FAIRY TALES,
THEIR ORIGIN AND MEANING
With Some Account of Dwellers in Fairyland
By John Thackray Bunce
[ Related Material ]
[The Wee Folk]
[Inner_Child_Tarot]
[Edmund Spenser - The Faerie Queene]
[Four and Twenty Fairy Tales by Various]
[Celtic_Folk_Fairy_Tales]
[Kryon describes
Fairy multidimensionality
half-an-hour into this channelling.]
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
CHAPTER
I.-ORIGIN OF FAIRY STORIES.
CHAPTER
II.-KINDRED TALES FROM DIVERS LANDS: EROS AND PSYCHE.
CHAPTER
III.-DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: STORIES FROM THE EAST.
CHAPTER
IV.-DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: TEUTONIC, AND SCANDINAVIAN.
CHAPTER
V.-DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: WEST HIGHLAND STORIES.
CHAPTER
VI.-CONCLUSION: SOME POPULAR TALES EXPLAINED.
FOOTNOTES:
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
The substance of this volume was delivered as a course of
Christmas Holiday Lectures, in 1877, at the Birmingham and
Midland Institute, of which the author was then the senior
Vice-president. It was found that both the subject and the matter
interested young people; and it was therefore thought that,
revised and extended, the Lectures might not prove unacceptable
in the form of a Book. The volume does not pretend to scientific
method, or to complete treatment of the subject. Its aim is a
very modest one: to furnish an inducement rather than a formal
introduction to the study of Folk Lore; a study which, when once
begun, the reader will pursue, with unflagging interest, in such
works as the various writings of Mr. Max-Muller; the "Mythology
of the Aryan Nations," by Mr. Cox; Mr. Ralston's "Russian Folk
Tales;" Mr. Kelly's "Curiosities of Indo-European Folk Lore;" the
Introduction to Mr. Campbell's "Popular Tales of the West
Highlands," and other publications, both English and German,
bearing upon the same subject. In the hope that his labour may
serve this purpose, the author ventures to ask for an indulgent
rather than a critical reception of this little volume.
BIRMINGHAM,
September, 1878.
A modern exposition is Ringing Cedars' Anastasia series.
-- celeste:crystalfaery
![[ani-yo-yure00]](/imgs/animations/portrait/ani-yo-yure00.gif)
Modern dictionaries reflect the prevalent human's veiled consciousness,
limited to the realms of duality and linear time as defining "real":
- fairytale
- n 1: a story about fairies;
told to amuse children
[syn: fairy tale, story]
- 2: an interesting but highly implausible story;
often told as an excuse
[syn: fairy tale, story, cock-and-bull story, and dance]
--
celeste:crystalfaery
CHAPTER I.-ORIGIN OF FAIRY STORIES.
We are going into Fairy Land for a little while, to see what
we can find there to amuse and instruct us this Christmas time.
Does anybody know the way? There are no maps or guidebooks, and
the places we meet with in our workaday world do not seem like
the homes of the Fairies. Yet we have only to put on our Wishing
Caps, and we can get into Fairy Land in a moment. The house-walls
fade away, the winter sky brightens, the sun shines out, the
weather grows warm and pleasant; flowers spring up, great trees
cast a friendly shade, streams murmur cheerfully over their
pebbly beds, jewelled fruits are to be had for the trouble of
gathering them; invisible hands set out well-covered
dinner-tables, brilliant and graceful forms flit in and out
across our path, and we all at once find ourselves in the midst
of a company of dear old friends whom we have known and loved
ever since we knew anything. There is Fortunatus with his magic
purse, and the square of carpet that carries him anywhere; and
Aladdin with his wonderful lamp; and Sindbad with the diamonds he
has picked up in the Valley of Serpents; and the Invisible
Prince, who uses the fairy cat to get his dinner for him; and the
Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, just awakened by the young Prince,
after her long sleep of a hundred years; and Puss in Boots
curling his whiskers after having eaten up the ogre who foolishly
changed himself into a mouse; and Beauty and the Beast; and the
Blue Bird; and Little Red Riding Hood, and Jack the Giant Killer,
and Jack and the Bean Stalk; and the Yellow Dwarf; and Cinderella
and her fairy godmother; and great numbers besides, of whom we
haven't time to say anything now.
And when we come to look about us, we see that there are other
dwellers in Fairy Land; giants and dwarfs, dragons and griffins,
ogres with great white teeth, and wearing seven-leagued boots;
and enchanters and magicians, who can change themselves into any
forms they please, and can turn other people into stone. And
there are beasts and birds who can talk, and fishes that come out
on dry land, with golden rings in their mouths; and good maidens
who drop rubies and pearls when they speak, and bad ones out of
whose mouths come all kinds of ugly things. Then there are
evil-minded fairies, who always want to be doing mischief; and
there are good fairies, beautifully dressed, and with shining
golden hair and bright blue eyes and jewelled coronets, and with
magic wands in their hands, who go about watching the bad
fairies, and always come just in time to drive them away, and so
prevent them from doing harm-the sort of Fairies you see once a
year at the pantomimes, only more beautiful, and more handsomely
dressed, and more graceful in shape, and not so fat, and who do
not paint their faces, which is a bad thing for any woman to do,
whether fairy or mortal.
Altogether, this Fairy Land that we can make for ourselves in
a moment, is a very pleasant and most delightful place, and one
which all of us, young and old, may well desire to get into, even
if we have to come back from it sooner than we like. It is just
the country to suit everybody, for all of us can find in it
whatever pleases him best. If he likes work, there is plenty of
adventure; he can climb up mountains of steel, or travel over
seas of glass, or engage in single combat with a giant, or dive
down into the caves of the little red dwarfs and bring up their
hidden treasures, or mount a horse that goes more swiftly than
the wind, or go off on a long journey to find the water of youth
and life, or do anything else that happens to be very dangerous
and troublesome. If he doesn't like work, it is again just the
place to suit idle people, because it is all Midsummer holidays.
I never heard of a school in Fairy Land, nor of masters with
canes or birch rods, nor of impositions and long lessons to be
learned when one gets home in the evening. Then the weather is so
delightful. It is perpetual sunshine, so that you may lie out in
the fields all day without catching cold; and yet it is not too
hot, the sunshine being a sort of twilight, in which you see
everything, quite clearly, but softly, and with beautiful
colours, as if you were in a delightful dream.
And this goes on night and day, or at least what we call
night, for they don't burn gas there, or candles, or anything of
that kind; so that there is no regular going to bed and getting
up; you just lie down anywhere when you want to rest, and when
you have rested, you wake up again, and go on with your travels.
There is one capital thing about Fairy Land. There are no doctors
there; not one in the whole country. Consequently nobody is ill,
and there are no pills or powders, or brimstone and treacle, or
senna tea, or being kept at home when you want to go out, or
being obliged to go to bed early and have gruel instead of cake
and sweetmeats. They don't want the doctors, because if you cut
your finger it gets well directly, and even when people are
killed, or are turned into stones, or when anything else
unpleasant happens, it can all be put right in a minute or two.
All you have to do when you are in trouble is to go and look for
some wrinkled old woman in a patched old brown cloak, and be very
civil to her, and to do cheerfully and kindly any service she
asks of you, and then she will throw off the dark cloak, and
become a young and beautiful Fairy Queen, and wave her magic
wand, and everything will fall out just as you would like to have
it.
As to Time, they take no note of it in Fairy Land. The
Princess falls asleep for a hundred years, and wakes up quite
rosy, and young, and beautiful. Friends and sweethearts are
parted for years, and nobody seems to think they have grown older
when they meet, or that life has become shorter, and so they fall
to their youthful talk as if nothing had happened. Thus the
dwellers in Fairy Land have no cares about chronology. With them
there is no past or future; it is all present-so there are no
disagreeable dates to learn, nor tables of kings, and when they
reigned, or who succeeded them, or what battles they fought, or
anything of that kind. Indeed there are no such facts to be
learned, for when kings are wicked in Fairy Land, a powerful
magician comes and twists their heads off, or puts them to death
somehow; and when they are good kings they seem to live for ever,
and always to be wearing rich robes and royal golden crowns, and
to be entertaining Fairy Queens, and receiving handsome brilliant
gifts from everybody who knows them.
Now this is Fairy Land, the dear sweet land of Once Upon a
Time, where there is constant light, and summer days, and
everlasting flowers, and pleasant fields and streams, and long
dreams without rough waking, and ease of life, and all things
strange and beautiful; where nobody wonders at anything that may
happen; where good fairies are ever on the watch to help those
whom they love; where youth abides, and there is no pain or
death, and all trouble fades away, and whatever seems hard is
made easy, and all things that look wrong come right in the end,
and truth and goodness have their perpetual triumph, and the
world is ever young.
And Fairy Land is always the same, and always has been,
whether it is close to us-so close that we may enter it in a
moment-or whether it is far off; in the stories that have come to
us from the most ancient days, and the most distant lands, and in
those which kind and clever story-tellers write for us now. It is
the same in the legends of the mysterious East, as old as the
beginning of life; the same in the glowing South, in the myths of
ancient Greece; the same in the frozen regions of the
Scandinavian North, and in the forests of the great Teuton land,
and in the Islands of the West; the same in the tales that nurses
tell to the little ones by the fireside on winter evenings, and
in the songs that mothers sing to hush their babes to sleep; the
same in the delightful folk-lore that Grimm has collected for us,
and that dear Hans Andersen has but just ceased to tell.
All the chief stories that we know so well are to be found in
all times, and in almost all countries. Cinderella, for one, is
told in the language of every country in Europe, and the same
legend is found in the fanciful tales related by the Greek poets;
and still further back, it appears in very ancient Hindu legends.
So, again, does Beauty and the Beast, so does our own familiar
tale of Jack the Giant Killer, so also do a great number of other
fairy stories, each being told in different countries and in
different periods, with so much likeness as to show that all the
versions came from the same source, and yet with so much
difference as to show that none of the versions are directly
copied from each other. Indeed, when we compare the myths and
legends of one country with another, and of one period with
another, we find out how they have come to be so much alike, and
yet in some things so different. We see that there must have been
one origin for all these stories, that they must have been
invented by one people, that this people must have been
afterwards divided, and that each part or division of it must
have brought into its new home the legends once common to them
all, and must have shaped and altered these according, to the
kind of places in which they came to live: those of the North
being sterner and more terrible, those of the South softer and
fuller of light and colour, and adorned with touches of more
delicate fancy. And this, indeed, is really the case. All the
chief stories and legends are alike, because they were first made
by one people; and all the nations in which they are now told in
one form or another tell them because they are all descended from
this one common stock. If you travel amongst them, or talk to
them, or read their history, and learn their languages, the
nations of Europe seem to be altogether unlike each other; they
have different speech and manners, and ways of thinking, and
forms of government, and even different looks-for you can tell
them from one another by some peculiarity of appearance. Yet, in
fact, all these nations belong to one great family-English, and
German, and Russian, and French, and Italian, and Spanish, the
nations of the North, and the South, and the West, and partly of
the East of Europe, all came from one stock; and so did the
Romans and Greeks who went before them; and so also did the Medes
and Persians, and the Hindus, and some other peoples who have
always remained in Asia. And to the people from whom all these
nations have sprung learned men have given two names. Sometimes
they are called the Indo-Germanic or Indo-European race, to show
how widely they extend; and sometimes they are called the Aryan
race, from a word which is found in their language, and which
comes from the root "ar," to plough, and is supposed to mean
noble, or of a good family.
But how do we know that there were any such people, and that
we in England are descended from them, or that they were the
forefathers of the other nations of Europe, and of the Hindus,
and of the old Greeks and Romans? We know it by a most curious
and ingenious process of what may be called digging out and
building up. Some of you may remember that years ago there was
found in New Zealand a strange-looking bone, which nobody could
make anything of, and which seemed to have belonged to some
creature quite lost to the world as we know it. This bone was
sent home to England to a great naturalist, Professor Owen, of
the British Museum, who looked at it, turned it over, thought
about it, and then came to the conclusion that it was a bone
which had once formed part of a gigantic bird. Then; by degrees,
he began to see the kind of general form which such a bird must
have presented, and finally, putting one thing to another, and
fitting part to part, he declared it to be a bird of gigantic
size, and of a particular character, which he was able to
describe; and this opinion was confirmed by later discoveries of
other bones and fragments, so that an almost complete skeleton of
the Dinornis may now be seen in this country. Well, our knowledge
of the Aryan people, and of our own descent from them, has been
found out in much the same way. Learned men observed, as a
curious thing, that in various European languages there were
words of the same kind, and having the same root forms; they
found also that these forms of roots existed in the older
language of Greece; and then they found that they existed also in
Sanskrit, the oldest language of India-that in which the sacred
books of the Hindus are written. They discovered, further, that
these words and their roots meant always the same things, and
this led to the natural belief that they came from the same
source. Then, by closer inquiry into the Vedas, or Hindu
sacred books, another discovery was made, namely, that while the
Sanskrit has preserved the words of the original language in
their most primitive or earliest state, the other languages
derived from the same source have kept some forms plainly coming
from the same roots, but which Sanskrit has lost. Thus we are
carried back to a language older than Sanskrit, and of which this
is only one of the forms, and from this we know that there was a
people which used a common tongue; and if different forms of this
common tongue are found in India, in Persia, and throughout
Europe, we know that the races which inhabit these countries
must, at sometime, have parted from the parent stock, and must
have carried their language and their traditions along with them.
So, to find out who these people were, we have to go back to the
sacred books of the Hindus and the Persians, and to pick out
whatever facts may be found there, and thus to build up the
memorial of the Aryan race, just as Professor Owen built up the
great New Zealand bird.
It would take too long, and would be much too dry, to show how
this process has been completed step by step, and bit by bit.
That belongs to a study called comparative philology, and to
another called comparative mythology-that is, the studies of
words and of myths, or legends-which some of those who read these
pages may pursue with interest in after years. All that need be
done now is to bring together such accounts of the Aryan people,
our forefathers, as may be gathered from the writings of the
learned men who have made this a subject of inquiry, and
especially from the works of German and French writers, and more
particularly from those of Mr. Max Muller, an eminent German, who
lives amongst us in England, who writes in English, and who has
done more, perhaps, than anybody else, to tell us what we know
about this matter.
As to when the Aryans lived we know nothing, but that it was
thousands of years ago, long before history began. As to the kind
of people they were we know nothing in a direct way. They have
left no traces of themselves in buildings, or weapons, or
enduring records of any kind. There are no ruins of their temples
or tombs, no pottery-which often helps to throw light upon
ancient peoples-no carvings upon rocks or stones. It is only by
the remains of their language that we can trace them; and we do
this through the sacred books of the Hindus and Persians-the
Vedas and the Zend Avesta-in which remains of their
language are found, and by means of which, therefore, we get to
know something about their dwelling-place, their manners, their
customs, their religion, and their legends-the source and origin
of our Fairy Tales.
In the Zend Avesta-the oldest sacred book of the
Persians-or in such fragments of it as are left, there are
sixteen countries spoken of as having been given by Ormuzd, the
Good Deity, for the Aryans to live in; and these countries are
described as a land of delight, which was turned, by Ahriman, the
Evil Deity, into a land of death and cold; partly, it is said, by
a great flood, which is described as being like Noah's flood
recorded in the Book of Genesis. This land, as nearly as we can
make it out, seems to have been the high, central district of
Asia, to the north and west of the great chain of mountains of
the Hindu Koush, which form the frontier barrier of the present
country of the Afghans. It stretched, probably, from the sources
of the river Oxus to the shores of the Caspian Sea; and when the
Aryans moved from their home, it is thought that the easterly
portion of the tribes were those who marched southwards into
India and Persia, and that those who were nearest the Caspian Sea
marched westwards into Europe. It is not supposed that they were
all one united people, but rather a number of tribes, having a
common origin-though what was this original stock is quite beyond
any knowledge we have, or even beyond our powers of conjecture.
But, though the Aryan peoples were divided into tribes, and were
spread over a tract of country nearly as large as half Europe, we
may properly describe them generally, for so far as our knowledge
goes, all the tribes had the same character.
They were a pastoral people-that is, their chief work was to
look after their herds of cattle and to till the earth. Of this
we find proof in the words and roots remaining of their language.
From the same source, also, we know that they lived in dwellings
built with wood and stone; that these dwellings were grouped
together in villages; that they were fenced in against enemies,
and that enclosures were formed to keep the cattle from straying,
and that roads of some kind were made from one village to
another. These things show that the Aryans had some claim to the
name they took, and that in comparison with their forefathers, or
with the savage or wandering tribes they knew, they had a right
to call themselves respectable, excellent, honourable, masters,
heroes-for all these are given as probable meanings of their
name. Their progress was shown in another way. The rudest and
earliest tribes of men used weapons of flint, roughly shaped into
axes and spear-heads, or other cutting implements, with which
they defended themselves in conflict, or killed the beasts of
chase, or dug up the roots on which they lived. The Aryans were
far in advance of this condition. They did not, it is believed,
know the use of iron, but they knew and used gold, silver, and
copper; they made weapons and other implements of bronze; they
had ploughs to till the ground, and axes, and probably saws, for
the purpose of cutting and shaping timber. Of pottery and weaving
they knew something: the western tribes certainly used hemp and
flax as materials for weaving, and when the stuff was woven the
women made it into garments by the use of the needle. Thus we get
a certain division of trades or occupations. There were the
tiller of the soil, the herdsman, the smith who forged the tools
and weapons of bronze, the joiner or carpenter who built the
houses, and the weaver who made the clothing required for
protection against a climate which was usually cold. Then there
was also the boat-builder, for the Aryans had boats, though moved
only by oars. There was yet another class, the makers of personal
ornaments, for these people had rings, bracelets, and necklaces
made of the precious metals.
Of trade the Aryans knew something; but they had no coined
money-all the trade was done by exchange of one kind of cattle,
or grain or goods, for another. They had regulations as to
property, their laws punished crime with fine, imprisonment, or
death, just as ours do. They seem to have been careful to keep
their liberties, the families being formed into groups, and these
into tribes or clans, under the rule of an elected chief, while
it is probable that a Great Chief or King ruled over several
tribes and led them to war, or saw that the laws were put into
force.
Now we begin to see something of these ancient forefathers of
ours, and to understand what kind of people they were. Presently
we shall have to look into their religion, out of which our Fairy
Stories were really made; but first, there are one or two other
things to be said about them. One of these shows that they were
far in advance of savage races, for they could count as high as
one hundred, while savages can seldom get further than the number
of their fingers; and they had also advanced so far as to divide
the year into twelve months, which they took from the changes of
the moon. Then their family relations were very close and tender.
"Names were given to the members of families related by marriage
as well as by blood. A welcome greeted the birth of children, as
of those who brought joy to the home; and the love that should be
felt between brother and sister was shown in the names given to
them: bhratar (or brother) being he who sustains or helps;
svasar (or sister) she who pleases or consoles. The
daughter of each household was called duhitar, from
duh, a root which in Sanskrit means to milk, by which we
know that the girls in those days were the milking-maids. Father
comes from a root, pa, which means to protect or support;
mother, matar, has the meaning of maker."[1]
Now we may sum up what we know of this ancient people and
their ways; and we find in them much that is to be found in their
descendants-the love of parents and children, the closeness of
family ties, the protection of life and property, the maintenance
of law and order, and, as we shall see presently, a great
reverence for God. Also, they were well versed in the arts
of life-they built houses, formed villages or towns, made roads,
cultivated the soil, raised great herds of cattle and other
animals; they made boats and land-carriages, worked in metals for
use and ornament, carried on trade with each other, knew how to
count, and were able to divide their time so as to reckon by
months and days as well as by seasons. Besides all this, they had
something more and of still higher value, for the fragments of
their ancient poems or hymns preserved in the Hindu and Persian
sacred books show that they thought much of the spirit of man as
well as of his bodily life; that they looked upon sin as an evil
to be punished or forgiven by the Gods, that they believed in a
life after the death of the body, and that they had a strong
feeling for natural beauty and a love of searching into the
wonders of the earth and of the heavens.
The religion of the Aryan races, in its beginning, was a very
simple and a very noble one. They looked up to the heavens and
saw the bright sun, and the light and beauty and glory of the
day. They saw the day fade into night and the clouds draw
themselves across the sky, and then they saw the dawn and the
light and life of another day. Seeing these things, they felt
that some Power higher than man ordered and guided them; and to
this great Power they gave the name of Dyaus, from a
root-word which means "to shine." And when, out of the forces and
forms of Nature, they afterwards fashioned other Gods, this name
of Dyaus became Dyaus pitar, the Heaven-Father, or Lord of
All; and in far later times, when the western Aryans had found
their home in Europe, the Dyaus pitar of the central Asian
land became the Zeupater of the Greeks, and the Jupiter of the
Romans; and the first part of his name gave us the word Deity,
which we apply to God. So, as Professor Max Muller tells
us, the descendants of the ancient Aryans, "when they search for
a name for what is most exalted and yet most dear to every one of
us, when they wish to express both awe and love, the infinite and
the finite, they can do but what their old fathers did when
gazing up to the eternal sky, and feeling the presence of a Being
as far as far, and as near as near can be; they can but combine
the self-same words and utter once more the primeval Aryan
prayer, Heaven-Father, in that form which will endure for ever,
'Our Father, which art in Heaven.'"
The feeling which the Aryans had towards the Heaven-Father is
very finely shown in one of the oldest hymns in the Rig
Veda, or the Book of Praise-a hymn written 4,000 years ago,
and addressed to Varuna, or the All-Surrounder, the ancient Hindu
name for the chief deity:-
"Let me not, O Varuna, enter into the house of clay.
Have mercy! Almighty, have mercy!
If I go trembling, like a cloud driven by the wind,
Have mercy! Almighty, have mercy!
Through want of strength, thou strong and bright God,
have I gone wrong;
Have mercy! Almighty, have mercy!"
But, besides Dyaus pitar, or Varuna, the Aryans worshipped
other gods, whom they made for themselves out of the elements,
and the changes of night and day, and the succession of the
seasons. They worshipped the sky, the earth, the sun, the dawn,
fire, water, and wind. The chief of these deities were Agni, the
fire; Prithivi, the earth; Ushas, the dawn; Mitra, or Surya, the
sun; Indra, the sky; Maruts, the storm-winds; and Varuna, the
All-Surrounder. To these deities sacrifice was offered and prayer
addressed; but they had no priests or temples-these came in later
ages, when men thought they had need of others to stand between
them and God. But the ancient Aryans saw the Deity
everywhere, and stood face to face with Him in Nature. He was to
them the early morning, the brightness of midday, the gloom of
evening, the darkness of night, the flash of the lightning, the
roll of the thunder, and the rush of the mighty storm-wind. It
seems strange to us that those who could imagine the one
Heaven-Father should degrade Him by making a multitude of Gods;
but this came easily to them, partly out of a desire to account
for all they saw in Nature, and which their fancy clothed in
divine forms, and partly out of reverence for the great All
Father, by filling up the space between Him and themselves with
inferior Gods, all helping to make His greatness the greater and
His power the mightier.
We cannot look into this old religion of the Aryans any
further, because our business is to see how their legends are
connected with the myths and stories which are spread by their
descendants over a great part of East and West. Now this came
about in the way we are going to describe.
The mind of the Aryan peoples in their ancient home was full
of imagination. They never ceased to wonder at what they heard
and saw in the sky and upon the earth. Their language was highly
figurative, and so the things which struck them with wonder, and
which they could not explain, were described under forms and
names which were familiar to them. Thus the thunder was to them
the bellowing of a mighty beast or the rolling of a great
chariot. In the lightning they saw a brilliant serpent, or a
spear shot across the sky, or a great fish darting swiftly
through the sea of cloud. The clouds were heavenly cows, who shed
milk upon the earth and refreshed it; or they were webs woven by
heavenly women, who drew water from the fountains on high and
poured it down as rain. The sun was a radiant wheel, or a golden
bird, or an eye, or a shining egg, or a horse of matchless speed,
or a slayer of the cloud-dragons. Sometimes it was a frog, when
it seemed to be sinking into or squatting upon the water; and out
of this fancy, when the meaning of it was lost, there grew a
Sanskrit legend, which is to be found also in Teutonic and Celtic
myths. This story is, that Bheki (the frog) was a lovely maiden
who was found by a king, who asked her to be his wife. So she
married him, but only on condition that he should never show her
a drop of water. One day she grew tired, and asked for water. The
king gave it to her, and she sank out of his sight; in other
words, the sun disappears when it touches the water.
This imagery of the Aryans was applied by them to all they saw
in the sky. Sometimes, as we have said, the clouds were cows;
they were also dragons, which sought to slay the sun; or great
ships floating across the sky, and casting anchor upon earth; or
rocks, or mountains, or deep caverns, in which evil deities hid
the golden light. Then, also, they were shaped by fancy into
animals of various kinds-the bear, the wolf, the dog, the ox; and
into giant birds, and into monsters which were both bird and
beast.
The Winds, again, in their fancy, were the companions or the
ministers of Indra, the sky-god. The Maruts, or spirits of the
winds, gathered into their host the souls of the dead-thus giving
birth to the Scandinavian and Teutonic legend of the Wild
Horseman, who rides at midnight through the stormy sky, with his
long train of dead behind him, and his weird hounds before. The
Ribhus, or Arbhus, again, were the sunbeams or the lightning, who
forged the armour of the Gods, and made their thunderbolts, and
turned old people young, and restored out of the hide alone the
slaughtered cow on which the Gods had feasted. Out of these
heavenly artificers, the workers of the clouds, there came, in
later times, two of the most striking stories of ancient
legend-that of Thor, the Scandinavian thunder-god, who feasted at
night on the goats which drew his chariot, and in the morning, by
a touch of his hammer, brought them back to life; and that of
Orpheus in the beautiful Greek legend, the master of divine song,
who moved the streams, and rocks, and trees, by the beauty of his
music, and brought back his wife Eurydike from the shades of
death. In our Western fairy tales we still have these Ribhus, or
Arbhus, transformed, through various changes of language, into
Albs, and Elfen, and last into our English Elves. It is not
needful to go further into the fanciful way in which the old
Aryans slowly made ever-increasing deities and superhuman beings
for themselves out of all the forms and aspects of Nature; or how
their Hindu and Persian and Greek and Teuton descendants peopled
all earth, and air, and sky, and water, with good and bad spirits
and imaginary powers. But, as we shall see later, all these
creatures grew out of one thing only-the Sun, and his influence
upon the earth. Aryan myths were no more than poetic fancies
about light and darkness, cloud and rain, night and day, storm
and wind; and when they moved westward and southward, the Aryan
races brought these legends with them; and they were shaped by
degrees into the innumerable gods and demons of the Hindus, the
divs and jinns of the Persians, the great gods, the minor
deities, and nymphs, and fauns, and satyrs of Greek mythology and
poetry; the stormy divinities, the giants, and trolls of the cold
and rugged North; the dwarfs of the German forests; the elves who
dance merrily in the moonlight of an English summer; and the
"good people" who play mischievous tricks upon stray peasants
amongst the Irish hills. Almost all, indeed, that we have of a
legendary kind comes to us from our Aryan forefathers; sometimes
scarcely changed, sometimes so altered that we have to puzzle out
the links between the old and the new; but all these myths and
traditions, and Old-world stories, when we come to know the
meaning of them, take us back to the time when the Aryan races
dwelt together in the high lands of Central Asia, and they all
mean the same things-that is, the relation between the sun and
the earth, the succession of night and day, of winter and summer,
of storm and calm, of cloud and tempest, and golden sunshine and
bright blue sky. And this is the source from which we get our
Fairy Stories; for underneath all of them there are the same
fanciful meanings, only changed and altered in the way of putting
them, by the lapse of ages of time, by the circumstances of
different countries, and by the fancy of those who kept the
wonderful tales alive without knowing what they meant.
When the change happened that brought about all this, we do
not know. It was thousands of years ago that the Aryan people
began their march out of their old country in mid-Asia. But from
the remains of their language and the likeness of their legends
to those amongst other nations, we do know that ages and ages ago
their country grew too small for them, so they were obliged to
move away from it. They could not go eastward, for the great
mountains shut them in; they could not go northward, for the
great desert was too barren for their flocks and herds. So they
turned, some of them southward into India and Persia, and some of
them westward into Europe-at the time, perhaps, when the land of
Europe stretched from the borders of Asia to our own islands, and
when there was no sea between us and what is now the mainland.
How they made their long and toilsome march we know not. But, as
Kingsley writes of such a movement of an ancient tribe, so we may
fancy these old Aryans marching westward-"the tall, bare-limbed
men, with stone axes on their shoulders and horn bows at their
backs, with herds of grey cattle, guarded by huge lop-eared
mastiffs, with shaggy white horses, heavy-horned sheep and silky
goats, moving always westward through the boundless steppes,
whither or why we know not, but that the All-Father had sent them
forth. And behind us (he makes them say) the rosy snow-peaks died
into ghastly grey, lower and lower, as every evening came; and
before us the plains spread infinite, with gleaming salt-lakes,
and ever-fresh tribes of gaudy flowers. Behind us, dark: lines of
living beings streamed down the mountain slopes; around us, dark
lines crawled along the plains-westward, westward ever. Who could
stand against us? We met the wild asses on the steppe, and tamed
them, and made them our slaves. We slew the bison herds, and swam
broad rivers on their skins. The Python snake lay across our
path; the wolves and wild dogs snarled at us out of their
coverts; we slew them and went on. The forests rose in black
tangled barriers, we hewed our way through them and went on.
Strange giant tribes met us, and eagle-visaged hordes, fierce and
foolish; we smote them, hip and thigh, and went on, west-ward
ever." And so, as they went on, straight towards the west, or as
they turned north and south, and thus overspread new lands, they
brought with them their old ways of thought and forms of belief,
and the stories in which these had taken form; and on these were
built up the Gods and Heroes, and all wonder-working creatures
and things, and the poetical fables and fancies which have come
down to us, and which still linger in our customs and our Fairy
Tales bright and sunny and many coloured in the warm regions of
the south; sterner and wilder and rougher in the north; more
homelike in the middle and western countries; but always alike in
their main features, and always having the same meaning when we
come to dig it out; and these forms and this meaning being the
same in the lands of the Western Aryans as in those still peopled
by the Aryans of the East.
It would take a very great book to give many examples of the
myths and stories which are alike in all the Aryan countries; but
we may see by one instance what the likeness is; and it shall be
a story which all will know when they read it.
Once upon a time there was a Hindu Rajah, who had an only
daughter, who was born with a golden necklace. In this necklace
was her soul; and if the necklace were taken off and worn by some
one else, the Princess would die. On one of her birthdays the
Rajah gave his daughter a pair of slippers with ornaments of gold
and gems upon them. The Princess went out upon a mountain to
pluck the flowers that grew there, and while she was stooping to
pluck them one of her slippers came off and fell down into a
forest below. A Prince, who was hunting in the forest, picked up
the lost slipper, and was so charmed with it that he desired to
make its owner his wife. So he made his wish known everywhere,
but nobody came to claim the slipper, and the poor Prince grew
very sad. At last some people from the Rajah's country heard of
it, and told the Prince where to find the Rajah's daughter; and
he went there, and asked for her as his wife, and they were
married. Sometime after, another wife of the Prince, being
jealous of the Rajah's daughter, stole her necklace, and put it
on her own neck, and then the Rajah's daughter died. But her body
did not decay, nor did her face lose its bloom; and the Prince
went every day to see her, for he loved her very much although
she was dead. Then he found out the secret of the necklace, and
got it back again, and put it on his dead wife's neck, and her
soul was born again in her, and she came back to life, and they
lived happy ever after.
This Hindu story of the lost slipper is met with again in a legend of the ancient Greeks,
which tells that while a beautiful woman,
named Rhodope-or the rosy-cheeked-was bathing,
an eagle picked up one of her slippers and flew away with it,
and carried it off to Egypt,
and dropped it in the lap of the King of that country,
as he sat at Memphis on the judgment-seat.
The slipper was so small and beautiful that the King fell in love with the wearer of it,
and had her sought for,
and when she was found he made her his wife.
Another story of the same kind.
It is found in many countries,
in various forms,
and is that of Cinderella,
the poor neglected maiden,
whom her stepmother set to work in the kitchen,
while her sisters went to the grand balls and feasts at the King's palace.
You know how Cinderella's fairy godmother came and dressed her like a princess,
and sent her to the ball;
how the King's son fell in love with her;
how she lost one of her slippers,
which the Prince picked up;
how he vowed that he would marry
the maiden who could fit on the lost slipper;
how all the ladies of the court tried to do it,
and failed,
Cinderella's sisters amongst them;
and how Cinderella herself put on the slipper,
produced the fellow to it,
was married to the King's son,
and lived happily with him.
Now the story of Cinderella helps us to find out the meaning
of our Fairy Tales; and takes us back straight to the far-off
land where fairy legends began, and to the people who made them.
Cinderella, and Rhodope, and the Hindu Rajah's daughter, and the
like, are but different forms of the same ancient myth. It is the
story of the Sun and the Dawn. Cinderella, grey and dark, and
dull, is all neglected when she is away from the Sun, obscured by
the envious Clouds her sisters, and by her stepmother the Night.
So she is Aurora,
the Dawn, and the fairy Prince is the Morning
Sun, ever pursuing her, to claim her for his bride. This is the
legend as we find it in the ancient Hindu sacred books; and this
explains at once the source and the meaning of the Fairy
Tale.
Nor is it in the story of Cinderella alone that we trace the
ancient Hindu legends. There is scarcely a tale of Greek or Roman
mythology, no legend of Teutonic or Celtic or Scandinavian
growth, no great romance of what we call the middle ages, no
fairy story taken down from the lips of ancient folk, and dressed
for us in modern shape and tongue, that we do not find, in some
form or another, in these Eastern poems. The Greek gods are
there-Zeus, the Heaven-Father, and his wife Hera, "and Phoebus
Apollo the Sun-god, and Pallas Athene, who taught men wisdom and
useful arts, and Aphrodite the Queen of Beauty, and Poseidon the
Ruler of the Sea, and Hephaistos the King of the Fire, who taught
men to work in metals."[2] There, too, are
legends which resemble those of Orpheus and Eurydike, of Eros and
Psyche, of Jason and the Golden Fleece, of the labours of
Herakles, of Sigurd and Brynhilt, of Arthur and the Knights of
the Round Table. There, too, in forms which can be traced with
ease, we have the stories of Fairyland-the germs of the Thousand
and One Tales of the Arabian Nights, the narratives of giants,
and dwarfs, and enchanters; of men and maidens transformed by
magic arts into beasts and birds; of riches hidden in the caves
and bowels of the earth, and guarded by trolls and gnomes; of
blessed lands where all is bright and sunny, and where there is
neither work nor care. Whatever, indeed, is strange or fanciful,
or takes us straight from our grey, hard-working world into the
sweet and peaceful country of Once Upon a Time, is to be found in
these ancient Hindu books, and is repeated, from the source
whence they were drawn, in many countries of the East and West;
for the people whose traditions the Vedas record were the
forefathers of those who now dwell in India, in Persia, in the
border-lands, and in most parts of Europe. Yes; strange as it may
seem, all of us, who differ so much in language, in looks in
customs and ways of thought, in all that marks out one nation
from another-all of us have a common origin and a common kindred.
Greek and Roman, and Teuton and Kelt and Slav, ancient and
modern, all came from the same stock. English and French, Spanish
and Germans, Italians and Russians, all unlike in outward show,
are linked together in race; and not only with each other, but
also claim kindred with the people who now fill the fiery plains
of India, and dwell on the banks of her mighty rivers, and on the
slopes of her great mountain-chains, and who still recite the
sacred books, and sing the ancient hymns from which the mythology
of the West is in great part derived, whence our folk-lore comes,
and which give life and colour and meaning to our legends of
romance and our Tales of Fairyland.
By taking a number of stories containing the same idea, but
related in different ages and in countries far away from each
other, we shall see how this likeness of popular tradition runs
through all of them, and shows their common origin. So we will go
to the next chapter, and tell a few kindred tales from East and
West, and South and North.
CHAPTER II.-KINDRED TALES FROM DIVERS LANDS: EROS AND
PSYCHE.
Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen, who had three
beautiful daughters. The youngest of them, who was called Psyche,
was the loveliest; she was so very beautiful that she was thought
to be a second Aphrodite, the Goddess of Beauty and Love, and all
who saw her worshipped her as if she were the goddess; so that
the temples of Aphrodite were deserted and her worship neglected,
and Psyche was preferred to her; and as she passed along the
streets, or came into the temples, the people crowded round her,
and scattered flowers under her feet, and offered garlands to
her. Now, when Aphrodite knew this she grew very angry, and
resolved to punish Psyche, so as to make her a wonder and a shame
for ever. So Aphrodite sent for her son Eros, the God of Love,
and took him to the city where Psyche lived, and showed the
maiden to him, and bade him afflict her with love for a man who
should be the most wicked and most miserable of mankind, an
outcast, a beggar, one who had done some great wrong, and had
fallen so low that no man in the whole world could be so
wretched. Eros agreed that he would do what his mother wished;
but this was only a pretence, for when he saw Psyche he fell in
love with her himself, and made up his mind that she should be
his own wife. The first thing to do was to get the maiden into
his own care and to hide her from the vengeance of Aphrodite. So
he put it into the mind of her father to go to the shrine of
Phoebus, at Miletus, and ask the god what should be done with
Psyche. The king did so, and he was bidden by an oracle to dress
Psyche as a bride, to take her to the brow of a high mountain,
and to leave her there, and that after a time a great monster
would come and take her away and make her his wife. So Psyche was
decked in bridal garments, was taken to a rock on the top of a
mountain, and was left there as a sacrifice to turn away the
wrath of Aphrodite. But Eros took care that she came to no harm.
He went to Zephyrus, the God of the West Wind, and told him to
carry Psyche gently down into a beautiful valley, and to lay her
softly on the turf, amidst lovely flowers. So Zephyrus lulled
Psyche to sleep, and then carried her safely down, and laid her
in the place where Eros had bidden him. When Psyche awoke from
sleep she saw a thick grove, with a crystal fountain in it, and
close to the fountain there was a stately palace, fit for the
dwelling of a king or a god. She went into the palace, and found
it very wonderful. The walls and ceilings were made of cedar and
ivory, there were golden columns holding up the roof, the floors
were laid with precious stones, so put together as to make
pictures, and on the walls were carvings in gold and silver of
birds, and beasts, and flowers, and all kinds of strange and
beautiful things. And there were also great treasure places full
of gold, and silver, and gems, in such great measure that it
seemed as if all the riches of the world were gathered there. But
nowhere was there any living creature to be seen; all the palace
was empty, and Psyche was there alone. And while she went
trembling and fearing through the rooms, and wondering whose all
this might be, she heard voices, as of invisible maidens, which
told her that the palace was for her, and that they who spoke,
but whom she might not see, were her servants. And the voices
bade her go first to the bath, and then to a royal banquet which
was prepared for her. So Psyche, still wondering, went to the
bath, and then to a great and noble room, where there was a royal
seat, and upon this she placed herself, and then unseen
attendants put before her all kinds of delicate food and wine;
and while she ate and drank there was a sound as of a great
number of people singing the most charming music, and of one
playing upon the lyre; but none of them could she see. Then night
came on, and all the beautiful palace grew dark, and Psyche laid
herself down upon a couch to sleep. Then a great terror fell upon
her, for she heard footsteps, which came nearer and nearer, and
she thought it was the monster whose bride the oracle of Phoebus
had destined her to be. And the footsteps drew closer to her, and
then an unseen being came to her couch and lay down beside her,
and made her his wife; and he lay there until just before the
break of day, and then he departed, and it was still so dark that
Psyche could not see his form; nor did he speak, so that she
could not guess from his voice what kind of creature it was to
whom the Fates had wedded her. So Psyche lived for a long while,
wandering about her palace in the daytime, tended by her unseen
guardians, and every night her husband came to her and stayed
until daybreak. Then she began to long to hear about her father
and mother, and to see her sisters, and she begged leave of her
husband that these might come to her for a time. To this Eros
agreed, and gave her leave to give her sisters rich gifts, but
warned her that she must answer no questions they might ask about
him, and that she must not listen to any advice they might give
her to find out who he was, or else a great misfortune would
happen to her. Then Zephyrus brought the sisters of Psyche to
her, and they stayed with her for a little while, and were very
curious to know who her husband was, and what he was like. But
Psyche, mindful of the commands of Eros, put them off, first with
one story and then with another, and at last sent them away,
loaded with jewels. Now Psyche's sisters were envious of her,
because such good fortune had not happened to themselves, to have
such a grand palace, and such store of wealth, and they plotted
between themselves to make her discover her husband, hoping to
get some good for themselves out of it, and not caring what
happened to her. And it so fell out that they had their way, for
Psyche again getting tired of solitude, again begged of her
husband that her sisters might come to see her once more, to
which, with much sorrow, he consented, but warned her again that
if she spoke of him, or sought to see him, all her happiness
would vanish, and that she would have to bear a life of misery.
But it was fated that Psyche should disobey her husband; and it
fell out in this way. When her sisters came to her again they
questioned her about her husband, and persuaded her that she was
married to a monster too terrible to be looked at, and they told
her that this was the reason why he never came in the daytime,
and refused to let himself be seen at night. Then they also
persuaded her that she ought to put an end to the enchantment by
killing the monster; and for this purpose they gave her a sharp
knife, and they gave her also a lamp, so that while he was asleep
she might look at him, so as to know where to strike. Then, being
left alone, poor Psyche's mind was full of terror, and she
resolved to follow the advice of her sisters. So when her husband
was asleep, she went and fetched the lamp, and looked at him by
its light; and then she saw that, instead of a deadly monster, it
was Eros himself, the God of Love, to whom she was married. But
while she was filled with awe and delight at this discovery, the
misfortune happened which Eros had foretold. A drop of oil from
the lamp fell upon the shoulder of the god, and he sprang up from
the couch, reproached Psyche for her fatal curiosity, and
vanished from her sight; and then the beautiful palace vanished
also, and Psyche found herself lying on the bare cold earth,
weeping, deserted, and alone.
Then poor Psyche began a long and weary journey, to try to
find the husband she had lost, but she could not, for he had gone
to his mother Aphrodite, to be cured of his wound; and Aphrodite,
finding out that Eros had fallen in love with Psyche, determined
to punish her, and to prevent her from finding Eros. First Psyche
went to the god Pan, but he could not help her; then she went to
the goddess Demeter, the Earth-Mother, but she warned her against
the vengeance of Aphrodite, and sent her away. And the great
goddess Hera did the same; and at last, abandoned by every one,
Psyche went to Aphrodite herself, and the goddess, who had caused
great search to be made for her, now ordered her to be beaten and
tormented, and then ridiculed her sorrows, and taunted her with
the loss of Eros, and set her to work at many tasks that seemed
impossible to be done. First the goddess took a great heap of
seeds of wheat, barley, millet, poppy, lentils, and beans, and
mixed them all together, and then bade Psyche separate them into
their different kinds by nightfall. Now there were so many of
them that this was impossible; but Eros, who pitied Psyche,
though she had lost him, sent a great many ants, who parted the
seeds from each other and arranged them in their proper heaps, so
that by evening all that Aphrodite had commanded was done. Then
the goddess was very angry, and fed Psyche on bread and water,
and next day she set Psyche another task. This was to collect a
quantity of golden wool from the sheep of the goddess, creatures
so fierce and wild that no mortal could venture near them and
escape with life. Then Psyche thought herself lost; but Pan came
to her help and bade her wait until evening, when the golden
sheep would be at rest, and then she might from the trees and
shrubs collect all the wool she needed. So Psyche fulfilled this
task also. But Aphrodite was still unsatisfied. She now demanded
a crystal urn, filled with icy waters from the fountain of
Oblivion. The fountain was placed on the summit of a great
mountain; it issued from a fissure in a lofty rock, too steep for
any one to ascend, and from thence it fell into a narrow channel,
deep, winding, and rugged, and guarded on each side by terrible
dragons, which never slept. And the rush of the waters, as they
rolled along, resembled a human voice, always crying out to the
adventurous explorer-"Beware! fly! or you perish!" Here Psyche
thought her sufferings at an end; sooner than face the dragons
and climb the rugged rocks she must die. But again Eros helped
her, for he sent the eagle of Zeus, the All-Father, and the eagle
took the crystal urn in his claws, flew past the dragons, settled
on the rock, and drew the water of the black fountain, and gave
it safely to Psyche, who carried it back and presented it to the
angry Aphrodite. But the goddess, still determined that Psyche
should perish, set her another task, the hardest and most
dangerous of all. "Take this box," she said, "go with it into the
infernal regions to Persephone, and ask her for a portion of her
beauty, that I may adorn myself with it for the supper of the
gods." Now on hearing this, poor Psyche knew that the goddess
meant to destroy her; so she went up to a lofty tower, meaning to
throw herself down headlong so that she might be killed, and thus
pass into the realm of Hades, never to return. But the tower was
an enchanted place, and a voice from it spoke to her and bade her
be of good cheer, and told her what to do. She was to go to a
city of Achaia and find near it a mountain, and in the mountain
she would see a gap, from which a narrow road led straight into
the infernal regions. But the voice warned her of many things
which must be done on the journey, and of others which must be
avoided. She was to take in each hand a piece of barley bread,
soaked in honey, and in her mouth she was to put two pieces of
money. On entering the dreary path she would meet an old man
driving a lame ass, laden with wood, and the old man would ask
her for help, but she was to pass him by in silence. Then she
would come to the bank of the black river, over which the boatman
Charon ferries the souls of the dead; and from her mouth Charon
must take one piece of money, she saying not a word. In crossing
the river a dead hand would stretch itself up to her, and a dead
face, like that of her father, would appear, and a voice would
issue from the dead man's mouth, begging for the other piece of
money, that he might pay for his passage, and get released from
the doom of floating for ever in the grim flood of Styx. But
still she was to keep silence, and to let the dead man cry out in
vain; for all these, the voice told her, were snares prepared by
Aphrodite, to make her let go the money, and to let fall the
pieces of bread. Then, at the gate of the palace of Persephone
she would meet the great three-headed dog, Kerberos, who keeps
watch there for ever, and to him, to quiet his terrible barking,
she must give one piece of the bread, and pass on, still never
speaking. So Kerberos would allow her to pass; but still another
danger would await her. Persephone would greet her kindly, and
ask her to sit upon soft cushions, and to eat of a fine banquet.
But she must refuse both offers-sitting only on the ground, and
eating only of the bread of mortals, or else she must remain for
ever in the gloomy regions below the earth. Psyche listened to
this counsel, and obeyed it. Everything happened as the voice had
foretold. She saw the old man with the overladen ass, she
permitted Charon to take the piece of money from her lips, she
stopped her ears against the cry of the dead man floating in the
black river, she gave the honey bread to Kerberos, and she
refused the soft cushions and the banquet offered to her by the
queen of the infernal regions. Then Persephone gave her the
precious beauty demanded by Aphrodite, and shut it up in the box,
and Psyche came safely back into the light of day, giving to
Kerberos, the three-headed dog, the remaining piece of honey
bread, and to Charon the remaining piece of money. But now she
fell into a great danger. The voice in the tower had warned her
not to look into the box; but she was tempted by a strong desire,
and so she opened it, that she might see and use for herself the
beauty of the gods. But when she opened the box it was empty,
save of a vapour of sleep, which seized upon Psyche, and made her
as if she were dead. In this unhappy state, brought upon her by
the vengeance of Aphrodite, she would have been lost for ever,
but Eros, healed of the wound caused by the burning oil, came
himself to her help, roused her from the death-like sleep, and
put her in a place of safety. Then Eros flew up into the abode of
the gods, and besought Zeus to protect Psyche against his mother
Aphrodite; and Zeus, calling an assembly of the gods, sent Hermes
to bring Psyche thither, and then he declared her immortal, and
she and Eros were wedded to each other; and there was a great
feast in Olympus. And the sisters of Psyche, who had striven to
ruin her, were punished for their crimes, for Eros appeared to
them one after the other in a dream, and promised to make each of
them his wife, in place of Psyche, and bade each throw herself
from the great rock whence Psyche was carried into the beautiful
valley by Zephyrus; and both the sisters did as the dream told
them, and they were dashed to pieces, and perished miserably.
Now this is the story of Eros and Psyche, as it is told by
Apuleius, in his book of Metamorphoses, written nearly two
thousand years ago. But the story was told ages before Apuleius
by people other than the Greeks, and in a language which existed
long before theirs. It is the tale of Urvasi and Pururavas, which
is to be found in one of the oldest of the Vedas, or Sanskrit
sacred books, which contain the legends of the Aryan race before
it broke up and went in great fragments southward into India, and
westward into Persia and Europe. A translation of the story of
Urvasi and Pururavas is given by Mr. Max-Muller,[3] who also tells what the story means, and
this helps us to see the meaning of the tale of Eros and Psyche,
and of many other myths which occur among all the branches of the
Aryan family; among the Teutons, the Scandinavians, and the
Slavs, as well as among the Greeks. Urvasi, then, was an immortal
being, a kind of fairy, who fell in love with Pururavas, a hero
and a king; and she married him, and lived with him, on this
condition-that she should never see him unless he was dressed in
his royal robes. Now there was a ewe, with two lambs, tied to the
couch of Urvasi and Pururavas; and the fairies-or Gandharvas, as
the kinsfolk of Urvasi were called-wished to get her back amongst
them; and so they stole one of the lambs. Then Urvasi reproached
her husband, and said, "They take away my darling, as if I lived
in a land where there is no hero and no man." The fairies stole
the other lamb, and Urvasi reproached her husband again, saying,
"How can that be a land without heroes or men where I am?" Then
Pururavas hastened to bring back the pet lamb; so eager was he
that he stayed not to clothe himself, and so sprang up naked.
Then the Gandharvas sent a flash of lightning, and Urvasi saw her
husband naked as if by daylight; and then she cried out to her
kinsfolk, "I come back," and she vanished. And Pururavas, made
wretched by the loss of his love, sought her everywhere, and once
he was permitted to see her, and when he saw her, he said he
should die if she did not come back to him. But Urvasi could not
return; but she gave him leave to come to her, on the last night
of the year, to the golden seats; and he stayed with her for that
night. And Urvasi said to him, "The Gandharvas will to-morrow
grant thee a wish; choose." He said; "Choose thou for me." She
replied, "Say to them, Let me be one of you." And he said this,
and they taught him how to make the sacred fire, and he became
one of them, and dwelt with Urvasi for ever.
Now this, we see, is like the story of Eros and Psyche; and
Mr. Max-Muller teaches us what it means. It is the story of the
Sun and the Dawn. Urvasi is the Dawn, which must vanish or die
when it beholds the risen Sum; and Pururavas is the Sun; and they
are united again at sunset, when the Sun dies away into night.
So, in the Greek myth, Eros is the dawning Sun, and when Psyche,
the Dawn, sees him, he flies from her, and it is only at
nightfall that they can be again united. In the same paper Mr.
Max-Muller shows how this root idea of the Aryan race is found
again in another of the most beautiful of Greek myths or
stories-that of Orpheus and Eurydike. In the Greek legends the
Dawn has many names; one of them is Eurydike. The name of her
husband, Orpheus, comes straight from the Sanskrit: it is the
same as Ribhu or Arbhu, which is a name of Indra, or the Sun, or
which may be used for the rays of the Sun. The old story, then,
says our teacher, was this: "Eurydike (the Dawn) is bitten by a
serpent (the Night); she dies, and descends into the lower
regions. Orpheus follows her, and obtains from the gods that his
wife should follow him, if he promised not to look back. Orpheus
promises-ascends from the dark world below; Eurydike is behind
him as he rises, but, drawn by doubt or by love, he looks round;
the first ray of the Sun glances at the Dawn; and the Dawn fades
away."
We have now seen that the Greek myth is like a much older myth
existing amongst the Aryan race before it passed westward. We
have but to look to other collections of Aryan folk-lore to find
that in some of its features the legend is common to all branches
of the Aryan family. In our own familiar story of "Beauty and the
Beast," for instance, we have the same idea. There are the three
sisters, one of whom is chosen as the bride of an enchanted
monster, who dwells in a beautiful palace. By the arts of her
sisters she is kept away from him, and he is at the point of
death through his grief. Then she returns, and he revives, and
becomes changed into a handsome Prince, and they live happy ever
after. One feature of these legends is that beings closely united
to each other-as closely, that is, as the Sun and the Dawn-may
not look upon each other without misfortune. This is illustrated
in the charming Scandinavian story of "The Land East of the Sun
and West of the Moon," which is told in various forms; the best
of them being in Mr. Morris's beautiful poem in "The Earthly
Paradise," and in Dr. Dasent's Norse Tales.[4] We shall abridge Dr. Dasent's version,
telling the story in our own way:
There was a poor peasant who had a large family whom he could
scarcely keep; and there were several daughters amongst them. The
loveliest was the youngest daughter; who was very beautiful
indeed. One evening in autumn, in bad weather, the family sat
round the fire; and there came three taps at the window. The
father went out to see who it was, and he found only a great
White Bear. And the White Bear said, "If you will give me your
youngest daughter, I will make you rich." So the peasant went in
and asked his daughter if she would be the wife of the White
Bear; and the daughter said "No." So the White Bear went away,
but said he would come back in a few days to see if the maiden
had changed her mind. Now her father and mother talked to her so
much about it, and seemed so anxious to be well off, that the
maiden agreed to be the wife of the White Bear: and when he came
again, she said "Yes," and the White Bear told her to sit upon
his back, and hold by his shaggy coat, and away they went
together. After the maiden had ridden for a long way, they came
to a great hill, and the White Bear gave a knock on the hill with
his paw, and the hill opened, and they went in. Now inside the
hill there was a palace with fine rooms, ornamented with gold and
silver, and all lighted up; and there was a table ready laid; and
the White Bear gave the maiden a silver bell, and told her to
ring it when she wanted anything. And when the maiden had eaten
and drank, she went to bed, in a beautiful bed with silk pillows
and curtains, and gold fringe to them. Then, in the dark, a man
came and lay down beside her. This was the White Bear, who was an
Enchanted Prince, and who was able to put off the shape of a
beast at night, and to become a man again; but before daylight,
he went away and turned once more into a White Bear, so that his
wife could never see him in the human form. Well, this went on
for some time, and the wife of the White Bear was very happy with
her kind husband, in the beautiful palace he had made for her.
Then she grew dull and miserable for want of company, and she
asked leave to go home for a little while to see her father and
mother, and her brothers and sisters. So the White Bear took her
home again, but he told her that there was one thing she must not
do; she must not go into a room with her mother alone, to talk to
her, or a great misfortune would happen. When the wife of the
White Bear got home, she found that her family lived in a grand
house, and they were all very glad to see her; and then her
mother took her into a room by themselves, and asked about her
husband. And the wife of the White Bear forgot the warning, and
told her mother that every night a man came and lay down with
her, and went away before daylight, and that she had never seen
him, and wanted to see him, very much. Then the mother said it
might be a Troll she slept with; and that she ought to see what
it was; and she gave her daughter a piece of candle, and said,
"Light this while he is asleep, and look at him, but take care
you don't drop the tallow upon him." So then the White Bear came
to fetch his wife, and they went back to the palace in the hill,
and that night she lit the candle, while her husband was asleep,
and then she saw that he was a handsome Prince, and she felt
quite in love with him, and gave him a soft kiss. But just as she
kissed him she let three drops of tallow fall upon his shirt, and
he woke up. Then the White Bear was very sorrowful, and said that
he was enchanted by a wicked fairy, and that if his wife had only
waited for a year before looking at him, the enchantment would be
broken, and he would be a man again always. But now that she had
given way to curiosity, he must go to a dreary castle East of the
Sun and West of the Moon, and marry a witch Princess, with a nose
three ells long. And then he vanished, and so did his palace, and
his poor wife found herself lying in the middle of a gloomy wood,
and she was dressed in rags, and was very wretched. But she did
not stop to cry about her hard fate, for she was a brave girl,
and made up her mind to go at once in search of her husband. So
she walked for days, and then she met an old woman sitting on a
hillside, and playing with a golden apple; and she asked the old
woman the way to the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon.
And the old woman listened to her story, and then she said, "I
don't know where it is; but you can go on and ask my next
neighbour. Ride there on my horse, and when you have done with
him, give him a pat under the left ear and say, 'Go home again;'
and take this golden apple with you, it may be useful." So she
rode on for a long way, and then came to another old woman, who
was playing with a golden carding comb; and she asked her the way
to the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon? But this old
woman couldn't tell her, and bade her go on to another old woman,
a long way off. And she gave her the golden carding comb, and
lent her a horse just like the first one. And the third old woman
was playing with a golden spinning wheel; and she gave this to
the wife of the White Bear, and lent her another horse, and told
her to ride on to the East Wind, and ask him the way to the
enchanted land. Now after a weary journey she got to the home of
the East Wind, and he said he had heard of the Enchanted Prince,
and of the country East of the Sun and West of the Moon, but he
did not know where it was, for he had never been so far. But, he
said, "Get on my back, and we will go to my brother the West
Wind; perhaps he knows." So they sailed off to the West Wind, and
told him the story, and he took it quite kindly, but said he
didn't know the way. But perhaps his brother the South Wind might
know; and they would go to him. So the White Bear's wife got on
the back of the West Wind, and he blew straight away to the
dwelling-place of the South Wind, and asked him where to find the
Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon. But the South Wind
said that although he had blown pretty nearly everywhere, he had
never blown there; but he would take her to his brother the North
Wind, the oldest, and strongest, and wisest Wind of all; and he
would be sure to know. Now the North Wind was very cross at being
disturbed, and he used bad language, and was quite rude and
unpleasant. But he was a kind Wind after all, and when his
brother the West Wind told him the story, he became quite
fatherly, and said he would do what he could, for he knew the
Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon very well. But, he
said, "It is a long way off; so far off that once in my life I
blew an aspen leaf there, and was so tired with it that I
couldn't blow or puff for ever so many days after." So they
rested that night, and next morning the North Wind puffed himself
out, and got stout, and big, and strong, ready for the journey;
and the maiden got upon his back, and away they went to the
country East of the Sun and West of the Moon. It was a terrible
journey, high up in the air, in a great storm, and over the
mountains and the sea, and before they got to the end of it the
North Wind grew very tired, and drooped, and nearly fell into the
sea, and got so low down that the crests of the waves washed over
him. But he blew as hard as he could, and at last he put the
maiden down on the shore, just in front of the Enchanted Castle
that stood in the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon; and
there he had to stop and rest many days before he became strong
enough to blow home again.
Now the wife of the White Bear sat down before the castle, and
began to play with the golden apple. And then the wicked Princess
with the nose three ells long opened a window, and asked if she
would sell the apple? But she said "No;" she would give the
golden apple for leave to spend the night in the bed-chamber of
the Prince who lived there. So the Princess with the long nose
said "Yes," and the wife of the White Bear was allowed to pass
the night in her husband's chamber. But a sleeping draught had
been given to the Prince, and she could not wake him, though she
wept greatly, and spent the whole night in crying out to him; and
in the morning before he woke she was driven away by the wicked
Princess. Well, next day she sat and played with the golden
carding comb, and the Princess wanted that too; and the same
bargain was made; but again a sleeping draught was given to the
Prince, and he slept all night, and nothing could waken him; and
at the first peep of daylight the wicked Princess drove the poor
wife out again. Now it was the third day, and the wife of the
White Bear had only the golden spinning-wheel left. So she sat
and played with it, and the Princess bought it on the same terms
as before. But some kind folk who slept in the next room to the
Prince told him that for two nights a woman had been in his
chamber, weeping bitterly, and crying out to him to wake and see
her. So, being warned, the Prince only pretended to drink the
sleeping draught, and so when his wife came into the room that
night he was wide awake, and was rejoiced to see her; and they
spent the whole night in loving talk. Now the next day was to be
the Prince's wedding day; but now that his lost wife had found
him, he hit upon a plan to escape marrying the Princess with the
long nose. So when morning came, he said he should like to see
what his bride was fit for? "Certainly," said the Witch-mother
and the Princess, both together. Then the Prince said he had a
fine shirt, with three drops of tallow upon it; and he would
marry only the woman who could wash them out, for no other would
be worth having. So they laughed at this, for they thought it
would be easily done. And the Princess began, but the more she
rubbed, the worse the tallow stuck to the shirt. And the old
Witch-mother tried; but it got deeper and blacker than ever. And
all the Trolls in the enchanted castle tried; but none of them
could wash the shirt clean. Then said the Prince, "Call in the
lassie who sits outside, and let her try." And she came in, and
took the shirt, and washed it quite clean and white, all in a
minute. Then the old Witch-mother put herself into such a rage
that she burst into pieces, and so did the Princess with the long
nose, and so did all the Trolls in the castle; and the Prince
took his wife away with him, and all the silver and gold, and a
number of Christian people who had been enchanted by the witch;
and away they went for ever from the dreary Land East of the Sun
and West of the Moon.
In the story of "The Soaring Lark," in the collection of
German popular tales made by the brothers Grimm, we have another
version of the same idea; and here, as in Eros and Psyche, and in
the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon, it is the woman to
whose fault the misfortunes are laid, and upon whom falls the
long and weary task of search. The story told in brief, is this.
A merchant went on a journey, and promised to bring back for his
three daughters whatever they wished. The eldest asked for
diamonds, the second for pearls, and the youngest, who was her
father's favourite, for a singing, soaring lark. As the merchant
came home, he passed through a great forest, and on the top bough
of a tall tree he found a lark, and tried to take it. Then a Lion
sprang from behind the tree, and said the lark was his, and that
he would eat up the merchant for trying to steal it. The merchant
told the Lion why he wanted the bird, and then the Lion said that
he would give him the lark, and let him go, on one condition,
namely, that he should give to the Lion the first thing or person
that met him on his return. Now the first person who met the
merchant when he got home was his youngest daughter, and the poor
merchant told her the story, and wept very much, and said that
she should not go into the forest. But the daughter said, "What
you have promised you must do;" and so she went into the forest,
to find the Lion. The Lion was an Enchanted Prince, and all his
servants were also turned into lions; and so they remained all
day; but at night they all changed back again into men. Now when
the Lion Prince saw the merchant's daughter, he fell in love with
her, and took her to a fine castle, and at night, when he became
a man, they were married, and lived very happily, and in great
splendour. One day the Prince said to his wife, "To-morrow your
eldest sister is to be married; if you would like to be there, my
lions shall go with you." So she went, and the lions with her,
and there were great rejoicings in her father's house, because
they were afraid that she had been torn to pieces in the forest;
and after staying some time, she went back to her husband. After
a while, the Prince said to his wife, "To-morrow your second
sister is going to be married," and she replied, "This time I
will not go alone, for you shall go with me." Then he told her
how dangerous that would be, for if a single ray from a burning
light fell upon him, he would be changed into a Dove, and in that
form would have to fly about for seven years. But the Princess
very much wanted him to go, and in order to protect him from the
light, she had a room built with thick walls, so that no light
could get through, and there he was to sit while the bridal
candles were burning. But by some accident, the door of the room
was made of new wood, which split, and made a little chink, and
through this chink one ray of light from the torches of the
bridal procession fell like a hair upon the Prince, and he was
instantly changed in form; and when his wife came to tell him
that all danger was over, she found only a White Dove, who said
very sadly to her-
"For seven years I must fly about in the world, but at every
seventh mile I will let fall a white feather and a drop of red
blood, which will show you the way, and if you follow it, you may
save me."
Then the White Dove flew out of the door, and the Princess
followed it, and at every seventh mile the Dove let fall a white
feather and a drop of red blood; and so, guided by the feathers
and the drops of blood, she followed the Dove, until the seven
years had almost passed, and she began to hope that the Prince's
enchantment would be at an end. But one day there was no white
feather to be seen, nor any drop of red blood, and the Dove had
flown quite away. Then the poor Princess thought, "No man can
help me now;" and so she mounted up to the Sun, and said, "Thou
shinest into every chasm and over every peak; hast thou seen a
White Dove on the wing?"
"No," answered the Sun. "I have not seen one; but take this
casket, and open it when you are in need of help."
She took the casket, and thanked the Sun. When evening came,
she asked the Moon-
"Hast thou seen a White Dove? for thou shinest all night long
over every field and through every wood."
"No," said the Moon, "I have not seen a White Dove; but here
is an egg-break it when you are in great trouble."
She thanked the Moon, and took the egg; and then the North
Wind came by; and she said to the North Wind:
"Hast thou not seen a White Dove? for thou passest through all
the boughs, and shakest every leaf under heaven."
"No," said the North Wind, "I have not seen one; but I will
ask my brothers, the East Wind, and the West Wind, and the South
Wind."
So he asked them all three; and the East Wind and the West
Wind said, "No, they had not seen the White Dove;" but the South
Wind said-
"I have seen the White Dove; he has flown to the Red Sea, and
has again been changed into a Lion, for the seven years are up;
and the Lion stands there in combat with an Enchanted Princess,
who is in the form of a great Caterpillar."
Then the North Wind knew what to do; and he said to the
Princess-
"Go to the Red Sea; on the right-hand shore there are great
reeds, count them, and cut off the eleventh reed, and beat the
Caterpillar with it. Then the Caterpillar and the Lion will take
their human forms. Then look for the Griffin which sits on the
Red Sea, and leap upon its back with the Prince, and the Griffin
will carry you safely home. Here is a nut; let it fall when you
are in the midst of the sea, and a large nut-tree will grow out
of the water, and the Griffin will rest upon it."
So the Princess went to the Red Sea, and counted the reeds,
and cut off the eleventh reed, and beat the Caterpillar with it,
and then the Lion conquered in the fight, and both of them took
their human forms again. But the Enchanted Princess was too quick
for the poor wife, for she instantly seized the Prince and sprang
upon the back of the Griffin, and away they flew, quite out of
sight. Now the poor deserted wife sat down on the desolate shore,
and cried bitterly; and then she said, "So far as the wind blows,
and so long as the cock crows, will I search for my husband, till
I find him;" and so she travelled on and on, until one day she
came to the palace whither the Enchanted Princess had carried the
Prince; and there was great feasting going on, and they told her
that the Prince and Princess were about to be married. Then she
remembered what the Sun had said, and took out the casket and
opened it, and there was the most beautiful dress in all the
world; as brilliant as the Sun himself. So she put it on, and
went into the palace, and everybody admired the dress, and the
Enchanted Princess asked if she would sell it?
"Not for gold or silver," she said, "but for flesh and
blood."
"What do you mean?" the Princess asked.
"Let me sleep for one night in the bridegroom's chamber," the
wife said. So the Enchanted Princess agreed, but she gave the
Prince a sleeping draught, so that he could not hear his wife's
cries; and in the morning she was driven out, without a word from
him, for he slept so soundly that all she said seemed to him only
like the rushing of the wind through the fir-trees.
Then the poor wife sat down and wept again, until she thought
of the egg the Moon had given her; and when she took the egg and
broke it, there came out of it a hen with twelve chickens, all of
gold, and the chickens pecked quite prettily, and then ran under
the wings of the hen for shelter. Presently, the Enchanted
Princess looked out of the window, and saw the hen and the
chickens, and asked if they were for sale. "Not for gold or
silver, but for flesh and blood," was the answer she got; and
then the wife made the same bargain as before-that she should
spend the night in the bridegroom's chamber. Now this night the
Prince was warned by his servant, and so he poured away the
sleeping draught instead of drinking it; and when his wife came,
and told her sorrowful story, he knew her, and said, "Now I am
saved;" and then they both went as quickly as possible, and set
themselves upon the Griffin, who carried them over the Red Sea;
and when they got to the middle of the sea, the Princess let fall
the nut which the North Wind had given to her, and a great
nut-tree grew up at once, on which the Griffin rested; and then
it went straight to their home, where they lived happy ever
after.
One more story of the same kind must be told, for three
reasons: because it is very good reading, because it brings
together various legends, and because it shows that these were
common to Celtic as well as to Hindu, Greek, Teutonic, and
Scandinavian peoples. It is called "The Battle of the Birds," and
is given at full length, and in several different versions, in
Campbell's "Popular Tales of the West Highlands."[5] To bring it within our space we must tell
it in our own way.
Once upon a time every bird and other creature gathered to
battle. The son of the King of Tethertoun went to see the battle,
but it was over before he got there, all but one fight, between a
great Raven and a Snake; and the Snake was getting the victory.
The King's son helped the Raven, and cut off the Snake's head.
The Raven thanked him for his kindness and said, "Now I will give
thee a sight; come up on my wings;" and then the Raven flew with
him over seven mountains, and seven glens, and seven moors, and
that night the King's son lodged in the house of the Raven's
sisters; and promised to meet the Raven next morning in the same
place. This went on for three nights and days, and on the third
morning, instead of a raven, there met him a handsome lad, who
gave him a bundle, and told him not to look into it, until he was
in the place where he would most wish to dwell. But the King's
son did look into the bundle, and then he found himself in a
great castle with fine grounds about it, and he was very sorry,
because he wished the castle had been near his father's house,
but he could not put it back into the bundle again. Then a great
Giant met him, and offered to put the castle back into a bundle
for a reward, and this was to be the Prince's son, when the son
was seven years old. So the Prince promised, and the Giant put
everything back into the bundle, and the Prince went home with it
to his father's house. When he got there he opened the bundle,
and out came the castle and all the rest, just as before, and at
the castle door stood a beautiful maiden who asked him to marry
her, and they were married, and had a son. When the seven years
were up, the Giant came to ask for the boy, and then the King's
son (who had now become a king himself) told his wife about his
promise. "Leave that to me and the Giant," said the Queen. So she
dressed the cook's son (who was the right age) in fine clothes,
and gave him to the Giant; but the Giant gave the boy a rod, and
asked him, "If thy father had that rod, what would he do with
it?" "He would beat the dogs if they went near the King's meat,"
said the boy. Then Said the Giant, "Thou art the cook's son," and
he killed him. Then the Giant went back, very angry, and the
Queen gave him the butler's son; and the Giant gave him the rod,
and asked him the same question, "My father would beat the dogs
if they came near the King's glasses," said the boy. "Thou art
the butler's son," said the Giant; and he killed him. Now the
Giant went back the third time, and made a dreadful noise. "Out
here thy son," he said, "or the stone that is highest in
thy dwelling shall be the lowest." So they gave him the King's
son, and the Giant took him to his own house, and he stayed there
a long while. One day the youth heard sweet music at the top of
the Giant's house, and he saw a sweet face. It was the Giant's
youngest daughter; and she said to him, "My father wants you to
marry one of my sisters, and he wants me to marry the King of the
Green City, but I will not. So when he asks, say thou wilt take
me." Next day the Giant gave the King's son choice of his two
eldest daughters; but the Prince said, "Give me this pretty
little one?" and then the Giant was angry, and said that before
he had her he must do three things. The first of these was to
clean out a byre or cattle place, where there was the dung of a
hundred cattle, and it had not been cleaned for seven years. He
tried to do it, and worked till noon, but the filth was as bad as
ever. Then the Giant's youngest daughter came, and bid him sleep,
and she cleaned out the stable, so that a golden apple would run
from end to end of it. Next day the Giant set him to thatch the
byre with birds' down, and he had to go out on the moors to catch
the birds; but at midday, he had caught only two blackbirds, and
then the Giant's youngest daughter came again, and bid him sleep,
and then she caught the birds, and thatched the byre with the
feathers before sundown. The third day the Giant set him another
task. In the forest there was a fir-tree, and at the top was a
magpie's nest, and in the nest were five eggs, and he was to
bring these five eggs to the Giant without breaking one of them.
Now the tree was very tall; from the ground to the first branch
it was five hundred feet, so that the King's son could not climb
up it. Then the Giant's youngest daughter came again, and she put
her fingers one after the other into the tree, and made a ladder
for the King's son to climb up by. When he was at the nest at the
very top, she said, "Make haste now with the eggs, for my
father's breath is burning my back;" and she was in such a hurry
that she left her little finger sticking in the top of the tree.
Then she told the King's son that the Giant would make all his
daughters look alike, and dress them alike, and that when the
choosing time came he was to look at their hands, and take the
one that had not a little finger on one hand. So it happened, and
the King's son chose the youngest daughter, because she put out
her hand to guide him.
Then they were married, and there was a great feast, and they
went to their chamber. The Giant's daughter said to her husband,
"Sleep not, or thou diest; we must fly quick, or my father will
kill thee." So first she cut an apple into nine pieces, and put
two pieces at the head of the bed, and two at the foot, and two
at the door of the kitchen, and two at the great door, and one
outside the house. And then she and her husband went to the
stable, and mounted the fine grey filly, and rode off as fast as
they could. Presently the Giant called out, "Are you asleep yet?"
and the apple at the head of the bed said, "We are not asleep."
Then he called again, and the apple at the foot of the bed said
the same thing; and then he asked again and again, until the
apple outside the house door answered; and then he knew that a
trick had been played on him, and ran to the bedroom and found it
empty. And then he pursued the runaways as fast as possible. Now
at day-break-"at the mouth of day," the story-teller says-the
Giant's daughter said to her husband, "My father's breath is
burning my back; put thy hand into the ear of the grey filly, and
whatever thou findest, throw it behind thee." "There is a twig of
sloe-tree," he said. "Throw it behind thee," said she; and he did
so, and twenty miles of black-thorn wood grew out of it, so thick
that a weasel could not get through. But the Giant cut through it
with his big axe and his wood-knife, and went after them again.
At the heat of day the Giant's daughter said again, "My father's
breath is burning my back;" and then her husband put his finger
in the filly's ear, and took out a piece of grey stone, and threw
it behind him, and there grew up directly a great rock twenty
miles broad and twenty miles high. Then the Giant got his mattock
and his lever, and made a way through the rocks, and came after
them again. Now it was near sunset, and once more the Giant's
daughter felt her father's breath burning her back. So, for the
third time, her husband put his hand into the filly's ear, and
took out a bladder of water, and he threw it behind him, and
there was a fresh-water loch, twenty miles long and twenty miles
broad; and the Giant came on so fast that he ran into the middle
of the loch and was drowned.
Here is clearly a Sun-myth, which is like those of ancient
Hindu and Greek legend: the blue-grey Filly is the Dawn, on which
the new day, the maiden and her lover, speed away. The great
Giant, whose breath burns the maiden's back, is the morning Sun,
whose progress is stopped by the thick shade of the trees. Then
he rises higher, and at midday he breaks through the forest, and
soars above the rocky mountains. At evening, still powerful in
speed and heat, he comes to the great lake, plunges into it, and
sets, and those whom he pursues escape. This ending is repeated
in one of the oldest Hindu mythical stories, that of Bheki, the
Frog Princess, who lives with her husband on condition that he
never shows her a drop of water. One day he forgets, and she
disappears: that is, the sun sets or dies on the water-a fanciful
idea which takes us straight as an arrow to Aryan myths.
Now, however, we must complete the Gaelic story, which here
becomes like the Soaring Lark, and the Land East of the Sun and
West of the Moon, and other Teutonic and Scandinavian tales.
After the Giant's daughter and her husband had got free from
the Giant, she bade him go to his father's house, and tell them
about her; but he was not to suffer anything to kiss him, or he
would forget her altogether. So he told everybody they were not
to kiss him, but an old greyhound leapt up at him, and touched
his mouth, and then he forgot all about the Giant's daughter,
just as if she had never lived. Now when the King's son left her,
the poor forgotten wife sat beside a well, and when night came
she climbed into an oak-tree, and slept amongst the branches.
There was a shoemaker who lived near the well, and next day he
sent his wife to fetch water, and as she drew it she saw what she
fancied to be her own reflection in the water, but it was really
the likeness of the maiden in the tree above it. The shoemaker's
wife, however, thinking it was her own, imagined herself to be
very handsome, and so she went back and told the shoemaker that
she was too beautiful to be his thrall, or slave, any longer, and
so she went off. The same thing happened to the shoemaker's
daughter; and she went off too. Then the man himself went to the
well, and saw the maiden in the tree, and understood it all, and
asked her to come down and stay at his house, and to be his
daughter. So she went with him. After a while there came three
gentlemen from the King's Court, and each of them wanted to marry
her; and she agreed with each of them privately, on condition
that each should give a sum of money for a wedding gift. Well,
they agreed to this, each unknown to the other; and she married
one of them, but when he came and had paid the money, she gave
him a cup of water to hold, and there he had to stand, all night
long, unable to move or to let go the cup of water, and in the
morning he went away ashamed, but said nothing to his friends.
Next night it was the turn of the second; and she told him to see
that the door-latch was fastened; and when he touched the latch
he could not let it go, and had to stand there all night holding
it; and so he went away, and said nothing. The next night the
third came, and when he stepped upon the floor, one foot stuck so
fast that he could not draw it out until morning; and then he did
the same as the others-went off quite cast down. And then the
maiden gave all the money to the shoemaker for his kindness to
her. This is like the story of "The Master Maid," in Dr. Dasent's
collection of "Tales from the Norse." But there is the end of it
to come. The shoemaker had to finish some shoes because the young
King was going to be married; and the maiden said she should like
to see the King before he married. So the shoemaker took her to
the King's castle; and then she went into the wedding-room, and
because of her beauty they filled a vessel of wine for her. When
she was going to drink it, there came a flame out of the glass,
and out of the flame there came a silver pigeon and a golden
pigeon; and just then three grains of barley fell upon the floor,
and the silver pigeon ate them up. Then the golden one said, "If
thou hadst mind when I cleaned the byre, thou wouldst not eat
that without giving me a share." Then three more grains fell, and
the silver pigeon ate them also. Then said the golden pigeon, "If
thou hadst mind when I thatched the byre, thou wouldst not eat
that without giving me a share." Then three other grains fell,
and the silver pigeon ate them up. And the golden pigeon said,
"If thou hadst mind when I harried the magpie's nest, thou
wouldst not eat that without giving me my share. I lost my little
finger bringing it down, and I want it still." Then, suddenly,
the King's son remembered, and knew who it was, and sprang to her
and kissed her from hand to mouth; and the priest came, and they
were married.
These stories will be enough to show how the same idea repeats
itself in different ways among various peoples who have come from
the same stock: for the ancient Hindu legend of Urvasi and
Pururavas, the Greek fable of Eros and Psyche, the Norse story of
the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon, the Teutonic story
of the Soaring Lark, and the Celtic story of the Battle of the
Birds, are all one and the same in their general character, their
origin, and their meaning; and in all these respects they
resemble the story which we know so well in English-that of
Beauty and the Beast. The same kind of likeness has already been
shown in the story of Cinderella, and in those which resemble it
in the older Aryan legends and in the later stories of the
Greeks. If space allowed, such comparisons might be carried much
further; indeed, there is no famous fairy tale known to children
in our day which has not proceeded from our Aryan forefathers,
thousands of years ago, and which is not repeated in Hindu,
Persian, Greek, Teutonic, Scandinavian, and Celtic folk-lore; the
stories being always the same in their leading idea, and yet
always so different in their details as to show that the
story-tellers have not copied from each other, but that they are
repeating, in their own way, legends and fancies which existed
thousands of years ago, before the Aryan people broke up from
their old homes, and went southward and westward, and spread
themselves over India and throughout Europe.
Now there is a curious little German story, called "The Wolf
and the Seven Little Kids," which is told in Grimm's collection,
and which shows at once the connection between Teutonic
folk-lore, and Greek mythology, and Aryan legend. There was an
old Goat who had seven young ones, and when she went into the
forest for wood, she warned them against the Wolf; if he came,
they were not to open the door to him on any account. Presently
the Wolf came, and knocked, and asked to be let in; but the
little Kids said, "No, you have a gruff voice; you are a wolf."
So the Wolf went and bought a large piece of chalk, and ate it
up, and by this means he made his voice smooth; and then he came
back to the cottage, and knocked, and again asked to be let in.
The little Kids, however, saw his black paws, and they said, "No,
your feet are black; you are a wolf." Then the Wolf went to a
baker, and got him to powder his feet with flour; and when the
little Kids saw his white feet, they thought it was their mother,
and let him in. Then the little Kids were very much frightened,
and ran and hid themselves. The first got under the table, the
second into the bed, the third into the cupboard, the fourth into
the kitchen, the fifth into the oven, the sixth into the
wash-tub, and the seventh into the clock-case. The wicked Wolf,
however, found all of them out, and ate them up, excepting the
one in the clock-case, where he did not think of looking. And
when the greedy monster had finished his meal, he went into the
meadow, and lay down and slept. Just at this time the old Goat
came home, and began crying for her children; but the only one
who answered was the youngest, who said, "Here I am, dear mother,
in the clock-case;" and then he came out and told her all about
it. Presently the Goat went out into the meadow, and there lay
the Wolf, snoring quite loud; and she thought she saw something
stirring in his body. So she ran back, and fetched a pair of
scissors and a needle and thread, and then she cut open the
monster's hairy coat, and out jumped first one little kid, and
then another, until all the six stood round her, for the greedy
Wolf was in such a hurry that he had swallowed them whole. Then
the Goat and the little Kids brought a number of stones, and put
them into the Wolf's stomach, and sewed up the place again. When
the Wolf woke up, he felt very thirsty, and ran off to the brook
to drink, and the heavy stones overbalanced him, so that he fell
into the brook, and was drowned. And then the seven little Kids
danced round their mother, singing joyfully, "The wolf is dead!
the wolf is dead!" Now this story is nothing but another version
of an old Greek legend which tells how Kronos (Time), an ancient
god, devoured his children while they were quite young; and
Kronos was the son of Ouranos, which means the heavens; and
Ouranos is a name which comes from that of Varuna, a god of the
sky in the old sacred books, or Vedas, of the Hindus; and the
meaning of the legend is that Night swallows up or devours the
days of the week, all but the youngest, which still exists,
because, like the little kid in the German tale, it is in the
clock-case.
Again, in the Vedas we have many accounts of the fights of
Indra, the sun-god, with dragons and monsters, which mean the
dark-clouds, the tempest thunder-bearing clouds, which were
supposed to have stolen the heavenly cows, or the light,
pleasant, rain-bearing clouds, and to have shut them up in gloomy
caverns. From this source we have an infinite number of Greek and
Teutonic, and Scandinavian, and other legends. One of these is
the story of Polyphemos, the great one-eyed giant, or Kyklops,
whom Odysseus blinded. Polyphemos is the storm-cloud, and
Odysseus stands for the sun. The storm-cloud threatens the
mariners; the lightnings dart from the spot which seems like an
eye in the darkness; he hides the blue heavens and the soft white
clouds-the cows of the sky, or the white-fleeced flocks of
heaven. Then comes Odysseus, the sun-god, the hero, and smites
him blind, and chases him away, and disperses the threatening and
the danger, and brings light, and peace, and calm again.
Now this legend of Polyphemos is to be found everywhere; in
the oldest Hindu books, in Teutonic, and Norse, and Slav stories;
and everywhere also the great giant, stormy, angry, and one-eyed,
is always very stupid, and is always overthrown or outwitted by
the hero, Odysseus, when he is shut up in the cavern of
Polyphemos, cheats the monster by tying himself under the belly
of the largest and oldest ram, and so passes out while the blind
giant feels the fleece, and thinks that all is safe. Almost
exactly the same trick is told in an old Gaelic story, that of
Conall Cra Bhuidhe.[6] A great Giant with
only one eye seized upon Conall, who was hunting on the Giant's
lands. Conall himself is made to tell the story:
"I hear a great clattering coming, and what was there but a
great Giant and his dozen of goats with him, and a buck at their
head. And when the Giant had tied the goats, he came up, and he
said to me, 'Hao O! Conall, it's long since my knife is rusting
in my pouch waiting for thy tender flesh.' 'Och!' said I, 'it's
not much thou wilt be bettered by me, though thou shouldst tear
me asunder; I will make but one meal for thee. But I see that
thou art one-eyed. I am a good leech, and I will give thee the
sight of the other eye.' The Giant went and he drew the great
caldron on the site of the fire. I was telling him how he should
heat the water, so that I should give its sight to the other eye.
I got leather and I made a rubber of it, and I set him upright in
the caldron. I began at the eye that was well, till I left them
as bad as each other. When he saw that he could not see a
glimpse, and when I myself said to him that I would get out in
spite of him, he gave that spring out of the water, and he stood
in the mouth of the cave, and he said that he would have revenge
for the sight of his eye. I had but to stay there crouched the
length of the night, holding in my breath in such a way that he
might not feel where I was. When he felt the birds calling in the
morning, and knew that the day was, he said, 'Art thou sleeping?
Awake, and let out my lot of goats!' I killed the buck. He cried,
'I will not believe that thou art not killing my buck.' 'I am
not,' I said, 'but the ropes are so tight that I take long to
loose them.' I let out one of the goats, and he was caressing
her, and he said to her, 'There thou art, thou shaggy hairy white
goat; and thou seest me, but I see thee not.' I was letting them
out, by way of one by one, as I flayed the buck, and before the
last one was out I had him flayed, bag-wise. Then I went and put
my legs in the place of his legs, and my hands in the place of
his fore-legs, and my head in the place of his head, and the
horns on top of my head, so that the brute might think it was the
buck. I went out. When I was going out the Giant laid his hand on
me, and said, 'There thou art, thou pretty buck; thou seest me,
but I see thee not.' When I myself got out, and I saw the world
about me, surely joy was on me. When I was out and had shaken the
skin off me, I said to the brute, 'I am out now, in spite of
thee!'"
It was a blind fiddler, in Islay, who told the story of
Conall, as it had been handed down by tradition from generation
to generation; just as thousands of years before the story of
Odysseus and Polyphemos was told by Greek bards to wondering
villagers.
Here we must stop; for volumes would not contain all that
might be said of the likeness of legend to legend in all the
branches of the Aryan family, or of the meaning of these stories,
and of the lessons they teach-lessons of history, and religious
belief, and customs, and morals and ways of thought, and poetic
fancies, and of well-nigh all things, heavenly and
human-stretching back to the very spring and cradle of our race,
older than the oldest writings, and yet so ever fresh and new
that while great scholars ponder over them for their deep
meaning, little children in the nursery or by the fire-side in
winter listen to them with delight for their wonder and their
beauty. Else, if there were time and space we might tell the
story of Jason, and show how it springs from the changes of day
and night, and how the hero, in his good ship Argo, our mother
Earth, searches for and bears away in triumph the Golden Fleece,
the beams of the radiant sun. Or we might fly with Perseus on his
weary, endless journey-the light pursuing and scattering the
darkness; the glittering hero, borne by the mystic sandals of
Hermes, bearing the sword of the sunlight, piercing the twilight
or gloaming in the land of the mystic Graiae; slaying Medusa, the
solemn star-lit night; destroying the dark dragon, and setting
free Andromeda the dawn-maiden; and doing many wonders more. Or
in Hermes we might trace out the Master Thief of Teutonic, and
Scandinavian, and Hindu legends; or in Herakles, the type of the
heroes who are god-like in their strength, yet who do the bidding
of others, and who suffer toil and wrong, and die glorious
deaths, and leave great names for men to wonder at: heroes such
as Odysseus, and Theseus, and Phoebus, and Achilles, and Sigurd,
and Arthur, and all of whom represent, in one form or another,
the great mystery of Nature, and the conflict of light and
darkness; and so, if we look to their deeper meaning, the
constant triumph of good over evil, and of right over wrong.
CHAPTER III.-DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: STORIES FROM THE
EAST.
We have said something about the people and the countries
which gave birth to our Fairy Stories, and about the meaning of
such tales generally when they were first thought of. Then they
were clearly understood, and those who told them and heard them
knew what they meant; but, as time went on, and as the Aryan race
became scattered in various countries, the old stories changed a
great deal, and their meaning was lost, and all kinds of wild
legends, and strange fables and fanciful tales, were made out of
them. The earliest stories were about clouds, and winds, and the
sun, and the waters, and the earth, which were turned into Gods
and other beings of a heavenly kind. By degrees, as the first
meanings of the legends were lost, these beings gave place to a
multitude of others: some of them beautiful, and good, and kind
and friendly to mankind; and some of them terrible, and bad, and
malignant, and always trying to do harm; and there were so many
of both kinds that all the world was supposed to be full of them.
There were Spirits of the water, and the air, and the earth,
forest and mountain demons, creatures who dwelt in darkness and
in fire, and others who lived in the sunshine, or loved to come
out only in the moonlight. There were some, again-Dwarfs, and
other creatures of that kind-who made their homes in caves and
underground places, and heaped up treasures of gold and silver,
and gems, and made wonderful works in metals of all descriptions;
and there were giants, some of them with two heads, who could
lift mountains, and walk through rivers and seas, and who picked
up great rocks and threw them about like pebbles. Then there were
Ogres, with shining rows of terrible teeth, who caught up men and
women and children, and strung them together like larks, and
carried them home, and cooked them for supper. Then, also, there
were Good Spirits, of the kind the Arabs call Peris, and we call
Fairies, who made it their business to defend deserving people
against the wicked monsters; and there were Magicians, and other
wise or cunning people, who had power over the spirits, whether
good or bad, as you read in the story of Aladdin and his Ring,
and his Wonderful Lamp, and in other tales in the "Arabian
Nights," and collections of that kind. Many of these beings-all
of whom, for our purpose, may be called Dwellers in Fairyland-had
the power of taking any shape they pleased, like the Ogre in the
story of "Puss in Boots," who changed himself first into a lion,
and then into an elephant, and then into a mouse, when he got
eaten up; and they could also change human beings into different
forms, or turn them into stone, or carry them about in the air
from place to place, and put them under the spells of
enchantment, as they liked.
Some of the most wonderful creatures of Fairyland are to be
found in Eastern stories, the tales of India, and Arabia, and
Persia. Here we have the Divs, and Jinns, and Peris, and
Rakshas-who were the originals of our own Ogres-and terrible
giants, and strange mis-shapen dwarfs, and vampires and monsters
of various kinds. Many others, also very wonderful, are to be
found in what is called the Mythology-that is, the fables and
stories-of ancient Greece, such as the giant Atlas, who bore the
world upon his shoulders; and Polyphemus, the one-eyed giant, who
caught Odysseus and his companions, and shut them up in his cave;
and Kirke, the beautiful sorceress, who turned men into swine;
and the Centaurs, creatures half men and half horses; and the
Gorgon Medusa, whose head, with its hair of serpents, turned into
stone all who beheld it; and the great dragon, the Python, whom
Phoebus killed, and who resembles the dragon Vritra, in Hindu
legend-the dragon slain by Indra, the god of the Sun, because he
shut up the rain, and so scorched the earth-and who also
resembles Fafnir, the dragon of Scandinavian legend, killed by
Sigurd; and the fabled dragon with whom St. George fought; and
also, the dragon of Wantley, whom our old English legends
describe as being killed by More of More Hall. In the stories of
the North lands of Europe, as we are told in the Eddas and Sagas
(the songs and records), there are likewise many wonderful
beings-the Trolls, the Frost Giants, curious dwarfs, elves,
nisses, mermen and mermaids, and swan-maidens and the like. The
folk-lore-that is, the common traditionary stories-of Germany are
full of such wonders. Here, again, we have giants and dwarfs and
kobolds; and birds and beasts and fishes who can talk; and good
fairies, who come in and help their friends just when they are
wanted; and evil fairies, and witches; and the wild huntsman, who
sweeps across the sky with his ghostly train; and men and women
who turn themselves into wolves, and go about in the night
devouring sheep and killing human beings, In Russian tales we
find many creatures of the same kind, and also in those of Italy,
and Spain, and France. And in our own islands we have them too,
for the traditions of English giants, and ogres, and dwarfs still
linger in the tales of Jack the Giant-killer and Jack and the
Bean-stalk, and Hop o' my Thumb; and we have also the elves whom
Shakspeare draws for us so delightfully in "Midsummer Night's
Dream" and in "The Merry Wives of Windsor"; and there are the
Devonshire pixies; and the Scottish fairies and the brownies-the
spirits who do the work of the house or the farm-and the Irish
"good people;" and the Pooka, which comes in the form of a wild
colt; and the Leprechaun, a dwarf who makes himself look like a
little old man, mending shoes; and the Banshee, which cries and
moans when great people are going to die.
To all these, and more, whom there is no room to mention, we
must add other dwellers in Fairyland-forms, in one shape or
other, of the great Sun-myths of the ancient Aryan race-such as
Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and Vivien and Merlin,
and Queen Morgan le hay, and Ogier the Dane, and the story of
Roland, and the Great Norse poems which tell of Sigurd, and
Brynhilt, and Gudrun, and the Niblung folk. And to these, again,
there are to be added many of the heroes and heroines who figure
in the Thousand-and-one Nights-such, for example, as Aladdin, and
Sindbad, and Ali Baba, and the Forty Thieves, and the Enchanted
Horse, and the Fairy Peri Banou, with her wonderful tent that
would cover an army, and her brother Schaibar, the dwarf, with
his beard thirty feet long, and his great bar of iron with which
he could sweep down a city. Even yet we have not got to the end
of the long list of Fairy Folk, for there are still to be
reckoned the well-known characters who figure in our modern Fairy
Tales, such as Cinderella, and the Yellow Dwarf, and the White
Cat, and Fortunatus, and Beauty and the Beast, and Riquet with
the Tuft, and the Invisible Prince, and many more whom children
know by heart, and whom all of us, however old we may be, still
cherish with fond remembrance, because they give us glimpses into
the beautiful and wondrous land, the true Fairyland whither good
King Arthur went-
"The island-valley of Avilion,
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns,
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea."
Now it is plain that we cannot speak of all these dwellers in
Fairyland; but we can only pick out a few here and there, and
those of you who want to know more must go to the books that tell
of them. As to me, who have undertaken to tell something of these
wonders, I feel very much like the poor boy in the little German
story of "The Golden Key." Do you know the story? If you don't, I
will tell it you. "One winter, when a deep snow was lying on the
ground, a poor boy had to go out in a sledge to fetch wood. When
he had got enough he thought he would make a fire to warm
himself, for his limbs were quite frozen. So he swept the snow
away and made a clear space, and there he found a golden key.
Then he began to think that where there was a key there must also
be a lock; and digging in the earth he found a small iron chest.
'I hope the key will fit,' lie said to himself, 'for there must
certainly be great treasures in this box.' After looking all
round the box he found a little keyhole, and to his great joy,
the golden key fitted it exactly. Then he turned the key once
round"-and now we must wait till he has quite unlocked it and
lifted the lid up, and then we shall learn what wonderful
treasures were in the chest. This is all that this book can do
for you. It can give you the golden key, and show you where the
chest is to be found, and then you must unlock it for
yourselves.
Where shall we begin our hasty journey into Wonderland?
Suppose we take a glance at those famous Hindu demons, the
Rakshas, who are the originals of all the ogres and giants of our
nursery tales? Now the Rakshas were very terrible creatures
indeed, and in the minds of many people in India are so still,
for they are believed in even now. Their natural form, so the
stories say, is that of huge, unshapely giants, like clouds, with
hair and beard of the colour of the red lightning; but they can
take any form they please, to deceive those whom they wish to
devour, for their great delight, like that of the ogres, is to
kill all they meet, and to eat the flesh of those whom they kill.
Often they appear as hunters, of monstrous size, with tusks
instead of teeth, and with horns on their heads, and all kinds of
grotesque and frightful weapons and ornaments. They are very
strong, and make themselves stronger by various arts of magic;
and they are strongest of all at nightfall, when they are
supposed to roam about the jungles, to enter the tombs, and even
to make their way into the cities, and carry off their victims.
But the Rakshas are not alone like ogres in their cruelty, but
also in their fondness for money, and for precious stones, which
they get together in great quantities and conceal in their
palaces; for some of them are kings of their species, and have
thousands upon thousands of inferior Rakshas under their command.
But while they are so numerous and so powerful, the Rakshas, like
all the ogres and giants in Fairyland, are also very stupid, and
are easily outwitted by clever people. There are many Hindu
stories which are told to show this. I will tell you one of
them.[7] Two little Princesses were badly
treated at home, and so they ran away into a great forest, where
they found a palace belonging to a Rakshas, who had gone out. So
they went into the house and feasted, and swept the rooms, and
made everything neat and tidy. Just as they had done this, the
Rakshas and his wife came home, and the two Princesses ran up to
the top of the house, and hid themselves on the flat roof. When
the Rakshas got indoors he said to his wife: "Somebody has been
making everything clean and tidy. Wife, did you do this?" "No,"
she said; "I don't know who can have done it." "Some one has been
sweeping the court-yard," said the Rakshas. "Wife, did you sweep
the court-yard?" "No," she answered; "I did not do it." Then the
Rakshas walked round and round several times, with his nose up in
the air, saying, "Some one is here now; I smell flesh and blood.
Where can they be?" "Stuff and nonsense!" cried the Rakshas'
wife. "You smell flesh and blood, indeed! Why, you have just been
killing and eating a hundred thousand people. I should wonder if
you didn't still smell flesh and blood!" They went on disputing,
till at last the Rakshas gave it up. "Never mind," lie said; "I
don't know how it is-I am very thirsty: let's come and drink some
water." So they went to the well, and began letting down jars
into it, and drawing them up, and drinking the water. Then the
elder of the two Princesses, who was very bold and wise, said to
her sister, "I will do something that will be very good for us
both." So she ran quickly down stairs, and crept close behind the
Rakshas and his wife, as they stood on tip-toe more than half
over the side of the well, and catching hold of one of the
Rakshas' heels, and one of his wife's, she gave each a little
push, and down they both tumbled into the well, and were
drowned-the Rakshas and the Rakshas' wife. The Princess then went
back to her sister, and said, "I have killed the Rakshas!" "What,
both?" cried her sister. "Yes, both," she said. "Won't they come
back?" said her sister. "No, never," answered she.
This, you see, is something like the story of the Little Girl
and the Three Bears, so well known amongst our Nursery Tales.
Another story will show you how stupid a Rakshas is, and how
easily he can be outwitted.[8]
Once upon a time a Blind Man and a Deaf Man made an agreement.
The Blind Man was to hear for the Deaf Man; and the Deaf Man was
to see for the Blind Man; and so they were to go about on their
travels together. One day they went to a nautch-that is, a
singing and dancing exhibition. The Deaf Man said, "The dancing
is very good; but the music is not worth listening to." "I do not
agree with you," the Blind Man said; "I think the music is very
good; but the dancing is not worth looking at." So they went away
for a walk in the jungle. On the way they found a donkey,
belonging to a dhobee, or washerman, and a big chattee, or iron
pot, which the washerman used to boil clothes in. "Brother," said
the Deaf Man, "here is a donkey and a chattee; let us take them
with us, they may be useful." So they took them, and went on.
Presently they came to an ants' nest. "Here," said the Deaf Man,
"are a number of very fine black ants; let us take some of them
to show our friends." "Yes," said the Blind Man, "they will do as
presents to our friends." So the Deaf Man took out a silver box
from his pocket, and put several of the black ants into it. After
a time a terrible storm came on. "Oh dear!" cried the Deaf Man,
"how dreadful this lightning is! let us get to some place of
shelter." "I don't see that it's dreadful at all," said the Blind
Man, "but the thunder is terrible; let us get under shelter." So
they went up to a building that looked like a temple, and went
in, and took the donkey and the big pot and the black ants with
them. But it was not a temple, it was the house of a powerful
Rakshas, and the Rakshas came home as soon as they had got inside
and had fastened the door. Finding that he couldn't get in, he
began to make a great noise, louder than the thunder, and he beat
upon the door with his great fists. Now the Deaf Man looked
through a chink, and saw him, and was very frightened, for the
Rakshas was dreadful to look at. But the Blind Man, as he
couldn't see, was very brave; and he went to the door and called
out, "Who are you? and what do you mean by coming here and
battering at the door in this way, and at this time of night?"
"I'm a Rakshas," he answered, in a rage; "and this is my house,
and if you don't let me in I will kill you." Then the Blind Man
called out in reply, "Oh! you're a Rakshas, are you? Well, if
you're Rakshas, I'm Bakshas, and Bakshas is as good as Rakshas."
"What nonsense is this?" cried the monster; "there is no such
creature as a Bakshas." "Go away," replied the Blind Man, "if you
make any further disturbance I'll punish you; for know that I
am Bakshas, and Bakshas is Rakshas' father." "Heavens and
earth!" cried the Rakshas, "I never heard such an extraordinary
thing in my life. But if you are my father, let me see your
face,"-for he began to get puzzled and frightened, as the person
inside was so very positive. Now the Blind Man and the Deaf Man
didn't quite know what to do; but at last they opened the door
just a little, and poked the donkey's nose out. "Bless me,"
thought the Rakshas, "what a terribly ugly face my father Bakshas
has got." Then he called out again "O! father Bakshas, you have a
very big fierce face, but people have sometimes very big heads
and very little bodies; let me see you, body and head, before I
go away." Then the Blind Man and the Deaf Man rolled the great
iron pot across the floor with a thundering noise; and the
Rakshas, who watched the chink of the door very carefully, said
to himself, "He has got a great body as well, so I had better go
away." But he was still doubtful; so he said, "Before I go away
let me hear you scream," for all the tribe of the Rakshas scream
dreadfully. Then the Blind Man and the Deaf Man took two of the
black ants out of the box, and put one into each of the donkey's
ears, and the ants bit the donkey, and the donkey began to bray
and to bellow as loud as he could; and then the Rakshas ran away
quite frightened.
In the morning the Blind Man and the Deaf Man found that the
floor of the house was covered with heaps of gold, and silver,
and precious stones; and they made four great bundles of the
treasure, and took one each, and put the other two on the donkey,
and off they went, But the Rakshas was waiting some distance off
to see what his father Bakshas was like by daylight; and he was
very angry when he saw only a Deaf Man, and a Blind Man, and a
big iron pot, and a donkey, all loaded with his gold and silver.
So he ran off and fetched six of his friends to help him, and
each of the six had hair a yard long, and tusks like an elephant.
When the Blind Man and the Deaf Man saw them coming they went and
hid the treasure in the bushes, and then they got up into a lofty
betel palm and waited-the Deaf Man, because he could see, getting
up first, to be furthest out of harm's way. Now the seven Rakshas
were not able to reach them, and so they said, "Let us get on
each other's shoulders and pull them down." So one Rakshas
stooped down, and the second got on his shoulders, and the third
on his, and the fourth on his, and the fifth on his, and the
sixth on his, and the seventh-the one who had invited the
others-was just climbing up, when the Deaf Man got frightened and
caught hold of the Blind Man's arm, and as he was sitting quite
at ease, not knowing that they were so close, the Blind Man was
upset, and tumbled down on the neck of the seventh Rakshas. The
Blind Man thought he had fallen into the branches of another
tree, and stretching out his hands for something to take hold of,
he seized the Rakshas' two great ears and pinched them very hard.
This frightened the Rakshas, who lost his balance and fell down
to the ground, upsetting the other six of his friends; the Blind
Man all the while pinching harder than ever, and the Deaf Man
crying out from the top of the tree-"You're all right, brother,
hold on tight, I'm coming down to help you"-though he really
didn't mean to do anything of the kind. Well, the noise, and the
pinching, and all the confusion, so frightened the six Rakshas
that they thought they had had enough of helping their friend,
and so they ran away; and the seventh Rakshas, thinking that
because they ran there must be great danger, shook off the Blind
Man and ran away too. And then the Deaf Man came down from the
tree and embraced the Blind Man, and said, "I could not have done
better myself." Then the Deaf Man divided the treasure; one great
heap for himself, and one little heap for the Blind Man. But the
Blind Man felt his heap and then felt the other, and then, being
angry at the cheat, he gave the Deaf Man a box on the ear, so
tremendous that it made the Deaf Man hear. And the Deaf Man, also
being angry, gave the other such a blow in the face that it made
the Blind Man see. So they became good friends directly, and
divided the treasure into equal shares, and went home laughing at
the stupid Rakshas.
From the legends of India we now go on to Persia and Arabia,
to learn something about the Divs and the Peris, and the Jinns.
When the ancient Persians separated from the Aryan race from
which they sprang, they altered their religion as well as changed
their country. They came to believe in two principal gods,
Ormuzd, the spirit of goodness, who sits enthroned in the Realms
of Light, with great numbers of angels around him; and Ahriman,
the spirit of evil, who reigns in the Realms of Darkness and
Fire, and round whose throne are the great six arch-Divs, and
vast numbers of inferior Divs, or evil beings; and these two
powers are always at war with each other, and are always trying
to obtain the government of the world. From Ormuzd and Ahriman
there came in time, according to popular fancy, the two races of
the Divs and the Peris, creatures who were like mankind in some
things, but who had great powers of magic; which made them
visible and invisible at pleasure, enabled them to change their
shapes when they pleased, and to move about on the earth or in
the air. They dwelt in the land of Jinnestan, in the mountains of
Kaf. These mountains were supposed to go round the earth like a
ring; they were thousands of miles in height, and they were made
of the precious stone called chrysolite, which is of a green
colour, and this colour, so the Persian poets say, is reflected
in the green which we sometimes see in the sky at sunset. In this
land of Jinnestan there are many cities. The Peris have for their
abode the kingdom of Shad-u-Kan, that is, of Pleasure and
Delight, with its capital Juber-a-bad, or the Jewel City; and the
Divs have for their dwelling Ahermambad, or Ahriman's city, in
which there are enchanted castles and palaces, guarded by
terrible monsters and powerful magicians. The Peris are very
beautiful beings, usually represented as women with wings, and
charming robes of all colours. The Divs are painted as demons of
the most frightful kind. One of them, a very famous one named
Berkhyas, is described as being a mountain in size, his face
black, his body covered with hair, his neck like that of a
dragon; two boar's tusks proceed from his mouth, his eyes are
wells of blood, his hair bristles like needles, and is so thick
and long that pigeons make their nests in it. Between the Peris
and the Divs there was always war; but the Divs were too powerful
for the Peris, and used to capture them and hang them in iron
cages from the tree-tops, where their companions came and fed
them with perfumes, of which the Peris are very fond, and which
the Divs very much dislike, so that the smell kept the evil
spirits away. Sometimes the Peris used to call in the help of men
against the Divs; and in the older Persian stories there are many
tales of the wonders done by these heroes who fought against the
Divs. The most famous of these were called Tamuras and Rustem.
Tamuras conquered so many of the evil spirits that he was called
the Div-binder. He began his fights in this way. He was a great
king, whose help both sides wished to get. So the Peris sent a
splendid embassy to him, and so did the Divs. Tamuras did not
know what to do; so he went to consult a wonderful bird, called
the Simurg, who speaks all tongues, and who knows everything that
has happened, or that will happen. The Simurg told him to fight
for the Peris. Then the Simurg gave him three feathers from her
own breast, and also the magic shield of Jan-ibn-Jan, the
Suleiman or King of the Jinns, and then she carried him on her
back into the country of Jinnestan, where he fought with and
conquered the king of the Divs. The account of this battle is
given at great length in the Persian romance poems. Then Tamuras
conquered another Div, named Demrush, who lived in a gloomy
cavern, where he kept in prison the Peri Merjan, or the Pearl, a
beautiful fairy, whom Tamuras set free. Rustem, however, is the
great hero of Persian romance, and the greatest defender of the
Peris. His adventures, as told by the Persian poets, would make a
very large book, so that we cannot attempt to describe them. But
there are two stories of him which may be told. One night, while
he lay sleeping under a rock, a Div, named Asdiv, took the form
of a dragon, and came upon him suddenly. Rustem's horse, Reksh,
who had magic powers, knew the Div in this disguise, and awakened
his master twice, at which Rustem was angry, and tried to kill
the horse for disturbing him. Reksh, however, awakened him the
third time, and then Rustem saw the Div, and slew him after a
fearful combat. The other story is this. There came a wild ass of
enormous size, with a skin like the sun, and a black stripe along
his back, and this creature got amongst the king's horses and
killed them. Now the wild ass was no other than a very powerful
Div, named Akvan, who haunted a particular fountain or spring. So
Rustem, mounted on his horse Reksh, went to look for him there.
Three days he waited, but saw nothing. On the fourth day the Div
appeared, and Rustem tried to throw a noose over his head, but
the Div suddenly vanished. Then he reappeared, and Rustem shot an
arrow at him, but he vanished again. Rustem then turned his horse
to graze, and laid himself down by the spring to sleep. This was
what the cunning Akvan wanted, and while Rustem was asleep, Akvan
seized him, and flew high up into the air with him. Then Rustem
awoke, and the Div gave him his choice of being dropped from the
sky into the sea, or upon the mountains. Rustem knew that if he
fell upon the mountains he would be dashed in pieces, so he
secretly chose to fall into the sea; but he did not say so to the
Div. On the contrary, he pretended not to know what to do, but he
said he feared the sea, because those who were drowned could not
enter into Paradise. On hearing this, the Div at once dropped
Rustern into the sea-which was what he wanted-and then went back
to his fountain. But when he got there, he found that Rustem had
got ashore, and was also at the fountain, and then they fought
again and the Div was killed. After this Rustem had a son named
Zohrab, about whom many wonderful things are told; and it so
happened that Rustem and his son Zohrab came to fight each other
without knowing one another; and Rustem was killed, and while
dying he slew his son. Now all these stories mean the same thing:
they are only the old Aryan Sun-myths put into another form by
the poets and story-tellers: the Peris are the rays of the sun,
or the morning or evening Aurora; the Divs are the black clouds
of night; the hero is the sun who conquers them, and binds them
in the realms of darkness; and the death of Rustem is the
sunset-Zohrab, his son, being either the moon or the rising
sun.
But now we must leave the Peris and the Divs, and look at the
jinns, of the Arabian stories. These also dwell in the mysterious
country of Jinnestan, and in the wonderful mountains of Kaf; but
they likewise spread themselves all through the earth, and they
specially liked to live in ruined houses, or in tombs; on the sea
shore, by the banks of rivers, and at the meeting of cross-roads.
Sometimes, too, they were found in deep forests, and many
travellers are supposed to find them in desolate mountain places.
Even to this day they are firmly believed in by Arabs, and also
by people in different parts of Persia and India. In outward
form, in their natural shape, they resembled the Peris and the
Divs of the ancient Persians, and they were divided into good and
bad: the good ones very beautiful and shining; the bad ones
deformed, black, and ugly, and sometimes as big as giants. They
did not, however, always appear in their own forms, for they
could take the shape of any animal, especially of serpents, and
cats and dogs. They were governed by chief spirits or kings; and
over all, good and bad alike, there were set a succession of
powerful monarchs, named Suleiman, or Solomon, seventy-two in
number-the last of whom, and the greatest, Jan-ibn-Jan, is said
by Arabian story-tellers to have built the pyramids of Egypt.
There is an old tradition that the shield of Jan-ibn-Jan, which
was a talisman of magic power, was brought from Egypt to King
Solomon the Wise, the son of King David, and that it gave him
power over all the tribes of the Jinns, and this is why, in the
common stories about them, the Jinns are made to call upon the
name of Solomon.
The Jinns, according to Arabian tradition, lived upon the
earth thousands of years before man was created. They were made,
the Koran says, of "the smokeless fire," that is, the hot breath
of the desert wind, Simoon. But they became disobedient, and
prophets were sent to warn them. They would not obey the
prophets, and angels were then sent to punish them. The angels
drove them out of Jinnestan into the islands of the seas, killed
some, and shut some of them up in prison. Among the prisoners was
a young Jinns, named Iblees, whose name means Despair; and when
Adam was created, God commanded the angels and the Jinns to do
him reverence, and they all obeyed but Iblees, who was then
turned into a Shaitan, or devil, and became the father of all the
Shaitan tribe, the mortal enemies of mankind. Since their
dispersion the Jinns are not immortal; they are to live longer
than man, but they must die before the general resurrection. Some
of them are killed by other Jinns, some can be slain by man, and
some are destroyed by shooting stars sent from heaven. When they
receive a mortal wound, the fire which burns in their veins
breaks forth and burns them into ashes.
Such are the Arab fancies about the Jinns. The meaning of them
is clear, for the Jinns are the winds, derived plainly from the
Ribhus and the Maruts of the ancient Aryan myths; and they still
survive in European folk-lore in the train of Woden, or the Wild
Huntsman, who sweeps at midnight over the German forests.
Some of the stories of the Jinns are to be found in the book
of the Thousand and One Nights.
One of these stories is that of "the Fisherman and the Genie."
A poor fisherman, you remember, goes out to cast his nets; but he
draws no fish, but only, at the third cast, a vase of yellow
copper, sealed with a seal of lead. He cuts open the seal, and
then there issues from the vase a thick cloud of smoke, which
rises to the sky, and spreads itself over land and sea. Presently
the smoke gathers itself together, and becomes a solid body,
taking the form of a Genie, twice as big as any of the giants;
and the Genie cries out, with a terrible voice, "Solomon,
Solomon, great prophet of Allah! Pardon! I will never more oppose
thy will, but will obey all thy commands." At first the fisherman
is very much frightened; but he grows bolder, and tells the Genie
that Solomon has been dead these eighteen hundred years, to which
the Genie answers that he means to kill the fisherman, and tells
him why. I told you just now that the Jinns rebelled, and were
punished. The Genie tells the fisherman that he is one of these
rebellious spirits, that he was taken prisoner, and brought up
for judgment before Solomon himself, and that Solomon confined
him in the copper vase, and ordered him to be thrown into the
sea, and that upon the leaden cover of the vase he put the
impression of the royal seal, upon which the name of God is
engraved.
When he was thrown into the sea the Genie made three vows-each
in a period of a hundred years. I swore, he says, that "if any
man delivered me within the first hundred years, I would make him
rich, even after his death. In the second hundred years I swore
that if any one set me free I would discover to him all the
treasures of the earth; still no help came. In the third period,
I swore to make my deliverer a most powerful monarch, to be
always at his command, and to grant him every day any three
requests he chose to make. Then, being still a prisoner, I swore
that I would without mercy kill any man who set me free, and that
the only favour I would grant him should be the manner of his
death." And so the Genie proposed to kill the fisherman. Now the
fisherman did not like the idea of being killed; and he and the
Genie had a long discourse about it; but the Genie would have his
own way, and the poor fisherman was going to be killed, when he
thought of a trick he might play upon the Genie. He knew two
things-first that the Jinns are obliged to answer questions put
to them in the name of Allah, or God; and also that though very
powerful, they are very stupid, and do not see when they are
being led into a pitfall. So he said, "I consent to die; but
before I choose the manner of my death, I conjure thee, by the
great name of Allah, which is graven upon the seal of the prophet
Solomon, the son of David, to answer me truly a question I am
going to put to thee."
Then the Genie trembled, and said, "Ask, but make haste."
Now when he knew that the Genie would speak the truth, the
Fisherman said, "Darest thou swear by the great name of Allah
that thou really wert in that vase?"
"I swear it, by the great name of Allah," said the Genie.
But the Fisherman said he would not believe it, unless he saw
it with his own eyes. Then, being too stupid to perceive the
meaning of the Fisherman, the Genie fell into the trap.
Immediately the form of the Genie began to change into smoke, and
to spread itself as before over the shore and the sea, and then
gathering itself together, it began to enter the vase, and
continued to do so, with a slow and even motion, until nothing
remained outside. Then, out of the vase there issued the voice of
the Genie, saying, "Now, thou unbeliever, art thou convinced that
I am in the vase?"
But instead of answering, the Fisherman quickly took up the
leaden cover, and put it on the vase; and then he cried out, "O,
Genie! it is now thy turn to ask pardon, and to choose the sort
of death thou wilt have; or I will again cast thee into the sea,
and I will build upon the shore a house where I will live, to
warn all fishermen against a Genie so wicked as thou art."
At this the Genie was very angry. First he tried to get out of
the vase; but the seal of Solomon kept him fast shut up. Then he
pretended that he was but making a jest of the Fisherman when he
threatened to kill him. Then he begged and prayed to be released;
but the Fisherman only mocked him. Next he promised that if set
at liberty, he would make the Fisherman rich. To this the
Fisherman replied by telling him a long story of how a physician
who cured a king was murdered instead of being rewarded, and of
how he revenged himself. And then he preached a little sermon to
the Genie on the sin of ingratitude, which only caused the Genie
to cry out all the more to be set free. But still the Fisherman
would not consent, and so to induce him the Genie offered to tell
him a story, to which the Fisherman was quite ready to listen;
but the Genie said, "Dost thou think I am in the humour, shut up
in this narrow prison, to tell stories? I will tell thee as many
as thou wilt if thou wilt let me out." But the Fisherman only
answered, "No, I will cast thee into the sea."
At last they struck a bargain, the Genie swearing by Allah
that he would make the Fisherman rich, and then the Fisherman cut
the seal again, and the Genie came out of the vase. The first
thing he did when he got out was to kick the vase into the sea,
which frightened the Fisherman, who began to beg and pray for his
life. But the Genie kept his word; and took him past the city,
over a mountain and over a vast plain, to a little lake between
four hills, where he caught four little fish, of different
colours-white, red, blue, and yellow-which the Genie bade him
carry to the Sultan, who would give him more money than he had
ever seen in his life. And then, the story says, he struck his
foot against the ground, which opened, and he disappeared, the
earth closing over him.
Another story is that of the Genie Maimoun, the son of Dimdim,
who took prisoner a young Prince, and conveyed him to an
enchanted palace, and changed him into the form of an ape, and
the ape got on board a ship, and was carried to the country of a
great Sultan, and when the Sultan heard that there was an ape who
could write beautiful poems, he sent for him to the palace, and
they had dinner together, and they played at chess afterwards,
the ape behaving in all respects like a man, excepting that he
could not speak. Then the Sultan sent for his daughter, the Queen
of Beauty, to see this great wonder. But when the Queen of Beauty
came into the room she was very angry with her father for showing
her to a man, for the Princess was a great magician, and thus she
knew that it was a man turned into an ape, and she told her
father that the change had been made by a powerful Genie, the son
of the daughter of Eblis. So the Sultan ordered the Queen of
Beauty to disenchant the Prince, and then she should have him for
her husband. On this the Queen of Beauty went to her chamber, and
came back with a knife, with Hebrew characters engraved upon the
blade. And then she went into the middle of the court and drew a
large circle in it, and in the centre she traced several words in
Arabic letters, and others in Egyptian letters. Then putting
herself in the middle of the circle, she repeated several verses
of the Koran. By degrees the air was darkened, as if night were
coming on, and the whole world seemed to be vanishing. And in the
midst of the darkness the Genie, the son of the daughter of
Eblis, appeared in the shape of a huge, terrible lion, which ran
at the Princess as if to devour her. But she sprang back, and
plucked out a hair from her head, and then, pronouncing two or
three words, she changed the hair into a sharp scythe, and with
the scythe she cut the lion into two pieces through the middle.
The body of the lion now vanished, and only the head remained.
This changed itself into a large scorpion. The Princess changed
herself into a serpent and attacked the scorpion, which then
changed into an eagle, and flew away; and the serpent changed
itself into a fierce black eagle, larger and more powerful and
flew after it. Soon after the eagles had vanished the earth
opened, and a great black and white cat appeared, mewing and
crying out terribly, and with its hairs standing straight on end.
A black wolf followed the cat, and attacked it. Then the cat
changed into a worm, which buried itself in a pomegranate that
had fallen from a tree over-hanging the tank in the court, and
the pomegranate began to swell until it became as large as a
gourd, which then rose into the air, rolled backwards and
forwards several times, and then fell into the court and broke
into a thousand pieces. The wolf now transformed itself into a
cock, and ran as fast as possible, and ate up the pomegranate
seeds. But one of them fell into the tank and changed into a
little fish. On this the cock changed itself into a pike, darted
into the water, and pursued the little fish. Then comes the end
of the story, which is told by the Prince transformed into the
Ape:-"They were both hid hours under water, and we knew not what
was become of them, when suddenly we heard horrible cries that
made us tremble. Then we saw the Princess and the Genie all on
fire. They darted flames against each other with their breath,
and at last came to a close attack. Then the fire increased, and
all was hidden in smoke and cloud, which rose to a great height.
We had other cause for terror. The Genie, breaking away from the
Princess, came towards us, and blew his flames all over us." The
Princess followed him; but she could not prevent the Sultan from
having his beard singed and his face scorched; a spark flew into
the right eye of the Ape-Prince and blinded him, and the chief of
the eunuchs was killed on the spot. Then they heard the cry of
"Victory! victory!" and the Princess appeared in her own form,
and the Genie was reduced to a heap of ashes. Unhappily the
Princess herself was also fatally hurt. If she had swallowed all
the pomegranate seeds she would have conquered the Genie without
harm to herself; but one seed being lost, she was obliged to
fight with flames between earth and heaven, and she had only just
time enough to disenchant the ape and to turn him back again into
his human form, when she, too, fell to the earth, burnt to
ashes.
This story is repeated in various forms in the Fairy Tales of
other lands. The hair which the Princess changed into a scythe is
like the sword of sharpness which appears in Scandinavian legends
and in the tale of Jack the Giant Killer; the transformation of
the magician reminds us of the changes of the Ogre in Puss in
Boots; and the death of the Princess by fire because she failed
to eat up the last of the pomegranate seeds, brings to mind the
Greek myth of Persephone, who ate pomegranate seeds, and so fell
into the power of Aidoneus, the God of the lower regions, and was
carried down into Hades to live with him as his wife; and in many
German and Russian tales are to be found incidents like those of
the terrible battle between the Princess and the Genie
Maimoun.
CHAPTER IV.-DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: TEUTONIC, AND
SCANDINAVIAN.
Now we come to an entirely new region, in which, however, we
find, under other forms, the same creatures which have already
been described. From the sunny East we pass to the cold and
frozen North. Here the Scandinavian countries-Norway, Sweden, and
Denmark-are wonderfully rich in dwarfs, and giants, and trolls,
and necks, and nisses, and other inhabitants of Fairyland; and
with these we must also class the Teutonic beings of the same
kind; and likewise the fairy creatures who were once supposed to
dwell in our islands. The Elves of Scandinavia, with whom our own
Fairies are closely allied, were a very interesting people. They
were of two kinds, the White and the Black. The white elves dwelt
in the air, amongst the leaves of trees, and in the long grass,
and at moonlight they came out from their lurking-places, and
danced merrily on the greensward, and played all manner of
fantastic tricks. The black elves lived underground, and, like
the dwarfs, worked in metals, and heaped up great stores of
riches. When they came out amongst men they were often of a
malicious turn of mind; they caused sickness or death, stole
things from the houses, bewitched the cattle, and did a great
deal of mischief in all ways. The good elves were not only
friendly to man, but they had a great desire to get to heaven;
and in the summer nights they were heard singing sweetly but
sadly about themselves, and their hopes of future happiness; and
there are many stories of their having spoken to mortals, to ask
what hope or chance they had of salvation. This feeling is
believed to have come from the sympathy felt by the first
converts to Christianity with their heathen forefathers, whose
spirits were supposed by them to wander about, in the air or in
the woods, or to sigh within their graves, waiting for the day of
judgment. In one place there is a story that on a hill at Garun
people used to hear very beautiful music. This was played by the
elves, or hill folk, and any one who had a fiddle, and went
there, and promised the elves that they should be saved, was
taught in a moment how to play; but those who mocked them, and
told them they could never be saved, used to hear the poor elves,
inside the hill, breaking their fairy fiddles into pieces, and
weeping very sadly. There is a particular tune they play, called
the Elf-King's tune, which, the story-tellers say, some good
fiddlers know very well, but never venture to play, because
everybody who hears it is obliged to dance, and to go on dancing
till somebody comes behind the musician and cuts the
fiddle-strings; and out of this tradition we have the story of
the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Some of the underground elves come up
into the houses built above their dwellings, and are fond of
playing tricks upon servants; but they like only those who are
clean in their habits, and they do not like even these to laugh
at them. There is a story of a servant-girl whom the elves liked
very much, because she used to carry all dirt and foul water away
from the house, and so they invited her to an Elf Wedding, at
which they made her a present of some chips, which she put into
her pocket. But when the bridegroom and the bride were coming
home there was a straw lying in their way. The bridegroom got
over it; but the bride stumbled, and fell upon her face. At this
the servant-girl laughed out loud, and then all the elves
vanished, but she found that the chips they had given her were
pieces of pure gold. At Odensee another servant was not so
fortunate. She was very dirty, and would not clean the cow-house
for them; so they killed all the cows, and took the girl and set
her up on the top of a hay-rick. Then they removed from the
cow-house into a meadow on the farm; and some people say that
they were seen going there in little coaches, their king riding
first, in a coach much handsomer than the rest. Amongst the Danes
there is another kind of elves-the Moon Folk. The man is like an
old man with a low-crowned hat upon his head; the woman is very
beautiful in front, but behind she is hollow, like a
dough-trough, and she has a sort of harp on which she plays, and
lures young men with it, and then kills them. The man is also an
evil being, for if any one comes near him he opens his mouth and
breathes upon them, and his breath causes sickness. It is easy to
see what this tradition means: it is the damp marsh wind, laden
with foul and dangerous odours; and the woman's harp is the wind
playing across the marsh rushes at nightfall. Sometimes these
elves take the shape of trees, which brings back to mind the
Greek fairy tales of nymphs who live and die with the trees to
which they are united.
These Scandinavian elves were like beings of the same kind who
were once supposed to live in England, Ireland, and Scotland, and
who are still believed in by some country people. Scattered about
in the traditions which have been brought together at different
times are many stories of these fanciful beings. One story is of
some children of a green colour who were found in Suffolk, and
who said they had lived in a country where all the people were of
a green colour, and where they saw no sun, but had a light like
the glow which comes after sunset. They said, also, that while
tending their flocks they wandered into a great cavern, and heard
the sound of delightful bells, which they followed, and so came
out upon the upper world of the earth. There is a Yorkshire
legend of a peasant coming home by night, and hearing the voices
of people singing. The noise came from a hill-side, where there
was a door, and inside was a great company of little people,
feasting. One of them offered the man a cup, out of which he
poured the liquor, and then ran off with the cup, and got safe
away. A similar story is told also of a place in Gloucestershire,
and of another in Cumberland, where the cup is called "the Luck
of Edenhall," as the owners of it are to be always prosperous, so
long as the cup remains unbroken. Such stories as this are common
in the countries of the North of Europe, and show the connection
between our Elf-land and theirs.
The Pixies, or the Devonshire fairies, are just like the
northern elves. The popular idea of them is that they are small
creatures-pigmies-dressed in green, and are fond of dancing. Some
of them live in the mines, where they show the miners the richest
veins of metal just like the German dwarfs; others live on the
moors, or under the shelter of rocks; others take up their abode
in houses, and, like the Danish and Swedish elves, are very cross
if the maids do not keep the places clean and tidy others, like
the will-o'-the-wisps, lead travellers astray, and then laugh at
them. The Pixies are said to be very fond of pure water. There is
a story of two servant-maids at Tavistock who used to leave them
a bucket of water, into which the Pixies dropped silver pennies.
Once it was forgotten, and the Pixies came up into the girls'
bedroom, and made a noise about the neglect. One girl got up and
went to put the water in its usual place, but the other said she
would not stir out of bed to please all the fairies in
Devonshire. The girl who filled the water-bucket found a handful
of silver pennies in it next morning, and she heard the Pixies
debating what to do with the other girl. At last they said they
would give her a lame leg for seven years, and that then they
would cure her by striking her leg with a herb growing on
Dartmoor. So next day Molly found herself lame, and kept so for
seven years, when, as she was picking mushrooms on Dartmoor, a
strange-looking boy started up, struck her leg with a plant he
held in his hand, and sent her home sound again. There is another
story of the Pixies which is very beautiful. An old woman near
Tavistock had in her garden a fine bed of tulips, of which the
Pixies became very fond, and might be heard at midnight singing
their babes to rest amongst them; and as the old woman would
never let any of the tulips be plucked, the Pixies had them all
to themselves, and made them smell like the rose, and bloom more
beautifully than any flowers in the place. Well, the old woman
died, and the tulip-bed was pulled up and a parsley-bed made in
its place. But the Pixies blighted it, and nothing grew in it;
but they kept the grave of the old woman quite green, never
suffered a weed to grow upon it, and in spring-time they always
spangled it with wild-flowers.
All over the country, in the far North as in the South, we
find traces of elfin beings like the Pixies-the fairies of the
common traditions and of the poets-some such fairies as
Shakspeare describes for us in several of his plays, especially
in "Midsummer-Night's Dream," "The Merry Wives of Windsor," "The
Tempest," and "Romeo and Juliet"-fairies who gambol
sportively.
"On hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or by rushing brook,
Or by the beached margent of the sea,
To dance their ringlets to the whistling wind."
But the Fairy tribe were not the only graceful elves described
by the poets. The Germans had their Kobolds, and the Scotch their
Brownies, and the English had their Boggarts and Robin Goodfellow
and Lubberkin-all of them beings of the same description: house
and farm spirits, who liked to live amongst men, and who
sometimes did hard, rough work out of good-nature, and sometimes
were spiteful and mischievous, especially to those who teased
them, or spoke of them disrespectfully, or tried to see them when
they did not wish to be seen. To the same family belongs the
Danish Nis, a house spirit of whom many curious legends are
related. Robin Goodfellow was the original of Shakspeare's Puck:
his frolics are related for us in "The Midsummer Night's Dream,"
where a hairy says to him-
"You are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Called Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he
That frights the maidens of the villagery,
Skims milk, and sometimes labours in the quern,
And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn;
And sometimes makes the drink to bear no harm,
Misleads night wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hob-Goblin call you, and sweet Puck;
You do their work, and they shall have good luck."
In the "Jests of Robin Goodfellow," first printed in Queen
Elizabeth's reign, the tricks which this creature is said to have
played are told in plenty. Here is one of them:-Robin went as
fiddler to a wedding. When the candles came he blew them out, and
giving the men boxes on the ears he set them fighting. He kissed
the prettiest girls, and pinched the ugly ones, till he made them
scratch one another like cats. When the posset was brought he
turned himself into a bear, frightened them all away, and had it
all to himself.
The Boggart was another form of Robin Goodfellow. Stories of
him are to be found amongst Yorkshire legends, as of a
creature-always invisible-who played tricks upon the people in
the houses in which he lived: shaking the bed-curtains, rattling
the doors, whistling through the keyholes, snatching away the
bread-and-butter from the children, playing pranks upon the
servants, and doing all kinds of mischief. There is a story of a
Yorkshire boggart who teased the family so much that the farmer
made up his mind to leave the house. So he packed up his goods
and began to move off. Then a neighbour came up, and said, "So,
Georgey, you're leaving the old house?" "Yes," said the farmer,
"the boggart torments us so that we must go." Then a voice came
out of a churn, saying, "Ay, ay, Georgey, we're flitting,
ye see." "Oh!" cried the poor farmer, "if thou'rt with us we'll
go back again;" and he went back.-Mr. Tennyson puts this story
into his poem of "Walking to the Mail."
"His house, they say,
Was haunted with a jolly ghost, that shook
The curtains, whined in lobbies, tapt at doors,
And rummaged like a rat: no servant stayed:
The farmer, vext, packs up his beds and chairs,
And all his household stuff, and with his boy
Betwixt his knees, his wife upon the tilt,
Sets out, and meets a friend who hails him, 'What!
You're flitting!' 'Yes, we're flitting,' says the ghost
(For they had packed the thing among the beds).
'Oh, well,' says he, 'you flitting with us, too;
Jack, turn the horses' heads and home again.'"
The same story is told in Denmark, of a Nis-which is the same
as an English boggart, a Scotch brownie, and a German kobold-who
troubled a man very much, so that he took away his goods to a new
house. All but the last load had gone, and when they came for
that, the Nis popped his head out of a tub, and said to the man,
"We're moving, you see."
The Brownies, though mischievous, like the Boggarts, were more
helpful, for they did a good deal of house-work; and would bake,
and brew, and wash, and sweep, but they would never let
themselves be seen; or if any one did manage to see them, or
tried to do so, they went away. There are stories of this kind
about them in English folk-lore, in Scotch, Welsh, in the Isle of
Man, and in Germany, where they were called Kobolds. One Kobold,
of whom many accounts are given, lived in the castle of
Hudemuhler, in Luneberg, and used to talk with the people of the
house, and with visitors, and ate and drank at table, just like
Leander in the story of "The Invisible Prince;" and he used also
to scour the pots and pans, wash the dishes, and clean the tubs,
and he was useful, too, in the stable, where he curried the
horses, and made them quite fat and smooth. In return for this he
had a room to himself, where he made a straw-plaited chair, and
had a little round table, and a bed and bedstead, and, where he
expected every day to find a dish of sweetened milk, with bread
crumbs; and if he did not get served in time, or if anything went
wrong, he used to beat the servants with a stick. This Kobold was
named Heinzelman, and in Grimm's collection of folklore there is
a long history of him drawn up by the minister of the parish.
Another Kobold, named Hodeken, who lived with the Bishop of
Hildesheim, was usually of a kind and obliging turn of mind, but
he revenged himself on those who offended him. A scullion in the
bishop's kitchen flung dirt upon him, and Hodeken found him fast
asleep and strangled him, and put him in the pot on the fire.
Then the head cook scolded Hodeken, who in revenge squeezed toads
all over the meat that was being cooked for the bishop, and then
took the cook himself and tumbled him over the drawbridge into
the moat. Then the bishop got angry, and took bell, and book, and
candle, and banished Hodeken by the form of exorcism provided for
evil spirits.
Now there are a great many other kinds of creatures in the
Wonderland of all European countries; but I must not stop to tell
you about them or we shall never have done. But there is one
little story of the Danish Nis-who answers to the German
Kobold-which I may tell you, because it is like the story of
Hodeken which you have just read, and shows that the creatures
were of the same kind. There was a Nis in Jutland who was very
much teased by a mischievous boy. When the Nis had done his work
he sat down to have his supper, and he found that the boy had
been playing tricks with his porridge and made it unpleasant. So
he made up his mind to be revenged, and he did it in this way.
The boy slept with a servant-man in the loft. The Nis went up to
them and took off the bed-clothes. Then, looking at the little
boy lying beside the tall man, he said, "Long and short don't
match," and he took the boy by the legs and pulled him down to
the man's legs. This was not to his mind, however, so he went to
the head of the bed and looked at them, Then said the Nis-"Short
and long don't match," and he pulled the boy up again; and so he
went on all through the night, up and down, down and up, till the
boy was punished enough. Another Nis in Jutland went with a boy
to steal corn for his master's horses. The Nis was moderate, but
the boy was covetous, and said, "Oh, take more; we can rest now
and then!" "Rest," said the Nis, "rest! what is rest?" "Do what I
tell you," replied the boy; "take more, and we shall find rest
when we get out of this." So they took more corn, and when they
had got nearly home the boy said, "Here now is rest;" and so they
sat down on a hill-side. "If I had known," said the Nis, as they
were sitting there, "if I had known that rest was so good I'd
have carried off all that was in the barn."
Now we must leave out much more that might be said, and many
stories that might be told, about elves, and fairies, and nixes,
or water spirits, and swan maidens who become women when they lay
aside their swan dresses to bathe; and mermaids and seal maidens,
who used to live in the islands of the North seas. And we must
leave out also a number of curious Scotch tales and accounts of
Welsh fairies, and stories about the good people of the Irish
legends, and the Leprechaun, a little old man who mends shoes,
and who gives you as much gold as you want if you hold him tight
enough; and there are wonderful fairy legends of Brittany, and
some of Spain and Italy, and a great many Russian and Slavonic
tales which are well worth telling, if we only had room. For the
same reason we must omit the fairy tales of ancient Greece, some
of which are told so beautifully by Mr. Kingsley in his book
about the Heroes; and we must also pass by the legends of King
Arthur, and of romances of the same kind which you may read at
length in Mr. Ludlow's "Popular Epics of the Middle Ages;" and
the wonderful tales from the Norse which are told by Dr. Dasent,
and in Mr. Morris's noble poem of "Sigurd the Volsung."
But before we leave this part of Wonderland we must say
something about some kinds of beings who have not yet been
mentioned-the Scandinavian Giants and Trolls, and the German
Dwarfs. The Trolls-some of whom were Giants and some Dwarfs-were
a very curious people. They lived inside hills or mounds of
earth, sometimes alone, and sometimes in great numbers. Inside
these hills, according to the stories of the common folk, are
fine houses made of gold and crystal, full of gold and jewels,
which the Trolls amuse themselves by counting. They marry and
have families; they bake and brew, and live just like human
beings; and they do not object, sometimes, to come out and talk
to men and women whom they happen to meet on the road. They are
described as being friendly, and quite ready to help those to
whom they take a fancy-lending them useful or precious things out
of the hill treasures, and giving them rich gifts. But, to
balance this, they are very mischievous and thievish, and
sometimes they carry off women and children. They dislike noise.
This, so the old stories say, is because the god Thor used to
fling his hammer at them; and since he left off doing that the
Trolls have suffered a great deal from the ringing of church
bells, which they very much dislike. There are many stories about
this. At a place called Ebeltoft the Trolls used to come and
steal food out of the pantries. The people consulted a Saint as
to what they were to do, and he told them to hang up a bell in
the church steeple, which they did, and then the Trolls went
away. There is another story of the same kind. A Troll lived near
the town of Kund, in Sweden, but was driven away by the church
bells. Then he went over to the island of Funen and lived in
peace. But he meant to be revenged on the people of Kund, and he
tried to take his revenge in this way: He met a man from Kund-a
stranger, who did not know him-and asked the man to take a letter
into the town and to throw it into the churchyard, but he was not
to take it out of his pocket until he got there. The man received
the letter, but forgot the message, until he sat down in a meadow
to rest, and then he took out the letter to look at it. When he
did so, a drop of water fell from under the seal, then a little
stream, and then quite a torrent, till all the valley was
flooded, and the man had hard work to escape. The Troll had shut
up a lake in the letter, and with this he meant to drown the
people of Kund.
Some of the Trolls are very stupid, and there are many stories
as to how they have been outwitted. One of them is very droll. A
farmer ploughed a hill-side field. Out came a Troll and said,
"What do you mean by ploughing up the roof of my house?" Then the
farmer, being frightened, begged his pardon, but said it was a
pity such a fine piece of land should lie idle. The Troll agreed
to this, and then they struck a bargain that the farmer should
till the land and that each of them should share the crops. One
year the Troll was to have, for his share, what grew above
ground, and the next year what grew underground. So in the first
year the farmer sowed carrots, and the Troll had the tops; and
the next year the farmer sowed wheat, and the Troll had the
roots; and the story says he was very well content.
We can give only one more story of the Trolls. They have power
over human beings until their names are found out, and when the
Troll's name is mentioned his power goes from him. One day St.
Olaf, a very great Saint, was thinking how he could build a very
large church without any money, and he didn't quite see his way
to it. Then a Giant Troll met him and they chatted together, and
St. Olaf mentioned his difficulty. So the Troll said he would
build the church, within a year, on condition that if it was done
in the time he should have for his reward the sun, and the moon,
or St. Olaf himself. The church was to be so big that seven
priests could say mass at seven altars in it without hearing each
other; and it was all to be built of flint stone and to be richly
carved. When the time was nearly up the church was finished, all
but the top of the spire; and St. Olaf was in sad trouble about
his promise. So he walked out into a wood to think, and there he
heard the Troll's wife hushing her child inside a hill, and
saying to it, "To-morrow, Wind and Weather, your father, will
come home in the morning, and bring with him the sun and the
moon, or St. Olaf himself." Then St. Olaf knew what to do. He
went home, and there was the church, all ready except the very
top of the weather-cock, and the Troll was just putting the
finishing-touch to that. Then St. Olaf called out to him, "Oh!
ho! Wind and Weather, you have set the spire crooked!" And then,
with a great noise, the Troll fell down from the steeple and
broke into pieces, and every piece was a flint-stone.
The same thing is told in the German story of Rumpelstiltskin.
A maiden is ordered by a King to spin a roomful of straw into
gold, or else she is to die. A Dwarf appears, she promises him
her necklace, and he does the task for her. Next day she has to
spin a larger roomful of straw into gold. She gives the Dwarf the
ring off her finger, and he does this task also. Next day she is
set to work at a larger room, and then, when the Dwarf comes, she
has nothing to give him. Then he says, "If you become Queen, give
me your first-born child." Now the girl is only a miller's
daughter, and thinks she never can be Queen, so she makes the
promise, and the Dwarf spins the straw into gold. But she does
become Queen, for the King marries her because of the gold; and
she forgets the Dwarf, and is very happy, especially when her
little baby comes. Directly it is born the Dwarf appears also,
and claims the child, because it was promised to him. The Queen
offers him anything he likes besides; but he will have that, and
that only. Then she cries and prays, and the Dwarf says that if
she can tell him his name she may keep the baby; and he feels
quite safe in saying this, because nobody knows his name, only
himself. So the Queen calls him by all kinds of strange names,
but none of them is the right one. Then she begs for three days
to find out the name, and sends people everywhere to see if they
can hear it. But all of them come back, unable to find any name
that is likely, excepting one, who says, "I have not found a
name, but as I came to a high mountain near the edge of a forest,
where the foxes and the hares say 'good-night' to each other, I
saw a little house, and before the door a fire was burning, and
round the fire a little man was dancing on one leg, and
singing:-
"To-day I stew, and then I'll bake,
To-morrow shall I the Queen's child take.
How glad I am that nobody knows
That my name is Rumpelstiltskin."
Then the Dwarf came again, and the Queen said to him, "Is your
name Hans?" "No," said the Dwarf, with an ugly leer, and he held
out his hands for the baby. "Is it Conrade?" asked the Queen.
"No," cried the Dwarf, "give me the child." "Then," said the
Queen, "is it Rumpelstiltskin?" "A witch has told you that!"
cried the Dwarf; and then he stamped his right foot so hard upon
the ground that it sank quite in, and he could not draw it out
again. Then he took hold of his left leg with both his hands and
pulled so hard that his right leg came off, and he hopped away
howling, and nobody ever saw him again.
The Giant in the story of St. Olaf, as we have seen, was a
rather stupid giant, and easily tricked; and indeed most of the
giants seem to have been dull people, from the great Greek
Kyklops, Polyphemos the One-Eyed, downwards to the ogres in Puss
in Boots, and Jack and the Bean Stalk, and the giants in Jack the
Giant Killer. The old northern giants were no wiser. There was
one in the island of Rugen, a very mighty giant, named Balderich.
He wanted to go from his island, dry-footed, to the mainland. So
he got a great apron made, and filled it with earth, and set off
to make a causeway from Rugen to Pomerania. But there was a hole
in the apron, and the clay that fell out formed a chain of nine
hills. The giant stopped the hole and went on, but another hole
tore in the apron, and thirteen more hills fell out. Then he got
to the sea-side, and poured the rest of the load into the water;
but it didn't quite reach the mainland, which made giant
Balderich so angry that he fell down and died; and so his work
has never been finished. But a giant maiden thought she would try
to make another causeway from the mainland to an island, so that
she might not wet her slippers in going over. So she filled her
apron with sand, and ran down to the sea-side. But a hole came in
the apron, and the sand which ran out formed a hill at Sagard.
The giant maiden said, "Ah! now my mother will scold me!" Then
she stopped the hole with her hand and ran on again. But the
giant mother looked over the wood, and cried, "You nasty child!
what are you about? Come here, and you'll get a good whipping."
The daughter in a fright let go her apron, and all the sand ran
out, and made the barren hills near Litzow, which the white and
brown dwarfs took for their dwelling-place.
There are many other stories of the same kind. One of them
tells of a Troll Giant who wanted to punish a farmer; so he
filled one of his gloves with sand, and poured it out over the
farmer's house, which it quite covered up; and with what was left
in the fingers he made a row of little sand hillocks to mark the
spot.
The Giants had their day, and died out, and their places were
taken by the Dwarfs. Some of the most wonderful dwarf stories are
those which are told in the island of Rugen, in the Baltic Sea.
These stories are of three kinds of dwarfs: the White, and the
Brown, and the Black, who live in the sand-hills. The white
dwarfs, in the spring and summer, dance and frolic all their time
in sunshine and starlight, and climb up into the flowers and
trees, and sit amongst the leaves and blossoms, and sometimes
they take the form of bright little birds, or white doves, or
butterflies, and are very kind to good people. In the winter,
when the snow falls, they go underground, and spend their time in
making the most beautiful ornaments of silver and gold. The brown
dwarfs are stronger and rougher than the white; they wear little
brown coats and brown caps, and when they dance-which they are
fond of doing-they wear little glass shoes; and in dress and
appearance they are very handsome. Their disposition is good,
with one exception-that they carry off children into their
underground dwellings; and those who go there have to serve them
for fifty years. They can change themselves into any shape, and
can go through key-holes, so that they enter any house they
please, and sometimes they bring gifts for the children, like the
good Santa Klaus in the German stories; but they also play sad
tricks, and frighten people with bad dreams. Like the white
dwarfs, the brown ones work in gold and silver, and the gifts
they bring are of their own workmanship. The black dwarfs are
very bad people, and are ugly in looks and malicious in temper;
they never dance or sing, but keep underground, or, when they
come up, they sit in the elder-trees, and screech horribly like
owls, or mew like cats. They, too, are great metal-workers,
especially in steel; and in old days they used to make arms and
armour for the gods and heroes: shirts of mail as fine as
cobwebs, yet so strong that no sword could go through them; and
swords that would bend like rushes, and yet were as hard as
diamonds, and would cut through any helmet, however thick.
So long as they keep their caps on their heads the dwarfs are
invisible; but if any one can get possession of a dwarf's cap he
can see them, and becomes their master. This is the foundation of
one of the best of the dwarf stories-the story of John Dietrich,
who went out to the sandhills at Ramfin, in the isle of Rugen, on
the eve of St. John, a very, very long time ago, and managed to
strike off the cap from the head of one of the brown dwarfs, and
went down with them into their underground dwelling-place. This
was quite a little town, where the rooms were decorated with
diamonds and rubies, and the dwarf people had gold and silver and
crystal table-services, and there were artificial birds that flew
about like real ones, and the most beautiful flowers and fruits;
and the dwarfs, who were thousands in number, had great feasts,
where the tables, ready spread, came up through the floor, and
cleared themselves away at the ringing of a bell, and left the
rooms free for dancing to the strains of the loveliest music. And
in the city there were fields and gardens, and lakes and rivers;
and instead of the sun and the moon to give light, there were
large carbuncles and diamonds which supplied all that was wanted.
John Dietrich, who was very well treated, liked it very much, all
but one thing-which was that the servants who waited upon the
dwarfs were earth children, whom they had stolen and carried
underground; and amongst them was Elizabeth Krabbin, once a
playmate of his own, and who was a lovely girl, with clear blue
eyes and ringlets of fair hair. John Dietrich of course fell in
love with Elizabeth, and determined to get her out of the dwarf
people's hands, and with her all the earth children they held
captive. And when he had been ten years underground, and he and
Elizabeth were grown up, he demanded leave to depart, and to take
Elizabeth. But the dwarfs, though they could not hinder him from
going, would not let her go, and no threats or entreaties could
move them. Then John Dietrich remembered that the little people
cannot bear an evil smell; and one day he happened to break a
large stone, out of which jumped a toad, which gave him power to
do what he pleased with the dwarfs, for the sight or smell of a
toad causes them pain beyond all bearing. So he sent for the
chiefs of the dwarfs, and bade them let Elizabeth go. But they
refused; and then he went and fetched the toad. Then the story
goes on in this way:-
"He was hardly come within a hundred paces of them when they
all fell to the ground as if struck with a thunderbolt, and began
to howl and whimper, and to writhe as if suffering the most
excruciating pain. The dwarfs stretched out their hands, and
cried, 'Have mercy, have mercy! we feel that you have a toad, and
there is no escape for us. Take the odious beast away, and we
will do all you require.' He let them kneel a few seconds longer,
and then took the toad away. They then stood up, and felt no more
pain. John let all depart but the six chief persons, to whom he
said, 'This night, between twelve and one, Elizabeth and I will
depart, Load for me three waggons with gold, silver, and precious
stones. I might, you know, take all that is in the hill; but I
will be merciful. Further, you must put into two waggons all the
furniture of my chamber (which was covered with emeralds and
other precious stones, and in the ceiling was a diamond as big as
a nine-pin bowl), and get ready for me the handsomest travelling
carriage that is in the hill, with six black horses. Moreover,
you must set at liberty all the servants who have been so long
here that on earth they would be twenty years old and upwards,
and you must give them as much silver and gold as will make them
rich for life; and you must make a law that no one shall be kept
here longer than his twentieth year.'
"The six took the oath, and went away quite melancholy, and
John buried his toad deep in the ground. The little people
laboured hard and prepared everything, and at midnight John and
Elizabeth, and their companions, and all their treasures, were
drawn up out of the hill. It was then one o'clock, and it was
midsummer-the very time that, twelve years before, John had gone
down into the hill. Music sounded around them, and they saw the
glass hill open, and the rays of the light of heaven shine on
them after so many years; and when they got out they saw the
first streaks of dawn already in the East. Crowds of the
underground people were around them, busied about the waggons.
John bid them a last farewell, waved his brown cap in the air,
and then flung it among them. And at the same moment he ceased to
see them; he beheld nothing but a green hill, and the well-known
bushes and fields, and heard the church clock of Ramfin strike
two. When all was still, save a few larks, who were tuning their
morning song, they all fell upon their knees and worshipped God,
resolving henceforth to lead a pious and Christian life." And
then John married Elizabeth, and was made a count, and built
several churches, and presented to them some of the precious cups
and plates made by the underground people, and kept his own and
Elizabeth's glass shoes, in memory of what had befallen them in
their youth. "And they were all taken away," the story says, "in
the time of the great Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, when the
Russians came on the island, and the Cossacks plundered even the
churches, and took away everything."
Now there is much more to be told about the dwarfs, if only we
had space-how there were thousands of them in German lands, in
the Saxon mines, and the Black Forest, and the Harz mountains and
in other places, and in Switzerland, and indeed everywhere
almost-how they gave gifts to good men, and borrowed of them, and
paid honestly; how they punished those who injured them; how they
moved about from country to country; how they helped great kings
and nobles, and showed themselves to wandering travellers and to
simple country folk. But all this must be left for you to read
for yourselves in Grimm's stories, and in the legends of northern
lands, and in many collections of ancient poems, and romances,
and popular tales. And in these, and in other books which deal
with such subjects, you will find out that all these dwellers in
Wonderland, and the tales that are told about them, and the
stories of the gods and heroes, all come from the one source of
which we read something in the first chapter-the tradition's of
the ancient Aryan people, from whom all of us have sprung-and how
they all mean the same things; the conflict between light and
darkness, the succession of day and night, the changes of the
seasons, the blue and bright summer skies, the rain-clouds, the
storm-winds, the thunder and the lightning, and all the varied
and infinite forms of Nature in her moods of calm and storm,
peace and tempest, brightness and gloom, sweet and pleasant and
hopeful life and stern and cold death, which causes all
brightness to fade and moulder away.
CHAPTER V.-DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: WEST HIGHLAND STORIES.
In a very delightful book which has already been mentioned,
Campbell's "Popular Tales of the West Highlands," there are many
curious stories of fairy folk and other creatures of the like
kind, described in the traditions of the west of Scotland, and
which are still believed in by many of the country people. There
are Brownies, for instance, the farm spirits. One of these, so
the story goes, inhabited the island of Inch, and looked after
the cattle of the Mac Dougalls; but if the dairymaid neglected to
leave a portion of milk for him at night, one of the cattle would
be sure to fall over the rocks. Another kind of Brownie, called
the Bocan, haunted a place called Moran, opposite the Isle of
Skye, and protected the family of the Macdonalds of Moran, but
was very savage to other people, whom he beat or killed. At last
Big John, the son of M'Leod of Raasay, went and fought the
creature in the dark, and tucked him under his arm, to carry him
to the nearest light and see what he was like. But the Brownies
hate to be seen, and this one begged hard to be let off,
promising that he would never come back. So Big John let him off,
and he flew away singing:-
"Far from me is the hill of Ben Hederin;
Far from me is the Pass of Murmuring;"
and the common story says that the tune is still remembered
and sung by the people of that country. It is also told of a
farmer, named Callum Mohr MacIntosh, near Loch Traig, in
Lochaber, that he had a fight with a Bocan, and in the fight he
lost a charmed handkerchief. When he went back to get it again,
he found the Bocan rubbing the handkerchief hard on a flat stone,
and the Bocan said, "It is well for you that you are back, for if
I had rubbed a hole in this you were a dead man." This Bocan
became very friendly with MacIntosh, and used to bring him peats
for fire in the deep winter snows; and when MacIntosh moved to
another farm, and left a hogshead of hides behind him by
accident, the Bocan carried it to his new house next morning,
over paths that only a goat could have crossed.
Another creature of the same kind is a mischievous spirit, a
Goblin or Brownie, who is called in the Manx language, the
Glashan, and who appears under various names in Highland stories:
sometimes as a hairy man, and sometimes as a water-horse turned
into a man. He usually attacks lonely women, who outwit him, and
throw hot peats or scalding water at him, and then he flies off
howling. One feature is common to the stories about him. He asks
the woman what her name is, and she always replies "Myself." So
when the companions of the Glashan ask who burned or scalded him,
he says "Myself," and then they laugh at him. This answer marks
the connection between these tales and those of other countries.
Polyphemos asks Odysseus his name, and is told that it is Outis,
or "Nobody." So when Odysseus blinds Polyphemos, and the other
Kyklopes ask the monster who did it, he says, "Nobody did it."
There is a Slavonian story, also, in which a cunning smith puts
out the eyes of the Devil, and says that his name is Issi,
"myself;" and when the tortured demon is asked who hurt him, he
says, "Issi did it;" and then his companions ridicule him.
Among other Highland fairy monsters are the water-horses (like
the Scandinavian and Teutonic Kelpies) and the water-bulls, which
inhabit lonely lochs. The water-bulls are described as being
friendly to man; the water-horses are dangerous-when men get upon
their backs they are carried off and drowned. Sometimes the
water-horse takes the shape of a man. Here is a story of this
kind from the island of Islay: There was a farmer who had a great
many cattle. Once a strange-looking bull-calf was born amongst
them, and an old woman who saw it knew it for a water-bull, and
ordered it to be kept in a house by itself for seven years, and
fed on the milk of three cows. When the time was up, a
servant-maid went to watch the cattle graze on the side of a
loch. In a little while a man came to her and asked her to dress
or comb his hair. So he laid his head upon her knees, and she
began to arrange his hair. Presently she got a great fright, for
amongst the hair she found a great quantity of water-weed; and
she knew that it was a transformed water-horse. Like a brave girl
she did not cry out, but went on dressing the man's hair until he
fell asleep. Then she slid her apron off her knees, and ran home
as fast as she could, and when she got nearly home, the creature
was pursuing her in the shape of a horse. Then the old woman
cried out to them to open the door of the wild bull's house, and
out sprang the bull and rushed at the horse, and they never
stopped fighting until they drove each other out into the sea.
"Next day," says the story, "the body of the bull was found on
the shore all torn and spoilt, but the horse was never more seen
at all."
Sometimes the water-spirit appears in the shape of a great
bird, which the West Highlanders called the Boobrie, who has a
long neck, great webbed feet with tremendous claws, a powerful
bill hooked like an eagle's, and a voice like the roar of an
angry bull. The lochs, according to popular fancy, are also
inhabited by water-spirits. In Sutherlandshire this kind of
creature is called the Fuath; there are, Mr. Campbell says, males
and females; they have web-feet, yellow hair, green dresses,
tails, manes, and no noses; they marry human beings, are killed
by light, are hurt by steel weapons, and in crossing a stream
they become restless. These spirits resemble mermen and mermaids,
and are also like the Kelpies, and they have also been somehow
confused with the kind of spirit known in Ireland as the Banshee.
Many stories are told of them. A shepherd found one, an old woman
seemingly crippled, at the edge of a bog. He offered to carry her
over on his back. In going over, he saw that she was webfooted;
so he threw her down, and ran for his life. By the side of Loch
Middle a woman saw one-"about three years ago," she told the
narrator-she sat on a stone, quiet, and dressed in green silk,
the sleeves of the dress curiously puffed from the wrists to the
shoulder; her hair was yellow, like ripe corn; but on a nearer
view, she had no nose. A man at Tubernan made a bet that he would
seize the Fuath or Kelpie who haunted the loch at Moulin na
Fouah. So he took a brown right-sided maned horse, and a brown
black-muzzled dog, and with the help of the dog he captured the
Fuath, and tied her on the horse behind him. She was very fierce,
but he pinned her down with an awl and a needle. Crossing the
burn or brook near Loch Migdal she grew very restless, and the
man stuck the awl and the needle into her with great force. Then
she cried, "Pierce me with the awl, but keep that slender
hair-like slave (the needle) out of me." When the man reached an
inn at Inveran, he called his friends to come out and look at the
Fuath. They came out with lights, and when the light fell upon
her she dropped off the horse, and fell to the earth like a small
lump of jelly.
The Fairies of the West Highlands in some degree resembled the
Scandinavian Dwarfs. They milked the deer; they lived
underground, and worked at trades, especially metal-working and
weaving. They had hammers and anvils, but had to steal wool and
to borrow looms; and they had great hoards of treasure hidden in
their dwelling places. Sometimes they helped the people whom they
liked, but at other times they were spiteful and evil minded; and
according to tradition all over the Highlands, they enticed men
and women into their dwellings in the hills, and kept them there
sometimes for years, always dancing without stopping. There are
many stories of this kind; and there are also many about the
fondness of the Fairies for carrying off human children, and
leaving Imps of their own in their places-these Imps being
generally old men disguised as children. Some of these tales are
very curious, and are like others that are found amongst the
folk-lore of Celtic peoples elsewhere. Here is the substance of
one told in Islay:-
Years ago there lived in Crossbrig a smith named MacEachern,
who had an only son, about fourteen; a strong, healthy, cheerful
boy. All of a sudden he fell ill, took to his bed, and moped for
days, getting thin, and odd-looking, and yellow, and wasting away
fast, so that they thought he must die. Now a "wise" old man, who
knew about Fairies, came to see the smith at work, and the poor
man told him all about his trouble. The old man said, "It is not
your son you have got; the boy has been carried off by the
Dacorie Sith (the Fairies), and they have left a sibhreach
(changeling) in his place." Then the old man told him what to do.
"Take as many egg-shells as you can get, go with them into the
room, spread them out before him, then draw water with them,
carrying them two and two in your hands as if they were a great
weight, and when they are full, range them round the fire." The
smith did as he was told; and he had not been long at work before
there came from the bed a great shout of laughter, and the
supposed boy cried out, "I am eight hundred years old, and I
never saw the like of that before." Then the smith knew
that it was not his own son. The wise man advised him again.
"Your son," he said, "is in a green round hill where the Fairies
live; get rid of this creature, and then go and look for him." So
the smith lit a fire in front of the bed. "What is that for?"
asked the supposed boy. "You will see presently," said the smith;
and then he took him and threw him into the middle of it; and the
sibhreach gave an awful yell, and flew up through the roof, where
a hole was left to let the smoke out. Now the old man said that
on a certain night the green round hill, where the Fairies kept
the smith's boy, would be open. The father was to take a Bible, a
dirk, and a crowing cock, and go there. He would hear singing,
and dancing, and much merriment, but he was to go boldly in. The
Bible would protect him against the Fairies, and he was to stick
the dirk into the threshold, to prevent the hill closing upon
him. Then he would see a grand room, and there, working at a
forge, he would find his own son; and when the Fairies questioned
him he was to say that he had come for his boy, and would not go
away without him. So the smith went, and did what the old man
told him. He heard the music, found the hill open, went in, stuck
the dirk in the threshold, carried the Bible on his breast, and
took the cock in his hand. Then the Fairies angrily asked what he
wanted, and he said, "I want my son whom I see down there, and I
will not go without him." Upon this the whole company of the
Fairies gave a loud laugh, which woke up the cock, and he leaped
on the smith's shoulders, clapped his wings, and crowed lustily.
Then the Fairies took the smith and his son, put them out of the
hill, flung the dirk after them, and the hill-side closed up
again. For a year and a day after he got home the boy never did
any work, and scarcely spoke a word; but at last one day sitting
by his father, and seeing him finish a sword for the chieftain,
he suddenly said, "That's not the way to do it," and he took the
tools, and fashioned a sword the like of which was never seen in
that country before; and from that day he worked and lived as
usual.
Here is another story. A woman was going through a wild glen
in Strath Carron, in Sutherland-the Glen Garaig-carrying her
infant child wrapped in her plaid. Below the path, overhung with
trees, ran a very deep ravine, called Glen Odhar, or the dun
glen. The child, not a year old, suddenly spoke, and said:-
"Many a dun hummel cow,
With a calf below her,
Have I seen milking
In that dun glen yonder,
Without dog, without man,
Without woman, without gillie,
But one man; and he hoary."
Then the woman knew that it was a fairy changeling she was
carrying, and she flung down the child and the plaid, and ran
home, where her own baby lay smiling in the cradle.
A tailor went to a farm-house to work, and just as he was
going in, somebody put into his hands a child of a month old,
which a little lady dressed in green seemed to be waiting to
receive. The tailor ran home and gave the child to his wife. When
he got back to the farm-house he found the farmer's child crying
and yelping, and disturbing everybody. It was a fairy changeling
which the nurse had taken in, meaning to give the farmer's own
child to the fairy in exchange; but nobody knew this but the
tailor. When they were all gone out he began to talk to the
child. "Hae ye your pipes?" said the Tailor. "They're below my
head," said the Changeling. "Play me a spring," said the Tailor.
Out sprang the little man and played the bagpipes round the room.
Then there was a noise outside, and the Elf said, "Its my folk
wanting me," and away he went up the chimney; and then they
fetched back the farmer's child from the tailor's house.
One more story: it is told by the Sutherland-shire folk. A
small farmer had a boy who was so cross that nothing could be
done with him. One day the farmer and his wife went out, and put
the child to bed in the kitchen; and they bid the farm lad to go
and look at it now and then, and to thrash out the straw in the
barn. The lad went to look at the child, and the Child said to
him in a sharp voice, "What are you going to do?" "Thrash out a
pickle of straw," said the Lad, "lie still and don't grin, like a
good bairn." But the little Imp of out of bed, and said, "Go
east, Donald, and when ye come to the big brae (or brow of the
hill), rap three times, and when they come, say ye are
seeking Johnnie's flail." Donald did so, and out came a little
fairy man, and gave him a flail. Then Johnnie took the flail,
thrashed away at the straw, finished it, sent the flail back, and
went to bed again. When the parents came back, Donald told them
all about it; and so they took the Imp out of the cradle, put it
in a basket, and set the basket on the fire. No sooner did the
creature feel the fire than he vanished up the chimney. Then
there was a low crying noise at the door, and when they opened
it, a pretty little lad, whom the mother knew to be her own,
stood shivering outside.
A few notes about West Highland giants must end this account
of wonder creatures in this region. There was a giant in Glen
Eiti, a terrible being, who comes into a wild strange story, too
long to be told here. He is described as having one hand only,
coming out of the middle of his chest, one leg coming out of his
haunch, and one eye in the middle of his face. And in the same
story there is another giant called the Fachan, and the story
says, "Ugly was the make of the Fachan; there was one hand out of
the ridge of his chest, and one tuft out of the top of his head;
it were easier to take a mountain from the root than to bend that
tuft." Usually, the Highland giants were not such dreadful
creatures as this. Like giants in all stories, they were very
stupid, and were easily outwitted by cunning men. "The Gaelic
giants (Mr. Campbell says)[9] are very like
those of Norse and German tales, but they are much nearer to real
men than the giants of Germany and Scandinavia and Greece and
Rome, who are almost, if not quite, equal to the gods. Their
world is generally, though not always, underground; it has
castles, and parks, and pasture, and all that is found above on
the earth. Gold, and silver, and copper abound in the giants'
land, jewels are seldom mentioned, but cattle, and horses, and
spoil of dresses, and arms, and armour, combs, and basins,
apples, shields, bows, spears, and horses are all to be gained by
a fight with the giants. Still, now and then a giant does some
feat quite beyond the power of man, such as a giant in Barra, who
fished up a hero, boat and all, with his fishing-rod, from a rock
and threw him over his head, as little boys do 'cuddies' from the
pier end. So the giants may be degraded gods, after all." In the
story of Connal, told by Kenneth MacLennan of Pool Ewe, there is
a giant who was beaten by the hero of the tale. Connal was the
son of King Cruachan, of Eirinn, and he set out on his
adventures. He met a giant who had a great treasure of silver and
gold, in a cave at the bottom of a rock, and the giant used to
promise a bag of gold to anybody who would allow himself to be
let down in a creel or basket, and send some of it up. Many
people were lost in trying it, for when the giant had let them
down, and they had filled the creel, the giant used to draw up
the creel of gold, and then he would not let it down again, and
so those who had gone down for it were left to perish in the deep
cavern. Now Connal agreed to go down, and the giant served him in
the same way that he had done the rest, and Connal was left in
the cave among the dead men and the gold. Now the giant could not
get anybody else to go down, and as he wanted more gold, he let
his own son down in the creel, and gave him the sword of light,
so that he might see his way before him. When the young giant got
into the cave, Connal took the sword of light very quickly, and
cut off the young giant's head, Then Connal put gold into the
bottom of the creel, and got in himself, and covered himself over
with gold, and gave a pull at the rope, and the giant drew up the
creel, and when he did not see his son, he threw the creel over
the back of his head; and Connal took the sword of light, and cut
off the giant's head, and went away home with the sword and the
gold.
There was a King of Lochlin, who had three daughters, and
three giants stole them, and carried them down under the earth;
and a wise man told the King that the only way to get them back
was to make a ship that would sail over land or sea. So the King
said that anybody who would make such a ship should marry his
eldest daughter. There was a widow who had three sons, and the
eldest of them said he would go into the forest and cut wood, and
make the ship; and his mother gave him a large bannock (oat
cake), and away he went. Then a Fairy came out of the river, and
asked for a bit of the bannock, but he would not give her a
morsel; so he began cutting the wood, but as fast as he cut them
down, the trees grew up again, and he went home sorrowful. Then
the next brother did the same, and he failed also. Then the
youngest brother went, and he took a little bannock, instead of a
big one, and the Fairy came again, and he gave her a share of the
bannock; and she told him to meet her there in a year and a day,
and the ship should be ready. And it was ready, and the youngest
son sailed away in it. Then he came to a man who was drinking up
a river; and the youngest son hired him for a servant. After a
time, he found a man who was eating a whole ox, and he hired him
too. Then he saw another man, with his ear to the earth, and he
said he was hearing the grass grow; so he hired him also. Then
they got to a great cave, and the last man listened, and said it
was where the three giants kept the King's three daughters, and
they went down into the cave, and up to the house of the biggest
giant. "Ha! ha!" said the Giant, "you are seeking the King's
daughter, but thou wilt not have her, unless thou hast a man who
will drink as much water as I." Then the river-drinker set to
work, and so did the giant, and before the man was half
satisfied, the giant burst. Then they went to where the second
giant was. "Ho! ho!" said the Giant, "thou art seeking the King's
daughter, but thou wilt not get her, if thou hast not a man who
will eat as much flesh as I." Then the ox-eater began, and so did
the giant; but before the man was half satisfied, the giant
burst. Then they went on to the third Giant; and the Giant said
to the youngest son that he should have the King's daughter if he
would stay with him for a year and a day as a slave. Then they
sent up the King's three daughters, and the three men out of the
cave; and the youngest son stayed with the giant for a year and a
day. When the time was up the youngest son said, "Now I am
going." Then the Giant said, "I have an eagle that will take thee
up;" and he put him on the eagle's back, and fifteen oxen for the
eagle to eat on her way up; but before the eagle had got half way
up she had eaten all the oxen, and came back again. So the
youngest son had to stay with the giant for another year and a
day. When the time was up, the Giant put him on the eagle again,
and thirty oxen to last her for food; but before she got to the
top she ate them all, and so went back again; and the young man
had to stay another year and a day with the giant. At the end of
the third year and a day, the Giant put him on the eagle's back a
third time, and gave her three score of oxen to eat; and just
when they got to the mouth of the cave, where the earth began,
all the oxen were eaten, and the eagle was going back again. But
the young man cut a piece out of his own thigh, and gave it to
the eagle, and with one spring she was on the surface of the
earth. Then the Eagle said to him, "Any hard lot that comes to
thee, whistle, and I will be at thy side." Now the youngest son
went to the town where the King of Lochlin lived with the
daughters he had got back from the giants; and he hired himself
to work at blowing the bellows for a smith. And the King's oldest
daughter ordered the smith to make her a golden crown like that
she had when she was with the giant, or she would cut off his
head. The bellows-blower said he would do it. So the smith gave
him the gold, and he shut himself up, and broke the gold into
splinters, and threw it out of the window, and people picked it
up. Then he whistled for the Eagle, and she came, and he ordered
her to fetch the gold crown that belonged to the biggest giant;
and the Eagle fetched it, and the smith took it to the King's
daughter, who was quite satisfied. Then the King's second
daughter wanted a silver crown like that she had when she was
with the second giant; and the King's youngest daughter wanted a
copper crown, like that she had when she was with the third
Giant; and the Eagle fetched them both for the young man, and the
smith took them to the King's daughters. Then the King asked the
smith how he did all this; and the smith said it was his
bellows-blower who did it. So the King sent a coach and four
horses for the bellows-blower, and the servants took him, all
dirty as he was, and threw him into the coach like a dog. But on
the way he called the eagle, who took him out of the coach, and
filled it with stones, and when the King opened the door, the
stones fell out upon him, and nearly killed him; and then, the
story says, "There was catching of the horse gillies, and hanging
them for giving such an affront to the King." Then the King sent
a second time, and these messengers also were very rude to the
bellows-blower, so he made the eagle fill the coach with dirt,
which fell about the King's ears, and the second set of servants
were punished. The third time the King sent his trusty servant,
who was very civil, and asked the bellows-blower to wash himself,
and he did so, and the eagle brought a gold and silver dress that
had belonged to the biggest giant, and when the King opened the
coach door there was sitting inside the very finest man he ever
saw. And the young man told the King all that had happened, and
they gave him the King's eldest daughter for his wife, and the
wedding lasted twenty days and twenty nights.
One story more, of how a Giant was outwitted by a maiden. It
is told in the island of Islay. There was a widow, who had three
daughters, who went out to seek their fortunes. The two elder
ones did not want the youngest, and they tied her in turns to a
rock, a peat-stack, and a tree, but she got loose and came after
them. They got to the house of a Giant, and had leave to stop for
the night, and were put to bed with the Giant's daughters. The
Giant came home and said, "The smell of strange girls is here,"
and he ordered his gillie to kill them; and the gillie was to
know them from the Giant's daughters by these having twists of
amber beads round their necks, and the others having twists of
horse-hair. Now Maol o Chliobain, the youngest of the widow's
daughters, heard this, and she changed the necklaces, and so the
gillie came and killed the Giant's daughters, and Maol o
Chliobain took the golden cloth that was on the bed, and ran away
with her sisters. But the cloth was an enchanted cloth, and it
cried out to the Giant, who pursued them till they came to a
river, and then Maol plucked out a hair of her head, and made a
bridge of it; but the Giant could not get over; so he called out
to Maol, "And when wilt thou come again?" "I will come when my
business brings me," she said; and then he went home again. They
got to a farmer's house, and told him their history. Said the
Farmer, who had three sons, "I will give my eldest son to thy
eldest sister; get for me the fine comb of gold and the coarse
comb of silver that the Giant has." So she went and fetched the
combs, and the Giant followed her till they came to the river,
which the Giant could not get over; so he went back again. Then
the farmer said he would marry his second son to the second
sister, if Maol would get him the sword of light that the Giant
had. So she went to the Giant's house, and got up into a tree
that was over the well; and when the Giant's gillie came to draw
water, she came down and pushed him into the well, and carried
away the sword of light that he had with him. Then the Giant
followed her again, and again the river stopped him; and he went
back. Now the farmer said he would give his youngest son to Maol
o Chliobain herself, if she would bring him the buck the Giant
had. So she went, but when she had caught the buck, the Giant
caught her. And he said, "Thou least killed my three daughters,
and stolen my combs of gold and silver; what wouldst thou do to
me if I had done as much harm to thee as thou to me?" She said,
"I would make thee burst thyself with milk porridge, I would then
put thee in a sack, I would hang thee to the roof-tree, I would
set fire under thee, and I would lay on thee with clubs till thou
shouldst fall as a faggot of withered sticks on the floor." So
the Giant made milk porridge and forced her to drink it, and she
lay down as if she were dead. Then the Giant put her in a sack,
and hung her to the roof tree, and he went away to the forest to
get wood to burn her, and he left his old mother to watch till he
came back. When the Giant was gone Maol o Chliobain began to cry
out, "I am in the light; I am in the city of gold." "Wilt thou
let me in?" said the Giant's mother. "I will not let thee in,"
said Maol o Chliobain. Then the Giant's mother let the sack down,
and Maol o Chliobain got out, and she put into the sack the
Giant's mother, and the cat, and the calf, and the cream-dish;
and then she took the buck and went away. When the Giant came
back he began beating the sack with clubs, and his Mother cried
out, "Tis I myself that am in it." "I know that thyself is in
it," said the Giant, and he laid on all the harder. Then the sack
fell down like a bundle of withered sticks, and the Giant found
that he had killed his mother. So he knew that Maol o Chliobain
had played him a trick, and he went after her, and got up to her
just as she leaped over the river. "Thou art over there, Maol o
Chliobain" said the Giant. "I am over," she said. "Thou killedst
my three bald brown daughters?" "I killed them, though it is hard
for thee." "Thou stolest my golden comb, and my silver comb?" "I
stole them." "Thou killedst my bald rough-skinned gillie?" "I
killed him." "Thou stolest my glaive (sword) of light?" "I stole
it." "Thou killedst my mother?" "I killed her, though it is hard
for thee." "Thou stolest my buck?" "I stole it." "When wilt thou
come again?" "I will come when my business brings me." "If thou
wert over here, and I yonder," said the Giant, "what wouldst thou
do to follow me?" "I would kneel down," she said, "and I would
drink till I should dry the river." Then the poor foolish Giant
knelt down, and he drank till he burst; and then Maol o Chliobain
went off with the buck and married the youngest son of the
farmer.
CHAPTER VI.-CONCLUSION: SOME POPULAR TALES EXPLAINED.
This brings us towards the end-that is, to show how some of
our own familiar stories connect themselves with the old Aryan
myths, and also to show something of what they mean. There are
four stories which we know best-Cinderella, and Little Red Riding
Hood, and Jack the Giant Killer, and Jack and the Bean Stalk-and
the last two of these belong especially to English fairy
lore.
Now about the story of Cinderella. We saw something of her in
the first chapter: How she is Ushas, the Dawn Maiden of the
Aryans, and the Aurora of the Greeks; and how the Prince is the
Sun, ever seeking to make the Dawn his bride, and how the envious
stepmother and sisters are the Clouds and the Night, which strive
to keep the Dawn and the Sun apart. The story of Little Red
Riding Hood, as we call her, or Little Red Cap, as she is called
in the German tales, also comes from the same source, and refers
to the Sun and the Night. You all know the story so well that I
need not repeat it: how Little Red Riding Hood goes with nice
cakes and a pat of butter to her poor old grandmother; how she
meets on the way with a wolf, and gets into talk with him, and
tells him where she is going; how the wolf runs off to the
cottage to get there first, and eats up the poor grandmother, and
puts on her clothes, and lies down in her bed; how Little Red
Riding hood, knowing nothing of what the wicked wolf has done,
comes to the cottage, and gets ready to go to bed to her
grandmother, and how the story goes on in this way:-
"Grandmother," (says Little Red Riding Hood), "what great arms
you have got!"
"That is to hug you the better, my dear."
"Grandmother, what, great ears you have got!"
"That is to hear you the better, my dear."
"Grandmother, what great eyes you have got!"
"That is to see you the better, my dear."
"Grandmother, what a great mouth you have got!"
"That is to eat you up!" cried the wicked wolf; and then he
leaped out of bed, and fell upon poor Little Red Riding Hood, and
ate her up in a moment.
This is the English version of the story, and here it stops;
but in the German story there is another ending to it. After the
wolf has eaten up Little Red Riding Hood he lies down in bed
again, and begins to snore very loudly. A huntsman, who is going
by, thinks it is the old grandmother snoring, and he says, "How
loudly the old woman snores; I must see if she wants anything."
So he stepped into the cottage, and when he came to the bed he
found the wolf lying in it. "What! do I find you here, you old
sinner?" cried the huntsman; and then, taking aim with his gun,
he shot the wolf quite dead.
Now this ending helps us to see the full meaning of the story.
One of the fancies in the most ancient Aryan or Hindu stories was
that there was a great dragon that was trying to devour the sun,
and to prevent him from shining upon the earth and filling it
with brightness and life and beauty, and that Indra, the sun-god,
killed the dragon. Now this is the meaning of Little Red Riding
Hood, as it is told in our nursery tales. Little Red Riding Hood
is the evening sun, which is always described as red or golden;
the old Grandmother is the earth, to whom the rays of the sun
bring warmth and comfort. The Wolf-which is a well-known figure
for the clouds and blackness of night-is the dragon in another
form; first he devours the grandmother, that is, he wraps the
earth in thick clouds, which the evening sun is not strong enough
to pierce through. Then, with the darkness of night he swallows
up the evening sun itself, and all is dark and desolate. Then, as
in the German tale, the night-thunder and the storm winds are
represented by the loud snoring of the Wolf; and then the
Huntsman, the morning sun, comes in all his strength and majesty,
and chases away the night-clouds and kills the Wolf, and revives
old Grandmother Earth, and brings Little Red Riding Hood to life
again. Or another explanation may be that the Wolf is the dark
and dreary winter that kills the earth with frost, and hides the
sun with fog and mist; and then the Spring comes, with the
huntsman, and drives winter down to his ice-caves again, and
brings the Earth and the Sun back to life. Thus, you see, how
closely the most ancient myth is preserved in the nursery tale,
and how full of beautiful and hopeful meaning this is when we
come to understand it. The same idea is repeated in another
story, that of "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood," where the
Maiden is the Morning Dawn, and the young Prince, who awakens her
with a kiss, is the Sun which comes to release her from the long
sleep of wintry night.
The germ of the story of "Jack and the Bean Stalk" is to be
found in old Hindu tales, in which the beans are used as the
symbols of abundance, or as meaning the moon, and in which the
white cow is the day and the black cow is the night. There is
also a Russian story in which a bean falls upon the ground and
grows up to the sky, and an old man, meaning the sun, climbs up
by it to heaven, and sees everything. This comes very near the
story of Jack, who sells his cow for a handful of beans, and his
mother scatters them in the garden, and throws her apron over her
head and weeps, thus figuring the Night and the Rain; and,
shielded by the night and watered by the rain, the bean grows up
to the sky, and Jack climbs to the Ogre's land, and carries off
the bags of gold, and the wonderful hen that lays a golden egg
every day, and the golden harp that plays tunes by itself. It is
also possible that the bean-stalk which grows from earth to
heaven is a remembrance, brought by the Norsemen, of the great
tree, Ygdrassil, which, in the Norse mythology, has its roots in
hell and its top in heaven; and the evil Demons dwell in the
roots, and the earth is placed in the middle, and the Gods live
in the branches. And there is another explanation given, namely,
that "the Ogre in the land above the skies, who was once the
All-father, possessed three treasures: a harp which played of
itself enchanting music, bags of gold and diamonds, and a hen
which daily laid a golden egg. The harp is the wind, the bags are
the clouds dropping the sparkling rain, and the golden egg laid
every day by the red hen is the dawn-produced sun."[10] Thus, in the story of "Jack and the
Bean Stalk" we find repeated the same idea which appears in
Northern and Eastern fairy tales, and in Greek legends; and so we
are carried back to the ancient Hindu traditions, and to the
myths of Nature-worship amongst the old Aryan race.
It is the same with the story of "Jack the Giant Killer,"
which also has its connection with the legends of various
countries and all ages, and has also its inner meaning, drawn
from the beliefs and traditions of the ancient past. There is no
need to tell you the adventures of Jack the Giant Killer; how he
kills the Cornish giant Cormoran by tumbling him into a pit and
striking him on the head with a pick-axe; how he strangles Giant
Blunderbore and his friend by throwing ropes over their heads and
drawing the nooses fast until they are choked; how he cheats the
Welsh giant by putting a block of wood into his own bed for the
giant to hammer at and by slipping the hasty-pudding into a
leathern bag, and then ripping it up, to induce the giant to do
the same with his own stomach, which he does, and so kills
himself; or how he frightens the giant with three heads, and so
gets the coat of darkness, the cap of knowledge, the shoes of
swiftness, and the sword of sharpness, and uses these to escape
from other and more terrible masters, and to kill them; and gets
the duke's daughter for his wife, and lives honoured and happy
ever after.
Now Jack the Giant Killer is really one of the very oldest and
most widely-known characters in Wonderland. He is the hero who,
in all countries and ages, fights with monsters and overcomes
them; like Indra, the ancient Hindu sun-god, whose thunderbolts
slew the demons of drought in the far East; or Perseus, who, in
Greek story, delivers the maiden from the sea-monster; or
Odysseus, who tricks the giant Polyphemus, and causes him to
throw himself into the sea; or Thor, whose hammer beats down the
frost-giants of the North. The gifts bestowed upon Jack are found
in Tartar stories, in Hindu tales, in German legends, and in the
fables of Scandinavia. The cloak is the cloud cloak of Alberich,
king of the old Teutonic dwarfs, the cap is found in many tales
of Fairyland, the shoes are like the sandals of Hermes, the sword
is like Arthur's Excalibur, or like the sword forged for Sigurd,
or that which was made by the horse-smith, Velent, the original
of Wayland Smith, of old English legends. This sword was so
sharp, that when Velent smote his adversary it seemed only as if
cold water had glided down him. "Shake thyself," said Velent; and
he shook himself, and fell dead in two halves. The trick which
Jack played upon the Welsh giant is related in the legend of the
god Thor and the giant Skrimner. The giant laid himself down to
sleep under an oak, and Thor struck him with his mighty hammer.
"Hath a leaf fallen upon me from the tree?" said the giant. Thor
struck him again on the forehead. "What is the matter," said
Skrimner, "hath an acorn fallen upon my head?" A third time Thor
struck his tremendous blow. Skrimner rubbed his cheek and said,
"Methinks some moss has fallen upon my face." The giant had done
what Jack did: he put a great rock upon the place where Thor
supposed him to be sleeping, and the rock received all the blows.
The whole story probably means no more than this: Jack the Giant
Killer is the Wind and the Light which disperses the mists and
overthrows the cloud giants; and popular fancy, ages ago, dressed
him out as a person combating real giants of flesh and blood,
just as in all ages and all countries the forces of nature have
taken personal shape, and have given us these tales of miraculous
gifts, of great deeds done, and of monsters destroyed by men with
the courage and the strength of heroes.
Now our task is done. We have seen that the Fairy Stories came
from Asia, where they were made, ages and ages ago, by a people
who spread themselves over our Western world, and formed the
nations which dwell in it, and brought their myths and legends
with them; and we have seen, too, how the ancient meanings are
still to be found in the tales that are put now into children's
books, and are told by nurses at the fireside. And we have seen
something of the lessons they teach us, and which are taught by
all the famous tales of Wonderland; lessons of kindness to the
feeble and the old, and to birds, and beasts, and all dumb
creatures; lessons of courtesy, courage, and truth-speaking; and
above all, the first and noblest lesson believed in by those who
were the founders of our race, that God is very near to us, and
is about us always; and that now, as in all times, He helps and
comforts those who live good and honest lives, and do whatever
duty lies clear before them.
FOOTNOTES:
![[Faery Tales]](https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/fairy_tales.png "Goldilocks' discovery of Newton's method for approximation required surprisingly few changes.")
Faery blessings --
celeste
![[Empathy is an essential part of good communications]](/imgs/landscape/fay.20180121_004317z.jpg)
![[essential oil]](/imgs/clipart/portrait/yves_guillou_flower-03.png)
![[boiling]](/imgs/clipart/portrait/tom_boiling_point_of_water.png)
![[Psychic Self Defense]](/imgs/portrait/psychic_self_defense.png)
![[faeries.2014-11-10-17.12.55]](/imgs/faeries/landscape/2014-12-02-20.08.07.png)
![[fay.20171220_050143z]](/imgs/landscape/fay.20171220_050143z.jpg)
![[beautiful-fairy-ring.jpg]](/imgs/faeries/landscape/beautiful-fairy-ring.jpg)
![[fairy-ring]](/imgs/faeries/landscape/fairy-ring.jpg)