"Well, my son; you have not made your journey in vain. You have secured the prize that you have striven for; and I shall always be deeply grateful to you until the end of my days. I won't take back the piebald from you, as I have another one exactly like it hidden away somewhere. True, it is only a little foal; but it will grow, and will then be good enough for me."

Then they parted, and the prince bent his way homewards. Having arrived at home he allowed a drop of the magic water drop on to his father's hand, and the old king immediately became a youth of sixteen. And he not only got younger, but also grew handsomer; and a hundred times better looking than he ever was before.

But the Green Prince had been away for such a length of time on his journey to the fairies' well that not even his father could remember him. The king had completely forgotten that the prince was ever born. What was he to do? Nobody knew him at his father's palace, or would recognise him as his father's son; so he conceived the strange idea of accepting a situation as swineherd in his father's service. He found stables for the piebald in a cellar at the end of the town.

While he tended his father's pigs, and went through his duties as swineherd, the fairies travelled all over the world and searched every nook and corner for the father of the child of their queen. Among other places they also came to the town of the Green King, and declared that it was their intention to examine every prince, as the person for whom they searched could only be a prince. The Green King then suddenly remembered that he had once another son but did not know his whereabouts. Something or other, however, recalled to his mind the swineherd, so he at once took pen and paper and wrote a note to the swineherd. The purport of the writing was that the king was the real father of the swineherd, and that the prince should come home with the least possible delay. The Green King sealed the letter and handed it to a gipsy with strict instructions to at once deliver it to the swineherd. The gipsy went, and the swineherd read the note and handed it back to the messenger, saying:

"My good man, take the note back. They have sent you on a fool's errand. I am not the son of the Green King."

The gipsy took the letter back in great anger. The swineherd, again, ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the stables in the cellar at the outskirts of the town, saddled his piebald, and rode _ventre à terre_ to the centre of the town, and pulled up in front of the king's palace. There was such a sight to be seen. A great number of wonderfully pretty fairies had congregated, and were fanning the fire under a huge cauldron of boiling lead, which emitted such a heat that nobody could approach. The eldest prince came out and was about to try his fortune; he was gorgeously dressed, his garments glittering like a mass of gold. As he approached the cauldron full of boiling lead, a pretty fairy called out to him:

"Son of the Green King! are you the father of the child of the queen of fairies?"

"I am."

"Then jump into this seething mass of boiling lead."

He jumped in and was burnt, shrivelling up to the size of a crab-apple.

"You won't do," said the fairy.

Then the second prince stepped forth; his dress, too, was one mass of sparkling gold. As he approached the cauldron a fairy exclaimed:

"Son of the Green King! are you the father of the child of the queen of fairies?"

"I am."

"Then jump into this seething mass of boiling lead."

He jumped in and fared no better than his elder brother.

Now the swineherd rode forth on his piebald horse. His clothes were one mass of dirt and grease. To him, too, the fairy called out:

"Are you the father of the child of the queen of fairies?"

"I am."

"Then jump into this seething mass of boiling lead like the rest."

And, behold! he spurred the piebald horse, pulled tight the bridle, and again slackened it. The piebald shot up into the air like an arrow; and, having reached a good height, it came down with the swineherd on its back in one bold swoop, and jumped into the cauldron full of boiling lead without a single hair of him getting hurt. Seeing this, the fairies at once lifted him out, tore his dirty clothes from him, and dressed him up in garments becoming a king.

He married the queen of fairies and a sumptuous wedding-feast was celebrated.

This is the end of my tale.

THE CROW'S NEST.

There was once in the world a poor man who had a wife and two children, the elder a girl, the younger a boy. The poor man went out one day ploughing with two wretched little oxen, his only property; his wife remained at home to do the cooking. The girl, being the older of the two children, was often sent out on short errands; upon the present occasion, too, she was away from the house, her mother having sent her out to borrow a peel, the dough for the bread being very nearly spoilt for having been kept too long in the trough.

Availing herself of the girl's absence, the mother killed the poor little boy and hid him in a pot of stewed cabbage. By the time that the girl returned her dear little brother was half stewed. When the mess was quite done, the woman poured it into a smaller pot, placed the small pot into a sling, and sent the food by her daughter to her husband who was in the field. The man liked the dish very much, and asked the girl:

"What kind of meat is this? It is very nice."

"I believe, dear father, mother had to kill a small lamb last night, and no doubt she cooked it for you," replied the girl.

But somehow or other the girl learned the true state of things, and the news nearly broke her heart. She immediately went back to the field, gathered up the bones of her little brother, carefully wrapped them into a beautiful piece of new white linen and took them into the nearest forest, where she hid them in a hollow tree. Nobody can foretell what will happen, and so it came to pass that the bones did not remain very long in the hollow of the tree. Next spring a crow came and hatched them, and they became exactly such a boy as they were before. The boy would sometimes perch on the edge of the hollow, and sing to a beautiful tune the following words:--

"My mother killed me,
"My father ate me,
"My sister gathered up my bones,
"She wrapped them in clean white linen,
"She placed them in a hollow tree,
"And now, behold, I'm a young crow."

Upon one occasion, just as he was singing this song, a man with a cloak strolled by.

"Go on, my son," he said, "repeat that pretty song for me! I live in a big village, and have travelled a good deal in my lifetime, but I have never heard such a pretty song."

So the boy again commenced to sing:--

"My mother killed me,
"My father ate me,
"My sister gathered up my bones,
"She wrapped them in clean white linen,
"She placed them in a hollow tree,
"And now, behold, I'm a young crow."

The man with the cloak liked the song very much, and made the boy a present of his cloak; Then a man with a crutch-stick hobbled by. "Well, my boy," he said, "sing me that song again. I live in a big village, have travelled far, but have never heard such a pretty tune." And the boy again commenced to sing:--

"My mother killed me,
"My father ate me,
"My sister gathered up my bones,
"She wrapped them in clean white linen,
"She placed them in a hollow tree,
"And now behold I'm a young crow."

The man with the crutch-stick, too, liked the song immensely, and gave the boy his crutch-stick. The next one to pass was a miller. He also asked the boy to repeat the pretty tune, and as the boy complied with his request the miller presented him with a millstone.

Then a sudden thought flashed across the boy's head and he flew to his father's house, settled on the roof, and commenced to sing:--

"My mother killed me,
"My father ate me,
"My sister gathered up my bones,
"She wrapped them in clean white linen,
"She placed them in a hollow tree,
"And now behold I'm a young crow."

The woman was terrified, and said to her daughter, "Go and drive away that bird, I don't like its croaking." The girl went out and tried to drive away the bird, but instead of flying away the young crow continued to sing the same song, and threw down the cloak to his sister. The girl was much pleased with the present, ran into the house and exclaimed: "Look here what a nice present that ugly bird has given to me!"

"Very nice indeed; very nice indeed. I will go out too," said her father. So he went out, and the bird threw down to him the crutch-stick. The old man was highly delighted with the gift; he was getting very weak, and the crutch-stick came in useful to him as a support.

"Look here what a strong crutch-stick he has given to me! It will be a great help to me in my old age."

Then his mother jumped up from behind the oven and said, "I must go out too; if presents won't shower at least a few might drivel to me."

So she went out and looked up to the roof, and the boy gave her a present for which she had not bargained. He threw the millstone at her, which killed her on the spot.

Thus far goes our tale. Here it ends.

WOMAN'S CURIOSITY.

A shepherd saved the life of the daughter of the king of snakes, the princess narrowly escaping being burnt to death. To show him her gratitude she taught him the language of animals, and he was able to understand them. One day his donkey said something that made him smile; whereupon his wife commenced to tease him, and wanted to know the joke, but the shepherd was unable to gratify her wish, as his betraying the secret would have immediately been followed by the penalty of sudden death. However the wife would not give in and leave him in peace, but continued to torment her husband with so many questions that he at last determined to die rather than to bear his wife's ill-temper any longer. With this view he had his coffin made and brought to his house; he laid down in the coffin quite prepared for death and ready to divulge the secret. His faithful dog sat mournfully by his side watching, while the cock belonging to the house merrily hopped about in the room. The dog remonstrated with the cock and said that this was not the time for merriment, seeing how near their master was to death. But the cock replied quite curtly, "It's master's own fault! why is he such a great fool and coward? Look at me! I have fifty wives, and they all do as I tell them to do! If I can get on with so many, surely he ought to be able to manage one!" Hearing this the shepherd jumped out of the coffin, seized a wet rope-end and gave the woman a sound thrashing.

Peace was restored, and they lived happily together ever after.

END OF THE TALES.

NOTES TO THE FOLK-TALES.

PRINCE CSIHAN. Kriza xvii.

In this tale and some others (_e.g._ "Fairy Elisabeth") it is said that in order to celebrate a wedding the clergyman and the _executioner_ were sent for. Several of the clergy who live among the Székely people on the very spot have been applied to for an explanation of the perplexing word, but they were unable to furnish any clue. The word is not given in Kriza's Glossary. It appears to be one of those curiosities of popular nomenclature so often found in Hungary, and may be a fanciful name for "sacristan," or sexton. One of the many names of this official is "harangozó," _i. e._ the bellringer; hence the individual who holds the corresponding office among the Jews is in small villages sometimes called "the Jewish bellringer," a clear case of _lucus a non lucendo_. A friend of the editors (who is a Székely) says that "hóhér" in his part means any one who torments, maltreats, or brutalises another. It is also made into a verb thus, "hóhérholja a lovat," "he maltreats the horse." He says that the hóhér is nearly always mentioned in fairy tales in connection with the priest, who was generally accompanied by him: but he does not think the word has any special significance in Folk-Lore.

_Page 5._ "Vasfogu Bába." Bába, in Magyar, as in Japanese, means a midwife: in Slavonic, an old woman. See Ralston's _Russian Folk Tales_: note, p. 137. "The French are coming." This must be unique. The usual exclamations are, "The Turks are coming," or "The Tartars are coming." The nurse will frighten a naughty child with Turks or Tartars. For the heroic deeds of a popular hero against the French, cf. "_Le Chevalier Jean_, Conte Magyar, par Alex. Petoefi ...traduit par A. Dozon." Paris. 18º.

The present story is one of a host wherein the gratitude of beasts is compared with the ingratitude of man; and is a more perfect version of the well-known Puss in Boots. Cf. Schiefner, _Avar Tales_. There is a variant, "Madon linna" ("The Snake's Castle"), collected in Russian Karelia, where the hero is the only son of an old couple, the mother when dying tells her son not to be downhearted, as he still has his father to help him; soon after the father fell sick. "What shall I do, dear father, when you die?" asked the lad. "Go to the forest," replied the father, "and there you will find three traps, bring home alive whatever you find." Soon the father died, and the lad was left alone in his sorrow; after many days he suddenly remembered what his father had said, and set off to the forest, where he found the traps. In the first and second there was nothing, but in the third was a brown fox, which he brought home alive, thinking to himself, "There's not much to be got out of this beast; I shall soon die of hunger." When he got home, he put the fox on a bench and sat down, when, lo! the fox said, "Look here, Jussi Juholainen, wouldn't you like to get married?" The lad replied, "Why should I marry, poor fox? I couldn't live with a poor woman, and a rich one wouldn't have me." "Marry one of the royal family, and then you'll be rich." The lad said that it was all nonsense; but the fox declared he could do it, and then the story goes on very much like Prince Csihan, shewing the king how rich the suitor for his daughter's hand was, and frightening the dependents of the snake into declaring that they belonged to Jussi Juholainen. At last they reach the snake's castle, "the like of which is not in the whole country, nay, not in the wide world. An oak was growing by the wayside, and a holly tree in the courtyard, all the leaves were golden coloured, and golden feathered birds sang among the branches; and in the park was a magnificent elk with gold and silver hairs."

The fox frightens the snake by telling of the coming of a great king, saying, "O poor snake, the king is coming to destroy your house, and kill you." The snake at once hurried off to the store-house[1] where the linen was kept, and hid there, and in due course was burnt up with the stores, by the fox, who set fire to the whole. The king was "giddy" with delight at his son-in-law's wealth, and stayed many days. When he prepared to return home, the fox proposed that Jussi Juholainen and his man should now visit the king, much to the king's chagrin, who tried to make excuses; but as this failed, calves and dog-like creatures, and so forth, were made to jump about the wayside, and in the courtyard, so as to be something like the palace of his son-in-law. But all failed; and the fox, having shown how much greater and wealthier a man Jussi Juholainen was, disappeared. See _Suomen Kansan Satuja ja Tarinoita_. Part ii. Helsingissä, 1873:[2] where, under head "Kettu kosiomiehenä" (the fox as wooer for some one), page 36, another variant (Kehnon koti), "the Evil One's home," is given.

In the Karelian story, "Awaimetoin Wakka" (the Keyless Chest), _S. ja T._ i. p. 151, a lad, when walking in the wood one day, heard his dog barking, and saw that it was a wood-grouse it had found. He drew his bow and was about to shoot when the bird begged him not to do so, and promised to reward him. The lad kept the bird for three years, and at the end of each year a feather fell from the bird's tail, first a copper one, then a silver one, and lastly a gold one; which feathers in the end brought wealth and greatness.

In the Finnish story of "the Golden Bird," a story very much like "Cinder Jack" (in this collection), p. 149, a wolf brings fortune and power to the hero because he fed her and her young ones.

In another Finnish story, "Oriiksi muutettu poika" (The Enchanted Steed), in _Suomalaisia Kansansatuja_, i. (Helsingissä, 1881), a fox assists the fugitives to defeat the devil, who pursues them. This tale is very much like the latter part of "Handsome Paul," p. 33. Compare also a variant from near Wiborg in _Tidskriften Suomi_, ii. 13, p. 120.

In a Lapp story a little bird helps. See "Jætten og Veslegutten," from Hammerfest. _Lappiske Eventyr og Folkesagn ved. Prof. Friis, Christiania_, 1871,[3] p. 52, &c.

It is a cat in "Jætten, Katten og Gutten," from Alten, _Friis_, 63; and a fox in "Bondesønnen, Kongesønnen og Solens Søster," from Tanen, _Friis_, 140.

Mr. Quigstad reports another variant from Lyngen, in which also a cat helps the hero.

See also Steere's _Swahili Tales_: "Sultan Darai"; Dasent's _Tales from the Norse_: "Lord Peter," and "Well done, and ill-paid."

_Old Deccan Days_: "The Brahman." "The Tiger and the Six Judges."

Mitford's _Tales of Old Japan_: "The Grateful Foxes." "The Adventures of little Peachling"; and a Bohemian story of the Dog and the Yellow-hammer in Vernaleken's _In the Land of Marvels_.

Ralston's _Puss in Boots_ in _XIXth Century, January_, 1883. A most interesting and exhaustive article.

Ralston's _Russian Folk Tales_: "The water King and Vasilissa the Wise." A story which in the beginning is very like "The Keyless Chest."

Benfey's _Pantschatantra_, i. 208, and _passim_.

Kletke, _Märchensaal aller Völker_: "Gagliuso."

Perrault, _Contes des Fées_: "Le maitre chat."

Hyltén-Cavallius and Stephens. _Svenska Folksagor_, i. _Stockholm_, 1844: "Slottet som stod på Guldstolpar."

Gubernatis, _Zoological Mythology_, vol. i. 193; vol. ii. 134, 157.

Grimm's _Household Tales_, Bohn's ed. vol. i. "the Golden Bird," p. 227; vol. ii. pp. 46, 154, 323, 427, 527.

_Mentone Stories_, in the _Folk-Lore Record_, vol. iii. part 1, 43.

Denton's _Serbian Folk-Lore_, 51, 296.

Naake's _Slavonic Tales_: "Golden Hair," p. 133, a Bohemian Tale.

Stokes's _Indian Fairy Tales_: "The Demon and the King's Son," 180.

Payne's _The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night_, "Abou Mohammed," vol. iv. p. 10.[4]

STEPHEN THE MURDERER. Kriza, xviii.

The Hungarians have had a Dr. Faust in the person of Professor Hatvani, but in his case he got the best of the bargain; see _A Magyar Fauszt_, by Maurus Jókai. The Hungarian professor is an historical personage, and only resembles Dr. Faust in having a compact with the devil.

Lad. Arany traces a resemblance between this tale and one in Benfey's _Pantschatantra_, where it is related how a poor Brahmin, in reward for his long penitence, has his bones thrown into the sacred waters of the Ganges.

There is a curious Finnish story which resembles this tale, "Ennustukset" (Predictions), from Ilomantsi in _S. ja T._ ii. 64-72. Two wise men (seers) were out walking, and came near a house where a ewe was just in the throes of parturition. The younger man wished the elder (and chief) to help it. "Why should I?" replied he, "a wolf will eat the lamb." "It is very sad; but still we ought to help the poor sheep." In a moment the lamb was born. Just then the cries of the mistress of the house were heard, for she was in travail. The young man again begged his companion to use his power. "Well! I will help her," said the old seer; "but would it be kind, for the boy, when born, will murder his father?" He gave his assistance, and in a moment the child was born. The master of the house, however, had overheard the conversation, and told it to his wife, who was horrified at the news. Upon talking it over, they decided to let the lamb and child live, as the men's words were most likely of no importance. In the autumn, at the feast of Keyri (the cattle-god), the lamb was slain and made into Keyri soup, according to the old custom. The broth was put on the table, and the meat in the window to cool;[5] and the couple laughed at the words of the men. After the broth was finished they went for the meat, and lo! it was all scattered on the ground, and a wolf was devouring the last pieces at its leisure.

They were terrified, and cried, "Well, then! the men's words were true." The man then snatched the child out of its cradle, and was about to cut its throat, when the woman cried, "Do not kill our own child! Let us fasten it on a plank, and put it to sea, so that it may die in that way." And so they did. Tossed by wind and waves, the child chanced to come to the shore near a monastery, where a peasant found him and took him to the abbot, who brought him up. When he had grown up, he got tired of living there, and was sent to the mainland. He wandered on and on till he came to a house. The mistress only was in, the master being in the wood. Here the lad was engaged to go and look after the turnips, as some thieves had been stealing them; and the mistress gave him a bow and arrows, with strict orders to shoot any one who came. This just suited the lad, who went and hid himself behind a large stone in the middle of the field. Before long a man came over the fence and filled his arms with turnips. The lad drew his bow and shot, and the man fell. The lad returned home, and told what he had done; and the mistress said that she was glad that the thief had perished. They then waited for the master's return, but as he did not come, they went to look for him, and found that the lad had killed him. The lad stayed with the woman, and after a time married her, and all went well till one day they went to the bath[6] together; then she saw a red stripe on the man's chest, and asked, "What is this?" "I don't know," replied he, "I've had it ever since I was born." "Where were you born?" asked the woman. He then told her all he knew; and, to their horror, i they found out they were mother and son. The man at once set off to the wise men, to know what to do, and how to be forgiven. On the way he met a monk, with a book under his arm, and said, "I've killed my father, and married my mother! How can I be forgiven?" The monk looked through his book and said, "Poor man! your sins can never be forgiven; they are too awful." The man could not contain himself when he heard this, and struck the monk such a blow that he died.

He then went on and met an older monk and told him all. He looked through his book and said "There is no forgiveness." He then killed this monk also. Going on he met a third monk with books under his arms, and cried, "I've killed my father, and married my mother, and murdered two old men who said there was no forgiveness. What do you think?" The old man looked through his books, thought a little, and said, "There is no crime so great but that it can be forgiven when man truly repents. You must go to a rock and dig a well in it. Wait till the water rises. And your mother must sit beside it with a black sheep in her arms until its wool becomes white." When the man heard this he thanked the monk, and returned and told his mother all. So they went to a rock, and the man began to dig with a chisel; and the woman sat beside him with the sheep in her arms. He worked for a long time, but with no success. Now the rock was close to the road, and good and bad passed by. One day a gentleman drove past gaily, the horse-bells tinkling as he went; he asked the man what he was doing, and was told all. "Who and what are you?" said the man. "O! I am a very clever man," replied the other. "I can make wrong right, and right wrong. I am going to the assizes, where I will help you if you pay me." This enraged the man, because he had to work so hard, whilst the other lived by trickery. Whilst he grumbled his old anger flared up, and he struck the gentleman in the forehead with his chisel and killed him. In a moment the rock opened and there was a well, and the black sheep became white. This they were exceedingly glad to see, but the man did not know what to do about killing the gentleman. So he went to the old monk again and told him all. "Well!" said the monk, "that's better. He has sinned much more against God than you; therefore your time of repentance has been shortened. Go in peace." Thus the sinners escaped judgment and continued to live together in peace. The one as mother, the other as son. So much for that! (The ordinary ending of Finnish tales.)

Another Finnish story, "Antti Puuhaara" (Andrew Tree Twig), _S. ja. T._ ii. 100, begins much in the same way, only in that case the child is to be heir of a rich merchant who happened to be in the house at the time and overheard all. He does his best to prevent the prediction coming true; which, however, spite of all, is fulfilled. Cf. _Magyarische Sagen_ von Mailáth. "Die Brüder." Also "_Die Thaten des Bogda Gesser Châns_," _eine ostasiatische Heldensage aus dem mongolischen übersetzt von J. J. Schmidt_, _Petersburg_ 1839. And _Folk-lifvet i Skytts härad i Skåne wid början af detta århundrade, Barndomsminnen utgifna af Nicolovius_, _Lund_. 1847. "Rike Pehr Krämare." Also _Dasent_, "Rich Peter the Pedlar"; _Grimm_, "The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs"; and _Sagas from the Far East_, in which the king fears when he hears the hermit's prophecy of his son's future, p. 268.

The bed that the devils so much dreaded occurs in the Polish tale, "Madey," Naake's _Slavonic Tales_, p. 220. A merchant being lost in a wood promises an evil spirit that he will give him something that he had not seen in his house if he will set him in the right road. This something turns out to be a son born in the merchant's absence. When the boy grows up he sets out to get the bond from the devil that his father gave when lost in the wood. As the lad goes on his journey he comes to the hut of a robber of the name of Madey. He had murdered his father, and only spared his mother to prepare his food. Here, as in the Magyar story, the lad is spared on condition that he finds out what sort of bed is prepared for the robber in hell. The lad enters hell by means of holy water and incense, and the lame demon Twardowski[7] is threatened with Madey's bed if he does not give up the bond, which he is loth to do. This at once produces the desired effect, and Madey was so horrified at the lad's account of the bed that he struck his murderous club into the ground, and vowed he would wait till the lad returned as a bishop. Years afterwards, when the little boy had become a bishop, he found a beautiful apple tree and an old man kneeling at its foot. The tree was the robber's club, the old man Madey. As Madey makes his confession apple after apple becomes a dove and flies heavenward, till at last he confesses his father's murder, and then the last disappears; and, as the bishop pronounces the absolution, Madey crumbles to dust.

See, also, _Svenska Folksägner_, _af H. Hofberg_, _Stockholm_, 1882, p. 48. "Ebbe Skammelsson was a knight who was engaged to the beauteous Malfrid of Tiraholm. As they both were yet young, the knight set out for the Holy Land, promising to return in seven years. Soon after Ebbe's departure Malfrid's father died, and the maid remained with her mother. Years rolled on, but Ebbe did not return; and as the maid began to fade away, her mother promised her to another, thinking Ebbe must be dead. There was a splendid wedding; and just as the guests sat down to the table, a knight in golden armour galloped up to the house. The bride turned pale beneath her crown, and the mother, who recognised Ebbe, rushed out and reminded him that the seven years were past, and he was too late. In wild rage he struck off the lady's head; and then, dashing into the wedding hall, slew the bride and bridegroom. Filled with horror and remorse at his own deeds, he vaulted on to his horse, and rode into the wild woods. There he roamed in agony and despair. The pope's indulgence was obtained at the holy father's feet, but not peace; so, returning to the home of his old love, he begged the judge to sentence him to the severest punishment. After long deliberation the council determined that he should be loaded with the heaviest irons, and should pass a day and a night on each of the three hundred and sixty-five islands in Bolmen. This was carried out; and in his little boat he dragged himself from isle to isle. At length he reached the last, and crawled into a barn. His sad fate had made a deep impression on the people, and a minstrel wrote a song, which, a witch said, so soon as Ebbe heard, his irons would fall off and he would die. As he lay in the barn, a servant, who went to milk the cows, began to sing, 'Knight Ebbe's Song.' He listened with breathless attention, and then cried out: 'One part is true, one part is false.' The girl fled in terror. Soon the villagers gathered round to know who he was. He dragged himself to the hill, and, telling who he was, begged to be taken to the churchyard. Now, between the village of Angelstad and the church there is a large stone: mounting this, Ebbe cried, 'Am I worthy to rest in consecrated ground? If so, let it be....' At that moment the irons dropped off, and he died. The people buried him in the path, outside the north wall of the church; but the wall fell down each night, until it was so built as to include the outlaw's grave. The crosses on the roof of the parish church are said to be made of Ebbe's fetters, which for a long time hung inside the sacred building." Cf. J. Allvin, _Beskrifning öfver Vestbo härad_, p. 147. The same story, with some slight difference, is current in Halland.[8] A comparison between this and the wild Finnish story is not without interest, as shewing the humanising influence which has toned down the rude and rugged teaching of the early ages.

Cf. Campbell, _Tales of the Western Highlands_, p. 19: "The Inheritance."

Baring Gould, _Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_. "The Mountain of Venus," p. 213.

_Grimm_, vol. ii. p. 366. "The Three Green Twigs."

Merényi, _Tales from the Banks of the Danube_, vol. ii. p. 7, in Hungarian.

There is an interesting Lapp variant, "Fattiggutten, Fanden og Guldbyen." _Friis_, p. 161.

THE LAMB WITH THE GOLDEN FLEECE. Kriza, ix.

Cf. _Round the Yule Log._ "Hans, who made the Princess laugh," p. 269.

_Grimm_, vol. ii. "The Jew among the Thorns," p. 97 and Notes, p. 410, in which the Jew is compelled to dance to the sound of the fiddler.

Engel's _Musical Myths_, vol. ii. "The Indefatigable Fiddler," p. 29, and the "Ratcatcher of Hamelin," p. 37. (Also, _Baring Gould's Curious Myths_, p. 417.)

_Griechische und Albanische Märchen, von J. G. von Hahn, Leipzig_, 1864, vol. i. p. 222, and vol. ii. p. 240.--_Ladislaus Arany._ "The Sad Princess" (in Hungarian).--_Gaal_, vol. iii. "The Powerful Whistle."

FISHER JOE. Kriza, xvi.

_Page 16. Grimm_, vol. i, "The Gold Children," p. 331, where a man draws a gold fish out of the water, which tells him if he will throw it back into the water he shall have a splendid castle. He throws it back, and all comes as the fish said. The fisher must not reveal how it has come about; but his wife's curiosity makes him break his word, and all disappears.[9] The man catches the fish once more, and the same things happen, wealth and destitution; and then the fish is caught a third time. This time the fish is cut into six pieces, two of which are put in the ground, and grow up as golden cities; two are given to the man's horse, which has two golden foals; and two to the man's wife, who bears two golden children. See _Grimm's_ notes, p. 453. _Gubernatis_, vol. i. p. 249 (as to Phallic Significance), and vol. ii. sub. art. "Fish," p. 330. Also Caballero's (Spanish) _Fairy Tales_, "The Bird of Truth," p. 1, and the "Knights of the Fish," p. 29, where a poor cobbler, with no work, goes a-fishing as a last resource, catches a fish, and cuts it into six, with the same result as in the above tale. And _Portuguese Folk-Tales, Folk-Lore Society_, 1882; "The Baker's Idle Son," p. 72; Payne's _Arabian Nights_, vol. i. pp. 33-51.

Just as Fisher Joe lays his head on his wife's knee, and sleeps while wonders happen, so does the drummer rest, while the maiden does his tasks for him, in the story of the "Drummer," in _Grimm_, ii. 335.

Cf. also Dasent's _Tales from the Norse_. "The Mastermaid," p. 84, and Denton's _Serbian Folk-Lore_. "The Golden Fleeced Ram," p. 71.

_Page 18._ The trouble that comes from the king (or lord) seeing the hero's wife, or bride, is a common incident in Folk-Tales.

See the Finnish "Leppäpölkky" (Alder Block). _S. ja T._ ii. p. 2, where the hero, after infinite trouble, secures the lovely Katherine, who is said to be so beautiful that--

"One can see her skin through her clothes,
Her flesh through her skin,
Her bones through her flesh,
Her marrow through her bones!"

When he arrived at home with his lovely prize, the king wished to know the whole of his adventures. Now it so happened that Alder Block had during his travels changed himself to an ermine, and had heard Syöjätär--who was the mother of the snakes he and his comrades had killed--tell what plans she had for destroying her children's murderer, as in the Magyar tale of "The three Princes, the three Dragons, and the Old Woman with the Iron Nose," p. 202 of this collection. Syöjätär declared at the same time that whoever dared to repeat her words[10] would be changed into a blue cross. Alder Block saved his comrades from the snares till the last one, which took the form "of beds with feather pillows;" and this time his companions, before he could stop them, threw themselves down, and were caught. The king ordered him to explain why his companions were not with him; and as Alder Block did so, he changed into a blue cross, standing in the churchyard. The whole story is a most interesting one, weaving in materials that are ordinarily to be found, not in one, but in many folk tales. The end of all is, the king got the lovely Katherine, and "took her to his castle, where they still live to-day, and perhaps to-morrow also; and there came good sons and beautiful daughters. I was also at the wedding. They gave me a wax horse. The saddle was made of turnip and the whip of peas. The feast lasted for many days; and when I came from it I came to Riettilä's corn kiln.[11] The kiln began to burn, and I to extinguish it. In the heat my horse began to melt, my saddle to roast, and the village's illegitimate children to eat it up. I began to drive them away, but the dogs were set at me; and when I began to whip them, they bit my whip to pieces. So all my things were destroyed, and poor me fell down. Perhaps I shall never be well again, it was so long." Compare this characteristic ending with that of the Magyar tales.

In the Finnish "Ei-niin-mitä" (Just nothing), _S. ja T._ ii. 53, a man catches a swan-maiden of great beauty. The king, so soon as he hears of her, determines to have her for his son, and the courtiers advise him to make the man procure--1st, "A table, on which is painted the moon and stars;" this his wife gets her husband while he is asleep; 2nd, "he was to go nowhere and fetch nothing." His wife again helps him, by sending him to a house where an old woman summons all her servants (Cf. "Fairy Elizabeth," p. 106). This time it is a frog who takes the man, and he at length comes to a palace; and as he paces the floor at night, he mutters to himself, "Just nothing." "Beg your pardon," says a voice; and he finds that he has an invisible companion, who obeys all his commands, and answers to the name of "Just Nothing." When he returns to the king, he finds they are just celebrating the wedding of the king's son with his own wife, who does not recognise him till he drops a ring into the empty goblet out of which he has drunk the corn brandy the bride had given him. By his new powers he soon upsets the bad king and his host, and then all is joy and happiness. Cf. _Musaeus_, _Volksmärchen der Deutschen von J. L. Klee_. _Leipzig_, 1842. "Der geraubte Schleier"; _Walachische Märchen von A. und A. Schott_. _Stuttgart_, 1845. "Der verstossene Sohn." Weil, _Tausend und eine Nacht_, vol. iv. "Geschichte des Prinzen Ojanschach;" _Irische Elfenmärchen, von Grimm_. _Leipzig_, 1826. "Die Flasche."

Kletke, _Märchensaal aller Völker, für Jung und Alt_. _Berlin_ 1845, vol. iii. "Der Wundermann."

Cf. "Bondesønnen, Kongesønnen og Solens Søster," _Friis_, p. 140; where the hero, by means of a fox, rescues the Sun's sister's sister, "Evening Red," from the giants who had stolen her, and who were turned into pillars of stone as soon as they caught sight of the Sun's sister, Dawn. So soon as the king heard of her, he determined to have her for his son's wife, and set heavy tasks for the hero to perform, which he does by means of his wife's power.

In another tale from Tanen, "Bæive Kongens eller Sol Kongens Datter," _Friis_, p. 152, the hero will insist upon the king knowing that he is going home with the Sun King's daughter, whom he has caught by stealing her swan dress, and so gets into trouble, as the king does all he can to get possession of the girl.

In "Gutten, som tjente hos Kongen," _Friis_, p. 167, from Tanen, the hero is to have the king's daughter in return for faithful service but at the last moment the king demands certain labours before he will allow the marriage to take place. In this case it is the Gieddegæs̃ old woman, that is, a wise or troll woman, who helps the hero.

A magic ship that can sail over land and sea is a favourite in Lapp stories, and is often one of the tasks set. Cf. "Ruobba[12] Jætten og Fanden," _Friis_, p. 67. Here the third son feeds axes, augurs, planes, and all sorts of tools,[13] which come and beg for food, and by their means builds the ship. See Finnish "Maan, meren, kulkija laiwa" ("The Ship that can Sail on Land and Sea"), from Ilomantsi. _S. ja T._ ii. p. 22.

Somewhat similar incidents occur in the tale "Seppo Ilmarisen kosinta" ("Smith Ilmarinen's Courtship"). _S. ja T._ i. p. 1, wherein Ilmarinen goes to woo fair Katherine, the Hiihto king's daughter. The first task was to plough the king's snake-field--where the snakes were crawling two yards deep--in bare feet and bare skin. Then he sang a lake full of fishes into the courtyard. Next he went to bring a chest which had been covered for a long time, and which the old man, Untamoinen, had. When Ilmarinen asked for the beautiful Katherine's wedding chest the old man replied, "If you can stand on my tongue, jump and dance, then I will give it to you." The smith jumped on to his tongue, but the old man's mouth was so wide he swallowed Ilmarinen. The smith did not mind that; he made a smithy of his shirt, bellows of his trousers, used his left knee for an anvil, and his left hand for tongs. Of the copper buckle of his skirt he made a bird with claws of iron and bill of steel. He then sang a song and the bird became alive, and by its means he dug his way out of Untamoinen's stomach, got the chest, and after a great many troubles with fair Katherine at last got home.

In the latter part of the tale one is reminded of such stories as _Household Stories from the Land of Hofer_, "St. Peter's Three Loaves," p. 265; _Grimm_, vol. ii., "The Rich Man and the Poor Man," p. 1, and Notes, p. 373; Stokes's _Indian Tales_, "Rajah Harichand's Punishment," p. 224.

LUCK AND BLISS. Kriza, xii.

Cf. Caballero's _Spanish Tales_, "Dame Fortune and Don Money," p. 190, and "Fortune and Misfortune," p. 147.

_Naake_, "Wisdom and Fortune," p. 243, a Bohemian tale.

THE LAZY CAT. Kriza, xi.

This tale does not call for any special remark.

HANDSOME PAUL. Kriza, i.

_Page 25_. Old men in Hungary are always addressed as "my father," or "my elder brother," and in turn address their juniors as "my son," or "my younger brother." Women are also addressed as "mother," "daughter," "elder sister," or "younger sister." Cf. the "little father," in modern Russian; also _Reynard the Fox in South Africa_, by Dr. Bleek, "The Lion who took a Woman's Shape," p. 50, where the lion calls a woman "my mother" and "my aunt," and she calls him "my uncle."

Fisk, _Myths and Myth-Makers_, pp. 166, 167, Zulu Uthlakanyana meets a cannibal, whom he calls "uncle," and is called "child of my sister." The Yakuts in Siberia call the bear "beloved uncle."

Tylor's _Primitive Culture_, vol. ii. p. 231.

Tylor's _Early History of Mankind_. pp. 130-49; 288-91.

Ibn Batuta, the Moorish traveller, mentions that in his time--about 1347--old men in Cansai, the modern Hangchenfu, were commonly addressed as "Atha," _i. e._ "Father" in Turkish. Cf. _The Travels of Friar Odoric_ (Hakluyt Soc.), iv. p. 288.

_Vide_ Giants in the Introduction to this collection.

The incident of finding the giant occurs in many stories, _e.g._ a Finnish tale relates how some sailors sailing along the coast near Wiborg saw a fire lighted on the shore, and, as they were nearly frozen, landed, and found to their horror a giant laid round it with his feet under his head (cf. Giant in "Fairy Elizabeth," p. 99 of this vol.) The giant awakes and asks where they are from, and hearing that they were from Wiborg, tells them he knows it well, and drinks with great gusto a tun of tar, remarking, "Ah! that's the old Wiborg drink!" Topelius, _Boken om vårt Land. Helsingfors_, 1875, p. 153.

See also a similar tale, "Glosheds Altare," from Bohuslän, _Hofberg_, p. 81. It is commonly reported in Bohuslän and Dal that the giants withdrew to Dovre in Norway, or else to some uninhabited island in the North Sea, and that they most anxiously inquired of any travellers they came across how things were going on in their native land. They are said to have left their homes "when modern mankind began to exist," in the Swedish stories. They often declare it was on account of the continued ringing that they left the land.

In "Ulfgrytstenarna," from Närike, the giant hearing the bells for the first time tells his wife to put a stone in her garter and sling it at the grey cow which is tinkling near Hjelmar, meaning the newly-built church at Örebro. The giantess threw the stone thirteen miles too far. The giant threw and missed, and the bells sounded with wondrous clearness. The giant then seized two enormous rocks, and set off to crush the church; on the way an old man who had set out to stop him, showed him a pile of shoes worn out by his journey from Örebro. The giant threw the rocks down and went home. _Hofberg_, p. 132.

See also the story about the old man and Ragnar Lodbrok, who is said to have delivered Rome from the Norse men, by showing their worn-out iron shoes. Also Gibeonites and Joshua; Joshua, ix. 5.

Giants sometimes built instead of destroying religious houses. See _Afzelius, Svenska Folkets Sagohäfder_, v. p. 31, where the giant Rise is said to have built Riseberg Monastery and given it his own name; also "Skaluda-Jätten," a story from Vestergötland.

For a giant's appetite, _p. 26_, see "Vas Péter," a tale quoted by Kozma, in which Glutton eats 366 fat oxen in six hours, and Drunkard empties 366 casks of wine, each holding one hundred buckets, in the same time.

Big Mouth, in "Hidatsa," an Indian tale, drinks enormous draughts. _Folk-Lore Record_, vol. i. p. 140.

The horse in "Prince Mirkó," p. 65, like the giant in this tale, asks the hero what he sees, and then tells him to shut his eyes, whilst they go on.

_Page 27_. The king's daughter falling in love with one who acts as servant is a common incident in Finnish and Lapp tales. Generally, the hero is one who by wearing a cap on the pretext of having a sore head conceals his beauty, which the king's daughter by chance happens to see when the cap is off.

Cf. "Tuhkamo" from Sodan Kyla in North Finland, _S. ja T._ i. p. 35, where the hero is told to fell all the trees near a bay, and is assisted by his bride. The whip as a mode of summoning assistance is mentioned in "Fisher Joe," _supra_, p. 16.

For difficult tasks vide "Fisher Joe," _supra_, p. 18; "The Three Brothers," p. 153; "The King and the Devil," p. 192; "The Widower and his Daughter," p. 208; "The Girl with the Golden Hair," p. 271.

Cf. also _Malagasy Isùlakòlona_, in _Folk-Lore Journal_, 1884, p. 130.

Also _Verhandlungen der gelehrten Estnischen Gesellschaft zu Dorpat. Zweiter Band, drittes Heft_, p. 76. "Der dankbare Fürstensohn."

Stier, _Ungarische Märchen_, "Das kleine Zauberpferd."--Kletke, _Märchensaal aller Völker_, "Die gläserne Hacke"; "Kojata"; "Der Orangenbaum und die Biene."

_Polnische Volksagen und Märchen_, by Woycicki, translated by Levestam, "Die Flucht."

Hyltén-Cavallius och Steffens. _Svenska Folksagor_. "Hafs-Firum."

_Samlade Smärre Berättelser_, af C. F. Ridderstad, _Linköping_, 1849. "Agnete lille Dei."

Winter, _Danske Folkeventyr_: "Prindsen och Havmanden."

The reader need not be surprised to hear that the simple Magyar peasant uses classical names like Pluto, Furuzsina (Euphrosiné); for until 1848 Latin was the official language, and many of the scientific works were written in it, and so a great many words found their way into the vulgar tongue, such as: penna, calamus, bugyelláris (pugillares), jus, &c.

_Page 32_. The chase after the fugitives is a well-known folk-tale incident. See several instances in this collection. Generally the pursuer is stopped by something thrown down by the pursued. See "The Little Magic Pony," p. 160, and notes _infra_.