Grimm's Household Tales, Volume 2/Notes

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3940888Grimm's Household Tales, Volume 2 — NotesMargaret Raine HuntJacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm


From the Schwalm district in Hesse. An old German poem (Hagen's Gesammtahenteuer, No. 37, and note 2. 253) tells the story in the following manner:—A man is living with his wife in great poverty, and they both make many prayers to God for worldly riches. At length God sends down an angel, who warns the man noc to ask for anything, as God had just as much reason for refusing thiDgs! to him, as he had for giving them to others. The man however will not desist, and says, "I shall pray until God shows favour to me, and does what I want." The angel answers, "As thou wilt neither believe the great God of all, nor me, tempt thy fate; but if after thou hast done it thou remainest poor, it will be thine own fault. Thou shalt be permitted to make three wishes" (babe drîer wünsche gewalt). The man goes to his wife and takes counsel with her. "What shall I wish for? A mountain of gold, or a chest full of farthings which will never come to an end, however many I spend?" The wife wants to have one wish all to herself, and says, "Two are enough for thee, thou well know'st how I have bent my knees about this, and God has granted it because of my prayers as well as thine." "That is reasonable; one of the wishes shall be thine," replies the man. So the wife says, "Then I wish I had a dress on my back now of such good stuff as no woman in the world has ever yet worn." Hardly has she uttered the wish than it is fulfilled. The man is enraged at this, and cries, "I only wish the gown was inside you!" His wish is instantly fulfilled. The woman begins to scream and screams louder and louder until the citizens hear her and run to her. They draw their knives and swords and threaten him with death if he does not release the woman from this torment. Then he says, "God grant that she may be tenderly freed from the discomfort she is in, and be as healthy as she was before." This third wish is now fulfilled, and the man is as poor as ever, and although the woman has behaved badly, he is reproached and blamed for what has happened. He is indeed ridiculed and laughed at by every one, until he prays for death and dies of grief. A passage in Reinmar von Zweter (MS. 2. 145) undoubtedly refers to this, "unde het ich drier wünsche gewalt," as these very words appear in the story. Kirchbof gives the story in Wendunmut (1581, 1. 178, 179) as the spinning-girls told it to him in his youth. In ancient times St. Peter and St. Paul arrived late one evening in a village, and begged for shelter at one of the houses. But the man was avaricious, and the woman still more so; and they were roughly turned away. Hard by dwelt a poor man with many children, who took compassion on the two strangers, and sent word to them by his wife that they were to come to his house, and make a shift with anything God might give them. So they went into the small house, and slept there. Next morning when they were about to journey onwards, St. Paul said to St. Peter, "This good man has been kind to us, and has entertained us according to his means; we ought to show our gratitude to him." So Peter called the man and the woman, and gave them the power of wishing three times for whatsoever they liked, and they should have it. When the two Saints were gone, the two poor folks began to consider what they should wish for, and agreed that they would, in the first place, request of God that their poor little house and all it contained should immediately be burnt. Secondly, that a new one should stand in its place, in which as long as they lived they should never fail to have everything that they were in need of, whether it was food, drink, money, or furniture. These two wishes were instantly granted. Thirdly, they begged that after this life they might for ever be with God in the kingdom of Heaven. Every one in the village, but the miser, was surprised and delighted with this sudden change from poverty to riches. His wife said, "If any wind blows those two old men this way again, they ought to come to our house; we deserve a new house quite as much as those beggars." The man wished it too, but would take no trouble to bring it about. Not long afterwards when the rich man had driven away into the wood betimes with his men, Peter and Paul, again came to the village. The woman ran to them directly, and invited them into her house. The two Saints said that they did not want to pass the night there this time, so they did not need any lodging; but the woman pressed them to enter her house, and said that they must eat a mouthful with her, and then they would reach the end of their journey much more easily. They were obliged to accept her offer, for she let them have no peace. After the mid-day meal they thanked her, and said that if they came again they would recompense her for the two meals at the same time. The woman thought, "Those others only fed them once, and got a new! house for doing it: I am to feed them twice; that does not suit! me!" So she said, "My dear friends, if you want to give anything, give it. I like to have it now quite as well as at another time." St. Paul said, "Brother Peter, give her the power of making three wishes, as you gave the other woman, for after all that is what she wants." So Peter did this, and the two Saints departed. Scarcely were they out of sight, before she wished that her house and all her possessions might be burnt to the ground, which happened immediately. In the meantime her husband came driving across the fields, and when he saw that his house was in flames he ran up and cried, "Fire! fire! dear friends help to put it out!" The woman, angry with him for wanting to put it out, cried, "Oh, call out that the fire is to go inside you." This was instantly fulfilled, and thus were two wishes used up. The poor man who had the fire inside him was suffering great pain: it was impossible to extinguish it, and no one could remove it. In order to save his life, his wife was forced to deliver him by means of her third and last wish. An Austrian story in which the three wishes of the poor man likewise turn out to his advantage, is to be found in Ziska, No. 3, under the title Tausendfache Vergeltung. Meier has divided it into two stories, Nos. 40 and 65. Lehmann mentions the saga in a somewhat rough manner in the Erneuerter Polit. Blumengarten (Frankf. 1640), p. 371. "It often happens that a man has good fortune but no blessing with it, like the woman whom St. Peter permitted to make three wishes for her own benefit; for in the first place she wished for beautiful golden hair, and then for a brush." And then because of the brush, the man made a bad wish, the consequences of which he had to remove again by a third. This presentation of the story in which the wishes turn out ill, comes rather near the story of Gambling Hänsel (No. 82). Perrault (see Les Souhaits ridicules) and Beaumont (2. 74) only relate this part, and in their own fashion. The old French Fabliau Les quatre Souhaits de S. Martin (Méon, 4. 386), is quite of an ordinary kind; and so is the story in the Ευντίπας, which Keller quotes in the introduction to Li romans des sept Sages, clxxxi. In Hebel's Schatzkästlein (p. 117), good as the story is, much of the saga itself has degenerated. While the woman is sitting by the fire with her husband, she, without thinking of the gifts, wishes that she had a fried sausage. It appears, and in over-haste, the man wishes the sausage was growing on the end of her nose, and then fur his third wish has to wish that it may fall off.

The first part of our story, the modest wishes of the pious people with whom God has stayed, clearly contains the ancient saga of Philemon and Baucis ( Ovid. Met. 8. 617: compare Notes by Vossius to his eighteenth Idyll, where other stories are mentioned). The Indians have it also in a peculiar form. The Brahmin Soodam and his wife live in the greatest poverty, but this does not lessen their trust in God. His occupation is prayer, and while engaged in it, he never observes that his wife's work is no longer sufficient to procure them their daily bread. One day she reminds him that Chrisna was his companion at school, and in learning, and advises him to go to Dwarka, as Chrisna, if aware of his misery, will certainly help him. Soodam at last resolves to do this, and takes with him as a gift all he has in his power to bestow, a little rice, which is with some difficulty tied up in his ragged garment. Chrisna, the man who has become God, receives the Brahmin with marks of respect, and like an old friend; and himself asks for the customary gift, receives the worthless one with satisfaction; nay even puts one grain of it into his mouth; the rest he distributes. Pleased with such a reception, the Brahmin after three days takes leave of Chrisna, but is much surprised at being allowed to depart without a token of his generosity. "Perhaps," he thinks to himself, "God wishes me to remain poor," and he readily submits to this, and goes quietly home. Bat how astonished he is when he arrives there. Chrisna had ordered his heavenly builders to build a magnificent house which is standing before him, with all that pertains to it, and is famished with everything necessary for a comfortable existence. At first he fancies that he must have made some mistake, but his wife comes to meet him with a number of servants, and informs him of the god's generosity. Thus the story is related by Polier (Mythologie des Indous, 2. 66-79), and we cannot fail to recognize its similarity to ours; the man's poverty and piety, the contrast to this which is hinted at in the wife who wishes for wealth, and persuades him to make the journey to Dwarka; the meeting with the god Chrisna (though here, on the contrary, is the man who goes to him), who gladly receives his poor gift, and eats some of it, and lastly, the blessing which follows—to wit, the newly-built house. In a Chinese saga, however, the story is exactly the reverse, and the end is the same as in ours. Fo often came down to earth to prove men's hearts. It came to pass that at night-time, dressed in wretched garments, he reached a widow's hut, and begged for shelter as a poor man who had lost his way. The woman received him kindly, and made ready a bed for him. Fo went to bed early; she looked at the sleeping man with her lamp, and saw that he had no shirt, and that his coat was ragged. So she opened her chest, and cut a new shirt out of some coarse linen of her own spinning, sewed the whole night long, and early in the morning gave it to her guest, who thankfully received her gift, and said, "May God reward thee for what thou hast done for me; whatsoever thou beginnest to do when I am gone, shalt thou go on doing until the sun sets." When the guest was gone, she began to jiut the roll of linen back in the chest, and as she was considering how many yards of it she had left, she began to measure it with her arm, and the roll continually opened itself out without getting smaller, and so she went on measuring until sunset, when the whole room was full of linen, and she had become a rich woman. Full of joy and gratitude, she told her neighbour of the luck which had fallen to her lot. The neighbour was covetous, and wanted to partake of it, so she who had never yet given anything to the poor, placed herself at the door of her house in order to invite the stranger to enter if he should pass by. Before long he came, and was received by her with open arms, daintily entertained, and in the morning, a fine shirt was offered to him instead of the coarse one which he was wearing. Fo thanked her, and left the house saying the same words as he had said to the first woman. She accompanied him a part of the way in a friendly manner, and was already counting up her never-ending wealth, when lost in thought, she stumbled against a pail which had been left standing. And as just at that moment her pig happened to grunt, she thought, "The animal won't gee any food to-day, for I shall be measuring, so I might at least pour out some water for him." But she poured and was not able to stop, the pail never grew empty, and she had to pour out water all day long until the sun set, when the whole district was flooded, and all the neighbours mocked her by requiring compensation for the injury she had done them. This Chinese story is beautifully amplified in Frau Naubert's Volksmärchen, 1. 201-209, and the beneficent measuring of linen is contrasted with the disastrous growth of a cobweb. Something of the same kind occurs in a story which we have heard in Hesse. A travelling apprentice is driven away by a rich woman of whom he has begged a gift, and in mockery sent to a poor neighbour. She takes him in, and is, on his departure, endowed by him with the gift, that the first thing she begins to do shall prosper so long as she is not disturbed in it. The poor woman measures some linen, and goes on measuring it until at last the rich one looks into the room and sees the large amount of linen, and the blessing comes to an end. She learns the cause of this, and begs the woman to point out the apprentice to her if he should come again. When a year has gone by, the traveller again comes to the village, and goes to the poor woman who is quite willing to take him in, but tells him that her rich neighbour wants to entertain him, and that he will be more comfortable with her. He goes to her, and is treated with even too great consideration. The woman looks out her finest linen in order to have it ready instantly. On the traveller's departure she is endowed with the same gift as the poor woman had received. Full of covetousness, and anxious to be able to measure undisturbed, she shuts the door of her house, but her greediness is soon punished, and she is glad to be delivered from the consequences of the traveller's gift by the arrival of her poor neighbour who is alarmed by her cries for help. An Æsopian fable (second Appendix to Phædrus, No. 111). Mercurius et mulieres should also be named.

The saga specially belongs to the group which deals with the rambles and journeys of gods and saints on earth. Whereever they go they bring happiness to the good and pure, and horrible destruction on the wicked and greedy. The good fortune which has fallen to the lot of the former is stupidly demanded by the latter to their own undoing. Thus the gods try the human race, (compare Altd. Wälder 2. 25, Note 60. Odyssey, 17. 485, and the Lay of Rlgr in the Edda. Here, too, belong the stories of the Three Little Men in the Forest (No. 13); Frau Holle (No. 24); The Black Bride and the White One (No. 135.) For the endless increase of linen and water, compare the notes to Sweet Porridge (No. 103).

88. The Singing Soaring Lark.

From Hesse. "Löweneckerchen" is the Westphalian Lauberken, Nieders: Leverken, Old Dutch Leeuwercke, Leewerick, Lewerk, Lerk, our Lerche. Another story of the Schwalm district has much that is peculiar; indeed this story is told with numerous variations. A merchant is going; to the fair, and asks his three daughters what he shall bring back for them. The eldest wants a beautiful dress, the second a pair of shoes, the third a rose. It is difficult to procure the rose, for it is winter. Whenever he asks for one, people laugh and inquire if he imagines that roses grow in the snow. This distresses the merchant, because the youngest is his favourite child. On his way back he comes to a castle with a garden in which it is half summer, and half winter. On one side deep snow is lying, on the other it is warm, and everything is flowering as in spring, and there is a hedge entirely of roses in it. The man enters the garden, plucks a rose, and rides away again. Soon afterwards he hears something panting behind him, looks round, and sees with alarm a great black beast which calls to him, "Give me back my rose, or die." The man replies, "Leave me the rose, I want to take it back with me to my daughter who is the most beautiful girl in the world." "I am willing," says the beast; "but give her to me to be my wife." "Oh yes," says the man, to get rid of him, and thinks "he will never come to fetch her;" but the beast calls after him, "In a week I will come and fetch my bride." The merchant reaches home, and gives each daughter what she had wished for. After some time the beast comes and takes away his bride by force. He takes her to the castle with the summer and winter garden, everything is very beautiful and wonderful, and the beast behaves kindly, and does all he can to please her. They eat together, and he will not eat unless she carves for him, and gradually she begins to love him dearly. One day she wants to know how her father and sifters at home are. The beast takes her to a mirror where she sees her father lying ill from grief on her account, and her sisters weeping. Her heart grows heavy and she entreats the beast to allow her to go home. "Yes," says he; "but promise me to return again in a week." She does so, and then hurries home to her father; but sorrow has already eaten too deeply into his heart, and after he has had the joy of seeing her, he dies. She mourns and weeps, and when she remembers the beast, the week is long past. She anxiously hastens to him, but when she arrives, everything is changed, the music is silent, the castle entirely hung with black crape, and the summer-garden covered with snow. The beast himself is gone; she seeks him everywhere, but cannot find him. Full of grief because of this, she goes into the garden and sees a heap of cabbages which are already old and decayed. She spreads them out, and when she has turned a few of them over, she sees her dear beast lying as if dead beneath them. She runs, draws water, and pours it over him, on which he revives, springs up, loses his former shape, and a king's son is standing before her. And now all is joy, the black crape is torn down, the musicians play, the summer-garden blooms again, and the two celebrate their wedding.

A third story comes from Hanover. A certain King has three daughters who become ill, and in order that they may recover, they must eat some game. The huntsman is sent into the forest, but can find no game at all. At length he sees a raven, and as he thinks, "that, too, is game," he aims at it, but the raven cries, "Huntsman, do not fire, for if you will promise me one of the King's daughters, I will procure you as much game as you like." The huntsman goes and tells this to the King, who says, "Thou canst always promise this to the raven; there is no necessity to keep thy word." So the huntsman promises the princess to the raven, who drives as much game up to him as he wants to shoot. The three princesses eat some of it and are cured. A great feast is made ready, and in the evening when a window is open, the raven comes in and demands his promised bride. The King will not give her, but at length he says, "I will ask my daughters if one of them is inclined to be thy wife." The eldest and the second say no; the youngest says "Yes, I will go with the raven, if my waiting-maid may accompany me." The raven consents to this, takes the princess beneath one wing, and the waiting-maid beneath the other, and carries them to a magnificent castle. A mirror hangs in the princess's bedroom in which she can see everything which happens in the castle which has been her home, only she is not to let the waiting-maid look in it. For this reason the King's daughter always carries the key of the room about with her; but once she leaves it in the door, and the maid goes in and looks in the mirror. For this the raven tears her to pieces, and says to the princess, "Now thou must go away and go into service for seven years, and do the work of seven maids." And he likewise tells her that she will meet an aged woman with whom she must exchange clothes, and then she will come to a house and a woman will look out of it and scold her, but she is not to mind it; and he pulls out one of his feathers and gives it to her saying, "When any piece of work is too hard for thee, take out his feather and say, 'By the raven's command this shall be done,' and the work will be done." She is however obliged to promise to be true to him. So she goes away, exchanges her beautiful garments for the old woman's bad ones, and comes to the house where the cross old woman looks out. The King's daughter offers her services, but the old woman says, "I have had seven maids, how canst thou do their work with thy dainty hands?" "Oh, indeed, I will try to do it," says the princess. In the first place she has to clean a stable, but her hands are soon blistered; then she takes the feather and says, "By the raven's command the stable is to be cleaner than it has ever been before." Instantly the work is done. For seven years she is in service there, and whatsoever is too difficult for her to do is done by the help of the raven's feather. The men-servants and boys belonging to the house who crowd about her, and torment her because of her extreme beauty, are all mocked by her. One day the coachman says, "May I come to thee to-night?" "Yes," she answers; but when she hears him coming she gets out her feather and says, "By the raven's command shall he go into the yard and dress and undress himself for one hour, and then come and thank me for the pleasure he has had." As they have all been made fools of by her, one after the other, they assemble together to beat her with rods, but she takes the feather and says, "By the raven's command they shall all undress themselves and cut at each other till the blood flows, and then they shall come and say, 'Thank you,' for it." Thus she obtains peace until the seven years are over, and then a prince drives up in the greatest splendour and takes her away, and this is the raven whose period of enchantment has now come to an end. In Die junge Amerikanerin (l. 30-231) the story is ill used. The beast is a dragon from whose garden (there is no winter in it) the father plucks a rose, and for this has to promise his daughter. The daughter goes of her own accord to the castle of the dragon, who pretends to be foolish, and awkward. At night however she dreams of a beautiful youth, and gradually becomes accustomed to him, until at last she loves him, she visits her parents and returns by means of a ring which is turned inward or outward. Finally, she one night owns to him that she loves him, and in the morning he is a handsome young man, and is freed from the spell. It is also discovered that she is not the merchant's daughter, but has been substituted for her by an enchantress.

In the Leipzig collection it is the seventh story (pp. 113-130); in the Büchlein fur die Jugend, No. 4. For a story from Silesia, see Wolfs Zeitschrift, 1.310. For one from the Tyrol, see Zingerle, p. 391. In Swedish, see Meier, No. 57. The story of The Iron Stove (No. 127) is allied, and so are those given in the notes to it. The Singing Ringing Tree, in the Brunswick Collection, should be mentioned here, and also The Three Beasts, in Musäus. In Swedish there is Graumantel (see further on); in Netherlandish, No. 3; in Wodana; in Hungarian, No. 15; in Gaal. Several stories in the Pentamerone are similar; The Magic Coffer (2.9); Pintosmauto (5.1) and The Golden Root, 5.4. In D'Aulnoy, The Blue Bird (No. 3.); The Ram (No. 10); and the Green Snake (No. 15). Beauty and the Beast, in the 5th Conversation, in Madame de Beaumont's stories, also belongs to this group. Finally, we must point out the story of the Woodcutter's Daughter, taken from an Indian popular saga of the present day, which is given in Somadeva's appendix, 2.191, 211.

These various conceptions of the story always bear the impress of the story of Psyche, so well known from Apuleius. The heart is tried, and everything earthly and evil falls away in recognition of pure love. Our story also agrees with it in this, that light brings down misfortune, and that night, which loosens all bonds, dissolves the spell. The incident of the unhappy girl travelling over the world and begging help from everything in nature, and at last from the stars also, which speak in antique forms and sayings, is beautiful. Their energy and sympathy likewise appear in the story of Eve, in Rudolf’s Weltchronik (Cass. MS. folio 21a). She entreats the sun and moon to tell Adam of her misery when they come to the East, and they do it. Just as the maiden seeks help from the sun, moon, and wind, a man in a Hungarian story, whose wife has been stolen from him, seeks it, first from the sea-king, then from the moon-king, and finally from the star-king (Molbech’s Udvalgte Eventyr, No. 14), and the same is told in a Servian tale, Wuk, No. 10. In connection with this, Rhesa’s Popular Songs of Lithuania should be looked at. The feathers and falling drops of blood remind us of the folk-lore of the feathered pink, one species of which has a dark purple spot in its heart, which people say is a drop of blood which fell from the Redeemer on the cross. Furthermore the feathers are to show the way, and the drops of blood to preserve the remembrance of the bewitched person, and thus we are led to the saga of the drops of blood, over which Parcifal ruminates, and which call back his wife to his memory; see Altd. Wälder, vol. i. 1. Roses in winter remind us of one of the Kühländchen songs, where three roses grown on one stalk, and blooming between Christmas and Easter, are asked for (Meinert, 1.95). The guarding and plucking the flowers recalls the dwarfs' rose-garden, which is trampled down by the mischievous heroes, for which the dwarfs demand heavy penalties.

89.—The Goose-Girl.

From Zwehrn. This beautiful story sets forth in incidents which are all the more impressive by reason of their simplicity, the nobility of royal birth which maintains itself even in servitude, By no fault of her own she has lost what her mother gave her for her protection. (Voices come from the drops of blood elsewhere; see Dearest Roland, No. 56. Compare also Clemens Brentano's Gründung Prags, p. 106, and notes, 45). The oath which has been extorted from her weighs her down, but she still knows magic words which have power over the wind, and she is filled with thoughts of proud humility every morning beneath the dark gate by her conversation with the horse, which has remained faithful to her even in death. Wise horses which can speak, appear in other stories (compare Ferenand Getrü, No. 126). The cut-off head (like Mimer's) retains the gift of speech. We may even quote Tacitus (Germ. 10) "proprium gentis equorum praesagia ac monitus experiri—hinnitus ac fremitus observant." It is remarkable that the old Norsemen were in the habit of fixing up the heads of sacrificed horses in the belief that they could thus injure their enemies (Saxo Gramm. 5.75). Compare Suhm's Fabelzeit, 1.317. A similar custom prevailed among the Wends. They believed they warded off epidemics by fixing up these heads, Prätorius (Weltbeschreibung, 2.163). It is also well known that human heads were set upon the battlements or on poles (Haupt's Zeifschrift, 3.51, notes). In the Eyrbyggia Sage, 219, there is the head of a dead man which sings. The incident of a beautiful woman having golden or silver hair occurs very often; it is a sign of royal lineage (No. 114); frequent mention is also made of the combing this hair, and of how light streamed from it just as if the sun were shining. Unfortunate princesses comb and spin just as often as they tend cattle. Kürdchen may be a contraction of Conrädchen, but we are also reminded of chorder, horder, a shepherd. The rhyme is rather halting, in gangest instead of gehest, we have the Norse ganga (as in hangest for hähest). We have also heard—

"Alas! my foal that thou hangs't there!"
"Alas ! fair maid that thou goes't there!
If thy mother knew thy grief and pain,
Her heart would surely break in twain."

"Sich schnatzen," when applied to the hair, means flechten, to plait (in the Norse, snua, wenden, winden, schnüren); thus, too, Schnatz is the plaited hair—the bride goes to the church in Schnatz (see Estor's Teutscher Rechtsgelahrth; Hofmann's Oberhessische Wörterbuch, part 3; and Schaum's Braunfelsische Alterthümer, p. 45. In the Wetterau the word is specially applied to Sunday fineries). Sich aufsetzen and Aufsatz are also used to express dressing and arranging the hair. The woman who narrated this story used räthsel as feminine, as the earlier rätersch is known to have occurred.

A close examination of the Carlovingian myth of Bertha, the betrothed wife of Pepin, who is supplanted by her waiting-maid, and spins and weaves in the mill, would fully prove that our story, which in its chief incident manifestly corresponds with that myth, is much more ancient, more beautiful, and more simple. See Fr. Wilh; Val. Schmidt's valuable essay, in the 3rd vol. of Boiardo's Roland, p. 1., 42. In connection with this the name of Falada (the middle syllable is short) is specially remarkable, because Roland's horse Valentich, Falerich, Velentin, is in the Heimons-kinder, Pfalz. MS. 68a, called Volatin; and Wilhelm von Oranse's horse is Volatin, Valatin, Valantin, in Türheim. In Swedish, see the Volkssagen und Volkslieder of Afzelius, 1. In Hungarian, Molbech, p. 387. In Albanian, see Hahn, 2. 165, 166. The Russian story Bulat (Dieterich, No. 10, comp. No. 5), is founded on the same saga, only it is applied to a youth. In the Pentamerone, see The Two Cakes (4. 7).

90.—The Young Giant.

From the Leine district.[1] This story betrays an unmistakable affinity to the saga of Siegfried, whose powerful giant-nature in youth and after-life is described in the poems in much the same way. He catches lions, ties them together by the tails, and hangs them over the wall (Rosengarten, 3; Siegfrieds Lied, 33). This affinity is much more evident in his labours with the smith, whom he here beats as unjustifiably (Lied 5). The smith, like Reigen, is greedy of gold, and from covetousness, desires to keep everything for himself alone; furthermore there is the cunning shown by the equally greedy bailiff, who would gladly be rid of him, which corresponds with that of Reigen, as the dangerous haunted mill corresponds with the dragon's lair to which he, being unacquainted with fear, goes courageously, and comes back victorious. (This is a point which is specially prominent in the Norse saga, for Brünhild had sworn she would marry no one who was not entirely without rear. See Sigurdrifas Lied.) The giant appears quite in the fashion described by ancient poems; his weapon is an iron bar, and he tests strength by tearing up trees (see note to the Altdän. Lieder, p. 493). We find a hero of the same kind in Tschurilo, in a Russian ballad in Fürst Wladimir und dessen Tafelrunde, and the Persian Guschtasp is rather like him (Görres' Firdusi, 2. 246, and following). Rustem also tears up a tree by the roots, and carries it as a stick (ibid. 1. 186). The throwing down the mill-stone without doing any injury, strongly reminds us of Thor's adventure with Skrimnir (Dämis, 38), and this again of the Bohemian saga, Giant Scharmack. Being educated by a giant is likewise an ancient and important incident; all heroes were trained by giants, or skilful dwarfs, as Sigurd was by Reigen, and Widga (Wittich), in the Wilkinasage. The giant's suckling the child himself is likewise an old incident; it appears also in No. 92. We are told in the Floamanna Sage, that in order to feed his delicate child whose mother had been murdered, Thorgil had his breast cut. First came blood, then whey, and finally milk, wherewith the child was suckled (see a Danish translation by B. Thorlacius, p. 94). See Humboldt's Relation Historique, 3, chap. 4, for the account of a man who himself suckled his child.[2] Siegfried and Eulenspiegel have some points of contact and agreement with each other, which fact our story proves to a certainty; and we may just as much call the young hero of it a nobler giant Eulenspiegel, as a more waggish Horny Siegfried. (Simson and Morolf are heroes of the same sort, and, according to the genuine popular traditions, Gargantua is still more like. See Mémoires de l'Académie Celtique, 5. 392). Both Eulenspiegel and Siegfried go forth into the world, take service, and in their arrogance, ill-treat the merely human handicraftsmen; it is specially noteworthy that Eulenspiegel destroys the smith's utensils, and is set as a scullion to watch the roast meat, which he eats as Sigurd eats the heart of the dragon which he is to roast for Reigen. He goes on the Hartz Mountains and catches wolves, as Siegfried caught bears, to terrify people with them. Nibel. 888-89. The servant is a wag in speech, and the court-servant coincides with the court-fool. Soini, the Finnish Giant Eulenspiegel, was actually called Kalkki (servant) as well. When he was three nights old, he trampled on his swaddling-clothes, and as it was evident that he could not be trusted, he was discharged. A smith took him into his service, to look after his child, but he clawed the child's eyes out, then killed it, and burnt the cradle. The smith then set him to a fence, which he was to weave together, but he brought pines from the forest, and twisted them together with snakes. Then he had to take the cows to the pasture; and the housewife out of revenge baked a stone in his bread, which blunted his knife, so in his rage he called bears and wolves to devour the herd. He, however, made himself horns of the cows' bones and oxen's horns, and drove home the wolves and bears instead of the other herd. The Norse Grettir plays similar pranks when he has to tend geese and horses (Bernskubraugd Kinderstreiche). The hero-nature breaks forth in youthful rudeness and contempt for man's occupations; Florens destroys the oxen of Clemens in the same way in Octavian.

A story from Hesse is much more incomplete, but has a character of its own. Kürdchen Bingeling has been fed at his mother's breast for seven years, by which he has grown so immensely big, and is able to eat so much that there is no satisfying him; and there is no man whom he does not torment and befool. So the whole community assembles together to catch and kill him; he however observes this, and sits down beneath the door and blocks the way just as Gargantua creates Mount Gargant, near Nantes; no one is able to enter without spades and shovels; and he goes quietly away. Now he is in another village, but he is still the same rascal, and the whole community again rises to seize him, but as there is no door he leaps into a well. Then everyone in the village stands round it, and takes counsel what to do, and at length they decide to throw a mill-stone down on his head. With great difficulty one is brought, and is rolled down, but just when they think he must be dead, his head, which he has thrust through the hole in the mill-stone, which now rests on his shoulders, suddenly comes out of the well, and he cries, "What a fine plaited collar I have got on!" When they see that, they take counsel together anew, and send to fetch their great bell from the church-tower and throw it down on him, which must certainly hit him (just as with Giant Scharmack). However, just as they, feeling sure that he is lying killed down below, have separated, he suddenly leaps out of the well with the bell on his head, and says quite joyously, "Oh, what a fine rush cap!" and runs away. The ballad Strong Hans, by Wezel, in Seckendorf and Stoll's journal Prometheus, i. p. 79, is connected with this. He goes as apprentice to a smith, and strikes such a trial blow on the anvil, that it is driven into the earth. Then he tears up oak-trees by the roots, and flings a cart and horses over the door into the yard. Finally, he falls in with the Devil who is just amusing himself by throwing stones into the air; he says he is throwing them at the angels to drive them away. Hans wants to throw with him for a wager and the Devil agrees to it. It is arranged that if the Devil loses, he is to go away from the place, and a cross is to be set up there. The Evil One throws a fragment of rock as big as a church, and throws it so high, that it does not come down till the evening. Hans lays hold of a stone which is thrice as large, and throws it in God's name. They wait there for three days, but the stone never comes down again. So the Devil seeks it, and at last finds it up above upon the moon, where it has fallen and stayed. They tell of Strong Hans in Schleswig also, see the Neues Jahrbuch der Berliner Gesellschaft, 1. 288, 290. In Holstein it is Hans with the Iron Staff (Müllenhoff, p. 437). In the Hartz, Johannes der Bär or Martisbär (Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 29). In Kuhn and Schwartz, see No. 18.

A story from Hesse contains other adventures in the mill. When the youth enters it, a cat runs to him and asks, "What dost thou want here?" "I want to grind corn." Then another comes and says, "We will set on him!" A third cries, "Aye, that we will!" But the young giant lays hold of them, and strikes them dead. Then he goes to another mill and spirits come against him and cry, "We will take off the mill-hopper and grind him." But he seizes the spirits themselves and grinds them between the great millstones. At length he goes to a third mill, and once more twelve horrible great cats spring at him and surround him, and then they light a large fire, put on water, and say, "Thou shalt be boiled in the kettle." "All right," says he, "but first of all be merry for once, and fight and bite each other." So they begin to struggle and to bite each other, but he keeps watch, and just as the water boils, lifts off the whole kettle, empties it over them, and scalds them to death. Finally, it is to be observed, that in a story from Magdeburg, the Fearless One goes like St. Christopher to hell to the Devil, and wants to serve him. There he sees many pans standing stewing with imprisoned souls shut inside them. He lifts up all the lids and lets them out, whereupon the Devil at once discharges him from his service. From a remark of Von der Hagen's in the Viennese Jahrbuch 12, Anzeigeblatt, p. 58, the greater part of the story seems also to be known in the Ukermark, in Brandenburg, where the giant is called Knecht Sülwendal. In a version from the Zillerthal, given by Zingerle, p. 220, there is Strong Hänsl, who also appears in our story, No. 166, in a Swiss version. In Jutland also, there are stories about a Strong Hans, as is remarked by Peter Iversom, in his Schrift über das jütländische Volk bei Riba (published by C. Molbech, p. 28, 29). His good-nature is as great as his strength. The master whom he serves wants to get rid of him, so his daughter has to throw a gold ring into a deep well, and the man who will descend and bring it up again is to have her to wife. Strong Hans is quite ready to do it, but while he is below the master has a large and heavy millstone brought and thrown down the well. Fortunately, it falls in such a way that the hole in the middle of the millstone comes just above the head of Hans, and the stone stays on his neck. On another occasion, he forces the Devil and his associates to grind in the mill for him. In Netherlandish see the Wodana, No. 1, p. 47. In Servian there is Der Bärensohn (see further on), which is complete, and the monstrous element is excellently enhanced. See Wuk, No. 1.

91.—The Elves.

From Paderborn. Another story from the neighbourhood of Cologne, on the Rhine, varies in some particulars. A mighty king has three fair daughters, and once on a great festival, they go to walk in the garden, and do not return in the evening. As they stay away the next day likewise, the king has them sought for over the whole kingdom, but no one can find them. Then he proclaims that whosoever shall bring them back, shall have one of them to wife, and riches into the bargain for the whole of his life. Many go in search of them but in vain, at length three knights set out who are resolved to take no rest until they succeed. They enter into a great forest, through which, hungry and thirsty, they ride onwards for the whole day; at last at night they see a small light which guides them to a magnificent castle, in which however no human being is to be seen. As they are hungry, they search about for some food, and one of them finds a piece of meat, but it is still uncooked. Then the youngest says, "Will you two go and get something to drink, and in the meantime I will roast the meat." So he puts it on the spit, and as he is basting it, a little earth-man suddenly stands beside him, who has a long white beard which reaches down to his knees, and his hands and feet are trembling. "Let me warm my limbs by your fire," says he, "and in exchange I will turn your meat, and baste it with butter for you." The knight allows him to do it, and he turns the spit diligently, but whenever the knight looks another way the elf sticks his finger in the dripping-tin and licks off the warm gravy. The knight catches him doing this once or twice, and says he is to leave it alone, but the little creature cannot do that, and his finger is constantly back in the tin. Then the knight grows angry and seizes the elf by the beard and pulls it until he raises a cry of murder and runs away. And now the two others come in with some wine which they have found in the cellar, and they eat and drink together. Next morning they seek farther and find a deep hole. "Therein," say they, "the princesses must be concealed," and they cast lots which shall be let down, while the two others hold the rope. The lot falls on the one who has had to do with the elf. It is a long time before he reaches the bottom, and it is pitch dark down below, then a door opens and the elf, whose beard he had pulled, comes and says, "I ought to pay thee back for the evil thou hast done me, but I am sorry for thee. I am the king of the elves. I will take thee out of the cavern; for if thou remainest here one second longer, all will be over with thee." The knight replies, "If I am to die the death immediately, I will not go away until I know whether the king's daughters are concealed here or not." Then the elf says, "They are in this subterranean cavern, guarded by three dragons; the eldest is imprisoned in the first cave, and a three-headed dragon is with her. He lays his heads on her lap every noon, and she has to comb them until he falls asleep. In front of the door a basket is hanging in which are a flute, a wand, and a sword, and the three crowns belonging to the princesses are in it too. Thou must first carry away the basket and place it in safety, then grasp the sword and go in and cut the dragon's heads off, but cut off all three at once for if thou failest to cut off one the others will grow again immediately, and nothing can save thee." Then he gives him a bell, and says if he rings it, he will instantly hasten to his assistance. After he has released the eldest, he releases the second from a seven-headed dragon, and the third who is guarded by a nine-headed one. Then he takes them to the bucket in which he has been let down, and calls to his companions to draw it up again. So they draw up the three princesses one after the other, and when they are up, the two faithless companions throw down the rope intending him to perish down below but he rings the bell, on which the elf appears, and bids him play the flute, and as he does that, many thousand elves hurry up to him. Then their king orders them to make stairs for the knight, and tells him that when he is up he is to strike the ground with the wand which is in the basket. So the elves place themselves together and form a staircase up which the knight ascends, and when he is above, he strikes the ground with the rod, on which they instantly vanish again.

A third story from the neighbourhood of Hanover contains the following peculiarities. The three princesses are carried away while bathing. Instead of the dwarf, an aged man appears to the three who go out in search of them, and when he asks the third for some food, the latter orders him to draw a wedge out of a cleft bit of wood. While the old man is stooping the other pulls out the axe and wedges him fast by the beard, which is hanging down in the cleft. The aged man tears his beard out by force, and runs away; they follow his bloody track, and thus come to the cave in the earth wherein the princesses are confined. When the third has been left behind all alone, and plays the flute, a handsome man appears, who leads him out of the cave by a long passage, gives him the dresses in which the three princesses were stolen, which they have forgotten to take away with them and tells him to go to the court-tailor, and engage himself as his apprentice, and when one of the princesses orders her wedding-dress to take her her own and then she will recognize him. This he does, and each princess asks for a dress made like that in which she had been stolen. The apprentice promises to supply them, but makes merry with his master, and when at night the latter at length begins to set about the work, tells him he is just to go quietly to bed, and he will get the dress ready during the night. The two elder observe nothing, but the third recognizes her dress, summons the apprentice, hears he is her deliverer, and marries him.

A fourth story with a similar dénouement, but which in other respects coincides with that from Paderborn, only it is told more connectedly, comes from Steinau in Hanau. The little grey man does not submit to the third prince until he has wedged him in between two oak-boughs. Then he discloses to the prince the abode of the princesses who are kept in captivity in a cave by three giants. He is let down, and the attention of two lions is taken off by some meat which is thrown to them. He finds the eldest princess, who however first tries his strength by giving him an iron staff to pick up. The giant approaches; she conceals the prince beneath her bed, makes the giant drunk with sweet wine so that he falls asleep, and then makes a sign to the concealed prince, who with one blow of the iron staff strikes off the giant's head. The other giants are killed in the same way, and the three maidens set free. They take off their silken upper garments and present them to him, and also the gold rings from their fingers. Afterwards, when he is shut up down below, a dwarf comes who has a large scratch on his back; he is the little grey man whom the prince has wedged in between two oak-boughs. He shows the prince a chasm where a deep stream flows; the latter seats himself in a small boat and once more returns to daylight. He becomes apprentice to a tailor, and when the princesses want dresses, he sends them the silken upper garments which they had given him. Then he goes to a goldsmith's, and when they ask for rings, he sends the golden rings which he had received from them in the cave. They recognize these, and everything comes to light. The two wicked brothers are sewn in a sack full of snakes, and thrown into the abyss. Strong Hans (No. 166), is allied to this. A Swedish story (see further on) agrees entirely with the German one. In Hungarian, see Gaal, No. 5.

In our story there is an evident connection with the deliverance of Kriemhild from the Drachenstein. There, as in the Cologne story, she disappears after a festival, doubtless as the spoil of the dragon. The two sisters are amplifications of the one mythical figure, just as of the three who set out to deliver her, the youngest alone is the only real one. The elf is Euglin and Alberich, whom the hero likewise wins over to himself by force (in the Cologne story as in the Nibelungen, 466, 3, he pulls his beard), and then, and not till then, does he reveal the subterranean abode (Lied, 99) of the dragon-watched princess (Lied von Siegfried, 57, 58). The release follows as it does there by the dragons which are sleeping in the maiden's lap being killed (Lied, 21). The help which the King of the Elves gives, corresponds with that which Euglin (Lied, 151, and before) gives Siegfried after the combat with the giant, and also by bringing him food (Lied, 119). In fact, they are generally subject to him here as there.

92.—The Golden Mountain.

Narrated to us by a soldier. There is another version from Zwehrn. A fisherman has to deliver the fishes which he is bound to supply and can catch none. Then the Devil comes, and in return for a good hawl, the fisherman gives him a written promise that he shall have his son. Next day he takes the son out into a meadow, where the Devil is to fetch him, but the youth takes the Bible with him, draws a circle, and seats himself within it, so that the Evil One cannot approach him. The Devil orders him to throw away the Bible, but he does not do it; so the Devil overturns his chair, and the circle is broken, and then he drags him a short distance away with him, but the youth still keeps hold of the Bible, and the Devil is at length forced to retire. The youth journeys forth and comes to a great house, in which there is one room in which no one can endure to stay, but he lies down to sleep in it. At night a headless servant enters who informs him that there is an enchanted princess in the house whom he is to deliver, which he will be able to do if he has no fear of anything. Presently some spirits come who play at nine-pins, and seize him, roll him up, and throw him at the nine-pins as if he were a ball. When this is over, however, a spirit comes who rubs him with oil, and he is once more as well as before. On the second night the spirits again come and play at ball with him until all his limbs crack and break, and when they leave off, they say, "If thou art here tomorrow, thou shalt be boiled in oil." Nevertheless he has no fear, and once more the good spirit comes and heals him. On the third night the spirits kindle a huge fire, set a cauldron with oil on it, and say, "When that boils, we will throw thee into it!" and after a while, when twelve o'clock is striking, they say, "Now it is time," and seize him to throw him into the cauldron, but he falls on one side of it and the spell is broken. A naked maiden is standing by him who thanks him, and says, "I am a king's daughter; thou hast delivered me, and shalt be my husband." Then he goes away, but she allows herself to be persuaded and betroths herself to another, who is a prince. The young fisherman meets on his way two men who are fighting about a boot which carries any one who puts it on a hundred leagues in one step. So he says to them, "I will put an end to this contest; stand opposite to each other, and the one to whom I throw the boot shall have it." They turn round, but he puts on the boot, makes one step, and in a moment is a hundred leagues away from them. He obtains possession of a cloak which makes people invisible in the same way. And now he journeys onwards and comes to the town where the king's daughter is just about to celebrate her wedding. He enters the apartment in his cloak, and places himself behind her, but no one can see him; and when she wants to eat, he holds her hand. On this she is alarmed, and looks round, and he draws the cloak a little away from his face so that she may recognize him. Then she goes out with him, and he advises her to inform the prince that when one has found the old key one does not want the new one. For the division of the magic possessions compare the story of The Shoes that were danced to pieces, No. 133, according to that version of it in the note which was derived from Paderborn, in which the lion and the fox struggle for a cloak and boot of this kind. Compare also The Gold Egg, in the Erfurt Collection, where three men do not know how to divide a wishing-mantle. The contest of the giants for the possession of a cloak, boot, and sword, is also to be found in a Swedish story in Cavallius, p. 182. In Pröhle's Kindermärchen, No. 22, two men contend for a saddle which carries every one through the air. Still more noteworthy is the analogy with a Tartar story which is to be found in the Relations of Ssidi Kur, and also in the Quarterly Review, 1819, 41, 106. The son of the Khan is travelling with a faithful servant, and enters a forest where he finds some children quarreling with each other. "What are you about?" he asks. "We have found a cap in the forest and each of us wants to have it." "What's the use of the cap?" "It has this property: whosoever wears it can neither be seen by God, nor by men, nor yet by evil spirits." "Well, then, if you will all go to the end of the wood," says the Khan's son, "I will take the cap and give it to the one who gets here first and wins the race." But when they have gone the Khan's son puts the cap on his servant's head, and, when the children come back, it has disappeared and they search for it in vain. The Khan's son travels onwards with his servant, and again comes into a forest where some evil spirits are disputing about a pair of boots which have this property that whosoever puts them on is at once taken to any country where he wishes to be. The Khan's son orders the evil spirits also to go away and run back, and says that the one who reaches him first shall have the boots. As soon as he is alone he puts them under his servant's cloak; the servant puts on the cap as well, and when the spirits come back they find that the boots have vanished. In a story in The Thousand and One Nights (10, 302) there is a contention for a cap which makes its wearer invisible, a drum, and a bed. Compare the Indian story in Somadeva's collection, 1. 19, 20 (comp. the Berlin Jahrb. für deutsche Sprache, 2. 265); also an Arabian story in the Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, 563-624 (see Val. Schmidt's Fortunat, pp. 174-178); a Norwegian story in Asbjörnsen, pp. 53, 171; and a Hungarian in Mailáth and Gaal, No. 7.

The preceding incident of the pledging away the child to the Devil in ignorance and over-haste, occurs very frequently as an introduction to these stories (see note to No. 55). Here it has a christian application. The likeness to Siegfried begins at the point where the youth is pushed forth upon the water (compare Wilkina Sage, chap. 140, 141, which alone has this circumstance.) The princess whom he delivers is, according to the German saga, Kriemhild on the Drachenstein, elsewhere however, especially according to the Norse saga, Brünhild, for in aid of Gudrun (i.e. Kriemhild), he does there, as in the Nibelungen, nothing. The dragon who keeps her imprisoned, is suggested in our story by the princess herself having become a snake. The overcoming the spirits by silence is an ancient and important feature (see Altdän. Lieder, p. 508.) The Gold Mountain which the hero wins, is the mountain with the treasures of gold, the Hoard, which, according to the Lied, Siegfried also won on the Drachenstein; even the wishing-rod of the Hoard (Nibelungen, 1064) appears here as a wishing-ring. The power of invisibility which was conferred by Siegfried's Tarnhaut (Cloak of Darkness), Nibel. 337, and the change of form in the Norse saga appear here in the youth's disguise as a shepherd, which enabled him to enter the town without being known, and is still more clearly seen afterwards in his invisibility by reason of the mantle, and his transformation into a fly. (Loki thus transforms himself, and the Indian Hanuman reaches Sita in the same way. Polier, 1. 350). Most remarkable of all is the much more circumstantial account of the partition of the treasure which corresponds almost entirely with the ancient obscure one (Nibel. 88-96), and throws light on it. The Nibelungen warriors disagree, as they do here, and call Siegfried in as divider. The magic sword is the noble sword Balmung; Siegfried too receives this first, and then goes away with what he has gained without making any division. This magic power of the sword is important, for just as all heads fall before it, all living beings are turned to stone by the Aegir helmet (Hildegrein), which, according to the Norse saga, was likewise part of the "Hoard." In the youth's relations with the Queen, we have also a hint of Siegfried's relations with Brünhild. She, as in the Norse saga, knows that misfortune will befall him if he leaves her, and there is something mysterious about their union. He thoughtlessly reveals it, just as Siegfried gives Kriemhild the girdle he has formerly won from Brünhild (Nibel. 793), and misfortune arises from it, as is seen in her second marriage (with Günther). He is her "Deliverer," whom afterwards she is determined to ruin. Here he is represented as conquering spirits; in the Norse saga he rode through the flames; in the Wilkina Sage (chap. 148), he broke through the doors by force. He was appointed to do this by destiny and waited for.

93.—The Raven.

From the Leine district. There is another story varying in some particulars in Zingerle, p. 239. Here too we find the deliverance of Brünhild. In the first place, as in the preceding story (but derived from an entirely different source), we have the giants' contest for their treasures, only in not so clear a form. The golden castle on the Glass Mountain is the hall of flames of the Norse saga, evidently corresponding with the old Danish ballad (Altdänische Lieder und Märchen, p. 31, and notes, pp. 496, 497), where Bryniel is imprisoned on the Glass Mountain, which only a particular horse (Grani) can ascend. The connection between flames and dazzling bright glass is very close. The sleeping draught against which she warns him, and which overcomes him, is the Norse Grimhild's draught which causes forgetfulness. Some likeness to The Seven Ravens (No. 25) is to be seen in this story, but it has an independent existence. We find p. 226, in a story in the Brunswick Collection, which in other respects is entirely different, that the enchanted maiden drives past thrice, and that the knight who is to keep awake to deliver her has fallen asleep because he has drunk from a spring, smelt a flower, and eaten an apple. Each time she passes she lays something by his side, her portrait, a brush which will make money, and a sword bearing the inscription, "Follow me." The colour of her horses too is, as here, different on each occasion. The rest of the story shows a closer affinity to the preceding story, the Golden Mountain, for the knight has also previously delivered the bewitched maiden from her snake form by keeping silence in the presence of frightful spirits. For the incident of the youth's making himself known by throwing the ring in the wine-cup, compare Hildebrands Lied, p. 79.

94.—The Peasant's Wise Daughter.

From Zwehrn. Here we have a distinct trace of the ancient saga of Aslaug, the daughter of Brünhild by Sigurd. Although it is not expressly stated that the girl in our story is a child of royal birth who has fallen into the hands of peasants, yet this relation is plainly visible. She is wiser than the position of her parents warrants, and the King observes her wisdom just as Ragnar observes that of Kraka (the name which Aslaug bore when a peasant). In order to prove her, he too sets a riddle which her penetration enables her to solve quickly and truly. The subjects of the riddles themselves coincide, and they are only different expressions of the same thought. The Norse King desires of Kraka (Ragnar Lodbrok's Sage, chap. 4) that she shall come "clothed yet unclothed, having eaten yet having not eaten, not alone, and yet without any one's companionship." She wraps herself, as here, naked in a fishing-net, with her beautiful hair falling over it; just tastes a leek, so that its smell can be perceived, and lets her dog run by her. A similar riddle in other stories[3] should be compared, for it appears generally as an ancient popular riddle.

Likewise she resembles Aslaug in the continuance of her sagacity, and in the way she brings back to herself the love of the King who wants to send the peasant girl away. Ragnar was in Sweden with King Eistein, whose beautiful daughter, Ingeborg, he liked, and his people also advised him not to keep a peasant's daughter with him any longer. When he came home, and he and his wife had gone to bed, Aslaug discovered his intentions by means of her bird (raven, spirit) and revealed to him that she was of royal lineage, and thus regained his affection, chap. 8. Our story is to be found in Colshorn, No. 26; in Zingerle, p. 16O; and in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 49'. In Norway, too, it is not unknown, as is remarked by Asbjörnsen in an account of his journey in the year 1847, p. 2. A Servian story, see Wuk, No. 25, is differently carried out, but allied. Tendlau relates that a woman on her departure, being permitted to take the best thing in the house away with her, has her husband, who is drunk, carried to her father's house, Jüdische Sagen, p. 54.

95.—Old Hildebrand.

From Austria, where he is also called Old Ofenbrand. Another story from German Bohemia varies slightly. At first the woman will on no account admit the man with the basket, she has shut her shutters, and says her husband is from home. But the former has looked through a crevice, and has seen the parson sitting in the room, and at last says, "Will not the worthy gentleman who is within, say a good word for me?" This alarms the woman, and she lets him come in. The man sets the basket up against the wall, lies down on the stove, and pretends to be asleep. Then the woman lays the table, brings meat and drink, and makes merry with the parson. Finally she brings out a large glass, and says, "He who would have a drink now, must first make a rhyme." The parson begins—

"A messenger has gone from me
To Padua town in Italy."

Then the woman—

"With three silver crowns away he has sped,
And into the bargain with two loaves of bread."

And now the man with the basket is to sing, too; he refuses, but at last he sings—

"My basket by the wall doth stand,
And in it sits Old Hildebrand."

Then he opens the basket, and old Hildebrand gets out in a rage, and begins—

"Now I must be out again,
For here inside I can't remain,"

and drives them away with blows. There is also a story from Hesse which corresponds with this. The woman wants to get rid of old Hildebrand, her husband, because he is short and dark, so she sends him to Tellerland, and the parson gives him his horse, and a hundred thalers away with him. His gossip meets him, opens his eyes, and takes him back with him in his basket. The gossip asks the woman where her husband is, and she replies—

"I have sent my husband away from me,
Into the Tik-Tak-Teller country."

The parson says—

"And I have given him a horse so brown,
And a hundred dollars to go to town."

Then the gossip begins—

"Ah, my dearest Hildebrand,
Who in the basket there dost stand."

On which old Hildebrand bestirs himself, and says—

"No longer can I silence keep,
Out of this basket I must creep."

This jest is, however, undoubtedly connected with the saga of Old Hildebrand und Frau Ute. He is the traveller in many lands, who comes home and sometimes finds his wife faithful, and sometimes unfaithful, just as, according to some sagas, Ulysses was deceived by Penelope. For this parallelism compare Hildebrands Lied, p. 77. In the story of Mrs. Fox, too, the cunning old fox who is lying under the bench, has at one time to drive out the wooer alone, and at another his wife and the wooer too; and that story bears an unmistakable resemblance to ours. Compare Münster: Sagen, p. 215, Meier, No. 41, Pröhle's Kindermärchen, No. 63.

Three hours' journey westward from Corvei, lies the Keuterberg, Köterberg, Teuteberg (which corresponds with the district of Teutoberg Forest lying not far away), on the summit of which the boundaries of Corvei, Hanover, and Lippe meet. It is of considerable height, and may easily command a view of more than forty leagues in circuit; lower down it is covered with wood. The peak itself is bare; occasionally it is bestrewn with large stones, and affords a scanty pasturage for sheep. Naturally many stories have been associated with it, and have thus been preserved. Round about the mountain lie six villages, and the story has been taken down in the dialect of one of these, with all its irregular two-fold forms; it is the written language alone which has only one definite form; the spoken language has often several at one and the same time—for instance, sehde and segde, graut and grot, bede and beide, derde and dride. Teite for father, the old Tatta, is only said in these six villages, elsewhere it is always Vaer. The introduction refers to the following custom. When the children who are tending their cattle on different sides of the mountain want to say anything to each other, one cries, "Hela!" or "Helo! Helo! Hark you!" Then the other answers, "Helo! Helo! What do you want?" "Helo! Helo! just come over here to me!" "Helo! Helo! I'll come directly." On this point compare Steinen's Westphäl. Geschichte, 1. 57. Other versions of the tradition are to be found in Wolf's Hausmärchen, p. 168; in Meier, p. 72; and in Pröhle's Kindermärchen, No. 3.

As a tradition our story corresponds with that in The Thousand and One Nights, of the two sisters who are jealous of their youngest sister (7. 277, and following); only the Arabian story is more amplified and the German simpler, and also move beautiful; both have their own characteristics and thus prove their independence. It would be superfluous to go into particulars, or to make extracts and comparisons from this universally accessible book. The Dervish whose beard and eyebrows the prince cuts off before he speaks (he corresponds with the ghost in German stories, who wishes to be shaved in silence), is here the helpful old woman who is set free and goes away, just as the other dies, after he has fulfilled his destiny. This remarkable story however does not only appear as an Arabian, but also as an old Italian one in Straparola (4, 3); and all derivation from Arabia is decisively prevented by the circumstance that Straparola lived long before the translator of The Thousand and One Nights. Much of it is superior in Straparola. When the children's hair is combed, pearls and precious stones fall out of it, whereby their foster-parents become rich, but in the Arabian, it is only once named that "the tears of the child are reported to have been pearls" (p. 280), the mythic features themselves have already disappeared, and have left only this trace behind. The wondrous things which are demanded in the Italian story, the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the Green Bird, correspond with those required in The Thousand and One Nights, but the former differs and is better conceived in that the guilty persons who threw the children into the water cause the sister to incite her brothers to the perilous enterprise in the hope that they may perish in it. In The Thousand and One Nights, the devotee's motive for exciting the sister's curiosity remains unexplained. On the other hand, the prohibition against looking back occurs needlessly in Straparola, for the punishment of being turned into stone is not attached thereto. La Belle Etoile, No 22. in Madame d'Aulnoy coincides with the Italian down to the smallest particulars and embellishments. The Hungarian story (Gaal, No. 16) is distinctive, inasmuch as all the evil arises from the step-mother.

What is still more important than noting how these Arabian and Italian stories differ from each other, is to trace out how our German one agrees in some particulars with the former, and in others with the latter, which is the surest proof of its independence, though everyone who knows the neighbourhood where it was taken down must already be convinced that these foreign stories could never have made their way there. It agrees with Straparola in this, that the children come into the world with a red (golden) star on the forehead (flame on the head was the ancient token of high descent[4]): of this the Arabian story says nothing. We must set against this that no wicked step-mother assists, as in Straparola, but only the sisters; furthermore that the children are born in three successive years, and not all at the same time, and that on the two first occasions the King's anger is appeased. The incident of a little bird rising from the water each time a child is thrown into it, is peculiar to the German, and very fine. This signifies that the spirit remains alive (for the soul is a bird, a dove), as in the story, Der Machandelboom, No. 47, and to this refer also the words in verse,[5] "to the lily garland." They signify that the child was ready for death (i.e. dead) until further orders (from God), but he is saved; the lily still lives, for the lily is the undying spirit; see the story of the Twelve Brothers (No. 9), where, instead of the lily, we have its counterpart, the white "student's flower," the narcissus, the transformed youth; see also the people's song in the Wunderhorn, where three lilies spring from the grave in which the father, mother, and child are lying. The Golden Water, and Dancing Water, are here genuine Water of Life, which is often sought for in myths (it is also to be found in Rabbinical stories). It is this which is meant in The Thousand and One Nights when the princess changes the black stones into princes again with the water which she has obtained from the bird, in this case it is the black dog which regains its original shape. It is much more natural that in the end it should be used in restoring health to the innocent mother who had been imprisoned. Compare the following story.

From two stories, one current in Hesse, and the other in the neighbourhood of Paderborn. In the former the released princess does not appear at all; and it is said in the conclusion, that the King, in order to discover which of his three sons is the guilty one has three rugs made, a golden one, a silver one, and a common one, and the son who rides over the golden rug will be the innocent one. The youngest does this. In the Paderborn story, which is altogether much less perfect, a fisherman gives information to the three princes who are travelling together, and not a dwarf. They cannot arrive at the enchanted castle until each of them has three feathers of a falcon, which every third day comes flying thrice towards them and lets one fall each time. In the castle they have to fight with a seven-headed dragon, and whosoever does not overcome it in three days will be turned into stone; but the one who kills it will receive the Water of Life. They reach the castle with the falcon's feathers; all is arranged for the combat and the King's daughter and all the courtiers, clad in black, look on. The two elder cannot kill it, and are turned to stone and then the youngest comes forward, and cuts off the seven heads at one stroke. So the princess gives him the Water of Life, and at his request, restores his brothers to life. There are various peculiarities in a third story from Hanover. The two elder sons squander their money on the journey, and in the town where they are forced to stay, steal a treasure, but are caught and thrown into prison. Then the youngest son sets out. He arrives in this town and hears that two thieves are going to be hanged. He begs the people not to do this until his return; rides onwards, and comes to a forest, where his horse can go no farther. He alights and finds a house in front of which a giant is lying, who asks what he is looking for. "The Water of Life," says he; "dost thou know where it is to be found?" "No," replies the giant, "but perhaps my hares and foxes do." He whistles, and instantly above three hundred hares and foxes come running up from every side. The giant asks them if they know anything about the water; but none of them know it, on which he says, "If these do not know about it, my brother will. He lives three thousand miles from here, but I will have you carried thither." An aged fox has to take the prince on his back, and in a few seconds he carries him to his master's brother. This giant is much taller, but he too knows nothing of the wonderful water. So he calls his fire and asks it about it, and then his winds, but no one knows it; but the north wind, who at last comes also, says, "Yes, I know where it is to be had." The north wind has to take the prince to the castle, between eleven and twelve o'clock, for then only can the castle be seen, after which time it sinks into the water. The north wind also tells him all that will happen, and what he is to do. He enters a magnificent room wherein a princess lies sleeping, and then one which is still more splendid in which likewise a beautiful maiden is sleeping, and lastly into a third and still more splendid room, in which the most beautiful maiden of all is sleeping. Then he writes his name and the day of the month and the year, on a sheet of paper, and lies down beside her in the bed, and when he awakes again he takes three keys which are under her pillow, and goes down into the cellar and fills three bottles with the water. Then he ascends in great haste, and just as he is outside the door, twelve o'clock strikes, and the castle vanishes. The north wind which has waited for him carries him back to the old fox, and the fox carries him back to his horse which is with the first giant. And now the King's son rides into the town and wants to see the thieves hanged, but recognizes his own brothers and buys them off. Then follows the exactly-corresponding treachery of the brothers. The King's daughter writes a letter and asks in marriage the one who has been with her. The two others present themselves one after the other, but she sees by their discourse that neither of them is the right one. She repeatedly asks about the youngest, and it comes to light that he is still living. He goes in the rags which he has been forced to wear, to the beautiful princess, who has given birth to a son, and she receives him with joy.

The affinity between our previous stories, No. 96, No. 57, and the Arabian and Italian stories and the above, strikes us at once. This is the purest form of the story so far as regards the point that the Water of Life is sought to cure an aged king, who is ill. In Der trojanische Krieg, by Konrad von Würtzburg, Medea uses water from Paradise to rejuvenate Jason's father (verse 10,651), "lieht von golde rôt" (10,658), wherein she boils the magic drink. Being turned into stone is in the Paderborn, as well as in the Arabian story, the punishment of him who does not win the victory. In the Low German story it does not appear; but the black dog (there are black stones in The Thousand and One Nights), which also no one was to turn round to look at, clearly points to it. The dog afterwards becomes a handsome prince; just as the stones in the other story are transformed. Moreover, this being turned to stone and in The Thousand and One Nights the fact that the brothers leave a token with their sister when they go (the eldest leaves a knife which will look bright as long as he lives, and bloody when he dies), shows a radical similarity and connection with No. 60. The story of Queen Wilowitte, p. 54, in Wolf's Hausmärchen; The King's Daughter in the Mountains of Muntserrat; a Danish one in Etlar, p. 1; a Servian in Wuk, No. 2; and a Swedish in Cavallius, p. 191, all belong to this group.

From Zwehrn. A very good story like this is current among the people, but in Low German, and no one could repeat it to us quite perfectly. In the Abendzeitung, 1819, No. 171, there is a story in rhyme from another and more meagre version. A hungry charcoal-burner hears that a treasure has been stolen from the King, and comes forward to offer to find out the thief. The charcoal-burner is to be fed for three days, but if by that time he has not discovered him he is to be hanged. So when the first day is over, and his last draught for that day is brought to him, he says, "This is one of them," and so on, on the second and third days. The servants, who are the thieves, believe that he is speaking of them, and reveal the deed. There is a story which again is different in the Zeitschrift der Casseler Bote, 1822, No. 51, in which the Know-all is called Felix Gritte. In Mannhardt's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, 3, 36-46, there is a version with some amplifications and additions. It is in the Wetterau patois, and was picked up by Weigand. A fisherman disguised as a monk brings a stolen ring to light. An Italian story in Straparola is allied to this, and so is a Persian in Kisseh-Khun, p. 44. Achmed the Cobbler pretends to be an astronomer, and discovers who has stolen the ruby out of the King's crown.

From Paderborn. It is very well told in the Morgenblatt (1817, p. 231), as a popular story of Appenzell applied to Doctor Paracelsus. Paracelsus one day goes into a forest, and hears his name called. The voice comes from a fir-tree in which the Devil is imprisoned by means of a little plug marked with three crosses. Paracelsus promises to liberate him if he will procure him a medicine which will cure all sick people, and a tincture which will turn everything into gold. The Devil agrees to do this, and Paracelsus takes his pen-knife, gets hold of the plug with it, and with some difficulty takes it out. A hideous black spider crawls out, which runs down the trunk of the tree, but hardly has it touched the ground before it disappears, and a tall thin man with squinting red eyes, who is dressed in a red cloak, rises as if from the earth. He conducts the doctor to a high towering rock, and strikes it with a hazel-rod which he has broken off on the way. The rock splits into two pieces with a loud crack, and the Devil disappears but soon comes out again, and gives Paracelsus two small glasses—a yellow one, containing the gold tincture, and a white one the medicine. Then he once more strikes the rock, whereupon it closes together again in a moment. And now they both return, the Devil intending to go to Innsbrück to fetch the man who had imprisoned him. Paracelsus has compassion on the exorciser, and resolves to rescue him. When they once more arrive at the fir-tree he admires the Devil for having been able to turn himself into a spider. The Devil says, "I will gladly perform the feat before thine eyes," vanishes, and then crawls into the well-known little hole in the shape of a spider. Quick as lightning the doctor thrusts the plug, which he has kept in his hands, into the hole again, strikes it firmly in with a stone, and scratches three new crosses on it with his knife. In his rage the Devil shakes the fir-tree as with a tempest, till its cones rattle down on Paracelsus in heaps, but the Devil's anger is all in vain, he is tightly shut in, and has little hope of coming out again, for the forest is not allowed to be cut down, because of the avalanches, and though he cries night and day, fear of them keeps everyone away from that region. Paracelsus finds his little bottles genuine, and by means of them becomes a celebrated and distinguished man. The similarity of our story with one in The Thousand and One Nights (1. 107) has been already remarked by Fischer (No. 19). Here, from another aspect, it is much more evident, and the strong connection between the two stories is remarkable. This story is likewise a striking companion to Simeli Mountain (No. 142); to the Hartz story of the Dummburg (Otmar, 235), which is also to be found in The Thousand and One Nights (6. 342), and to The Three Birds (No. 96). The Hungarian story, Der Weltlohn, No. 11, in Gaal, also belongs to this group. The shutting up the Devil in a bottle (for it is an evil spirit, as in the Eastern tale), appears in other places, viz., in the saga of the Greek magician Savilon (Zaubulon, Diabolo), where Virgilius liberates him (see Reinfr. von Braunschweig. Hanov. MS. folio, 168-171, and Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop, pp. 186, 187) and in the Galgenmännlein. The stratagem by which he is overcome is the same by which the fearless smith saves himself (see note to No. 81).

From Zwehrn. Other stories of the same kind are to be found in Müllenhoff, No. 592; Meier, No. 74; Zingerle, No. 18; Prohle's Kinderm. No. 71. The old story of Bearskin is told even in Simplicissimus (3. 896). As an Austrian story it is to be found in J. F. Horæ Subsecivæ, 4, 355, and following; and from thence in Happel's Relat. curios. 2, 712. It is said that a picture of him is still to be found in an Austrian town. Compare Arnim's Tröst Einsamkeit, and his story Isabelle von Aegypten. There the innkeeper lets him have one of his daughters, because of the artistic pictures which the spirit has painted for him. The idea of a Bearskin is already given by Tacitus (Germ. 31), "et aliis Germanorum populis usurpatum raro et privata cujusque audentia apud Chattos in consensum vertit, ut primum adoleverint, crinem barbamque submittere nee nisi hoste caeso exuere votivum obligatumque virtuti oris habitum, ignavis et imbellibus manet squalor." Baldur's revenger also does not wash his hands, or comb his hair until he has cast Baldur's enemy into the flames (Völuspâ, 33).[6] According to Snorri, young Harald Harfager makes a vow not to cut or comb his hair until he has made the whole of Norway submit to him. Compare P. E. Müller, Ueber Snorris Quellen, p. 14, 15. The very unchristain aspect of hell, where the soldier learns music, is to be remarked, just as music lures people into the Venusberg. He only serves the Devil for a certain time, and then is free and happy. The saga assuredly dates from a remote antiquity. It even crops up in Ireland; in the Briefe eines Verstorbenen,[7] 1. 139, and following, we find, "I observed in Ireland on the summit of a high mountain a building like a church, and asked the clerk what that was. He replied in rude English that this was the King's Tabernacle, and that anyone who would neither wash himself, nor cut his nails, nor shave his beard for the space of seven years was allowed to live there free of expense, and after the seventh year had expired, he had the right to go to London, where the King was obliged to endow him amply, and make a gentleman of him. The man firmly believed this foolish tale, and swore to its truth." A story in Harsdörfer's Mordgeschichten (Hamb. 1662), p. 672, is allied. The Devil comes in the shape of a youth to a pious man who has three daughters, and wants to marry one of them. The father, however, tells him in answer that they were already promised to God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost at their baptism. But the Devil by promising them great treasures, luxury, and magnificence, wins two of them over so far as to accept a betrothal-ring from him; the third drives him away. That enrages the Devil, and he brings an accusation against her and the father, but while he is about to read the accusation from his note, a pigeon flies to him and snatches the paper from him Then he is driven away to the two daughters who have promised to love him, and with them falls down to hell. Compare the following story.

From the neighbourhood of Paderborn. This is an independent variation of the foregoing. The Devil appears here in the saga which is related by Hebel (Alleman. Gedichte, 50), as a green-coat (child of the world), and whosoever gives himself to him has only to put his hand in his pocket and he will find money.

From Zwehrn. This is a beautiful story which belongs to the group of Reinhart Fuchs. The willow-wren, the sparrow, and the tom-tit, all express an idea. It is the cunning of the small creatures triumphing over the large ones, and thus the entire animal creation under the leadership of the fox, has to yield to the birds, just as in the story of The Sparrow and the Dog (No. 58), the waggoner has to yield to the bird. The willow-wren is the ruler, for the saga accepts the least as king as readily as the greatest. Again, this is the opposition of the crafty dwarfs to the stupid giants; indeed dwarf-like little men often received the nickname of "little hedge-sparrow." In Touti Nameh (Fable 8, in Iken, No. 32), the powerful animals are punished in a similar manner by the small ones. An elephant throws the eggs out of a sparrow's nest, by violently rubbing himself against the tree in which it is built. The bird combines with another bird called long-beak, and with a frog and a bee, to seek revenge. The bee gets into the elephant's ear and torments him by humming, until he is quite frantic. Then long-beak comes and puts out his eyes with his sharp beak. Some days afterwards, when the blind elephant is standing tortured by thirst on the edge of a precipice, the frog begins to croak, and the elephant thinks he is near a pond and plunges over. The War of the Wasps and the Ass, in Barachja Nikdani (Wolf's Zeitschrift, 1. 1), is allied to this, and so is the negro story, in Kölle, of the Cock and the Elephant (No. 7). Old Sultan, No. 48, and the War between the Beasts of the Earth and the Birds of the Air, in the story from Transylvania; (see Haltrich, No. 43), should be compared.

From Hesse. This is the primeval fable of the pitcher which never ran dry, and which only those who were perfectly innocent had the power of using. Compare the Indian story of the pan in which it was only necessary to place a single grain of rice, and it would cook food incessantly (Polier, 2. 45). Then there is the saga of the Zauberlehrling (from Lucian's φιλοψευδὴς) in Goethe's lyric; but although it has received a form that can never be equalled, the deep myth which underlies it is not clearly brought out, and it depends for its effect on the rulership of the master. Pottage, like bread, as a primitive, simple fare, generally signifies all kinds of nourishment (Compare the Frogs of Aristophanes, 1073). It was formerly the custom in Thuringia for people to eat pottage made of millet at Shrovetide, because they believed that if they did so they would never lack anything all the rest of the year. See Prätorius's Glückstopf, p. 260. The wise woman also institutes a feast of sweet pottage as a reward to her workmen. Here we must mention a Norwegian story in Asbjörnsen, part 2, The Mill which grinds everything.

104.—Wise Folks.

From Hesse. It is to be found with many variations in Zingerle, p. 75, as The Country Man and the Country Woman; in Pröhle, No. 50, The Long Winter; in Meier, No. 20, and pp. 304, 305, The Traveller to Heaven; in Müllenhoff, No. 10; in Norwegian, in Asbjörnsen, 1, No. 10; in Wallachian, in Schott, No. 43. Der Schwank von dem fahrenden Schüler im Paradies, in Hans Sachs, 3, 3, 18, Nuremberg Edit. is allied to this.

In our previous editions the story of the Faithful Animals was placed here; it however must have been derived from the Relations of Ssidi Kur, as is proved by its exact similarity, although in the Gesta Romanorum (see under No. 9), the Pentamerone, 3, 5, and No. 14 in Meier, are stories which are allied.

I. From Hesse, but belongs to several places. The ringed snake (Coluber natrix) which likes milk and is not poisonous, is the snake which is meant. Compare Schubert's Naturgeschichte, p. 196. There is a similar story in Ziska, p. 51. A story in the Gesta Romanorum, chap. 68 (under No. 11), is clearly related to this. A knight becomes poor, and is very sorrowful about it. Then a snake, which has lived for a long time in a corner of his room, begins to speak, and says, "Give me some milk every day, and set it ready for me yourself, and I will make you rich." So the knight brings the milk for it every day, and in a short time he becomes rich again. The knight's foolish wife, however, advises him to kill the snake for the sake of the treasures which are sure to be found in its hole. So the knight takes a bowl of milk in one hand, and a hammer in the other, and goes with them to the snake, which glides out of its hole to enjoy the milk. While it is drinking, he raises the hammer, but instead of hitting the snake strikes the bowl violently, on which the snake at once hurries away. From that day forth his property begins to decrease as much as it had increased before. He entreats the snake to take him into favour again, but it says, "Dost thou think that I have forgotten the blow which the bowl received instead of my head? There can be no peace between us!" Then the knight continues in poverty all the days of his life. The same story is in Mone's Anzeiger, 1837, pp. 174, 175. Another story from Switzerland, The Queen of the Snakes (Deutsche Sagen, 1. 220), also belongs to this group. A poor shepherd-girl becomes prosperous because she gives milk to a snake which is dying of hunger.

II. From Hesse. According to another story, in a certain farm the daughter of the house had the task of milking the cows which were in the fields, and for this purpose usually drove them into a shed or cow-house. Once when she was milking, a great snake crept out from beneath the boards. The girl filled a little trough, into which she often poured milk for the cats, with milk, and set it before the snake, which drank the whole of it. This she did daily, and even in winter. When the girl was married, and all the guests were sitting happily at table, the snake unexpectedly came into the room and laid down before the bride a valuable crown of gold and silver as a mark of its gratitude. A Tyrolese version in Zingerle, p. 106, agrees with this, and the story of the Snake Queen in Vonbun, pp. 21, 22, is closely allied. In Lower Lusatia (Büsching's Wöchentliche Nachrichten, 3. 343, 345) it is believed that there is a water snake-king who wears a crown on his head which is not only valuable in itself, but also brings great riches to its possessor. On a sunny May day a certain man ventures to spread out a great white sheet on a green plot in front of the castle of Lübenau, for the Snake King is fond of putting his crown down on pure white things, and then playing with the other snakes. Hardly has the man spread the sheet when the King appears, puts his crown on it, and then goes away to play with the snakes. And now the man comes softly thither (on horseback in order to escape the quicker), seizes the sheet on which the crown is lying, by the four corners, and gallops off. He hears the shrill whistling of the snakes behind him, but escapes by the speed of his horse. The possession of the precious crown soon makes him enormously rich.

III. From Berlin.

From Zwehrn. This is the story of how Dummling came to great good fortune (see note to No. 63), but it is told with peculiar gracefulness. In their hearty contempt for Dummling, the other apprentices intentionally bring lame and wall-eyed horses, just as the two elder princes bring coarse linen and ugly women. Another story from Paderborn contains much that is special. The miller sends out his three sons, and the one who brings back the best horse is to have the mill. The youngest—the simpleton—meets a little gray man, serves him faithfully and honourably as a wood-cutter for one year, and for this receives the most beautiful horse. The brothers meet him on his way home, and as one of them has a blind horse and the other a lame one, they seize Dummling's, and thrust him into a lime pit. But the little gray man comes and pulls him out and anoints him with salve, so that he returns to life and health; his horse too is given back to him. He goes with it to his father; the latter, however, does not give him the mill, but says that it shall belong to the one who brings him the best shirt. Dummling procures the shirt, but the brothers bind him to a tree, and shoot him dead. The little gray man brings him back to life again, but when he arrives at home with the shirt, his brothers have told his father that he is in league with the Devil. The father maintains that they must go forth once more, and the one who brings home the best loaf of bread shall have the mill, for the Devil has no power over bread. Dummling meets an aged woman in the forest, and shares his food with her, and in return for this she gives him a wishing-rod. Next day when he is standing on a bridge, and feeling very hungry, he holds the wishing-rod over the water, and a little tortoise comes out to him. "What is the use of that to me?" thinks he, but puts the little creature on the wall of the bridge. When he is going away, it cries after him, "Take me with you! Take me with you!" He thrusts it in his pocket, and the next time he puts his hand into it, he finds great piles of money. And now all goes well with him, he treats the tortoise with great respect, hires the best room in an inn for himself, puts it in the bed there, and travels onwards to seek the best bread. When a year has gone by, he returns without having found it; but when he looks at the tortoise, it has got two pretty white feet. "Hallo! What's that?" thinks he, and covers it up warmly. One night when he is lying in bed and trying to think how he is to obtain the bread, he sees something in the shade which looks like some one standing kneading bread in a dish. At night he dreams that this has become the best bread, and next morning when he awakes the most beautiful bread really is lying before him. He takes it home, and every one is forced to own that he has gained the victory. Then he returns to his tortoise and sees a wonderfully beautiful princess lying in the bed with the tortoise by her side. She tells him that she has been bewitched by her mother, but that he has delivered her. Then she promises to be his wife, but must first go home to her father. "Just go home," says she. "When thou hearest the first cannon fired, I shall be dressing myself; when the second is fired, I am getting into the carriage; at the third, look round at the six white horses with which I shall drive up." All this comes to pass, and they are married and live for a long time in great happiness. But then it chances that he is so unfortunate as to let the tortoise (which she has preserved with the greatest care) fall into the fire, which makes the princess so angry that she spits in his face. He is very sad, and goes away at once, and digs a cave for himself five and twenty fathoms deep under ground, and there he means to pass his life. He has an inscription carved above it, "Here no one shall find me, save God alone." Thus he lives for many years in prayer. The old king becomes ill and travels about and goes to every physician and tries every remedy, but all in vain. Then by accident he comes to this cave, and straightway he is cured. He looks around, reads the inscription, and orders his people to dig down until at last they come to the cave. The man whom he finds will, however, not come up, and his only desire is to go to God; but the aged king at length prevails on him to ascend with him. Then the king discovers that he is his son-in-law, and brings about a reconciliation between him and his daughter, and they live together long and happily. In Zingerle, p. 171; in Colshorn, No. 15; in Swedish, compare a popular ballad (see further on), in Cavallius, see p. 300; in French see La Chatte Blanche, in D'Aulnoy (see note to No. 19); in Polish, see Lewestam, p. 101; in Albanian, Hahn, 2.

From a story current in Holstein, which is better and more perfect than that which is to be found in the earlier edition under the title of The Crows, in which a version from Mecklenburg was followed. There is a simple rendering in Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, chap. 464. A servant is bound to a tree by his master, and evil spirits which assemble there nightly, say that a herb which grows beneath the tree, restores sight. After he has cured himself, he restores the sight of a rich man's daughter, and receives her in marriage together with great possessions. His former master desires to procure such wealth for himself, and goes to the tree, where at night the spirits put out his eyes. There is a story in the Brunswick Collection (p. 168-180) which corresponds with ours, but is badly modernized. In Helwig's Judische Legenden there are crows which sit on the trees and talk of pecking out eyes, here, as they tell the blind man what he ought to do, they resemble the birds which give good advice to Sigurd (Fafnismàl, and note to Str. 32). The freshly-fallen dew which restores sight is the principle of purity which heals everything, the spittle with which the Lord gives back his sight to the blind man, and the blood of innocent children or virgins whereby persons afflicted with leprosy are cured, compare Altd. Wälder, 2. 208, and Der arme Heinrich, p. 175, and following. The story is to be found in the Brunswick Collection, pp. 168-180; in the Büchlein für die Jugend, p. 252, 263; in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No, 1; in Danish, with some special and good variations, see Molbech, No. 6; in Norwegian, see Asbjörnsen, vol. 2; in Bohemian, see Gerle, vol. 1, No. 7, A St. Walpurgis' Nights Dream, or The Three Apprentices; in Hungarian, see The Grateful Animals, Gaal, No. 8; in Mailáth, The Brothers, No. 8; in Stier, The Three Animals, p. 65; in Servian, see Wuk, No. 16, for a story with a characteristic beginning, A story which is clearly allied to ours is to be found in the Persian poet Nisami's Heft Baiker, which Hammer has given us from the MS. in his Geschichte der schönen Bedekilnste Persiens (Vienna, 1818, p. 116, 117). Chair is first robbed of his store of water, and then blinded and otherwise ill-treated by Scheer, a false travelling companion whom he had regarded as his friend. He is left lying on the ground, until a beautiful Kurdish maiden finds him, nurses, and cures him. The youth cures the Vizier's daughter and the Sultan's, and lives in luxury, until he one day meets his former comrade, whom he forgives, but who is killed by a Kurd.

108.—Hans The Hedgehog.

From Zwehrn. An exactly corresponding story has been heard in that part of German Hungary which borders on Steiermark. Another story, Der Zaunigel, is to be found in Pröhle's Märchen für Kinder, No. 13. In Straparola, see (2. 1) King Porc; but this is better and more whimsical and original, only Hans, who rides like the Finkenritter,[8] is said to have shown the way to one more King, and to have been betrayed by him, in order that he should only, as in Straparola, be set free the third time. Le Prince Marassin, No. 24, in D'Aulnoy, is after Straparola, Hedgehog, porcupine, and pig, are here synonymous, like Pore and Porcaril. In the neighbourhood of Presburg, a child that does not grow is called "Igel" (hedgehog), "Nigel" (Presb. Idiotikon im ungar Magaz. vol. iv.). In another simple but good story (No. 144), we have the ass instead of the hedgehog. These two stories, together with Nos. 1, 88, 127, constitute a series closely allied to each other, with which again others are more remotely connected. Compare the notes to each of these. For the idea which lies at the root of them, see a note to the Altdän: Lieder, p. 528, 529, People who pray to God too vehemently for the blessing of children are, in these stories, often punished with such monsters, which wards when the parents are humbled, are at last changed into human beings; compare Rosenol. 1. 210, 213; the Story of Solomon and the Egyptian King's daughter. The return of the child to the home of its parents is like that of The Young Giant, in No. 4. In one of Zingerle's Tyrolese stories, p, 173, there is, as in the Pentamerone (2. 5), and in a Hungarian story, in Gaal, No. 14, a snake instead of the hedgehog. In the Irische Elfenmärchen, see The Bagpiper, No. 5. In a popular ballad of the year 1620 are these lines,

"Ah, hedgehog dear, do let me live,
I will to thee my sister give."

This seems to refer to our story.

[In the chronicles of superstition instances may be also found when the parents, becoming weary of praying ineffectually to God to give them a child, invoked the help of the Devil, and therefore reaped the misery of a granted prayer. In the romance of Robert the Devil, the Duke and Duchess had long prayed for issue, but having often been disappointed of a child,

"The Ladye saide, the Devyll now send us one,
For God will not oure petycion heare,
Therefore I trowe power hath he none."

The result was, that his birth was attended with dreadful tempests, and his early life was very wicked.—Tr.]

109.— The Shroud.

From Bavaria. The belief that the tears which are wept for the dead fall down upon the dead body in the grave and disturb its rest, appears also in Meinert's Lieder des Kühländchens (1. 13); also in the Edda, in the second Lay of Helgi[9] (Str. 44), as in the Danish popular song Knight Age and Maid Else.[10] In Müllenhoff, p. 144, there are two sagas, one from Helmold, 1. 78. A similar, and apparently true incident is related by Schubert in Knapp's Christoterpe (1835), p. 278. Compare W. Wackernagel's Zusammenstellungen, in the Altdeutsche Blätter, No. 174, and following, and the notes p. 197.

110.—The Jew among Thorns.

A version frequently told in Hesse begins differently. The father drives out his three sons who go forth into the world by three different roads. The good spirit meets one of them and bestows on him the three wishes. He wishes for a hat which will lead him into the right path when he is going wrong; for a wishing-rino-, and for a fiddle which will compel all who hear it to dance. Then come the incidents of the Jew and the Judge. Finally he wishes himself back at the cross-roads with his brothers and makes both of them rich.

This farther development of the story seems, however, to weaken its effect; and another quite simple, unwritten story from the neighbourhood of Paderborn, and the old printed methods of handling it which form the basis of ours, completely ignore it. Compare Albrecht Dieterich's Historia von einem Bauernknecht und München, welcher in der Dornhecke hat müssen tanzen, s.l. 1618, 8 (in the Göttinger Bibl.), a comedy which however was probably written in the sixteenth century; and J. Ayrer's Shrove Tuesday Play, Fritz Dolla mit der gewünschten Geigen, in the Opus Theatricum, folio 97-101, which is perhaps contemporaneous. In Dieterich, the peasant lad is also called Dulla (the name reminds us of Till or Dill Eulenspiegel, the merry, dishonest servant: compare the Swedish and old Norse word thulr, homo facetus, nugator, spielmann), and in other respects they are much alike, so they may have been derived from the same source, but can scarcely have borrowed from each other. The wishes are the same as they are here, but instead of the Jew, both have a monk who is running away from his convent. In Dieterich, he looks on the arts which the servant speaks of as mere boasting, and says, "In yonder hedge there sits a raven, and if thou canst hit him with thy cross-bow, I will strip off all my clothes and fetch him out." In Ayrer, he shoots a bird off a tree, and there is no mention of taking clothes off. See the Danish Reime om Munken og Bondedrengen (Nyerup, Morskabsläsning, 239-241), after Albrecht Dieterich. Wackernagel finds an allusion to our story in the Wachtelmäre see Massmann's Denkmäler, 1. 112.

The saga of the dance among thorns is very widely spread, and works its way into the story of Dearest Roland, No. 56. For the way in which it is usually told an excellent story by Otmar, in Becker's Erholungen (1797), is very important, but it is very much altered and disfigured by affectation. A magician, who is imprisoned on a capital charge, has an arrow which never fails to hit its mark, and with it shoots a falcon flying in mid air, which falls in a marsh among thorns. The thief-takers are to get it out, so now the magician begins to play the Swabian dance,[11] and they have to dance, and then the judges and every one in the court dances, and then all the people, and thus he is saved from execution. The last request, and escaping death by piping or playing, occurs frequently (see No. 30, The Blue Light), from Arion down to Gunnar, who keeps off the snakes by playing the harp. Oberon's pipe had also the power of making people dance; specially remarkable is the instance in the Herrauds og Bosesage (pp. 49-51), where even the tables, chairs, knives, and glasses have to dance too. Perhaps even the very word "Geige" (fiddle) is derived from the "Gygiarslag," which occurs there (a magical blow from Gygur the enchantress, giantess). For a song which makes men, horses, and everything dance, see Mambriano, 3. 62, 63, and Ginguené, 259. There is a similar story of Fandango; the pope and the cardinals who wanted to condemn him were forced to set him free.[12]

[There was, too, the Pied piper of Hamelin (so well known from Mr. Browning's splendid poem) who lured all the rats in the town to destruction by his magic pipe, and when the townsfolk refused to pay the promised reward, piped away their children from their homes for ever.—Tr.]

111.—The Skilful Huntsman.

From two stories heard in Hesse; in the second (at least as told by one narrator) the events vary a little. The sharp-shooter, when he has made the sentinel fall asleep by means of a sleeping drink, and has forced his way into the tower, finds in the first and second apartments the princess's waiting-maids lying asleep in their beds. He kisses them both, but goes onward and comes to the third chamber, where the princess herself is lying, but she is naked. He takes away a golden necklet, a ring, and a pocket-handkerchief from the table as tokens, and lies down beside her. She goes on sleeping, and does not awake when he goes away. When, hereafter, it is discovered that she is with child without knowing by whom, her angry father has her cast into prison. A common serving-man accuses himself of the crime, and she is to marry him. Then she is taken to the inn. The remainder of the story corresponds again. A third story from Hof in Habichtswald has the same subject matter; and has also the secondary incidents that a cup was standing by the sleeping princess, from which the huntsman was forced to drink three draughts to attain strength enough to draw the sword. He comes back in three years' time, and goes to the inn where the princess is shut up, which has the inscription, "Here every one eats for nothing, but must relate the history of his life." And now she hears that he is the father of the child to which she has given birth, and when she has seen the tokens, she makes herself known to him. In a fourth story, likewise from Hesse, it is to be remarked that with one of his arrows the sharp-shooter shoots the giant in the right thumb.

This skill in shooting reminds us of An Bogsweigr (Sagabibliothek, 2. 542), he, too, shoots a piece of meat out of the hand: compare the Deutsche Sagen, 1. No. 255, 256, and 257. The cutting off and dividing the garments of the sleeping princess remind us of the cutting up of Brünhild's armour (slita brynin) by Sigurd. Cutting out the tongue occurs very often; the captain is the master of the kitchen (Truchsess), in Tristan. At the end the story changes into that of King Thrushbeard (No. 52).

From near Paderborn. A story from the province of Münster comes to us in another guise. The King proclaims that whosoever can tell the best lie shall have his daughter. The courtiers try in turn, but all do it too delicately, and cannot produce one single good strong bold lie. Then a poor peasant lad comes into the King's presence and says, "Lord King, once on a time there was a cabbage in our garden which grew bigger and bigger, and began to shoot up in the air until at last it touched heaven itself. Then I climbed up it just to have a look at heaven for once. The door happened to be open, and I saw such splendour and magnificence that I was just going to jump straight in when it was shut in my face, and I was left hanging among the clouds. I let myself down by a rope, it is true, but it broke when I had got half-way, and I fell, and straight into a pebble; but I soon came to myself, ran home, got an axe, and cut myself loose."

"That is rodomontade!" said the King, "I call those the greatest lies that I have ever heard in my life!" "So much the better," replied the peasant, "for then your daughter is mine." The King was alarmed, and gave him a great heap of money to get rid of him. That suited the peasant, for he had already seen that the princess had blear eyes, and was fearfully ugly. Münchhausen knew the end of our story, and made use of it in his Travels (p. 53). The majority of those popular lies are not invented by him, but are old properties, and only require to be related in another tone to appear as widely spread myths. For instance, making a rope of chaff, quite answers to the "vinda or sandi síma" (Harbardsl, 17), "vinde Reb af Sande og med de Reb op til Maanen löbe" (Danske Viser, 1, No. 43, and note), and the Latin ex arena funem nectere, is like the whip twisted out of water and wine, see the Ditmarsenlied, in the Wunderhorn, 2. 411. The words which Calderon puts into the mouth of Persius, in Zenobia, are conceived altogether in this spirit, and doubtless had their origin in a popular story (Gries, 1. 46, 48). He is to fetch grapes for the army from a vineyard in which every grape is as large, as a barrel. In order to conceal himself from the watchman of the mountain, who is a giant, Persius cunningly hollows out a grape and creeps into the skin. The giant, however, had a fancy to eat one, and took the very grape in which Persius was hidden, and swallowed it down half-chewed; however, as he imagined that the man was a grape seed, he spat him out again, so that he was sent flying away high up in the air for miles. In order to get on to the wall, he now drew down with a cord the top of a fir-tree which stood by it, seated himself upon the tree, relaxed the cord, and was thus carried quickly on to the wall. There is a lying-tale, which dates from the 10th century, in Modus florum, in Ebert's Ueberlieferungen, 1. 79. In Norwegian see Asbjörnsen, p. 284; in Servian, Wuk, No. 1; in Slavonian, Vogl. No 2; in Wendish, Haupt, No. 2. Compare the English story of Jack and the Beanstalk (see further on), and the Rabbinical myth in Helwig, Nos. 2 and 3.

From Paderborn. Very characteristic, good, and perfectly conceived. It resembles The Singing, Soaring Lark (No. 88), in the high price asked of the false bride, and Foundling (No. 51), and Dearest Roland (No. 56), in the pursuit. It also resembles the latter in the forgetfulness of the lover. Compare The Orange Tree and the Bee (No. 8), in D'Aulnoy. For the tasks which are set, compare Altd. Wälder, 1. part 4. The expression "Arweggers herut," is very remarkable, for among the names of dwarfs (Dvergaheiti) in the Edda, Aurvagur also occurs, although it is a variant, and the Völuspâ gives "Aurvangur." A man who awakes betimes is arvakur, a name for bulls and horses (Sigurdsrifa, Str. 17). Perhaps, however, we get most information from Anglo-Saxon, according to which Arwegger would be earwig, a facetious appellation for dwarfs because of their small, stunted shape. In that language, ear-wigga means vermis auricularis, Eng. earwig. The Hungarian story, The Glass Axe, is manifestly related to this (see further on).

From the Schwalm district in Hesse. Quite in the spirit of The Valiant Tailor (No. 20). The riddle about the gold and silver hair appears elsewhere. There is a variant which has many points which are distinctive, in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend (No. 28). In the Bukowina there is The Gipsy and the Bear, see Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, 1. 360.

From Zwehrn. There is another story from Swabia, in Meier, No. 13, and in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 43. A deep and noble thought is here expressed in a homely manner. No one saw the deed; no human eye, but the sun, the heavenly eye (that is God) saw it. There are other sagas of the sun, and how he hides himself, and will not look on when a murder is about to be committed; compare Odyssey, 20, 356, and the Solarlied, of the Edda, 23. In Boner (Beispiele, 61) this same saga appears with a change of incident. The King promises a Jew who is carrying a great deal of money about with him, an escort through a dangerous forest. The innkeeper is deputed to do this, but he himself is incited to murder by greed of wealth. When the Jew perceives his design, he says, "The birds, which are flying about here, will reveal the murder." The innkeeper laughs at this, and when he has drawn his sword, and a partridge comes up, he says mockingly, "Behold, Jew; the partridge will reveal it." Then he murders him, takes the gold, and goes home. Before long a partridge is taken to the King, and the innkeeper thinks of the Jew's words, and laughs. The King asks the reason of this, the innkeeper reveals his deed, and comes to the gallows. Compare Liedersaal, 2. 601, 602. Altd. Blätter, 1. 117-119. Hulderich Wolgemut relates the fable in his Erneuerter Aesopus (Frankfurt, 1623), 2. 465, 66, very much as Boner does, though not exactly like him. The same idea is again to be found in the cranes of Ibycus. That a dying man's words have power, has been already mentioned in Fafnismàl, as an ancient belief. The proverb,

"Howsoever fine it is spun,
It will one day come to the sun,"

which is to be found even in Boner, 49, 55, and in Otaker, 663, should be remarked.

116.—The Blue Light.

From the province of Mecklenburg. The pipe which the soldier smokes, must have had its origin in the flute, which the elves are elsewhere accustomed to obey, as in No. 91. The blue light is a will-o'-the-wisp, Danish vättelys (spirit-light), and Lygtemand, the Lord of the little dwarf. Schärtlin's exclamation was "Blue fire!" which words too are several times to be found in Hans Sachs. The saga of Albertus Magnus who used to bring the King of France's daughter into his bed at night, is similar. Her father had the whole of Paris whitewashed, and the princess had to dip her hands in some red dye, and mark the house to which she was taken with it. Thus the culprit was discovered, and was to have been executed, but he escaped by means of a ball of yarn which possessed magic properties; see Görres' Meisterlieder, pp. 195, 208. See Nos. 11 and 67, in Pröhle's Kindermärchen. In Danish, see the Tinder-box, in Andersen, vol. i. In Hungarian, The Tobacco-Pipe, in Gaal, No. 1.

Hessian. The hand growing out of the grave is a widely-spread superstition, and not only concerns thieves, but also trespassers on consecrated trees (see Schiller's Tell, Act 3, Scene 3[13]), and parricides (Wunderhorn, 1. 226). In Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, there is another story of an arm that was stretched out of the grave (Danish edition, p. 218). When a flower or a written paper grows out of the grave from the mouth of a buried man, as a token of his guilt or innocence, it is but another form of the same idea.

It is also said and believed that the hand of any one who strikes his parents will grow out of the earth; thus the Fuchsthurm, on the Hausberg, near Jena, is the little finger of a giant who had beaten his mother.

From Zwehrn. It occurs in Zingerle, with a few variations, p. 82. The Gesta Romanorum (German edition 1489, chap. 37, Latin, chap. 76), contain a similar story. Two skilful physicians, in order to settle all disputes, wish to try their knowledge on each other; the one who is proved to be the worst is to be the other's apprentice. By means of a precious salve one of them takes out the other's eyes without pain or injury, puts them on the table, and replaces them with the same ease. The other wants to perform the same feat too, and extracts his rival's eyes by means of his salve, and puts them on the table. But just as he is preparing to put them in again, a raven comes through the open window, snatches up one eye and devours it. The operator is in great distress, for if he is not able to replace the eye, he will have to be the servant of the other physician. So he looks around, sees a goat, hastily takes one of her eyes, and gives it to his companion in the place of the one which is lost. When he asks his patient how he feels, the latter answers, that he had felt no pain or injury, but that one of his eyes was always looking up at the trees (as, in fact, goats do look at the foliage), and the other down below him. Allied to this is an old German story, wie ein künic ísan einer katzen ouge gewan (Pfälz. MS., No. 341, folio, 274, 275). It is also in a MS. in Vienna, see Schlegel's Museum, 4. 416, No. 138. The King has lost one eye, and a wise man offers to replace it with the eye of some animal. The king chooses a cat's eye, which can see both by day and night. The wise man puts it in very skilfully, and is richly rewarded. But now when the king is sitting at table, or wherever he may be, the cat's eye will only peer about the corners or under the benches in search of mice, and will not look at human beings, which makes the king very angry. In Icelandic a similar cat-eyed man is called freskr from fres, he-cat (see Biörn Haldorson for freskr und ófreskr). There is a remarkable instance of putting in other eyes and another heart in the ancient Scottish ballad, Young Tamlane (Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 2. 200). When he is delivered from her power the witch says to him, "Had I but known this, I would have taken out thy two grey eyes, and put in two eyes of tree; and I would have taken out thy heart of flesh and put in a heart of stone." This reminds us of Hrugnir's heart of stone, and of the horse's heart which was put into his brother Mokurkalfr, and also of the Devil's putting out the eyes of the goats and replacing them by his own (see God's Animals and the Devil's, No. 148); finally we must mention a counterpart in Wolfram's Wilhelm (1. 146), when Venus cuts out Tibald's heart and puts in that of Arabella. Hans Sachs (2. 4, 148, Kempt. edit.) has a comical tale which bears some resemblance to ours, but is somewhat boorish. A peasant's stomach is being cleansed by the doctor, and is carried off unawares by a raven. The doctor repairs the loss by putting a pig's stomach in his patients' body. Compare Fischart's Geschichtsklitterung (1590), p. 74.

From a story in Kirchhof's Wendunmut (1. St. 274), and a Meistersong in the MS. which formerly belonged to Arnim (compare the ballad in the Wunderhorn, 2. 445, which had its origin in this). In both of these there are nine Swabians. Lastly, from a Nuremberg chap-book, by Fr. Campe, in which the seven Swabians are portrayed, and their discourse is given in rhyme. Eyering relates the affair with the hare in his Sprichwörter, 2. 227. It runs across the field in front of them, and they present their spear at it. The one in front is called Ragenohrlin, and the last of the seven encourages him to advance, but he answers,

"Ja stündestu he forn als ech,[14]
du würdest nichten also sprech

'Gangk, Ragenohrlin, gangk ran',
ich must gleichwol zum ersten dran
und wann er mich dan brecht umbs Leben,
So würd ir all die Flucht thun geben."

Three of them are painted on a house in Vienna, pointing their long spear at the hare, together with the somewhat altered inscription,

"Veitla, gang du voran,[15]
denn du hast Stiefel an,
dass er dich nit beissen kann."

See Falk's Tartarus and Elysium, 1806, No. 10. The History of the Seven Swabians has recently appeared, with ten lithographical illustrations, Stuttg. 1832, 4. Compare the old English poem, The Hunting of the Hare, Weber, 3. 277-290. There is also some similarity to this in the poem called Von drei stolzen Westphälingern, in an old Dutch popular book. They went forth and heard a bumble-bee humming, and thought it was the drums of the enemy which they heard, and began to fly. During their flight the one who was last stepped on a hop-pole which was lying in the way, and the point of it hit against the tip of his ear. Then he cried in a fright, "I surrender." When those who were running before him heard that, they also cried, "So do we! Quarter! Quarter!"

From a story heard in Zwehrn and another current in the Leine district. In the latter the innkeeper buries the murdered man, but a friend of his comes and discovers his horse in the inn-stable, and his dog scratches under the eaves, where the murdered man, whose clothes it recognizes, is lying covered with earth, but with one arm out. There is a Swabian story in Meier, No. 64, and one from Holstein in Müllenhoff, No. 22. Another from the Hartz is in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 169. Bonaventure de Periers (d. 1544) wrote a collection of stories, probably from oral tradition, which first appeared in Paris in 1558, then with notes by de la Monnoge in 1568, and at other dates. In the edition which appeared in Amsterdam in 1735 (Contes et nouvelles récréations et joyeux devis, 3 vols. 8vo), in No. 22, 1. 229-232, De trois frères qui cuidèrent être pendus pour leur latin, we find our story. They constantly repeat the words, "nos tres clerici; pro bursa et pecunia: dignum et justum est." In Pfaffe Amis there is a jest founded on the fact that he persuades a certain man to make no other answer to everything than, "that is true." A Hungarian story, in Stier, p. 25, is allied to this.

From the neighbourhood of Paderborn, but the tradition is already confused or obscured. The whole reminds us a little of the exploits of Hercules. The release of the maiden is told in much the same way in a story from Thuringia. See Sommer, p. 122. No. 11, in Müllenhoff, is also allied to this group.

122.—Donkey Cabbages.

From German Bohemia. The changing human beings into asses which we are already familiar with from Apuleius, is remarkable. A popular story which Prätorius has very frequently heard, and which he has given in the Weltbeschreibung, 2. 452, 455 (compare Zeileri epistolæ, 2. 956, and following pages, ep. 575), is much more closely related to this. A burger's son from Brück, in Saxony, goes among the Swedes, and for some time occupies a Silesian town where he has an intrigue with the beautiful daughter of a poor widow, and betroths himself to her. When he goes away, and is trying to console the mother and daughter by promising to come back for them, the former sees that he does not sincerely mean this, and says, "Thy betrothed intends to desert thee; so I will change him into an ass." The daughter replies, "If he intends to act so unfaithfully, he deserves no better fate." The trooper goes away, but when he is riding a little behind the others and comes to a thicket, he dismounts, and no sooner has he done so, than he is turned into an ass, and remains standing by his horse. And now some other troopers come who keep the horse, and sell the ass to a miller to carry sacks. But he is mischievous, and throws off all the sacks, so the miller sells him to another miller, with whom, however, the man-ass behaves no better; nay, once when the miller is going to kiss the maid, the ass even cries aloud and kicks, and is again sold, and to a man in the very town where he had been turned into an ass. Once when he with his sacks is passing by the witch's house, just as the mother and daughter are standing at the door, the latter says, "Oh, mother, look! there is our little ass! Will he never be able to become a man again?" "Yes," answers the mother, "if he eats some of the lilies when they are in flower, he can do so." The ass hears that and when the lilies are in flower, and a pot filled with some of them is standing rather high up in the chemist's shop, he throws down his sack as he is passing by, leaps on it, snatches at the lilies, and instantly becomes a man again, but stands there naked. And now we will leave this story, which varies much, and follow that from Zwehrn. Three soldiers were so old and weak that they could no longer even eat pap, on which the King dismissed them without allowing them anything to keep themselves on, and they had to beg. They passed through a great forest, and at night two of them lay down to rest, and the third had to keep watch that they might not be torn to pieces in their sleep by wild beasts. As the latter was standing there, a little dwarf clad in red, came, and cried, "Who's there?" "A good friend," replied the soldier. "What kind of a good friend?" "Three discharged old soldiers who have no longer anything to live on." Then the dwarf gave him a cloak which looked old, but if any one put it on and wished for anything, his wish was fulfilled immediately; only he was not to tell his comrades about it till day. Next night the second received in the same way a purse full of money which would never become empty, and the night after, the third received a horn which, when blown, made all the people throng together. And now they travelled about for a while in luxury, but at length they wished for a castle, and then for a carriage with three white horses. When they had all these things, they drove to a King who had only one daughter, and gave out that they were King's sons. One of them was playing with the maiden, and when she saw that he had a wishing-purse, she made him so drunk that he fell asleep, and then she made a purse which looked exactly like his, and exchanged the two. Next morning the soldiers drove away again, and the deception soon came to light. "Alas!" one cried, "now we are poor people!" "Don't grow any grey hairs about that," said one of the others, "I will soon have the purse back," and he put on his cloak, and wished himself in the princess's chamber. She was sitting there, counting out gold from the purse. When she saw a man she was terribly alarmed, and screamed, "Robbers! robbers!" till the whole court came running thither, and was about to seize him. In his haste he leapt out of the window, and left his cloak caught fast, so when he went back to his comrades they had now nothing left but the horn; with that, however, they were resolved to regain their property. They blew the horn till they had gathered together a whole army; and with that they marched to the kingdom, and informed the King that if he did not deliver up the purse and the cloak, not one stone of his palace should be left standing on another. The King spoke to his daughter, but she was determined to use stratagem, and dressed herself like a poor girl, took a basket with a handle on her arm, and went forth to the camp to sell all kinds of drinks. She took her waiting-maid as a companion. When she was there, she began to sing so beautifully that the entire army ran out to hear her, and the tents were all emptied, and the soldier who had the horn came too. Then she made a sign to the waiting-maid, who stole into his tent, took the horn, and ran away to the palace. When she had the horn, the King's daughter was able to overcome the army quite easily; and now she had all three wishing-gifts in her possession. When the three comrades were once more alone together, the one who had had the purse said, "We must separate: do you go that way, and I will go this." So he went away alone, and came to a forest, and lay down beneath a tree to sleep, and when he awoke again he saw that it was an apple-tree covered with magnificent fruit. He was so hungry that he plucked an apple and ate it, and then he ate another. Hereupon his nose began to grow, and it grew so long that he was no longer able to stand up, and it grew till it stretched all through the forest, and sixty miles further still. His two companions, however, were walking about the world in search of him, and suddenly one of them stumbled against something soft, and trod on it. "Oho!" thought he, "What can that be?" Then it moved, and he saw that it was a nose. So they said, "We will follow the nose," and thus they at length came to the forest to their companion, who was lying there unable to stand up or move. They took a pole, wound the nose round it, and tried to lift it up, but it was too heavy. Then they searched the forest for an ass, and put him on it, and the long nose on two poles, and thus they carried him away, but when they had gone a short distance the burden was so great that they were forced to rest. Then they saw very near them a tree with beautiful pears, and the little red dwarf came out from behind it, and said to the long-nosed one, "Eat one of the pears and your nose will fall off." He obeyed, and the long nose fell off, and he was left with no more nose than he had had before. Then the little man spoke again, and said, "Prepare a powder from the apples, and one from the pears, and then if any one eats of the former his nose will grow, and if he eats the other it will fall off again. Then go to the princess, and first give her some of the apples, and then some of the powder made from the apples, and her nose will grow twenty times as long as thine; but be firm." Then the soldier followed the dwarf's advice, and went as a gardener's boy to the King's court, and said that he had finer apples than any which grew in that region. The princess bought some, and ate two with great satisfaction. And now her nose began to grow, and with such rapidity that she could not rise from her seat, but fell back. Her nose grew sixty ells round the table, sixty round her wardrobe, a hundred round the castle, and twenty leagues more in the direction of the town. The King caused it to be proclaimed that whosoever would cure her should be made rich for life. Then the old soldier presented himself disguised as a doctor, and gave her some of the apple-powder, and her nose began to grow once more, and became twenty times longer still. When her anxiety was at its highest point, he gave her some of the pear-powder, and her nose became a little smaller. But next morning in order to make the treacherous woman really miserable, he again gave her some of the apple-powder so that her nose grew again, and gained much more than it had lost the day before. He told her that she must at some time have stolen something, and that if she did not restore it, no medicine would do her any good. She denied this, and he threatened her with death. Then the King said, "Give up the purse and the cloak, and the horn, which thou hast stolen." The waiting-maid was sent for the three things, and when the physician had them, he gave the princess the right quantity of the pear-powder: the nose fell off immediately, and two hundred and fifty men had to come and cut it in pieces. He, however, went back home to his comrades, in great delight with the wishing-gifts which he had recovered. There is another story which is allied to this in Kleist's Phœbus Journal, 1808, pp. 8-17, and one with many variations in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend.

Here we most distinctly have the saga of Fortunatus, which also proves itself to be a German one, for this story is clearly not taken from the popular book, where it is much more ancient and simple; compare Nos. 36 and 54. The wishing-cloak and horn do not appear at all there, but a hat and a purse. The Gesta Romanorum (Latin edition, chap. 120, German do., chap. 8) has everything in a still more simple form; instead of a nose, horns grow on Fortunatus, and leprosy ensues.

Two apple-trees appear also in Helwig's Jüdische Geschichten, No. 38, and the fruit of one of them causes leprosy, and that of the other cures it. As the ancients had, like ourselves, many sayings about long noses, they too may have been familiar with a fable of the like kind; in Martial, for instance, there is "nasus qualem noluerit ferre rogatus Atlas." Doctor Faustus may be founded on a real person, round whom many older sagas have grouped themselves but his name is mythical, and as he possesses the wishing-cloak, he is called the gifted, the child of fortune, wishing-child, faustus, and likewise fortunatus. The materials for the printed book were first put in writing in the 15th century, probably from Spanish popular stories, as is proved by the proper names Andolosia and Ampedo which appear in it.

The Little Bird with the Golden Egg, in the Erfurt Collection, is a cognate story. Compare Thomas Decker's Fortunatus and his Sons; translated from the English, and with an essay on the story of this group, by Fr. Wilh. Val. Schmidt, Berlin, 1819. There is also said to be an old French Fabliau.

From Paderborn. The whole has some resemblance to Jorinde and Joringel (No. 69). The old woman is the witch of the story of Hänsel and Grethel (No. 16) a Circe, who entraps human beings, and transforms them into beasts. The idea of a tree which comes to life occurs also in a song of Dürner's (MS. 2. 209a).

"Mir getroumte ein troum,[16]
des ist nicht lanc;
kunden gesten disiu mære diu sag ich.
Wie ein rôseboum
hôch unde kranc
mit zwein blüenden esten umbe vienge mich.
Dar under vant ich viôl und der rosen smac.
daz erschein ich mir,
Sò sie nù mac,
daz ir umbevanc mich bindet halben tac,
gestate ichs ir."

From the district of Schwalm; it is heard elsewhere in many other forms; but this is the most complete. It is an old jesting and lying tale, and apparently very widely spread. It is known in Bavaria also, as may be seen in Schmeller's Bairische Mundarten (pp. 484, 485). In the 16th century a collection of jests of this kind by Philipp d'Alcripe (Picard), Herr von Neri (rien), in Verbos (Vertbois), appeared in France, in which among others this story may be found. A number of these exaggerations are gathered together in the Neu eröffnete Schaubühne menschlicher Gewohn- und Thorheiten (without place or year, probably soon after the Thirty Years' War). Therein we find, "that I here make no mention of that child of four years old which could fight in such a masterly manner with a heavy broadsword that in the heaviest rain not a single drop fell on his head." "Item, that goldsmith who shod a gnat on each foot with a golden shoe which had four and twenty nails in it." Compare the story of The Four Skilful Brothers (No. 129).

From Zwehrn. A story from German Bohemia varies. During their flight, the three soldiers had gone beneath a pear-tree, where one of them cried in his sore need, "I wish the Devil would take us!" On this the Devil appeared immediately, closed with the proposition, and helped them out of their difficulty. And now they were compelled to remain in hell for the space of one year, until the time came when the Devil should set them the riddles; but they were occasionally allowed to take a walk in the neighbourhood. Lucifer (who always stays at home, and only sends out his emissaries the devils) was however not quite at ease, for he thought the Devil would not set the fellows good riddles, and would be cheated by them. One day the three soldiers went out walking, and were very sad, and the two who had not spoken, upbraided the other for having brought them into this trouble by the rash words which had escaped from him. "And thou must help us out of it now," said they, "or it shall be the worse for thee!" "Good gracious!" he answered, "we shall at all events, certainly be able to guess one of the three riddles!" Then he walked on alone for a short distance to consider the matter in private, and when he saw a tall pear-tree he climbed it, and looked on the country round about. Just at this moment he perceived Lucifer and the Devil, who were also taking a walk, and seated themselves under this very pear-tree to rest. "Hark you," said Lucifer, "what riddles are you going to set them? I am afraid they will guess them; discharged soldiers are as sharp as devils!" "You may be quite easy," answered the Devil, "they will never guess them. In the first place I'll give them a goat's skin, but will turn it into Dutch cloth; secondly, I will come riding on a he-goat, which will seem to them to be the most beautiful horse; thirdly, I will show them a cup made of pitch, which they will believe to be a cup of the purest gold." Hereupon the soldier in the pear-tree thought, "Now it's all right," but said nothing about it to the two others. On the day appointed the Devil came, and the two others were properly befooled by him, but the third said boldly in his face, "Thy Dutch cloth is a stinking goatskin; thy horse is an old he-goat, good enough for thee, but too bad for us; thy gold cup is an old pitch-pot and nothing better. And now I require thee to give me money enough for the rest of my life." Then to his great wrath the Devil was forced to bear the consequences, and to carry as much money as they chose to have to the place where the bargain had first been made. Compare with this, No. 19, in Pröhle's Kindermärchen. The groundwork of the story resembles The Devil with the three Golden Hairs (No. 29), where the secret is learnt by listening, as from Rumpelstilzchen (No. 55) and the fisherman in the Hervarar Sage, p. 182. The whip is a wishing-rod which strikes gold, the whole has something Norse in its substance; the Devil is represented as a clumsy over-reached Jote; the riddle is remarkably Norse, and the concealment of the human stranger by the giant's wife or daughter is an old incident (see Hymisquida, Str. 8, Note 20).

From Paderborn; but this beautiful story seems to be imperfect. The incident at the end, of the white horse becoming a prince, ought to have some connection with the rest of the story. Ferdinand the Unfaithful may be compared with the faithless Sibich of the old German saga, who causes ruin by his false counsels; and on the other hand, Ferdinand the Faithful resembles the son of Ermenrich whom Sibich, with evil intentions, sends to fetch his father's betrothed bride. The bride, too, prefers him to the old King. The Jewish story in the note to The Queen Bee (No. 62) should be read in connection with the conclusion of the story. The red line on the throat of the man who is restored to life is quite in keeping with sagas of this kind, see Der arme Heinrich, p. 192. For the incident of seeking a godfather, see Godfather Death (No. 44). The flute which saves him is like Arion's lute; the faithful horse is like Bayard; Falada is like Schemik (old German Sheming, Schimmel; Icelandic, Skemmingur) of the Bohemian saga, and Grani of the Norse. We must not fail to observe the Queen's writings (Schriften), which are either embroidered garments, as Script and bökur in Icelandic are books, drawings, embroideries; or runic wands; at all events the pen which is found is certainly one of these. Verses, and generally too the speeches of noble persons, are in High German, and when he understands both languages, as is frequently the case in the neighbourhood of Paderborn, the narrator of the story almost always maintains this distinction, and then the higher form of speech serves to distinguish the language of the nobles and of poetry. Corvetto in the Pentamerone, 3. 7; La Belle aux cheveux d'or, No. 2, in D'Aulnoy; and Fortunio, in the Tabart Collection, 2. 148, are allied.

127.—The Iron Stove.

From Zwehrn, and another variation of the story comes from Cassel. A girl is once on a time quite alone in a great forest, and a swan comes and gives her a ball of yarn, and says, "I am a bewitched prince, if thou canst unwind this yarn as I fly away, thou canst deliver me, but beware of letting it break." The girl begins to unwind it, and the swan rises up in the air. The livelong day she unwinds the yarn and the end of it is already visible, when unluckily it is caught in the branch of a thorn, and breaks. The maiden weeps, and as night is falling, she becomes alarmed, begins to run, and at length reaches a house where she had seen a light shining. She knocks, and an old dame comes out, and says, "Alas, my child, whence come you at this late hour?" She begs for food and lodging. "That is difficult to give," says the woman; "my husband is a man-eater, and if he comes home, he will devour you, but if you stay in the forest the wild beasts will devour you, so come in, and I will see if I can help you." She gives the girl a small loaf, and hides her under the bed. Before midnight when the sun had quite set, the man-eater always came home, and he went out again before sunrise. When he comes in, he at once says, "I smell, I smell man's flesh," feels beneath the bed, pulls out the maiden, and says, "This is a dainty mouthful!" "Oh, do keep it for your breakfast," says his wife; "after all, it is a mere nothing!" He lets himself be persuaded to do this, and falls asleep. Before sunrise the old woman comes to the maiden and says, "Be quick, and run away; there, I present you with a golden spinning-wheel, my name is Sun." The maiden walks onwards the whole day until night, and then she comes to another house where another old woman and a man-eater are living, and where all happens as on the preceding night. On her departure, the old woman gives her a golden spindle, and says, "My name is Moon." On the third night the same events are repeated, and the old woman presents her with a golden reel, and says, "I am called Star." And she also tells her that though the yarn had not been quite unwound, King Swan was nevertheless so far delivered from the spell as to have received his human form again, and was imprisoned on the Glass Mountain in his own kingdom, and living in great magnificence, and that he had there married. She tells the maiden also that she will reach the Glass Mountain that evening, but that a lion and a dragon lie before it, and that she must pacify them with bread and bacon, which things the old woman gives her. And now the maiden walks on until she reaches the mountain, then she throws the bread and bacon into the monsters' jaws, and they suffer her to pass, and thus she reaches the gate of the palace, but that the watchman refuses to open to her. She sits down outside it, and spins with her golden spinning-wheel, and the Queen watches her from above, and would fain have it. In return for it the maiden requests to be allowed to pass one night near the King's bed-chamber. When the King is lying in bed, she sings,

"Thinks not King Swan
Of his bride Julian?
Who traversed the sun and the moon and the stars,
Who lions and dragons has braved for his sake,
King Swan, King Swan, wilt thou never awake?"

But the King does not hear, for the crafty Queen has prepared a sleeping-drink for him. The maiden gives her spindle for a second night, and for a third she gives her golden reel; but as she has discovered the treachery, she this time asks the servant to substitute another drink for the sleeping-drink. So now when she begins to sing once more, the King hears her, recognizes the maiden's voice, and next morning has himself separated from his wife, sends her back to her father, and marries the faithful maiden who has set him free. This tale contains that part of our story where it is allied with The Singing Soaring Lark (No. 88), with the conclusion of The Two Kings' Children (No. 113), and with Pintosmauto, in the Pentamerone, 5. 3; on the other hand, a story from the district of the Maine, contains, in a varying form, the beginning of our story. A certain King loses himself when he is hunting. A little white dwarf appears and points out the way to him, in return for which the King promises him his youngest daughter. "In a week," cries the dwarf when he takes leave, "I will come and fetch my bride." The King repents the promise given in his distress, and when the appointed day arrives, the cow-herd's daughter, arrayed in royal apparel, is placed in the royal apartment. A fox comes, and says to her, "Seat thyself on my bushy tail, and hurly burly, we will out into the forest." The girl obeys, and the fox carries her away on his tail. When they reach a green place where the sun is shining delightfully warm, he says, "Get off and clean my coat for me." The girl obeys; and as she is doing it, she says, "It was beautiful in the forest this time yesterday." "How did you happen to be in the forest?" says the fox. "Oh, I was there, tending my father's cows." "Then, you are not the King's daughter! Seat yourself on my bushy tail, and then hurly burly back to the palace." And now the fox demands the true bride from the King, and says he will return in a week's time. But they give him the goose-herd's daughter, dressed like the princess; she however betrays herself, while she is cleaning his coat, by exclaiming, "I wonder where my geese are now?" She has to go back again on the fox's tail, and he threatens the King if he does not give him his bride in a week's time. Then in their fear they give her to him. When she is in the forest and has to clean his coat, she says, "I am a King's daughter, and yet I have to do this for a fox! If I were but sitting at home in my own room, I should be able to see the flowers in my garden." Then the fox knows that she is the King's daughter, and changes himself into the white dwarf, and she has to live in a small hut with him, and to keep his house, but he does all he can to please her. One day he tells her that three white pigeons will come flying up, and that she must seize the middle one and cut its head off, but it must be the middle one. She does this, and the pigeon is instantly changed into a handsome prince, who says that for the space of seven years he has been deprived of his human form, and has only been able to obtain his deliverance in this way. Other stories are to be found in Müllenhoff, No. 2; Colshorn, No. 20; and in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 4. The fraud of the false bride, who is too quick at remembering her father's unkingly trade, has appeared before in the Volsunga sage, chap. 21, comp. Altd. Wälder. 1. 71. The dark and fiery stove in which the King's son is bewitched, doubtless betokens hell, the nether world, Orcus, where dark Death dwells, but where is also the chimney of the forge. This story serves to explain the common forms of speech, "to tell a secret to the stove," "to beg something from the stove." In other sagas people disclose a secret to a stone or a stone pillar (see Büsching's Volkssagen, pp. 66 and 363), or a man digs a hole in the earth, and says it inside that (see Eyering's Sprichwörter, 1. 290; compare Wuk's Servian Tales, p. 227. Thus too the Ancients swore by the nether world where dwell the just judges of the dead and of hell. For this reason the goose-girl speaks to the stove (No. 89, compare The Elves, No. 91), and reveals to it the deed which has been done, which she is not permitted to reveal to any human being. The very word Eisenofen (iron stove) is ancient, and does not so much point to an iron stove as lead us back to the old eitofan, fire-oven, fire-place (from eit, esse, fire). In a Hungarian story a bridge of razor-blades is crossed, in the same way that in our story, sharp swords are passed over; Mailáth, 2. 189.

From Zwehrn. There is a similar idea in the Pentamerone (4. 4), and in an old German Story, Die Minne eines Albernen (Altd. Wälder, 3. 160-163; in Hagen's Gesammtabenteuer, 2. 141. Compare The Three Spinners (No. 14), and chap. 125, in Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst (1535 fol.). The tree in the forest is a spindle-tree (Spill-Spulbaum); Latin, fusarius; French, fusain, from fuseau, spindle, euonymus (Gerbert's Gloss: theotisca, p. 139. Graff. Sprachsch. 5. 334); it is also a magic tree which prognosticates good or evil fortune; comp. hesputré and hespulägt-tré in Biörn's Icelandic Dictionary.

From the neigbourhood of Paderborn. It is allied to the story of The Three Brothers (No. 124) though the incidents vary. The Italian Stories (5. 7) in the Pentamerone, Morlini, No. 80, and Straparola (7, 5) come much nearer to it. A Hungarian story in Stier, p. 61, and a Russian in Dieterich, No. 3, also belong to this group.

The Parrot, which is the fourth story in the Persian Touti Nameh, bears some resemblance to this. There are three youths, the eldest of whom is endowed with the gift of knowing where anything which has been lost is to be found, and also of foreseeing the future; the second has made an artificial horse of wood on which he can ride about in the air at will; the third is an archer, and his arrow never misses its mark. By their arts they discover the beautiful maiden whom an enchantress has set on a high, inaccessible mountain, and they carry her away, but then a dispute arises as to which of them she belongs to. Compare Ssidi Kur and a Negro story in Kölle, p. 145.

[The following passage, from the preface to one of the many editions of Grimm's Hausmärchen, explains a singular expression in this story. "I am constantly endeavouring to record popular sayings and characteristic forms of speech, and am always on the watch for them. I will give an example, especially as it needs explanation. When a countryman wishes to express his satisfaction with anything, he says, 'I admire that more than green clover!' a thickly-grown, flourishing clover-field being a sight which gladdens his heart. Even old German poets celebrate it in the same way. MS. Hag. 2, 66b, 94b."]

From Upper Lusatia. This beautiful story was communicated by Th. Pesheck, in Büsching's Wöchentliche Nachrichten, 2. 17-26, from whence we have borrowed it, but have given it in our own words. It is also told on the Rhine, where however they tell it of eight sisters each having one eye more than the other. Two-eyes is the Cinderella, and the wise woman who takes pity on her sufferings, is probably her own departed mother. The story is clearly related to Cinderella all through; there is the tree from which gold and silver is shaken, and the wooer whose request can only be granted by the true bride. A magic tree springing from the entrails of the goat which is buried, is like the heart which is taken out of the bird in the Gold Bird (No. 60) and in Donkey Cabbages (No. 122), and brings riches. The idea of a person with only one eye occurs frequently, and is familiar to us from the story of Polyphemus. Odin is one-eyed, and the Greek myth has a Jupiter with three eyes.

131.—Fair Katrinelje.

From the neighbourhood of Paderborn. It is somewhat differently told in Bremen. Father Bürstenbinder (brushmaker) is called Ohnethee. The bridegroom Pichelpachelpaltrie, the mother Dorothee, the brother Ohnestolz, sister Kieseltraut, and the bride is Katherliese. The greetings, questions, and answers are the same as in our story, but the rhymes are rather different,

"Wo ist denn die Mutter Dorothee?"
"Sie ist in der Küche und kocht den Thee."
"Wo ist der Bruder Ohnestolz?"
"Er ist im Stall und hackt das Holz."
"Wo ist die Schwester Kieseltraut?"
"Sie ist im Garten und hackt das Kraut."
"Wo ist die Katherliese?"
"Sie ist im Hauf und pflückt Radiese."

After this the mother goes to the godmother and says, "I wish you good day, Mrs. Gossip." "Many thanks, Mrs. Gossip, where are you going?" "To Witzenhausen (in Hesse), Mrs. Gossip." "What are you going to do there, Mrs. Gossip?" "Fetch some rosemary, Mrs. Gossip." "What are you going to do with that, Mrs. Gossip?" "Don't you know my daughter is betrothed?" "Who has she got then, Mrs. Gossip?" "Just guess, Mrs. Gossip." "A doctor?" "Far better." "A Professor?" "Far better." "Perhaps even a broom-maker?" "You have guessed it." "What do you give with her, Mrs. Gossip?" "A peck of dried pears, a peck of sliced apples, and one farthing in hard cash. Isn't that enough, Mrs. Gossip? Does not a daughter cost one a great deal when she marries?" In Bremen too there is the rhyme,

"The Brushmaker's daughter and Broommaker's son,
They have promised each other that they will be one;
The mother came running and loudly she cried,
'Victory! victory! my girl is a bride!'
And if when they're married a home they're without,
Let them get in a basket and take a look out."

A popular song from the Kühländchen, Meinert, 1. 241, is conceived in the same spirit. Compare also No. 2. in Kuhn.

From Münster. The whole is allied to Old Sultan (No. 48). The 7th Fable, The Wolf and the Ass, in Steinhöwel's Extravaganten (1487, folio, 50, 51), which is printed in Reinhart Fuchs, 424, also belongs to this group.

From Münster. The incident of the soldier fastening a sponge beneath his chin into which he lets the sleeping-drink run down, is taken from another story from Paderborn, which has also the following variations. There are only three princesses whose shoes are every morning found in holes. Whosover can discover the cause of this, is to have the youngest to wife, but if he is not able to find it out, must lose his life. Twelve have been hanged already, when the soldier presents himself as the thirteenth. At night he steals through the secret passage after them (he has not yet got the cloak which makes him invisible). The three maidens walk till they come to a lake where three tall giants are standing, each of whom takes one of the maidens on his back, and carries her through the lake to a castle of copper. The soldier is not able to follow them, but he perceives a lion and a fox with a cloak and a pair of boots, which have the property of carrying any one who wears them whithersoever he wishes to be. The two are quarrelling as to which of them shall have the magic possessions, on which he says, "Go thirty paces away from me, and then begin to run, and the one who is first here again shall have them." They are hardly gone before he puts on the boots, throws the cloak around himself, and wishes to be with the three princesses. Without being seen he seats himself by the eldest, and eats everything just as she is putting it into her mouth. After they have eaten, the dance begins, and they dance until their shoes are in holes, and then the giants carry them back again across the lake. He wishes himself in his bed so that they may seem to find him fast asleep. On the second night all happens just the same, only the castle is silver, and the soldier sits down beside the second; on the third night, the castle is golden, and he sits by the third, his promised bride. On the third day, the soldier discloses all these things to the King, and receives the youngest of the sisters in marriage, and after the King's death inherits the kingdom. A third story from Hesse contains much that is characteristic. A King's daughter dances twelve pairs of shoes into holes every night, and every morning a shoemaker has to come and measure her for twelve pairs of new ones, which are sent to her at night; and in order to do this, he has to keep twelve apprentices. No one knows how the shoes are worn into holes at night, but one evening, when the youngest apprentice is taking the shoes to her and the maiden happens not to be in her apartment, he thinks, "I will discover how the shoes are worn out," and gets under her bed. At eleven o'clock at night, the trap-door opens, and eleven princesses come up who kiss each other, put on the new shoes, and then descend together. The apprentice, who can make himself invisible, follows; they come to a lake where a boatman takes them into his boat. He complains that it is heavier than usual. The twelve maidens say, "Oh, indeed we have brought nothing with us: no handkerchief and no little parcel." They land, and go into twelve different gardens, one of which belongs to each of them, and there they pluck the most beautiful flowers, with which they adorn themselves. And now they go to a castle where twelve princes receive them, and dance with them; all are merry but one princess, who is melancholy (it seems as if she had seen the handsome apprentice and had fallen in love with him). They go home again, because their shoes are worn out. When they are once more up above, they throw the shoes out of the window, where a whole heap of shoes are already lying. The apprentice steals away, and next morning his master goes to measure the princess for new ones, but she is still in bed, and bids him come later. When he returns, she says she will have no more shoes; she only requires one pair, and he is to send them to her by his youngest apprentice. The latter, however, says, "I will not go; it is the turn of the eldest." The eldest dresses himself smartly and goes, but she will not have him; but will have the youngest. Again he says, "I will not go until it is my turn." So the second goes, and the third, and all of them one after the other until she has sent away the eleventh as well. Then the youngest says, "If I am to so, I will go just as I am, and will put on no better clothes." When he gets there, she throws her arms round his neck, and says, "Thou hast delivered me from the eleven who have had me in their power, and have so tormented me; I love thee with all my heart, and thou shalt be my husband." Compare the note to The Golden Mountain (No. 92) for the dispute about the magic possessions. For failure in the performance of the appointed tasks being followed by the punishment of death, see The Riddle, (No. 22) and The Six Servants (No. 134). This story is also known in Poland (see further on). In Hungarian, see Stier, p. 51.

From Paderborn. See the note to How seven Apprentices got through the world, No. 71.

In connection with the servant whose eyes shatter all he looks on, see a remarkable passage in the Hymisquida of the Edda, (St. 12), "the pillars were rent asunder by Joten's glance." In Villemarqué's Contes Bretons, 2. 120, there is a man who can hear the grass growing.

From Mecklenburg and Paderborn. According to one of the stories, the brother is not only thrown among the snakes, but actually killed by them and buried in the stable among the horses. At night the duck comes swimming up to the grating and sings,

"Open the door, that I may warm myself,
My brother lies buried among the horses.
Cut off the duck's head."

This gives a reason for the head being cut off, as her deliverance from the spell depended on it. In the end the brother is disinterred from his grave in the stable, and laid in the earth with much pomp; compare The Singing Bone (No. 28). The entire story forms the groundwork of a bad modern reproduction, in the Sagen der böhm: Vorzeit, Prag, 1808, p. 141-185). The beginning treats of flowers and combs of pearl in the usual style. It is a peculiar feature that the beauty with which the girl is endowed must be guarded from the open air and sunshine. On the journey therefore, the wicked witch breaks the carriage window, and the air and sunlight force their way in, on which she is transformed into a golden duck. It is the same in the collection made by Gerle. In D'Aulnoy (see Rosette, No. 6), the story appears with a number of beautiful incidents. On the other hand, Blanchebelle has only a weak foundation, see the collection, Les illustres Fées (Cabinet des Fées, vol. 5). The Lai le Freisne (see further on), by Marie de France, is allied to this. Bertram's Finnisches Mädchen aus dem Meer, is the most valuable and characteristic. In the Pentamerone (4, 7) there is a story compounded half from this of ours, and half from the Goose girl (No. 89), which, like the one before us, recalls the fable of Queen Bertha.

The simple contrast of black and white, to express ugliness and beauty, sinfulness and purity, should be specially observed, as it reminds us of the myth of day and night (and Night's daughter), and the very word Bertha (the white, biort), signifies day or day-break.

When the maiden who is pushed into the water rises up as a snow-white duck, and continues to live, she appears as a Swan-maiden. In the same way the Norse Schwanhild is white and fair as day, in opposition to her raven-black step-brothers; there is also an old German story of a white Dieterich and a black one, who are twins, and a black daughter and a white one, appear in a Swedish popular ballad (Geyer and Afzelius, 1. 81). The name Reginer was probably an old one even at the time of this story; modem popular opinion has turned the marshals, equerries, and charioteers into coachmen, just as the heroes have been turned into soldiers. The brother being with the horses, and being buried among them, reminds us of the steed Falada, whose place in the story he fills. The scullion represents the herd-boy. The bride falls into the water, is drowned, and comes back by night to warm herself at the kitchen fire as she is wet, just as the drowned people in the old Norse saga return home at night in their wet garments, seat themselves by the fire, and turn their spinning-wheels. Eyerbiggia Sage, pp. 274, 276.

136.—Iron John.

From a story current in the district of the Maine, and No. 17, in Arnim's Märchen. In our earlier editions it is called The Wild Man, and is from a tradition current in the province of Münster. Here we have a genuine male Aschenputtel, of whom mention has been already made in No. 21. His wretched smock-frock which makes him like Allerleirauh (No. 65), have to sleep alone, and even the menial kitchen-work appears, and in the same way after living most royally, he secretly resumes his former mode of existence, and can only be recognized by an external mark. In Austria there is a story of a certain Stiefelstoss, who is transformed into a bear, and lies under the stairs. Everyone who enters the house kicks him; steps on him, and cleans his boots on his hide. According to the Jewish saga (Majer, Mythol. Wörterb. 1. 119, 120), Aschmadai is by a stratagem, chained fast, just as the wild man is here. In German we find the story in the collection made by Vulpius; in Müllenhoff, No. 12; in Wolf's Hausmärchen, p. 269, in Sommer, pp. 86, 133, 135; in Zingerle, Nos. 28 and 33, p. 198. In Norwegian see Asbjörnsen, p. 74. In Danish, Winther, p. 31. In Italian, see Straparola, 5, 1. In Russian, see Dieterich, No. 4. In Bohemian, Milenowski, No. 6. A story which is startlingly like ours is told of the renowned Norwegian King, Harald Harfager. It is not in Snorri, but in the Flatöbuch. In his father's court a Jote was kept imprisoned, because he wanted to steal the king's treasure. Harold, then a child of five, set him free; in return for which the Jote took him away, and brought him up until he was in his fifteenth year (P. E. Müller, Ueber Snorris Quellen, p. 13). The story may have an ancient basis, and tell of a higher and semi-divine being, who fell into the power of a spirit of the nether world, and had to do servile work until he once more regained his higher place. The shining golden hair points to this.

From the province of Münster. Magic, if disturbed during its development, or when it is coming to its appointed close, by the attack of something stronger, is followed by ruin or total annihilation. See note to The Donkey (No. 144). It likes to remain secret, and shuns light; for this reason the three are black, and gradually become white. Compare also the varying story of Our Lady's Child (No. 3). It also shuns all discourse, and it is just the same when at the raising of a treasure, the first word which is uttered makes it sink seven times deeper than before.

From Sauerland,[17] and in that dialect. It should be sung, and with very long-drawn syllables. Werrel (Werl) is a place of pilgrimage in Westphalia; Soist is Soest. It is also set as a riddle, and when people have been guessing for a long time and enquire what is the answer; the answer is, "a lie." According to another story, after the naked man has put the hare which has been caught into his pocket, they go into a church, where the box-wood parson and the beach-wood sexton give out holy water. "Then they come to a great piece of water that is so broad that a cock can step across it, on which are three boats; one has a hole in it, the other has a hole in it, and the third no bottom. They all three get into the one which has no bottom; one is lost in the water, the other is drowned, the third never gets out again."

The Quails, a lying tale, bears a remarkable resemblance to our story. See W. Wackernagel's edition:

die hunde sint mit muose behuot,[18]
dâ sint die kirchtüre guot
gemûrt ûz butern, got weiz!
und schînet diu sunne alsô heiz,
daz schadet in niht umbe ein hâr,
ein eichîn pfaffe, daz ist wâr,
ein büechîn messe singet.
swer dâ ze opfer dringet
der antlaz im geben wirt,
daz im der rücke geswirt,
den segen man mit kolven gap,
ze hant huop ich mich herap:
von dem antlaz ich erschrac,
siben wachtel in den sac!

There are other references to it elsewhere,

"mîn houpt wart mir gezwagen[19]
mit hagenbuochner lougen."
Liedersaal, 3. 553, 80.

"drî knütele eichen[20]
ze guoter mâze wol gewegen,
die wâren dô der beste segen."
Hagen and Büsching, Grundriss, p. 345.

See also Chaucer's Poetical Works, vol. 4. The Coke's Tale of Gamelyn, v. 996.

"Gamelyn sprenith holi watir
All with on okin spire."

The quails (Wachteln) signify lies; even at this day we hear "he lies in his sack;" see Haupt's Zeitschrift, 4. 578. The Story of Schlauraffenland, and The Ditmars Tale of Wonders (Nos. 158 and 159), should likewise be compared.

From the neighbourhood of Paderborn. St. Anna is in fact the patron Saint of Brakel, and her chapel is near the town. "Mudder" (mother) has come from High German, but "Möhme" is the common expression. Another mocking verse is current there,

"O hilge Sünte Anne,
help mie doch bald tom Manne!
O hilge Sünte Viet,
et is iez die hogeste Tied!"[21]

St. Vitus is the patron Saint of Corvei, which lies very near. In Hanover it is told that as the girl was praying to God to give her some sign, a shepherd who had been listening to the whole prayer behind a hedge, threw an old shoe over it, for which she thanked God in great delight. A similar story is told of a sexton in Wormer, a North-Dutch village, near Zaanland, Stavoren, Vronen in Waterland, communicated by Hendrik Soeteboom (Amsterdam, 1702), 1. 376, 377.

A certain baker living in this village was notorious for making his bread too light in weight, and for this reason could not earn enough to keep him. So he often went to the church and prayed to the Virgin Mary, whose image stood on one of the pillars with the infant Jesus in her arms, and begged her to give him a better livelihood. The clerk who had observed this, once placed himself behind the pillar, and one day when the baker was preferring his requests very zealously, cried in a soft child's voice, "Baker, you must give better weight." Thereupon the baker quickly answered, "Silence, boy, and let thy mother speak!" and left the church. A similar story is told of St. Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux (Vorzeit, Taschenbuch, 1819). Once when he was at Spire, he went into the cathedral to pay his devotions to the image of the Virgin. He fell thrice on his knees before it, and full of fervour uttered the words "Oh, gracious, mild, and highly favoured mother of God!" Hereupon the image began to speak, and said, "Welcome, my Bernard!" But the saint, who was displeased by this, reprimanded the Queen of Heaven for speaking, in these words, "Silence! No woman is to speak in the congregation!" The image is still to be seen in the cathedral, and so are the three metal plates which mark the three places where St. Bernard knelt. A saga from Westphalia also belongs to this group.

There was once a girl in Sauste (Soest) who every morning, as soon as all the people had gone out of the church, knelt down and prayed to the great stone image of our Lord. The clerk was curious, and went one day and stood behind the image. Then the girl said,

"O du graute, leiwe Gott von Sauste,[22]
Bescher mie doch usen Knecht den Jausten (Jost)."

So the clerk said, "Girl, thou wilt not get him." Then the girl said, "Oh, great and beloved God, do not bite me."

From the neighbourhood of Paderborn. To cite the numerous variations of this old story, which are like a conversation and its echoes, would be much too prolix, and it would be still more out of place to give their names, which are always very poetical, and often go back to the ancient language and times of fable. The hall of Hell is in the Edda, called Eliud, its table Hungur, its knife Sultur, its serving-man Gangläti, its maid Ganglöt, its threshold Fallandiforrad, its bed Kaur, its coverlid Blikandibaul, its field Hnipinn. In the Gothrek's Sage there are other family names which are significant, the father Skapnartungur, the three sons Fiolmodi, Ymsigull, Gillingr; Mother Totra with her three daughters Snotra, Hiotra, Fiotra; and in another saga, the man Stedie, the wife Brynia, the daughter Smidia, and the son Thöllur; in the mythical names of races we find some which are closely related. Thus in the Lied von Riese Langbein, Str. 8, 19, 20, Vidrich enumerates the names of his father, mother, shield, helmet, sword, and horse. In an old German poem on household furniture the dog is called Grin, the cat Zise, the man Wise, the horse Kerne, the maid Metze. Musäus (Volksm. 5, 130) has preserved the following beautiful passage from a popular pilgrim's song: "From what region dost thou come?" "From sunrise." "Whither wouldst thou go?" "To sunset." "In which kingdom?" "Home." "Where is it?" "A hundred miles inland." "What is thy name?"[23] In the Kinderlieder (Appendix to the Wunderhorn, pp. 41-43), we find, "My poor little hen is called Bibberlein, my duck Entequentlein, my goose Wackelschwänzlein, my pig Schmortopf, my goat Klipperbein, my cow Gutemuh, my house Guckheraus (peep out of it), my husband Kegelbahn, my child Goldenring, my maid Hatergsagt, my man Haberecht, my cock Wettermann, my flea Hüpfinsstroh (hop in the straw). Jung Stilling only quotes one line (Jugendleben, 1, 62), "Gerberli hiess mein Hüneli;" and a Dutch popular song begins, "Koekeloery heet myn haan, prys heet myn hennetjen." Compare also Schottky's Oestreichische Lieder, p. 40. When Tannhaüser (MS. 2, 67) calls his people Zadel (Blame?), Zweifel (Doubt), Schade (Injury), and Unbereit (Unready), it marks the transition of the epic names into conscious allegory, as, for instance, in the saying, "Much borrowing had a step-mother called Sell-what-thou-hast, who brought forth a daughter called Give-it-cheap; this same daughter had a brother called Out-of-doors." The well-known saying, "Sparebread (father) is dead; Schmalhans (a half-starved creature) is head of the kitchen," is intermediary. There are many instances of single names, such as that of Zeitvertreib or Leidvertreib, for the wife, occurring in old works, viz. in Morolf, 159, 1145. The "Ruprecht mein Knecht" of the Wartburger Krieg, also belongs to this group. Compare the names which occur in Fair Katrinelje (No. 131).

From the principality of Lippe. The end is imperfect, and it only dimly appears that the step-mother believes that she has eaten the little lamb, and orders the cook to cook the fish also. But when the fish begins to talk and to bemoan its lot, the cook does not kill it, but takes it to the lamb, and again deceives the step-mother, whose wickedness comes to the father's ears, and she is punished. Compare The White Bride and the Black One (No. 135), and the notes to it. The counting out, in the beginning, occurs also in the ballad Gräfin[24] Orlamünde, in the Wunderhorn.

142.—Simeli Mountain.

It is remarkable that this story, which is told in the province of Münster, is told also in the Hartz, about the Dummburg (Otmar, pp. 235, 238) or Hochburg, and closely resembles the Eastern story, The Forty Thieves (1001 Nights, 6, 345), where even the rock Sesam, which falls open at the words Semsi and Semeli, recalls the name of the mountain in the German saga. This name for a mountain is, according to a document in Pistorius (3. 642), very ancient in Germany. A mountain in Grabfeld is called Similes, and in a Swiss song (Kuhn's Kühreihen, Berne, 1810, p. 20, and Spazier's Wanderungen, Gotha, 1790, pp. 340, 341) a Simeliberg is again mentioned. This makes us think of the Swiss word "simel" for "sinbel," round. See Stalder's Wörterbuch. In Meier, No. 53, we find "Open Simson." In Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 30, where the story is amplified, it is Simsimseliger Mountain. There is also a Polish story which is very like it (see further on).

From the province of Münster. Another story current in the district of Paderborn contains new jests. There was once a stupid youth who always did what his mother bade him, but always did it wrong. When he was hired, his master told him to go to the field and sow, and while he was doing it, to say, "May this bear fruit every year a hundred-fold." He went thither, and at that very time some people came with a corpse, so he said, "May this bear fruit every year a hundred-fold." When the people heard that, they gave him a good beating. He went home and said to his mother, "Oh, mother, what has happened to me, and I only did what my master bade me." Then his mother said, "Thou shouldst have said, 'May he rest in peace.'" He went back again, and then came a knacker with a dead horse, so he said, "May he rest in peace." The knacker took that amiss, and gave him a beating. He went home again and complained to his mother, and she said, "Thou shouldst have said, 'Away with the carrion.'" He once more went to the field just as a wedding party was coming by, so he said, "Away with the carrion." They gave him a thorough beating. "Oh, mother," said he again, "what has happened to me?" and told her. She replied, "Thou shouldst have said, 'Here is mirth and gladness.'" He went back, and on his way saw a house burning, so he said, "Here is mirth and gladness!" He got another beating for it, and when he had complained to his mother, she said, "Thou shouldst have taken a bucketful of water, and have poured it on the fire." He thought of this as he passed a bee-hive, and poured a bucketful of water over it. The owner of the bees took a stick, and beat him till he ran away. "Oh, mother, what bad luck I have had." She said, "Thou shouldst have said, 'Give me some of it away with me.'" Then he passed by a cow-byre which was just being cleaned out, and took off his cap and said, "Give me some of it away with me." The stories of the deaf man who misinterprets everything, and the tailor's wife who purposely misunderstands her husband's words, and buys cakes (fladen) instead of thread (faden), a pear (birn) instead of twine (zwirn), &c., all of which are related in the Rollwagenbüchlein are like this. We must also mention the English Jann Posset, who did not serve his master better (see a Shrove-Tuesday play in Ayrer, folio 106-114). The tricks which are played on the Indian Guru Nudle by his scholars, are remarkably like this story. There are five of these, Blockhead, Dullard, Simpleton, Dunce, and Fool. Once when they have crossed a river with their master, one of them counts the party, and as he forgets to include himself, he can only make five, and they believe that one is drowned. A traveller gives each of them a blow on the back, and bids them count, and then the six reappear. Just in the same way the six Lalenbürgers, who are sitting in a circle, cannot find their own legs until they feel a blow on them. Guru loses his turban, and is indignant with his scholars for not having picked it up. "People ought to pick up everything," says he. One of them runs back, fetches the turban, but finds some refuse in the road as well, and picks it up and puts it in the turban. On this Guru gives his scholars a list of the things which they ought to pick up. Soon afterwards he falls into a hole, and they will not pull him out because he is not named in the list, and he has to write his name at the end before they will do it, just as in Jann Posset.

144.—The Donkey.

From a Latin poem in elegiac verse, of the second half of the 15th century, which is to be found in a Strasburg MS. (MSS. Johann, c. 105, 5 folios) under the title Asinarius. The story is as in Raparius (No. 146), broad, but not disagreeable. It begins thus,

"Rex fuit ignotae quondam regionis et urbis,
Sed regis nomen pagina nulla docet,
Is sibi consortem regni talamique sodalem,
Sortitus fuerat nobilitate parem,"

and concludes,

"post haec preterea patris sortitur honorem
Sicque regit regum rex duo regna duum."

For its contents compare the notes to Hans the Hedgehog (No. 108). The lying in wait to espy the mysterious enchantment ought properly to have been followed by some misfortune, or at all events by the interruption of earthly happiness, such as ensues after Psyche has cast the light upon Love, and in Melusina, the Swan Knight, and other stories. In Hans the Hedgehog we have a suggestion of misfortune in that he becomes black, and has to be cured; here we recognize it by the fact that the youth anxiously endeavours to fly:

"ergo gener mane surgit somno satiatus,
pelle volens asini sicut et ante tegi;
quam non inveniens, multo stimulante dolore,
de sola cepit anxius esse fuga;"

and when he answers the old man,

"iter faciam tecumque manebo,
et precor ut finem dent bona cepta bonum."

In Servian, see Wuk, No. 9, where it is a snake which strips off its skin every night. In another story of the same kind which is to be found in Wuk (No. 10), misfortune actually arises from burning the snake-shirt. An Indian story which altogether resembles ours is given in the Altd. Wälder (1. 165-167). It is likewise known in Persia, as is shewn by Firdusi. (Görres, 2. 441, 442).

From Schimpf und Ernst, chap. 413. This is quite in the same style as The Grandfather and the Grandchild, No. 78. The story is given in an older and more legendary form by the Dominican Thomas of Cantimpre, from an oral tradition of the 12th century; compare Büsching, who, in Schlegel's Museum (4. 32, 33), names another book in which it appears. See also Geiler von Kaisersberg's Euangelia mit Usslegung (Strasburg, 1517), folio 195, 196.

146.—The Turnip.

From its external form this is an old story; it is, in fact, translated from a Latin poem of the middle ages, and indeed from the 15th century manuscript now in Strasburg (MSS. Johann, c. 102), which contains 392 elegiac lines, and is entitled Raparius; another of the same period is preserved in Vienna (Denis, II., 2, p. 1271, Cod. DLXII. R. 3356). The poem itself may however have been composed in the 14th century, and, without question, from some popular story learnt by word of mouth, perhaps in Alsace itself, for the great turnip is one of the popular jests there; and Fischart, in his preface to the Ehzuchtbüchlein, has already mentioned the turnip of Strasburg. In the Volksbuch von dem lügenhaften Aufschneider (also translated into Swedish, Lund, 1790), we find, "Now, when I had travelled farther and came to Strasburg, I there saw such a great turnip in a field as I had never seen the like of before, and I really believe that a man on horseback would not have been able to ride round it in three long summer's days." The Strasburg vegetable is also extolled in the Pfingstmonat, a comedy in the Strasburg patois (p. 177). "Kruttkiph vierdels zentnerschwer und zwölfpfündje Retti." The story itself does not lack noticeable features. Other stories as well as this tell of the unsuccessful attempts of one man to outdo another in the acquisition of wealth when single-heartedness is wanting. The deliverance from the sack closely resembles that from the bucket in the animal fable, where the fox enveigles the stupid wolf into descending to the kingdom of heaven, so that he himself may be drawn up. As they meet in the buckets half-way, the fox uses the familiar words of mockery, "This is the way the world goes, one is up and the other down." Furthermore, the sack and the bucket are equivalent to the barrel in which the crafty man is going to be drowned by the stupid peasants (see No. 61, and Scarpafico in Straparola); he however, makes a shepherd who is passing by, believe that whosoever gets inside it will be carried away and be married, and receive great possessions; just as the cunning thief Cassandrin, disguised as an angel, holds out the sack of fame and bids Severin creep into it (Straparola, 2. 2). In all these stories the magic sack, or fortune-barrel, is presented from the comic side, for the saga willingly turns seriousness into a jest. Raparius, however, reminds us of the serious side most distinctly; as in our story, the man who is hanging in the tree learns wisdom, so the Norse wise man hovers in the air and learns all knowledge (Runacapituli, 141, 144):

veit ek at ek hêck vindga meidi â.[25]
natur allar nîo,
thâ nam ek fravaz ok frôther vera."

Odin seats himself beneath the gallows, and enters into conversation with the hanged man, and for this reason is called "hangagod" (fyrdrottinn.) On account of this mythical importance it might be well to quote the passage of the original referred to, which will at the same time give a specimen of the style,

"tunc quasi socraticus hunc laeta voce salutat
et quasi nil triste perpatiatur ait
'salve, mi frater, hominum carissime, salve!
hue ades, ut spero, sorte favente bona.'
erigit ille caput stupidosque regirat ocellos,
ambigit et cujus vox sit et unde sonet.
dum super hoc dubitat utrum fugiat maneatve,
hue movet ire timor et vetat ire pudor.
sic sibi nutantem solidat constantia mentem,
dixit 'item resonet vox tua, quisquis es hic?"
de sacco rursus auditur vox quoque secundo
'Si dubitas quid sim, suspice, tolle caput;
in sacco sedeo, sedet sapientia mecum,
hic studiis didici tempore multa brevi.
pape! scolas quaerunt longe lateque scolares,
hic tantum veras noveris esse scolas
hic, phas si sit adhuc hora subsistere parva,
omnia nota dabit philosophia michi,
ac cum prodiero, puto me sapientior inter
terrigenas omnes non erit unus homo.
pectore clausa meo latet orbita totius anni,
sic quoque siderei fabrica tota poli,
lumina magna duo complector vi rationis,
nec sensus fugient astra minora meos.
sed neque me signa possent duodena latere,
quas vires habeant, quas et arena maris.
flatus ventorum bene cognovi variorum,
cuilibet et morbo quae medicina valet;[26]
vires herbarum bene cognovi variarum,
et quae sit volucrum vis simul et lapidum,
septem per partes cognovi quaslibet artes;
si foret hic Catho cederet atque Plato.
quid dicam plura? novi bene singula jura,
caesareas leges hic studui varias.
qualiter et fraudes vitare queam muliebres,[27]
gratulor hoc isto me didicisse loco.
hic totum didici, quod totus continet orbis,
hoc totum saccus continet iste meus;
nobilis hic saccus precioso dignior ostro,
de cujus gremio gratia tanta fluit.
si semel intrares, daret experientia nosse
hic quantum saccus utilitatis habet."

In a negro story, wisdom is shut up in a sack which is tied fast; a weasel opens it and takes some for himself (Kölle, No. 10.)

Told by Hans Sachs, (4. 3. 152, 153, Kempt, edit.). It verges on the popular jests. The rejuvenation of aged people as well as the unsuccessful attempts to imitate it, forcibly recalls the Greek fable of Medea, Æson, and Pelias. The story is also in Hans Folz. See Haupt's Zeitschrift, 8. 537. In Norwegian, see Asbjörnsen, p. 537.

Related by Hans Sachs in the year 1557. (Kempt, edit. 1. 5. 1006-1007). The wolves as God's dogs coincide strikingly with the dogs of Odin (Vidris, grey), which are likewise wolves. For putting in other eyes, comp. The Three Army Surgeons (No. 118). The marking the time by the phrase, "when the leaves fall," viz. in autumn, is still usual in Switzerland; there they say, "until the leaves drop from the trees," (Stalder's Idiotikon, 2. 159). A primeval foundation can be traced in every part of this fable.

149.—The Beam.

Related by Fr. Kind (Becker's Taschenbuch for 1812), in a poem; but we also know it as an oral tradition from the neighbourhood of Paderborn, in which however the magician's revenge is wanting. According to it, he had tied a straw to the cock's leg, and to men's eyes it appeared to be a large piece of wood. But a girl who had a load of clover on her head, saw that it was nothing but a straw, for a double leaf was among the clover, which kept her free from the power of all enchantment. The whole resembles the mockeries of Rübezahl. Compare a Swabian story in Mone's Anzeiger, 1835, p. 408. The highest beam in the roofing is called the cock-beam, because the cock is in the habit of sitting on it. ("hanboum," Parzival, 194, 7). For swimming through flax-blossom, see Deutsche Sagen, 2, 33.

A fragment and confused. It is told in Stilling's Jünglings jahren, but appears to be an old popular tale, in the telling of which the mother or nurse perhaps shewed the listening children how the crooked, bent old woman walked with the stick in her trembling hand. The end is wanting; probably the beggarwoman revenges herself by wishing an "ill wish," as there are several stories of wandering female beggars who enter houses, and who are not offended without punishing the offenders. See The Beggarwoman of Locarno, in Heinrich Kleist's Erzählungen. It is noteworthy that Odin, under the name of Grimnir, goes disguised in the garb of a beggar, into the King's hall, and his clothes begin to burn at the fire. One of the young men brings him a horn to drink; the other has left him in the flames. The latter discovers the pilgrim's divinity too late, and wants to pull him out of the fire, but falls on his own sword.

From Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, chap. 243. It is told in the same way in Eyering's Sprichwörter, 2. 615. The Gesta Romanorum (German edition, chap. 3, Latin, chap. 91) changes the order, so that the one who would rather be burnt comes first, the one who would rather let himself be hanged comes second, but the third says, "If I were lying in my bed, and drops of water from the ceiling were falling into both my eyes, I would rather let the drops beat my eyes out than turn on my side."

In the Bürgerlust, part 1. Str. 48, there are still more examples. Three lazy apprentices laid a wager with each other as to which of them was the laziest. The first said, "If my dinner were set on the table, I would not care to eat." The next said, "And if any one put it into my mouth and chewed it for me, I should not care to swallow it." The third was so idle he would hardly open his lips, but said, "How can you care to speak!" and this one, as was just, won the wager. The same story is told by Abraham a St. Clara (Auserlesene Gedanken, Vienna, 1812, part 1. 150), only the second says, "Even if the food were put into my mouth by force, I would still not swallow it." We have also heard it narrated as follows: "Three idle girls were sitting under a nut-tree, and the first said, "Even if all the nuts that are ripe would fall down, I would not shake a twig." The second said, "Even if they were lying there, I should like to know who would pick them up?" The third said, "Ah, who cares to talk about it?" Abraham a St. Clara has however written the story again, and quite differently, and much more like ours (1. 40, 41). A sluggard had three sons, and in his last will declared, that the one who was the laziest should be his principal heir. After the early death of the father, they were summoned before the court and examined as to their idleness. The first confessed that, even if his foot were on red-hot coals, he would not so much as draw it back; the second declared that he would remain standing on the ladder which led to the gallows, and would not even cut the rope which was round his neck, simply because he was too idle to get a knife out of his pocket. The third said that he was too lazy to shut his eyes, much less to cover them with his hand, if it were raining needles, and he were lying on his back. In Keller's Fastnachtspiele, p. 86, the one is to be the heir who tells the most lies, and is the idlest. When he is lying under a spout, he lets the drops run in at one ear and out by the other. There is a passage in Fischart's Flohhatz, 482, where it is said of a sluggard, "She does not move a hair's breadth, like the man who let the water drop in his ear." Straparola has also a good story of three sluggards, which however is only to be found in a complete edition; it is communicated by Rumohr in the Sammlung für Kunst und Geschichte, 2. 171, and following. See No. 83, in Colshorn. An Indian story of four Brahmins who quarrel about which of them is the most foolish, is allied to this. See Schlegel's Indische Bibliothek, 2. 265-268. A Turkish story, which Moritz Hartmann heard told in Constantinople (Kölnische Zeitung, 1854, No. 175), also belongs to this group. There was a certain man to whom work had become so distasteful that at last he could not bring himself to raise his arm. He lay in the street, let the sun shine on him, and hungered. As he was poor, and had no slave to put a morsel of food in his mouth for him, he saw that he must perish miserably from hunger, but he preferred death to work. Through the street where he was lying the executioner came every day on his way to the place of execution. More than once the sluggard wished to speak to him, but he was too idle even for that; at length he made an effort, and said, "Dear executioner, I do not like to work, and would rather die; do take me with you to the place of execution and execute me." So the executioner had pity on him, and took him with him. When they came to the gate, they met the Kapudan Pasha. "Executioner," said he, "what has this man whom thou art conducting to the place of execution done?" "He has done nothing," answered the executioner, "but he is too idle to work, and as he must die of hunger, he has entreated me to take him away and execute him. I am doing it to please him, for I am acquainted with his family." "Release him!" said the Kapudan Pasha. "At home I have a great magazine full of biscuits, take him in there, and let him eat as much as he likes." "Yes, but are the biscuits already softened;" said the sluggard. "No," replied the Pasha. "Then let us go on," said the sluggard to the executioner. Fischart tells another incident relating to Lazy Harry, see Gargantua, 79b, "Just like that fellow, who, when they awoke him betimes, with 'Oh the birds are already singing in the trees,' said, "Let them sing, let them sing, the birds have small heads and can soon sleep their sleep out, but my head is twice too large for me to be able to get my sleep out in one night.'" Compare notes to No. 32.

From Keller's Fastnachtspiele des 15ten Jahrh. pp. 562, 566. Compare also the Two Servants, a story from the Bukowina, in Wolf's Zeitschrift, 1. 49.

From Bavaria. There are questions of the same kind in Stricker's Old-German poem, Pfaffe Amis (98-180). The bishop asks, (1.) "How much water is there in the sea?" "A tun." "How can you prove that?" "Just order all the streams which flow into the sea to stand still, and then I will measure it and tell you." (2.) "How many days have passed by, since Adam lived?" "Seven, and when they come to an end, they begin again, and thus it will go on as long as the world lasts." (3.) "Where is the centre of the earth?" "Where my church stands; let your men-servants measure with a cord, and if there is the breadth of a blade of grass more on one side than on the other, I have lost my church." (4.) "How far is it from earth to heaven?" "Heaven is just so far from earth as a man's voice can be easily heard; climb up, and if you do not hear me calling, come down again and take my church back." (5.) "What is the breadth of Heaven?" "A thousand fathoms and a thousand ells, then take away the sun, and moon, and all the stars in heaven and press all together, and it will be no broader." In the Büchlein für die Jugend, pp. 91-94, the questions and answers are different, and so they are in a Swabian story in Meier, see the note to No. 28. In Eulenspiegel which, apart from this, is connected with Pfaffe Amis, there are (chap. 28, in Lappenberg) the same questions and answers; the former are propounded to him by the rector of the university. The old English ballad of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, Percy Collection, 2. 305-311, is allied to this. The King puts three questions to him which he has to answer in three weeks, or lose his life and land. (1.) The exact value, within a penny, of himself the King with his golden crown on his head? (2.) How long a time it would take him to ride round the whole world? (3.) What he is thinking of at that moment? The Abbot does not know what to do, but a shepherd promises his aid, dresses himself like the Abbot, goes to the King, and gives these answers. (1.) As the Lord Jesus was sold for thirty pieces of silver, the King is only worth nine-and-twenty. (2.) If he sets out with the sun and rides with him he will get round the whole world in four-and-twenty hours. (3.) The King thinks he is the Abbot of Canterbury, and he is only a poor shepherd. In Pauli's Scherz und Ernst it is related that the following questions are put to the Abbot by his patron. (1.) What value he set on him? (2.) Where the centre of the earth was? (3.) How far fortune was removed from misfortune? The shepherd comes in the Abbot's clothes and answers. (1.) Eight-and-twenty pieces of silver, for as our Saviour was sold for thirty, he valued the emperor at nine-and-twenty. (2.) In his house, as in Pfaffe Amis. (3.) There was only one night between them, for yesterday he was a shepherd, and to-day he was an Abbot. The story in Eyering's Sprichwörter, 1. 165-168, 3. 23-25, tallies with this. We have also read the history of a King of France, in which the first and third questions were the same as in the English ballad, but the second was like that in our story—how many stars there were in heaven? A miller who gives the answer in this, names a certain very large number, and orders the King to count them. Finally, the story is also to be seen in the Jewish Maasäbuch, chap. 126 (No. 39) in Helwig's Judische Historien. The three questions (of which the two first vary a little) are put to the King's counsellor, 1. Where the sun rises? 2. How far it is from heaven to earth? (as in Amis). Then follow the weak answers made by a shepherd. The sun goes up in the morning and down in the evening, and it is just as far from heaven to earth as it is from earth to heaven. The Gesta Romanorum contain two stories conceived in a similar spirit (see the extract, No. 14, further on). There is another in the Kurzweilige Zeitvertreiber, by C. A. M. von W. (1668), pp. 70, 71. The story also appears in Franco Sacchetti's Novelle (about 1370), No. 4; see F. W. Val. Schmidt, in the Wiener Jahrbuch, 1822, vol. 22, Anzeigeblatt, pp. 54-57. Compare Holzmann's Indische Sagen, 3, 109, and following, and The Thousand and One Nights, 15. 245. In the Untersuchungen über Saxo Grammaticus, p. 145, P. E. Müller writes on the custom of telling three truths to save yourself from peril. In a Servian story, see Wuk, No. 45, a shepherd outwits the king by cunning replies, compare Schmidt's Taschenbuch der Romanzen, p. 83, and following.


Written down from a somewhat hazy recollection, I trust that some one will complete and correct it. Jean Paul mentions this story in the Unsichtbare Loge, 1. 214. Arnim, too, has used it in his Tales, pp. 231, 232.

From Cassel. Compare Altdeutsche Blätter, 1. 181.

From Switzerland given by Wyss in his Volkssagen, p. 321. There are Swabian versions in Meier, No. 30, and Müllenhoff, p. 413. There is something rather like it in Schütze's Holst. Idiot. 1. 334, 335. A young man visited three sisters and found their distaffs full of flax. He secretly put a key in the eldest sister's flax-bag, and next day found it was still among the flax. It was the same with the second sister; but when he did this to the third, she said to him next day, "You put a key among my flax." "Thou art the right one," said he, and took the industrious maiden to wife. The way in which four girls are proved in a Persian story (Reise der Söhne Giaffars) is quite different. The lover throws rose-leaves into the bosom of one of them, and as a rose-branch is among them which hits her face, she pretends to faint. The second pretends to be coy, and covers her eyes with her hands that she may not see the image of a man. The third cries, "Lord, depart, for the hair of your fur wounds me!" The fourth covers her face when she sees some fishes leaping in the sea, because there might be some little men among them.

156.—Odds and Ends.

From Mecklenburg. Belongs to the class of stories which convey an old lesson in a simple form, like Brides on their Trial (No. 155). According to ancient custom, spinning is the proper occupation of a housewife, nay more, her very life and being.

From the works of Schuppius (Fabelhans, pp. 837, 838. It is in Wackernagel's Lesebuch, 2. 210), but occurs still earlier in Froschmeuseler, (Magdeb. 1595, A. a. V.). Further information about cognate stories is to be found in the Abhandlung über Thierfabeln bei den Meistergesängen (Berlin, 1855).

The fable of the apes, or Schlauraffenland (see Glaraff, in Stalder, 1. 451; the cunning, prudent apes are opposed to the stupid ones, apar òsvinnir) unquestionably dates from remote antiquity, for even the present story is taken from an old German poem of the 13th century (Fragmente und kleinere Gedichte, p. xiv. Compare Liedersaal, 2. 385. Altd. Blätter, 1. 163-167. Haupt's Zeitschrift, 2. 560). It is generally told jestingly as here, but in the story of the little sugar-house (No. 15), whose roof was made of cakes, and whose rafters of sticks of cinnamon, it, though still the same, is told with all the believing earnestness of childhood, and links itself to the still deeper myth of the lost paradise of innocence where milk and honey flow. The well-known jest by Hans Sachs is simply in the former manner (see Häsleins Auszug. p. 391); and so is the allusion in Fischart's Gargantua, p. 96a. "I can no longer stay in the country, the air drives me to Schlauraffen, three miles behind Christmas, where the walls are made of gingerbread, the rafters of roast-pork, the wells of malmsey, the rain of milk and cream, the hail of sugar-plums; there you are paid for playing, and rewarded for sleeping; there you see hedges made of sausages, plaster of honey, and roofs of cakes." There is an old French Fabliau of the same kind, Le pays de Cocagne (Méon, 4. 176). In English the land is called Cockney; see Altd. Blätter, 1. 369-401. In the Sicilian patois there is La Cuccagna conquistata, of Basile, Palermo, 1674. The description of the alma città di Cuccagna begins thus,

"Sedi Cuccagna sutta una montagna
di furmaggiu grattatu, et havi in cima
die maccaruni una caudara magna."

Compare Fr. Wilh. Val. Schmidt's Beiträge zur Geschichte der romantischen Poesie, p. 85. In Austria the story goes that people have to creep through an enormously long intestine; he who sticks fast is lost, but he who can work his way through safely and perseveringly will reach a country where he has nothing to do but live in luxury and enjoyment (Höfer, 3. 92). On the other side the story has some affinity with many sagas about impossible things (No. 159), and the equally old story Der Finkenritter, which Fischart frequently mentions, and on which he himself was perhaps a fellow-labourer (for the popular book compare Koch's Grundriss, 2). In the Bienerkorb (St. 4, chap. 4), we find among other things, "At that time houses flew, beasts talked, streams were on fire, and people extinguished the flames with straw; peasants barked, and dogs ran about with spears in the time of the valiant Finkenritter." In the juxtaposition of these impossible things there is much that points to a mysterious affinity between them which has been lost sight of, and here as in the explanations of dreams, we ought to separate this array of words, so significant in their connection, from the rough, coarse lies. A Dutch popular song De droomende Reyziger, though modernized, has still many old strophes, and a considerable resemblance to the old German poem, compare the Toverlantarn Sammlung, pp. 91-92. To this group belong the Ditmars Tale of Wonders (No. 159). Walafried's Strabo Similitudo impossibilium (Canis. 2. 2. p. 241). Parts of the Tannhaüser, 2. 66; Marner, 2. 172; Boppo, 2. 236; Reinmar von Zweter, MS. Hag. 2. 206b; and Die Verkehrte Welt. in Görres' Meisterlieder, p. 221. We will add one more story which belongs to this group. It is from Paderborn. One day I went out walking and came to a great forest, and a great big thing met me that had a long long tail hanging quite ten ells behind him, and I was bold enough to lay hold of a thick tuft of his hair and let him drag me along after him. It was not long before we came to a great castle and the thing went inside it. I said nothing, and stayed where I was, and it went through a great number of rooms dragging me into every corner behind it, until I was covered with cobwebs. All at once I stuck fast in one of these corners, and when I looked I had a great tuft of hair in my hand which I had torn out of the creature; so I put it down beside me, and stayed where I was, and suddenly all the doors were shut, and I did not know what had become of the thing. Then all at once I saw a little dwarf standing before me, who said, "I wish you good evening;" so I said, "I am much obliged to you." "Why have you come here?" I said, "For my own pleasure." Then the dwarf said, "What have you done; you have taken away our master's strength?" "I!" said I, "and I will not give it back; I have torn out a bit of his tail." "That will cause a great misfortune, he is lying there struggling for life, and is perishing before one's very eyes!" "What do I care for that; all that I care for is to get out of this place again." Then the dwarf said, "I am king over sixteen dwarfs, what will you give me if I have you taken out again? They have all been at school, and have learnt everything." So I said, "My mother has a cow and I have a goat, you shall have one of them." So eight dwarfs went with me, and as we got outside the door a great dog was lying there, and they made a stick of frog's teeth, and struck it on the mouth and made it go back. Then we went a long way onwards and came to a great piece of water, and the dwarfs made a rope of womens' beards, and fishes' hair, and with that they drew me over. We walked for a long time through the great forest, and they exactly knew the way along which the creature had dragged me. We went along the same road until we came to my mother's door, and I told her where I had been. She gave me the goat, and I set the dwarfs on in turn, the biggest first, and the smallest last; there they sat in a row like the pipes of an organ, and then I gave a push to the goat and it ran away, and as long as I have lived I have never seen them again. The journey into Schlauraffenland is also to be found in a collection of Swiss Kühreihen[28] (3rd edition, Bern. 1818, p. 77). The flea goes into Schlauraffenland, and cows walk on stilts, goats wear boots, an ass dances on a tight-rope, peasants sell their wives from Christmas till May, and cows fly up to the storks' nests and hatch the eggs. It is a hot summer and yet everything is frozen. Chairs and benches beat each other, the cupboard screams violently, the table is terrified; the stove says to the door, "Would that we were outside."

From Vieth's Chronik. Compare Alterthumszeitung, 1813, No. 6, p. 29. An old poem about a liar, in a manuscript at Vienna (No. 428, St. 181), is quite in this spirit. Compare Keller's Fastnachtspiele, p. 93, and following. There is a lying-tale from the Odenwald, in Wolf's Hausmärchen, p. 422; and one from Holstein, in Müllenhoff, No. 32; a Swabian in Meier, No. 76; and variants are to be found in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 40, and in Kuhn und Schwartz, No. 12. Compare No. 138.

From a popular book on riddles of the beginning of the sixteenth century, communicated in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 3. 34. Being changed into a flower in the field occurs also in Dearest Roland, (No. 56). The deliverance here reminds us of the Queen of the Bees, who discovered the maiden who had eaten honey by lighting on her mouth (No. 62). There are other riddling-tales in Müllenhoff, pp. 503, 504.

I have used Caroline Stahl's story, Der undankbare Zwerg, the contents of which will be given afterwards, but I have told it in my own fashion. The saying—

"Snowy-white, rosy-red,
Will ye strike your lover dead?"

which is taken from a popular song, is to be found in a child's story in the Taschenbuch Minerva, for the year 1813, p. 32, and may refer to this story. Here the malicious nature of the dwarf is predominant, and the bear appears to take revenge on him for his own transformation into the shape of that animal, of which the dwarf seems to have been the cause.

The origin of this is "The 101 Psalm expounded by Martin Luther," Wittenberg, 1533, 4to, ending with "by Hans Lufft, 1535," folio G. 111b. Luther no doubt knew the story by oral tradition.

From a romance, Das verwöhnte Mutter-söhnchen, or Polidor's strange and most amusing life at school and the university, by Sylvano, Freiburg, 1728, p. 22. The substance is not altered, but we have told it in rather a different manner. Though this is overworked, and has some additions, it has some affinity to a genuine saga.

164.—Lazy Harry.

The ground-work of this story is taken from Proverbiorum copia, a collection of some hundreds of Latin and German sayings by Eucharius Eyering, Eisleben, 1601, vol. 1. pp. 70-73. There is a still more circumstantial story in vol. 2. 392-394. The bit about the slow snail at the end, occurs in the letters of Elizabeth of Orleans, with which Keller's Altdeutsche Erzählungen, p. 584, should be compared. A similar story is to be found in the Zeitvertreiber (1668), p. 466, 469. But the story was also known in the East; compare Pantscha Tantra, p. 210, and Bidpai (in Philip Wolf's translation, 2. 3), from whence Hans Sachs has taken it (Nuremberg edition, 4. 3, 54), there it is told of a monk, or hermit, with different details. The man intends to buy ten goats with the money which he has got for the honey he has collected, and so on from one thing to another until he has gained great wealth, and then he will take to himself a beautiful wife, and will chastise the son which she will bear him with his stick if the boy is not obedient.

165.—The Griffin.

We owe this excellent version to Friedrich Schmid, a Swiss, from whom we have received it by the intervention of Wackernagel. Its contents are peculiar to itself, and yet it resembles The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs, No. 29. No. 13, in Müllenhoff, is still more nearly related to it, and so is a Danish story in Etlar, p. 129. In Holstein there is, as Etlar remarks, a characteristic tradition of a boat which can sail both on water and land; but in Finland, too, we hear of a golden boat which sails of its own accord over land and sea, see Schiefner, p. 611. Perhaps this was originally intended to point out the course of the sun.

166.—Strong Hans.

Written down by a Swiss named Hagenbach, and communicated by Wackernagel. It is allied to the Elves (No. 91), and also to a story from Lusatia in M. Haupt's Zeitschrift, 2. 358-360, and in Leopold Haupt's Lausitzische Magazin, 19. 86-90; here the strong man carries a large smith's hammer instead of the iron bar. It is a widely-spread tradition, and is found in Sommer, p. 108; in Stöber's Alsatia, 1852, p. 77, 88; in Meier, No. 1; in Müllenhoff, No. 16; always with variations in some particulars, but the super-natural strength, and the higher nature is, as with Siegfried, never to be mistaken. In a Wallachian story, Schott, No. 119, the woman falls into the power of a bear. A part only of a Slavonian story, No. 6, in Vogl, is like ours.

Taken down by Friedrich Schmid, in the neighbourhood of Aarau, and excellently told.

168.—Lean Lizzie.

From Kirchhof's Wendunmut (Frankf. 1581), p. 131b-132b. Allied to Lazy Harry (No. 164).

This story was taken down from oral tradition by Karl Gödeke, at Deligsen, near Alefeld, and communicated by him to us. The picture so often set before us in the old animal stories, of human beings and domestic animals dwelling together under the same roof, is here well painted. The animals are regarded as part of the family, and cared for as such. That this should be done because it was seen that they were transformed human beings, was a motive which only had weight afterwards, and the old man who plays the part of Frau Holle only wanted to try the goodness of the girls' heart.

From Wickram's Rollwagen (1590), folio, 30b-31. It is rather different in the Zeitvertreiber (1668), p. 415, 416. It is a humourous popular jest like the story of the Wise Servant (No. 162).

171.—The Willow-wren.

From a story picked up by Pastor Musäus, which is printed in the Schriften des Meklenburger Vereins, and also from another heard by K. Gödeke in Lachendorf. The story is widely distributed and frequently told; see Büchlein für die Jugend (1834), p. 242-248. It is related by Halling, in Mone's Anzeiger, 1835, p. 313; by Firminich in the patois of the Principality of Calenberg, 1. 186; by Pröhle, in the Kindermärchen, No. 64; by Woeste, in the Volksüberlieferungen aus der Grafschaft Mark, p. 93. See also Kuhn's Sagen und Märchen, p. 293, 294. Compare the beginning of this story with the Neue preussische Provinzialblätter, 1. 436, and following. It is proved in Wolf's Zeitschrift, 1. 2, that the story appeared as early as in the second half of the thirteenth century in Barachja Nikdani. But its antiquity is much greater, as is shown by a passage in Pliny, 10, 74, which has been pointed out by Massmann (Jahrbücher der Berliner Gesellschaft für deutsche Sprache, 9, 67), "dissident aquila et trochilus, si credimus, quoniam rex appellatur avium;" and in Aristotle we find τροχίλος ἀετῷ πολέμιος. Here by his cunning the smallest bird gains the mastery over the eagle, just as dwarfs and crafty little tailors triumph over strong giants. In a negro story (Kölle, p. 168) a bird is victorious in a contest with an elephant.

172.—The Sole.

Like the preceding story, but with a change to the realm of fishes.

Also from Musäus.

174.—The Owl.

From Kirchhof's Wendunmut, p. 161-163, with which the story Courage, 2. 217, in Simplicissimus, should be compared. It is a good piece of fun of the Lalenbürger kind.

175.—The Moon.

From Kirchhof's Wendunmut, p. 176. As however it is derived from Bidpai (Ph. Wolf's translation, 1. 5), the story of The Moon (No. 182), in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, will in our next edition be substituted for it. This breathes the spirit of primeval times, and might occur in the Finnish epic Kalevala (Rune 47). Lousi, who also concealed sampo in the Kupferberg, captures the sun and moon, and in a story from the neighbourhood of Archangel (Rudbek, 2. 1, 28, Schiefner, 605), the sun, moon, and dawn have for three years been in the power of three dragons. They only shine while those who have stolen them come on shore to receive a king's daughter. The three dragons are killed one after the other by three brave youths, assisted by wolves, and thus the dawn, moon, and sun are given back to the world.

This story was told at Kassel auf dem Feld, by a peasant from Zwehrn, in the year 1838. Strangely enough it also occurs with some variations in Babrius (No. 74), Furia, 278, Coray, 149. The ass, dog, and ape do not appear there, but the horse, the bullock, and the dog. Trembling with the frost, they come to the man's house. He opens his door, and lets them warm themselves by his fire. He gives barley to the horse, pulse to the bullock, and food from his own table to the dog. Grateful for the kindness which has been shown to them, they make a present to the man, by giving up to him a portion of the time allotted to themselves to live. The horse does it at once, and this is why man is so extremely gay in his youth; then the bullock, and that is why in the middle of his life man labours so hard to accumulate wealth. The dog gives the last years, and for that reason old people are always cross, only pleased with those who give them their food, and have little regard for hospitality. Our story is more significant, and has more internal consistence than the Greek story; there is a better reason fur the transfer of the years, for in the Greek story we do not know how the man, whose age we do not gather, but who does not seem to lack vigour and cheerfulness, is to make use of the horse's gift. Gödeke zu Gengenbach, p. 588, points out a Hebrew story in a poem of Jehuda Levy Krakau Ben Sef (in the Zeitschrift Hamassef, Königsberg, 1788, 2. 388), in which an ass, dog, and ape likewise appear, and surrender a portion of the amount of life which has been assigned to them, to satisfy the still not satisfied man.

From Kirchhof's Wendunmut, 2, No. 123; Colshom, No. 68, from the same source. See also Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, chap. 151. Hulderich Wolgemut's Æsopus, fable 198, and a Master song in the Colmar MS. (von der Hagen's Sammlung für altdeutsche Literatur, 187, 188). The last part is likewise in the Latin Æsop of Joach. Camerarius (1564), p. 347, 348, and in Gregor Bersmann's (1590), but neither Greek nor Roman fable-poets are acquainted with it. The story was known as early as in the 13th century, for Hug von Trimberg tells it in the Rener 23666-23722.

178.—Master Pfriem.

From a story in Neust's Kinderhibliothek (Hildburghausen, 1827), 2, 143, 144. Compare L. Wiese's Märchenwald (Barmen, 1841). I am able to point out an embodiment of the idea which is at least three hundred years older. Martin Heineccius wrote a Latin comedy in verse, which he afterwards translated into German. It appears under the name of Hans Pfriem oder Meister Kecks; nothing is said about the place of publication, 1852 (sic), is at the end of the preface, and it was reprinted at Leipzig in 1603, and at Magdeburg in 1606 (See Gottsched's Nöthiger Vorrat zur Geschichte der deutschen dramatischen Dichtkunst, 1. 119, 2. 244). In his preface the author relates the story on which his poem is founded, and observes in the conclusion, that Dr. Luther knew and enjoyed it, as may be seen by his Sermon on the 15th chap. of the First Epistle to the Corinthians. Long ago there was a waggoner called Hans Pfriem, who was a very extraordinary old fellow, proud of his head, and thought every one was to take advice from him, but that he was to take it from no one. But as Hans Pfriem was so entirely unbearable and fidgetty, and so desperately overwise, he was not wanted in Paradise, and orders were given not to let him in if he should die. He did die, and slipped in as best he could before any one was aware. When they were about to drive him out he spoke them fair, and promised to behave well, so they let him stay. But in a very short time, when he saw all kinds of things, and the way people managed them in Paradise, where everything was done in a peculiar heavenly way which he did not understand, and could not bring his mind to grasp, he was secretly exasperated, and on the point of wishing that he had never got in at all. For such people are enraged when things are not done in their own way. However he stifled much of what he felt, and let nothing of it be seen, but could not help being secretly astonished when he saw the maidens drawing water in the rooms; some carried it in old casks full of holes, which always remained full though the water ran out of them. This he could not comprehend, and it seemed most strange to him. He saw much more of the same kind, and yet dared not criticise it. Once he saw them trying to go through a narrow alley with a long squared beam laid athwart their shoulders. It nearly killed him, but he dared not let a word slip. At length he came across a waggoner who, having stuck fast in the deepest mire with horses and cart in a pool, and being unable to move either backwards or forwards, harnessed two horses behind, and two in front, and urged them on. This Hans Pfriem could not endure, because driving was his own occupation; so in a fury he cried to the waggoner, and reproved him for his foolish project, as it seemed to him, bade him harness the horses together and drive them on. This was his ruin, for so soon as it became known that he had broken the agreement, and forgotten his promise, they sent directly and reminded him that he would have to quit Paradise. At first he was in despair, but speedily took heart again, and was rude and insolent to all the spirits of the saints who came to show him the way out. He upbraided them one and all with the sins for which they are decried in the world. He twitted the two thieves who had been crucified by the side of Christ, with the gallows; Mary Magdalene with unchastity, and with the seven devils; Zachæus with his falseness, thieving, and skill in finance; St. Peter with his denial of Christ, his oath, perjury, and other things; St. Paul with persecutions and blasphemy; Moses with the want of faith and doubt, by which he forfeited the promised land, and even with the fact that God would not allow the place of his grave to be known. In this way did Hans Pfriem protect himself, and cover all the saints with shame until no one ventured to drive him out, inasmuch as they all felt that they had been quite as great sinners as he. What then did they do? They sent to him the innocent children whom Herod had murdered, and as they had died in child-like innocence, and were without any former sins, Hans Pfriem was unable to accuse them of anything; but he very soon thought of a trick by which he could protect himself from them too, and divided among them gingerbread and apples with which people do pacify children, and then took them out for a walk and shook down apples, pears, and other fruit for them, played with them, and amused them until they too forgot to turn him out. Here also Pfriem refuses to leave Heaven, and contrives to protect himself skilfully and cunningly, but his spirit of resistance is seen in the reproaches which he makes to the saints. He is here not a shoemaker, but a waggoner, and is described in the dramatis personæ of the Comedy as Fuhrpech; Schusterpech would be more suitable. The name of Pfriem suits his trade too (subula, awl). In Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie (2. 2-7), it is proved that in reality he belongs to the stormers of heaven.

From a story by Andreas Schuhmacher, in Vienna, which is to be found in Kletke's Almanach, No. 2.

From Hans Sachs, who has thrice treated this tradition—twice dramatically in the year 1553 (Nuremberg edition, 3. 1. 243, 1. 1. 10), and once as a jest, 1558 (2. 4. 83), and in this last best. On the whole, they tally with each other; but the dramatic poems are planned and carried out more circumstantially. The variations are specified in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 2. 258-260, where other information is to be found. Hans Sachs names a Latin poem of Philip Melancthon's as the origin of the story, but it did not originate with him; it is told, and apparently from a Latin source, by Wied, in a letter to Count Johann IV. His version differs slightly in some particulars from that of Hans Sachs. The message that God is intending to pay a visit is not brought by an angel, but Eve looks out of the window and sees him approaching with the angels. She had just begun to wash the children for a festival which was drawing near, but had not washed them all. So she ordered those who were still unwashed to conceal themselves in the hay and straw, but sent those who were ready to meet the Lord. And now God catechised them most strictly. Abel repeated the whole of the Creed, and after him Seth and his sisters were examined, and all acquitted themselves excellently, but then the Lord commanded Cain and the others, whose absence had not escaped the knowledge of the Almighty, to be summoned. Cain came sulkily out with bits of straw and hay-seeds sticking in his uncombed hair. He said the Creed all wrong, left bits out, and spoke very rudely. Thereupon the Lord bade Abel come forward, laid his hands on him and ordained him as a priest; Seth was to be a king, but the clownish Cain was only to be a servant. When Eve lamented, God comforted her, gave his right hand to the children when he departed, and the mother accompanied him a great way from her own house, until he bade her return home, and, concealed in a cloud, ascended to heaven. A story in Agricola's Sprichwörter (in the Low-German Magdeburg edition, folio, 127b, No. 264), which more nearly resembles the jest than the dramatic poems and Melancthon's version, is older, and dates from the year 1528. A less valuable rendering of the story is to be found in George Rudolf Widmann's Wahrhaftige Historien von den grewlichen and ahschewlichen Sünden, so D. Joh. Faustus hat getrieben (Hamburg, 1799), i. 237, 238; nevertheless some variations prove that Widmann neither derived it from Hans Sachs nor from Melancthon, but followed some other written or oral account. The Lord finds the house shut up, and knocks. Adam and Eve perceive him through a chink. In Melancthon's version also Eve looks through the window and sees God from afar, whereas, according to Hans Sachs, a message by an angel announces him. The motive given by Widmann and Agricola for Eve's hiding some of her children, viz. that she was afraid that God would reprimand her for having such a number, is ignored by Melancthon and Hans Sachs, it is much more mother-like that she should pick out the pretty and hide the ugly ones. But Agricola and Melancthon's stories agree in this, that Eve, while washing her children for a festival, was surprised by a visit. In Hans Sachs it is only after receiving the message that Adam gives orders to clean the house, to strew it with green boughs, and dress up the children. The last presentation of the story entirely lacks the catechising, but the hiding-places of the children and the various offices they are to fill, are described more fully one by one. The story in Eyering's Sprichwörter, 1. 773-74, corresponds on the whole with the jest of Hans Sachs. But there is a still more ancient testimony to the existence of the story. In the year 1509, a dramatic performance was given at Freiberg in Saxony, entitled The History of Adam and Eve's Children, and how the Lord God spoke to them, and examined them. There is a full account of it in Haupt's Abhandlung. There the story is linked with the Lied von Rigr dem Wanderer in the Edda, in which the god Heimdallr goes to the three couples and establishes difference of rank. The ancient saga transferred itself finally to Adam and Eve.

From a story current in Upper Lusatia, in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 2. 257, 267. Here again we have a malicious Nix, while in other stories of this kind, as in No. 34, the Devil takes her place, but the benevolent old woman who helps the unfortunate is not lacking.

This was picked up by Sommer in Halle, pp. 81-86. The shaving the hair and beard by spirits occurs elsewhere, among other places in a story by Musäus. The elves, especially when angry, like to bestow a hideous form on a man and disfigure him. Just as in this story, the goldsmith receives as a punishment for his greediness a second hump in front on his breast, so in the Irische Märchen (3), mischievous Jack Madden has one given him in addition to that which he has already, and it presses him to death. In a story from Brittany (Souvestre, p. 180) which on the whole tallies with the Irish one, the covetous man is after all only punished by having a single hump given him. In our previous edition there is the trial by means of peas, but we have omitted it in this, as it is apparently derived from Andersen (see p. 42). It also occurs in Cavallius, p. 222.

In Ziska, pp. 9-13, and belongs to the same group as The Valiant Little Tailor, No. 20.

184.—The Nail.

From a story in the Büchlein für die Jugend, pp. 71, 72. A similar thought occurs in a saying in Freidank 79. 19-80. 1.

ich hore sagen die wîsen[29]
ein nagel behalte ein îsen
ein îsenz ros, ein ros den man
ein man die burc, der strîten kan:
ein burc daz lant betwinget,
daz ez nâch hulden ringet.
der nagel der ist wol bewant
der îsen res man burc unt lant
solher êren geholfen hât
dà von sîn name sò hôhe stât.

From a story in the Büchlein für die Jugend, pp. 71, 72. Hans at School, pp. 100-103, in Vogl's Grossmütterchen, should be compared.

From Upper Lusatia. See Haupt's Zeitschrift, 2. 481-486.

Written down from oral tradition in the neighbourhood of Osnabrück; for more particular information, see Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, 1. 381-383. Firminich has included it, see 1. 210, 211. Het Wetloopen tüschen den Haasen und den Swinegel up de Buxtehuder heid, in Bildern von Gustav. Sus. Düsseldorf (no year). A translation of the Low-German text is added in High-German. De Swienegel als Wettrenner. A Low-German story, newly illustrated and provided with a short epilogue by J. P. T. Leyser, Hamburg (no year). Klaus Groth relates it in a beautiful poem in Quickborn, pp. 185-189. The extreme antiquity of the story is incontestable, for in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 398, 400, Massmann has published an old German poem containing a 13th century version of it, in which the cunning fox is deceived by the little crab. This, though varying a little, agrees in the main with the Low-German stories. The fox seeing the crab lying on the grass ridiculed its slow way of walking, and said, "When will you get across this meadow? You could walk backwards better than forwards." The crab haughtily replied that he could run better than the gods, and offered to run a race of one mile with him from Lune to Toskan. The fox consented, and a stake was agreed on. The crab wished to give the fox the start, and to run behind him. So the fox turned his back on the crab, and the crab, without his adversary being aware of it, seized hold of his tail with his claws. The fox ran as fast as he could, and when he reached the goal turned round and cried, "Where is the crab now?" The crab was standing before him, and replied, "Here am I, how slowly you have run!" So the fox lost the wager. A story from the neighbourhood of Mark, Kuhn, p. 243, is almost the same, only the conclusion is differently told, viz. that when the fox is very near the goal, the crab nips his tail so hard that the fox flings it round in a fury, and the crab is thrown to the winning-post and cries as victor, "Huzza for the crab!" (Krebsjuchhe). A village was afterwards built on the spot, and received the name of Krebsjuchhe, which was corrupted into Krebsjauche. Here we ought to quote the saying, mentioned by Eyering, 2. 447, "A crab may outstrip a hare." A Wendish story (see Leop. Haupt, 2. 160) is very like this. A fox came to a pond and was about to drink. A frog croaked at him, and the fox said menacingly, "Go away, or I will swallow thee!" "Don't be so arrogant," replied the frog, "I am nimbler than thou." The fox laughed at him, and said, "We will run into the town, and then we shall soon see." The fox turned round, and the frog jumped on his tail. Reynard then began to run, but when he was near the gate, he turned round to see if the frog were following, and in an instant the frog leaped down from his tail, and went in by the gate. When the fox had turned round again and came to the gate, the frog was already at the goal, and cried to him, "Art thou here at last? I am just on my way back home, I thought thou woulds't never come at all."

Burkard Waldis gives the story another but a good form in his Æsopus, p. 172b (Book 3. Fab. 76), and from it Eyering has taken the race between the hare and the snail in his Sprichwörter, 3. 154.

Waldis probably did not derive the story from oral tradition, but from some old writer of fables. The incident of the swift hare being misled by its own indifference and natural inclination for sitting quiet and falling asleep, and leaving the slow snail time enough to reach the goal before him, is excellent.

In another story (Waldis, p. 306b 4. 79), which is rather different in its development, the crab reappears, and is ridiculed by the pike for its ungainly walk. A race between a fox and bear, in which the fox uses a stratagem of the same kind, is spoken of in the notes to No. 48.

From the Büchlein für die Jugend, pp. 160-166. These are implements which are used by industrious people, which here like good spirits, show their gratitude, and try to bring good fortune on the girl.

From the Büchlein für die Jugend, pp. 249-251. We have omitted a bad ill-conceived ending in which the Devil and the peasant try which of them can endure the greatest heat; on the other hand a better conclusion to the story is to be found in Müllenhoff, p. 278. When the Devil sees that he is betrayed, he threatens to come the next day but one, when the peasant and he will have a scratching-match with each other. The peasant is afraid, but his wife encourages him, and says that she will soon manage the Devil. The peasant goes away, and when the Devil comes, she says to him, "Just look! my husband has made this great scratch right across my beautiful oak-table with the nail of his little finger!" "Where is he then?" says the Devil. "Where should he be but with the smith? He is having his nails sharpened!" Whereupon the Devil quickly makes off. For a Danish story, see Thiele, 2. 249, where a miner appears. On the other hand, in an Esthonian story (Reinhart Fuchs, cclxxxviii), it is a bear which is betrayed by the peasant; and here we have quite a different and characteristic conclusion, according to which the fox contrives by his cunning that the bear, who wants to take away the man's oxen, shall be bound by him and killed. In Danish, see Thiele, 2. 249, The Peasant and the Forest. In French, see Rabelais, 4. chap. 45, 47. See a poem of Rückert's, p. 75, in which the story has been taken from an Arabian source. There is a popular superstition that fruits which grow above ground should be sown in light that is increasing, and those which grow underground in that which is decreasing. In Normandy, even at this day, they tell how St. Michael and the Devil disputed with each other as to which could build the most beautiful church. The Devil built one of stone; Michael put together one more beautiful still made of ice. Afterwards, when this melted, both of them wanted to cultivate the ground; the Devil chose as his own what grew above ground, and Michael retained for himself what was hidden in the earth. Compare Deutsche Mythologie, 678, 980, 981.

From the Swiss, communicated by W. Wackernagel in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 3. 36, 37.

Taken from a story picked up by Friedricb Stertzing in Thuringia, which is given in Haupt's Zeitschrift. Thieving tricks of this kind which are pardoned because of the clever stratagems by means of which they have been performed, are related in many different forms. For other stories belonging to this group, see Kuhn and Schwartz, p. 362; Wolf's Hausmärchen, p. 397; Zingerle, p. 300; Meier, No. 55; In Norwegian, Asbjörnsen, p. 218; and in Italian, Straparola, 1. 2. The well-known story in Herodotus, (2. 121) of the Egyptian king Rhampsinitus, whose treasure-chamber was robbed by the sons of his late architect, is nearly related to this. Information as to the different renderings of the story is to be found in Dunlop (see Liebrecht's translation, pp. 63, 64), also in Keller's introduction to the Sept Sages, cxciii., and in Bühel's Diocletian, p. 55. There is also an old Netherlandish poem, De deif van Brugghe, in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 5. 385–404.

192.—The Drummer.

From a story heard by K. Gödeke, in the Eichsfeld, which he has communicated to us. It ends much in the same way as one in Kuhn and Schwartz (No. 11, p. 347). The shirt found on the shore which is re-demanded during the night is the dress of a swan-maiden.

194.—The Ear of Corn.

From the Zeitschrift des Vereins für hessische Geschichte, 114. Compare Bechstein's Märchenbuch, p. 113, and Vonbun, p. 23.

195.—The Grave-mound.

From the Zeitschrift des Vereins für hessische Geschichte, vol. 4. There is another version from Hesse in Wolf's Zeitschrift, 1. 246, and one, which again differs, in Pröhle's Kindermärchen, No. 18.

196.—Old Rinkrank.

From the Frisian Archiv von Ehrentraut, 1. 162.

After Friedmimd Arnim, p. 92. Another story, see Pröhle's Kindermärchen, No. 1, is more like the form of the story given by Musäus in part 1, The Three Sisters, the notes to which should be consulted. See The Three Enchanted Princes, Pentamerone (4. 3).

198.—Maid Maleen.

From Müllenhoff, No. 5, p. 391. This is an excellent tale, both as regards matter and completeness. The oft-told recognition of the true bride is beautifully described. In Swedish, see Cavallius, p. 320; in Danish, Molbech, p. 88.

From Friedmund Arnim, p. 22. Another but inferior version is to be found in Wolf's Hausmärchen, p. 65, Die schlechten Kameraden.

200.—The Golden Key.

From Hesse. There is a similar story from the neighbourhood of Bernburg, in Adolf Gutbier's Deutsches Sprachbuch. (Augsb. 1853), 843. The little hen finds a little key among the cinders, and the little cock finds a little box. They open it, and a small red silk fur-coat is inside it. If the fur-coat had but been longer, the story would have been longer too.


Of these stories the first seven were obtained from the neighbourhood of Paderborn through the kindness of the Harthaus family, to which we are indebted for so much that is contained in this collection. They are stories applied to sacred history, which, like many folklore rhymes have grown into popular beliefs. Thus, for instance, it is believed that on every Saturday the sun shines once; or every Friday the Mother of God walks through Purgatory, and then the unhappy souls come and kiss the hem of her robe, and weep so much that it is quite wet. Therefore on Saturday the sun shines once to dry it again. Also that when the Virgin Mary crosses the mountains, small flowers of a particular kind spring up in great profusion. These are called the Virgin's slippers (Lady's slippers) because she has crossed the mountains in them. Every year God looks down from Heaven three times, and if he then sees any one sitting idle, that man may sit idle as long as he lives, and yet have enough to live on, and no need to provide for the morrow, but he who happens to be working just then, will have to work all the days of his life. This is why people say, "Whatsoever God sees us doing, that we shall have to go on doing."

1. St. Joseph in the Forest is in reality the story of the Three Little Men in the Wood (No. 13).

2. The twelve Apostles is allied to the saga of the hero who lies sleeping inside the mountain, and will only awake again at the appointed time. Compare Die drei Telle, in the Deutsche Sagen, 1. 297.

3. The Rose. A rose, especially a white one, is elsewhere also regarded as the emblem of death, and its opening as that of everlasting life; compare Die Sage von dem Dom zu Lübeck, in the Deutsche Sagen, 1. 24.

4. Poverty and Humility lead to Heaven. The patient drudge who lies beneath the stairs gains for himself the eternal happiness of heaven. This story is framed on the legend of St. Alexis, which can best be learnt from Massmann's Zusammenstellungen.

5. God's Food. This reminds us of the ballad. Von zwei unbarmherzigen Schwestern in Brabant. Similar stories are to be found in Deutsche Sagen, No. 240; Wolf's Niederländische Sagen, Nos. 153, 362, 363; and in Müllenhoff, p. 145.

6. The three green Twigs. According to the well-known poem, Tannhauser also was to have expiated his sins when a white wand began to cover itself with foliage.

7. Our Lady's little Glass. Here, as in many other stories, we see love and kindness rewarded.

8. The aged Mother. From Hesse, it is allied with the story of the Geisterkirche (Deutsche Sagen, 1. 175).

9. The Heavenly Wedding. From Mecklenburg; but it is also known in the province of Münster. It has a remarkable resemblance to an Indian saga of an image which ate what an innocent boy set before it (Polier, 2. 302, 303). A similar story is told in Switzerland of a pious boy who served in a monastery. He was ordered to carry water in a sieve, and, as he was innocent, he did it without a single drop falling through. In the same way the Indian Mariatale, as long as her thoughts are pure, carries water without any vessel whatsoever, but rolled up in the form of a ball.

10. The Hazel-Branch. From Vonbun's Volkssagen aus Vorarlberg, p. 7.


1.—The Man on the Gallows.

Some visitors came to an old woman's house late in the evening, and she had no food left, and did not know what to cook for them, so she went to the gallows where a dead man was hanging, cut out his liver, and roasted it for the strangers, who ate it.

At midnight there was a knock at the door; the woman opened it, and a dead man was standing there with bare head, no eyes, and with a wound in his body.

"Where is thy hair?"
"The wind has blown it away."
"Where are thine eyes?"
"The ravens have picked them out."
"Where is thy liver?"
"Thou hast devoured it."

2.—The Louse.

There was once a Princess who was so clean that there certainly could not be a cleaner person in the world. She could not endure to have the smallest speck of dirt or stain upon her. But in spite of all her cleanliness it came to pass that a louse was once found on her head. Every one exclaimed, "This is a miracle; the louse must not be killed, it must be fed up with milk." So it was taken away with the greatest care. The good food made it grow, and it grew much bigger than any louse had ever yet been, nay, at last, it was as big as a calf. When it died, the Princess had its skin taken off, dressed, and prepared, and a dress for herself made out of it. When a wooer came she set him to guess what animal's skin she was wearing as a dress. As however, none of them were so fortunate as to be able to do this, they all had to depart one after the other. At length one came who after all did penetrate the mystery. There can be no doubt that this is from a story which is allied to the Italian one, The Flea, in the Pentamerone, 1. 5.

3.—Strong Hans.

Strong Hans goes to the Devil in hell, and wants to serve him, and sees the pans in which souls are imprisoned standing beside the fire. Full of pity, he lifts up the lids and sets the souls free, on which the Devil at once drives him away. Compare No. 52, Deutsche Sagen.

4.—Puss in Boots.

This story is generally told like the French version in Perrault, but there is a very good and characteristic one in Transylvania (See Der Federkönig No. 13, in Haltrich's MS. Collection). The idea also occurs in an Austrian popular song, see Schottky and Ziska, p. 12:

Hop, hop, Heserlmann,[30]
Unsre Katz hat Schtiferln an,
Rennt damid af Hollabrun[31]
Findt a Kindl in de Sunn.
Wiä soll's hoassen
Kitzl oda Goassl?

See the story of Puss in Boots as treated by Straparola, Basile, Perrault, and Ludwig Tieck, with twelve etchings by Otto Speckter, Leipzig, 1843, 4to. Straparola, 11. 1. Pentamerone, 2. 4. In Norwegian, Asbjörnsen, p. 200. In Swedish, Cavallius, No. 12.

5.—The Wicked Step-mother.

There was once on a time a wicked old queen, who, while her son was at the wars, caused her daughter-in-law and her two children to be imprisoned in a cellar. Then one day she said to the cook, "Go and kill one of the children and cook it for me, I want to eat it." "What kind of a sauce will you have? " "I'll have a brown one," said the wicked woman. The cook could not find it in his heart to kill the lovely child, and its mother begged so piteously that he took a little pig and cooked it, and the old woman ate the food with great relish. Not long afterwards, she again summoned the cook and said, "Child's flesh tastes so delicate, do cook the other child for me." "With what kind of sauce?" "With white sauce," said the woman. The cook, however, did as he had done the first time, and set a sucking-pig before her, which she ate with still greater pleasure. Finally, the old woman wanted to eat the young queen as well, and the cook killed a hart in her stead.

And now the young queen had hard work to keep her children from screaming so that the old woman might not hear that they were still alive.

The Italian and French stories of Briar-Rose in Perrault and Basile (Pentamerone, 5. 5), have the same conclusion as this, but the German story lacks it. Comp. Notes to No. 50.


"Wickerlein, Weckerlein,[32]
wilt mit mie essen?
bring mie ein Messer,
Wickerlein, Weckerlein
laüf über's Aeckerlein,
Hat mehr Bein als meiner Hund kein."

Fischart's Gargantua im Spielverzeichnis, chapt. 25.

"Die Finger krachen,[33]
DiDie Männer wachen."Ibid.

"Mathes, gang ein! Pilatus, gang aus![34]
Ist eine arme Seele draus.
Arme Seele, wo kommst du her?
Aus Regen und Wind
Aus dem feurigen Ring."
Aus dePoems of Andr. Gryphius, p. 768.


1. In the Lysistrata of Aristophanes the chorus of old men begins with, "I will tell ye a story" (μῦθον), and they tell of Melanion, who had not loved women, but had only taken pleasure in going hunting on the mountains. In the antistrophe of the women, where the expression is repeated, the story of the misanthrope Timon is related.

2. Strabo, i. 2 (p. 51, ed. Siebenkees). We tell children pretty stories to gladden them (τοῖς τε γαρ παισὶ προσφέρομεν τοὺς μύθους εἰς προτροπεῖν); but to restrain them, we tell them terrible ones like that of Lamia, the Gorgon, Ephialtes, and the Mormolukê).[35]

3. Plutarch, Theseus. All kinds of stories (μῦθοι) were told at the festival Oschophoria, as the mothers related such things to their children before their departure (to Crete, and decided by lot), to give them courage.

4 Quinctilianus (Instit. 1. 9).

Igitur Aesopi fabellas quae fabulis nutricularum proximo succedunt, narrare sermone puro et nihil se supra modum extollente . . condiscant.

5. Apuleius (Metamorph. iv.).

Sed ego te narrationibus lepidis anilibusque fabulis protinus evocabo.

6. Tertullianus (adversus Valentinianos liber. Paris, 1566, 1. 644). Jam etsi in totam fabulam initietur, nonne tale aliquid dabitur te in infantia inter somni difficultates a nutricula audisse, lamiae turres et pectines solis?

The story of the maiden who is imprisoned in a tower by a witch, and who lets her golden-yellow hair hang down that the sun may shine on it (bestrahlen, i.e., strählen, comb it), as in the story of Rapunzel, No. 12.

Ibid. p. 589: fabulae pueriles apud Carthaginem.

7. Odofredus (Summa codicis, Lugd. 1519, fol. 134 c). In lege ista ponitur quaedam fabula quae esset dicenda apud ignem cum familia sua de sero.

8. Aniles veteranarum fabula, Perz, Monim. 6, 452.

9. Gudrun, 1126, 3-1130 (4515-24).

The Hegelings arm themselves to liberate Gudrun, the daughter of their Queen Hilda, from her captivity in Normandy. Horand of Denmark is their leader, old Wate and Frut are guides. When they are on the voyage, winds arise which drive the ships northward into the Dark Sea to Givers, near the lode-stone rock. The people bemoan themselves, but Wate says encouragingly:

ich hôrte ie sagen von kinden für ein wazzermaere[36]
daz ze Gîvers in dem berge ein wîtez künîcriche erbûwen waere.
daDâ leben die liute schône, sô rîche sî ir lant:
dâ diu wazzer verliesen (l. verloufen,) dâ sî silberîn der sant;

dâ mite mûrens bürge. daz sie dâ habent für steine,
daz ist golt daz beste; jâ ist ir armuot . . . . kleine.
Unde sagent mêre (got würket manegiu werc,)
swen die magnéten bringent für den berc,
daz lant hât die winde, swer ir mac erbîten,
der ist iemer rîche mit allem sînem künne nâch den zîten.

According to this, Givers lay in the Dark Sea, but was under the dominion of Horand, as is shown by verse 2257. It is further related in the poem that the mist lifted itself, and that the sun burst through the darkness, whereupon a wind from the west liberated the vessel, and carried it safely to Normandy.

10. The Younger Titurel.

Der sol von eime tursen hoeren spil,[37]
Und mac sîn zit vertriben.3254.

11. Laber's Jagd.

Der tocken wol mit im ze spilen waere,[38]
Als ie diu kint erdenkent
Durch zîtvertrîben gemelîcher maere.351.

12. Des Spiegel's Abentheuer (MS. poem of the 14th century.) In the beginning we find,

die tumben hôrten lieber ein maere[39]
von eime tursen sagen,

and towards the end,

Von enten swarz unde grâ[40]
kan ich nit vil sagen.

13. Luther says, "I would not for any money part with the wonderful stories which I have kept in my memory since my earliest childhood, or have met with in my progress through life."

14. Patre frai Luis de Leon (born 1527, died 1591, comp. Rotermund, 3. 1628), La perfecta casada. § 6.

Y verá que estandose sentada con sus mugeres volteando el huso de la mano y contando consejas—se texe la tela y se labra el paño.

15. Joachim Camerarii, Fabulæ Æsopicæ (Lips. 1570), p. 406:

Hoc autem fabularum genus quale sit, optima poterit intelligi exemplo et comparatione veterum fabularum nationis et gentis teutonicae, quas plerasque jam oblivio obruit, nam et in illis expositionem ad abhorrentem quendam modum deflexam, et repugnantem sensibus, usurpari solitam fuisse scimus, atque meminimus narrationum portentosarum, quibus vulgi et puerorum mentes terrore, formidine, spe, laetitia, opinionibus aptis quieti, denique religione quadam inbuerentur: unde superstitione postea nocente et intolerabili, cum haec minus scite et gnaviter tractarentur, omnia compleri coepta.

16. Cervantes Colloq. entre Cip y Berg.

—y aquellas (cosas) que à ti te deven parecer profecias, no sino palabras de consejas, o cuentos de viejas, como aquellos del cavallo sin cabeça y de la varilla de virtudes, con que se entretienen al fuego las dilatadas noches del invierno.

17. Kirchhof's (Wendunmut Frankf. 1581, p. 178).

Note for this the fable (The Three Wishes, No. 87), which I used to hear the spinning-girls relate when I was a child.

18. Fischart (Gargantua, 131a).

Tells The last year's snow, and how he heard it from Grandfather Hackleback (riding on his grandfather's leg). He makes many other allusions to familiar stories, viz., The Valiant little Tailor, No. 20; The Tailor in Heaven, No. 35; Rumpelstilzchen, No. 55; and Brother Lustig, No. 81.

18b. Eyering's Sprichwörter.

Drumb ist der Mensch hie selig gnug,[41]
der aus des Andern Schaden klug
hie nach der Kinder Märlein versteh, 1. 135.

Ein Märlin man eh lernen thut[42]
dann ein Gebet löblich und gut. 2. 503.

19. Rollenhagen, in the preface to Froschmeuseler, says, "We can best learn what the teaching of ancient German paganism was from the wonderful household stories which tell of the despised but pious Aschenpössel and his proud mocking brothers, of Foolish Lazy Harry, of Iron Henry, of the Envious old Woman, and others of the same kind. These were unwritten, but were handed down by the people to their descendants by word of mouth, and we generally find that they inculcate fear of God, diligence in business, humility and hope, for in them the most abject person of all generally becomes the greatest." Compare the notes to Nos. 1, 21, 27, 66.

20. Reime dich (Nordhausen, 1673), p. 74.

Pretty and witty fables, which you can remember when the nurse insists on keeping silence.

21. Quevedo (born 1570, died 1647). Obras. (Brussels, 1660, 1. 570). Sino llegara una pobre muger, cargada de bodigos y llena de males y plañiendo, quien eres muger desdichada? la manceba del abad, respondio ella, que anda en los cuentos de niños, partiendo el mal con el le va a buscar; assi dizen empunadoras de las consejas, y el mal para quien le fuere a buscar y para la manceba del abad.

22. The works of Schuppius, 1677, Fabelhans, p. 530. "Dr. Luther had taken much trouble with the old and unexpurgated Æsop, and wished to prepare a new and enlarged book of stories, a project which at that time gave great pleasure to many good people . . . . but as the beloved man was toiling hard at the Bible, together with many sermons and writings, this book which he had begun was laid on one side, though Magister Georg Rörer brought it out afterwards in the ninth part of Luther's German books. In the beautiful court-psalm the Doctor alludes to the ape which went to split some wood, and forgot his wedge, and was laughed at when he pulled out his axe. He likewise mentions the frog which sat upon a farthing, and boasted of the honour paid to wealth. I have heard several good fables from him at meal-times, as for instance, that of the crow which punished the apes which wanted to blow the fire of a glowworm,[43] and lost their heads in doing it."

Ibid. p. 789.

"Your old folks can remember how in the olden times it was customary at vespers on Easter Day to tell some Easter-tidings from the pulpit. These were foolish fables and stories such as are told to children in the spinning-rooms. They were intended to make people merry."

23. Jucundus Jucundissimus, 1680, pp. 106, 107.

"Thus we arrived at this place together, where the people were in the habit of spinning up the tow. It was an enforced custom with them that each in turn should relate some little tale, or history, and to tell the truth, not only the noble women, but also myself and my friend, found our entire pleasure in such stories, and we often used to stop old beggars and give them a trifle more for telling us them."

24. Ernest Joach. Westphalii De consuetudine ex sacco et libro tractatio (Rostochii, 1726, 8), pp. 224, 225.

Etenim simulac puellae balbutire incipiunt, nihil magis cura est mulierculis quibus educatio commissa est quam mentem et animum puellarum, naturali facultate ad audiendum fabellas promtissimarum, imbuere omni genere superstitionis et commentorum. narrant multo verborum apparatu historiolas of The Blocksberg; The Black Witch; The Rascal who puts Children in his Sack; Dummling; King Bluebeard; Cuckoo's-soup; The Pentagram; Old Eten Inne; The Princess in the Blue Tower, et infinitas fabulas.

In Schmidt's Fastelabendsgebräuchen (Rostock, 1752), p. 22, the following are with some variation named as old wives' tales. 1. The Story of the Black Witch; 2. The Rascal who puts Children in his Sack; 3. Dummling; 4. King Bluebeard; 5. Cuckoo's-soup; 6. The Pentagram; 7. The Haunted Castle; 8. The Princess in the Blue Tower; 9. Old Arden Inn; 10. Horny Sigfried. See Büsching's Wöchentliche Nachrichten, 1. 143, 144.

25. Der Leipziger Avanturier, 1756), 1. 14.

"Stories and histories are related to him in his youth."

26. Rabener mentions the word Märchen several times, and seems to be perfectly familiar with it. We find in a letter, written January 7th, 1758, in Weisse's edition, "The story of the old hermit who was seen in two places at one and the same time." "I see that I am growing just as restless and uneasy as a child on a long winter's night when people are sitting in a dark room and telling the story of Mum Mum." (Letter of the 26th May, 1759, p. 18.) "My dear nurse, I still think with pleasure of the long evenings when I was a little boy and sat on your knee, and threw my trembling arms round your neck in terror when you told us the awful story of the Sea Dog, or the sad one of the Enchanted Prince who had no Head, or the pious tale of The Lame Ass . . . the story of The Ape which could Speak . . . or the merry tale of The Enchanted Castle in the Air" (an appropriate story for the 1st of April).

27. Goethe mentions in Werther, p. 60, the story of The Lodestone Mountain, and The Princess who was served by hands.

28. From Der Hausstand (an 18th century romance).

"When a day comes when everything goes wrong, and in the evening my spirit is as dull as this autumn day, then I tell my boy some stories, and while I am looking at his happy face, a new firmament full of encouragement reveals itself to me. O what magic lies in the happy face of a child!"

29. Allgem. deutsche Bibliothek, vol. 63 (Berlin, 1785), p. 129, review of the third vol. of Musäus. "The critic has always compared our genuine popular stories with the mythology of the Greeks."

30. Johannes Müller, Histor. Critik, 1. 245, says,

Everyone ought to search out and give currency to the wisdom of the people among whom he lives, in whatsoever form it is expressed, not forgetting even their songs,

narrantquas ad ignem aniculæ
narrant puellis.

31. See Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, Book I. line 255.

The village-matron, ro"Hence, finally, by night
The village-matron, round the blazing hearth,
Suspends the infant-audience with her tales,
Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes,
And evil spirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet souls
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed.
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil
Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd
With shivering sighs: till eager for the event,
Around the beldame all arrect (sic) they hang.
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell."

32. Sir Walter Scott says in his notes to The Lady of the Lake (Edinb. 1810, p. 392.), "A work of great interest might be compiled upon the origin of popular fiction and the transmission of similar tales from age to age and from country to country. The mythology of one period would then appear to pass into the romance of the next century, and that into the nursery-tale of the subsequent ages. Such an investigation, while it went greatly to diminish our ideas of the richness of human invention, would also show that these fictions, however wild and childish, possess such charms for the populace, as to enable them to penetrate into countries unconnected by manners and language, and having no apparent intercourse to afford the means of transmission. It would carry me far beyond my bounds, to produce instances of this community of fable among nations who never borrowed from each other anything intrinsically worth learning. Indeed, the wide diffusion of popular fictions may be compared to the facility with which straws and feathers are dispersed abroad by the wind, while valuable metals cannot be transported without trouble and labour. There lives, I believe, only one gentleman whose unlimited acquaintance with this subject might enable him to do it justice; I mean my friend, Mr. Francis Douce, of the British Museum, whose usual kindness will, I hope, pardon my mentioning his name, while on a subject so closely connected with his extensive and curious researches."

33. Eloi Johanneau, in the Mémoires de l'Académie Celtique, 1. 162, says, "On connaît aussi les contes de fées, du Chat Botté, et du Petit Poucet avec ses bottes de sept lieues, contes populaires de la plus haute antiquité, qui ne sont point de l'invention de Perrault.

34. A. Bruguière de Sorsum, Lao-Seng-Eul, a Chinese comedy (Paris, 1819), p. 158, 159. "Les contes naïfs avec lesquels les nourrices de nos jours bercent encore leurs innocens nourissons, se sont transmis de génération en génération depuis les premiers âges du monde et ils ont suivi à l'occident la migration des peuples de l'Asie. L'histoire du Petit Poucet et des Bottes de Sept Lieues, celle de la Belle au bois dormant, tous ces récits d'ogres et de géans qui, lors des premiers progrès de notre intelligence, nous inspirent aux approches du sommeil une si charmante terreur, se répètent presque identiquement depuis les confins le plus reculés de la Tartarie, jusqu' aux extrémités septentrionales et méridionales de l'Europe. Ils semblent particulièrement avoir voyagé avec les tribus scythiques, et ils doivent, à l'egard des peuples modernes chez lesquels on les trouve, fournir des inductions d'une origine commune, ou du moins d'une ancienne relation intime aussi bien qu'on peut les tirer d'une conformité dans les racines, les élémens et le mécanisme du langage."

35. Francis Coben writes in the Quarterly Review, 1819, May, No. 41, p. 94. Kinder und Hausmärchen, a collection of German popular stories singular in its kind, both for extent and variety, and from which we have derived much information.

36. The New Monthly Magazine, London, 1821, August, No. 8, p. 148, says, "Among the most venerable remains of ancient Teutonic literature we should rank the abundant stores of popular legends and traditions, which often preserve most curious illustrations of heathen mythology, and still more frequently exhibit it in a most incongruous combination with the Christian faith. Under this last head we may also notice the beautiful collection of Nursery Literature, which has lately been edited with so much care by Messrs. Grimm. These too have attracted great attention; though we have long left our nurseries, we retain our best relish for these tales, and hardly know whether to admire most their interest as works of fiction, or their literary value as bearing on ancient mythos and superstitions."

37. In Le Globe, 1830, No. 146, there is an essay in the feuilleton, signed C. S., in which the story of the Machandelboom (No. 47) is given, and is thus introduced: "La France n'a point, comme l'Allemagne et l'ltalie, une littérature populaire écrite; mais les habitants de Languedoc et de la Provence se sont transmis, depuis un laps de temps, qu'il serait peut-être difficile à préciser, des chansons et des contes qui présentent quelquefois des idées grandes et morales, et dont le style est toujours pittoresque et expressif. Ma mère avait une vieille domestique forte complaisante et qui avait bien dans son mémoire autant de récits qu'en contiennent Les Mille et une Nuits; elle aurait lutté contre Schéhérazade."


Straparola's Nights.

In the year 1550, appeared in Venice, the first part, and in 1554, the second, of a collection of stories, jests, and riddles linked together in a fashion similar to that used by Boccaccio, and bearing the title, Thirteen Delightful Nights (Tredici piacevoli notti). This has since been frequently reprinted. It contains in all 74 pieces (among which there are twenty-one stories) divided into thirteen Nights. The author, Giovanni Francesco Straparola, of Caravaggio, in the Milanese, must have lived from the end of the 15th to the middle of the 16th century, for an edition of his poems appeared in Venice, even as early as in the year 1508. It is impossible to speak with more precision, as neither the year of his birth nor of his death is known, nor has any other event of his life been noted. He gathered together the materials for his Nights from various places, information about which may be found in Dunlop, (Liebrecht's translation, 283, 284, 494-497), but it was not so with the stories, which were gathered from oral tradition One of them (12. 3) is however taken from Morlini, and left unaltered; another (5. 7) betrays some affinity to it. In the frequently coarse stories composed in Latin, which have just been republished (Novellæ, fabulæ, comædia, Paris, 1855), there is nothing else that is story-like. Compare Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop, 494-498. Straparola's writing is very unequal both in style and power of delineation, nor is it unusually good even in his best pieces, but many things are told agreeably, naturally, and not ungracefully, while, on the contrary, others are told not only indecently, but with such shameless obscenity, that we are unable to excuse it on the score of the natural and free manners of the Italians, and of the period. On this account the book was included in the list of forbidden works in Rome, 1605, and an abridged and expurgated edition was prepared elsewhere. The stories, however, are tolerably free from this taint, and they constitute the greater part of the entire work. Straparola, as we read in the preface to the second edition (before the 6th Night), "wrote them down from the lips of ten young girls," and he expressly declares that the stories are not his property. The best literary information is furnished by a German translation (Die Nächte des Straparola von Caravaggio, Vienna, 1791, 8vo, two parts), in the preface to which is printed a dissertation on Straparola found among the MSS. left by the learned Mazzuchelli, for the continuation of his great work, and we likewise find in the same place what Quadrio (in his Storia d' Ogni Poesia) and others say of the author. With regard to editions and translations, Bartol. Gamba's Delle Novelle italiane in prosa Bibliografia (Florence, 1835), p. 160, and following, and Ebert's Bibliogr. Lexikon, 2. 847, should be consulted. There was probably a German translation of Straparola in the 16th century as Fischart mentions "the stories of Straparola" in Gargantua, p. 7. Bretschneider speaks of one of 1679, 8vo, in the announcement of a new edition of Gargantua. It is unnecessary to give an example of the stories as they have been made accessible by means of a good translation, with careful and valuable notes, by Friedr. Wilh. Val. Schmidt (Märchen-Saal, 1st vol. Berlin, 1817). It far excels the Viennese translation which only contains six stories. It is a pity that he has without knowing it used an expurgated edition (Venice, 1608). We will content ourselves therefore with adding a list of the stories in their original order which Schmidt disregarded, and with giving an epitome of those which are omitted in his work. We have the complete edition (Venice, 1573) before us, and a French translation of it (Lyons, 1611, and not known to Mazzuchelli) which exactly corresponds with it, but is more perfect as it contains the short preface to the second part.

I. 1. The Father's three Prohibitions. Schmidt, p. 70.

2. The Knave. He performs three hard tasks. First he steals from the provost the bed on which he is lying. Then he carries away the horse on which the stable-boy was sitting, without his observing it. Finally, he brings an ecclesiastical personage in a sack. This is in the Viennese translation p. 32, but it is imperfect. Improperly omitted in Schmidt, for it is in the expurgated edition, though abridged. Compare the German story of the Master-Thief, No. 192.

3. Master Scarpafico (Schmidt, p. 133) is cheated, and cheats in turn. This resembles the German story The Little Peasant, No. 61.

4. The Girl in the Press (Schmidt, p. 115). A peculiarly pretty story, which has only one or two features in common with other German or Italian stories. But compare Hagen's Gesammtabenteuer, 3. clvi.

II. 1. King Swine (Schmidt, p. 249). German, Hans the Hedgehog, No. 108.

III. 1. Stupid Peter (Schmidt, 231. Peruonto, No. 1, 3, in the Pentamerone, has more of the characteristics of a story.

2. The Magic Horse (Schmidt, 1.) In German, The White Snake, No. 17, is allied to this.

3. The Snake (Schmidt, 24).

4. The Gift of the Three Beasts (Schmidt, 158).

5. The Faithful Man (Schmidt, 147).

IV. 1. The Princess as Knight (Schmidt, 195).

3. The Three Kings' Children (Schmidt, 44). In German, The Three Little Birds, No. 96.

V. 1. The Wild Man in the Forest (Schmidt, 92). In German, Iron Hans, No. 136.

2. The Doll (poavola). Omitted by Schmidt. In the Viennese translation, 2. 97-105. Here, however, the doll is turned into a magpie, which seats itself on the king's shoulder, and holds so fast with its bill that no one but the youngest sister can take it off. In the Pentamerone, there is a goose instead of a doll, but in other respects the story is the same.

VII. 5. The Three Brothers (Schmidt, p. 262), in Morlini, No. 79. The Five Sons, in the Pentamerone, (5, 7), is better and more perfect. In German, see The Four Brothers, No. 129.

VIII. 5. The Scholar in Magic. In German, the Master-Thief, No. 68. This is omitted in the expurgated edition of Straparola, and consequently in Schmidt also, where the jest of the Two Physicians directly follows; in the complete edition, it is the sixth Fable. Lactantius, who is secretly a magician, to outward appearance carries on the trade of a tailor; "his apprentice stealthily espies what he does, and then has no longer any fancy for tailoring, so his father takes him home. The magician allows him to come back again, but makes him perform menial offices, so the father himself takes him away. As they are poor, the youth says, "Father, I will transform myself into a beautiful horse, sell me, but keep the bridle yourself, and do not give me away with it on, or I shall not be able to return." Lactantius recognizes the horse, buys it of the father, and cajoles him into letting him have the bridle too. Then he mocks, beats, and ill-treats the horse. One day, however, the magician's daughters take it to the water, whereupon it instantly changes itself into a little fish, and dives down below. The magician hastens after it, transforms itself into a voracious fish, and chases the little one. The latter however leaps, in the shape of a ruby set in a gold ring, into the basket of the king's daughter, who is picking up pebbles just there. She carries it away with her, and he shews himself to her in his true form as a handsome young man. She takes a great liking to him, and keeps him with her in the form of a ring. The old king becomes ill. Lactantius assumes the form of a physician, cures him, and, as a recompense, will have nothing but the Princess's ruby ring, for he well knows who it is. She refuses to give it up, and at length, when she is compelled to do so, the youth tells her to throw it against the wall in the physician's presence. As soon as the ring falls to the ground, it is changed into a pomegranate which bursts, and scatters its seeds in every direction. The master transforms himself into a cock, in order to pick up the seeds, but one of them hides itself and is not observed by him. This one little seed changes itself into a fox which seizes the cock by the throat and kills him. Thereupon the king gives the youth his daughter to wife.

X. 3. The Faithful Animals (Schmidt, 215). The German version of this, see The Two Brothers, No. 60, is more complete. No. 7 in the Pentamerone has some affinity to it.

XI. 1. The He-cat (Schmidt, 180). See No. 4 in the Fragments. Gagliuso in the Pentamerone, 2, 4. Le Chat Botté in Perrault.

2. The Simpleton. Omitted in the expurgated edition, and in Schmidt.

Bertuccio, a simpleton, is not to receive what he has inherited from his father, until his thirtieth year, but his mother is to give him three hundred ducats whenever he demands them. He gets one hundred from her, and goes away and finds a man who is still striking a dead man whom he has murdered. In his compassion, the simpleton gives this man eighty pieces of gold, rescues the corpse, and spends the remaining twenty pieces in having it honourably buried. His mother is vexed at his stupidity, but he asks for the other two hundred ducats, goes away, and with the money rescues the king's daughter from some robbers. Afterwards when she is taken away to her father's court again, she tells him that she will marry none but him, and that when he comes to court he is to hold his right hand on his head, and by that she will recognize him. He rides thither on a sorry beast, and on the way meets a knight, who gives him his beautiful horse and magnificent apparel, in return for which the simpleton has to promise that when be comes back he will share with the knight all that he has gained. The handsome knight pleases the King, so Bertuccio obtains his beloved. On the way home the knight meets him, and demands half of everything. The simpleton at once divides everything which he had received on his marriage. But then the stranger knight demands half of his wife also. "How can that be done?" enquires Bertuccio. "We must cut her in two." "Nay, rather than do that, take the whole of her!" said the simpleton, "I love her far too much to consent to that." Then the stranger knight said, "Keep the whole, and take everything back again; I am the ghost of that murdered man, and I desired to repay thee for what thou didst for me."

XII. 3. Good Counsel (Schmidt, 188). A cock is beaten in order to cure a froward woman of her obstinacy. This story is borrowed from No. 71 in Morlini. It is also told in The Thousand and One Nights, but with a different beginning (1. 36, and following). The very characteristic Servian version (Wuk, No. 3) is better still, but the simplest of all is an African one in Kölle, p. 143. See further on.

XIII. 6. Good Times (Schmidt, 246). This has some affinity to the German story, Doctor Know-all, No. 98.


In the following century (the 17th) a collection of stories in the Neapolitan dialect appeared in Naples, by Giambattista Basile, which, in imitation of the Decamerone, was entitled Il Pentamerone. It is a book which is almost unknown in other countries, and was first brought into notice in Germany by Fernow.[44] The author, who by the transposition of the letters of his name, is also called Gian Alesio Abbatutis, lived in the beginning of the 17th century.[45] After he had spent his early youth in the island of Crete, he became acquainted with the Venetians, and was received into the Academia degli Stravaganti. He followed his sister Adriana, who was a celebrated singer, to Mantua, and entered the service of the Duke, whose favour he enjoyed. He travelled a great deal in Italy, and again went to Naples, where he must have died about the year 1637.

The first known edition of the Pentamerone, may, as it appeared in this very year, 1637, have been preceded by an earlier, which was entirely sold out. The number of editions through which the book has passed since then[46] is presumptive evidence of its possessing a certain value, but this collection of stories was for a long time the best and richest that had been formed by any nation. Not only were the traditions at that time more complete in themselves, but the author had a special talent for collecting them, and besides that an intimate knowledge of the dialect. The stories are told almost without any break, and the manner of speaking, at least that of the Neapolitans, is perfectly caught, and this last constitutes one superiority over Straparola, who only strove for the customary educated method of narration, and did not understand how to strike a new chord. We may therefore look on this collection of fifty stories (including the introduction and conclusion with their valuable material) as the basis of many others; for although it was not so in actual fact, and was indeed not known beyond the country in which it appeared, and was never translated into French, it still has all the importance of a basis, owing to the coherence of its traditions. Two-thirds of them are, so far as their principal incidents are concerned, to be found in Germany, and are current there at this very day. Basile has not allowed himself to make any alteration, scarcely even any addition of importance, and that gives his work a special value. He has made no use of what was done by his predecessor, Straparola, probably was not even aware of it. The two writers have only four pieces in common, Nos. 3, 14, 41, 45 in Basile, and 3, 1. 10, 1. 5, 2. 7, 5 in Straparola), and from a comparison of these it is evident that Basile wrote independently. In this respect the story of The Doll is curious 5, 1. (in Straparola, 5, 2). Basile tells it of a goose which is less appropriate, otherwise the stories somewhat resemble each other. It is manifest that Straparola gives it more correctly, besides having two more incidents. The strange variation is, however, explained by the resemblance between the sound of the words papara (goose), and pipata (doll), which have been confused by oral tradition.[47]

Basile has told his stories altogether in the spirit of a lively, witty, and facetious people, with continual allusions to manners and customs, and even to old stories and mythology, a knowledge of which is usually tolerably diffused among the Italians. This is the very reverse of the quiet and simple style of German stories. He abounds too much in picturesque and proverbial forms of speech, and witty turns present themselves to him every moment, and for the most part make their mark. Frequently too his expressions are of the rustic kind, bold, free, and out-spoken, and therefore offend us; as for instance, in this very story of the doll, which could not well be told here in all its details, though we cannot exactly call it indecent, as that of Straparola is. A certain exuberance and flow of language is natural to Basile, for example, in the 28rd story, the complaint of Renza extends over two pages. This, however, is due only to the peculiar pleasure which southern nations take in ever new impressions, and in lingering over the objects which give rise to them, and not to any attempt to conceal poverty in the subject itself. In Liebrecht's opinion (see his translation of Dunlop, 517, 518) Basile has imitated Rabelais in this. As the superabundance of similes is for the most part prompted by fun and wit, the strangest and most laughable expressions may be used without being nonsensical, as for example, in the 23rd story, when the lover cries to his beloved, "Farewell, protocol of all the privileges of Nature, archive of all gracious grants from Heaven, tablet whereon is inscribed every title-deed of beauty." There is some refinement in the 38th. The 32nd is not very story-like, but more resembles a didactic poem. The 20th is a jest, and the matter and execution of the 26th are of the weakest description. The resemblance which the story Lo Dragone (4, 5), bears to the Saga of Siegfried deserves particular attention. The secret birth of the boy, as well as his humble employment with the cook, remind us of Siegfried's childhood. Then we see him aided by a helpful bird, which recalls the bird whose speech the Norse Sigurd understands, and from which he receives and accepts advice. The angry Queen, too, corresponds with Brünhild, and is at the same time Reigen, the instigator of the combat with the dragon. Here too the dragon is the Queen's brother, and her life is bound up with his. She, too, wishes to be smeared with his blood, just as Reigen strives to obtain the heart's blood of Fafnir. As a valuable translation with learned notes by Felix Liebrecht, has appeared (Breslau, 1846, 2 vols.), and soon after it an English one by John Edward Taylor (London, 1848), there is no need of any extract here, and we shall only give a list of the stories in the Pentamerone, and in the German collection, which, on the whole, correspond with each other.

(1, 1.) 1. The Wild Man of the Woods No. 036. The Wishing-Table.
(1, 2.) 2. The Whortleberry branch (or Myrtle) No. 076. The Pink.
(1, 4.) 4. Vardiello. No. 059. Frederick and Catherine
(1, 5.) 5. The Flea No. 071. How six Men got on in the World.
(1, 6.) 6. Cenerentola (Cinderella). No. 021. Cinderella.
(1, 7.) 7. The Merchant. No. 060. The Two Brothers.
(1, 8.) 8. The Goat-face. No. 003. Our Lady's Child.
(1, 9.) 9. The Enchanted Doe. No. 060. The Two Brothers.
(2, 1.) 11. Petrosinella. No. 012. Rapunzel.
(2, 5.) 15. The Snake. No. 108. Hans the Hedgehog.
(2, 6.) 16. The She-bear. No. 065. Allerleirauh.
(2, 7.) 17. The Dove. No. 056. Dearest Roland.
(2, 8.) 18. The Kitchen-maid. No. 053. Snow-White.
(2, 9.) 19. The Magic Coffer. No. 088. The Singing Soaring Lark
(2, 10.) 20. The Godfather (or Gossip). No. 061. The Little Peasant.
(3, 2.) 22. The Girl without Hands. No. 031. The Girl without Hands.
(3, 6.) 26. The Serving-maid. No. 067. The Twelve Huntsmen.
(3, 7.) 27. Corvetto. No. 126. Ferdinand the Faithful.
(3, 8.) 28. The Simpleton. No. 071. How six Men got on in the World.
(3, 9.) 29. Rosella. No. 056. Dearest Roland.
(3, 10.) 30. The Three Fairies. No. 013. The three little Men in the Wood.
(4, 1.) 31. The stone in the Cock's Head. No. 104. The Faithful Animals.[48]
(4, 3.) 33. The Three Enchanted Brothers. No. 197. The Crystal Ball.
(4, 4.) 34. The Seven Bits of Bacon-rind. No. 014. The Three Spinners.
(4, 7,) 37. The Two Cakes. No. 024. Dame Holle, and 135, White Bride and Black One.
(4, 8.) 38. The Seven Doves. No. 025. The Seven Ravens.
(4, 9.) 39. The Raven. No. 006. Faithful John.
(4, 10.) 40. Pride Punished. No. 052. King Thrushbeard.
(5, 3.) 43. Pintosmauto. No. 088. The Singing Soaring Lark.
(5, 4.) 44. The Golden Root.
(5, 5.) 45. Sun, Moon and Talia. No. 050. Briar-Rose.
(5. 7.) 47. The Five Sons. No. 129. The Four Skilful Brothers.
(5, 8.) 48. Nennillo and Nennella. No. 015. Hansel and Grethel.

We must also observe that Rosella (3. 9) likewise bears some resemblance to the story The Three Girdles in the Brunswick Collection (see further on), and that there is a corresponding story to (4, 3) The Three Beast-Brothers, in Musäus.

Gesta Romanorum.

This title is borne by a collection of old stories drawn from various sources, and for the most part occupying themselves with the deeds of Roman emperors. They are in Latin, and were probably written in the middle of the 14th century, but it is not known with any certainty by whom. The author may have been an Englishman or a Frenchman, but as German names of dogs occur in the stories, it is most likely that he was a German. A treatise on the writer is found in Grässe's German translation, (Dresden and Leipzig, 2 vols. 1842) where, too, the various editions and translations are carefully pointed out. We shall only concern ourselves with such of the tales as are story-like, and may originally have been derived from oral tradition, though they have undergone slight alterations for the sake of the religious application which is the main object of the book.

1. An Emperor admits into his court a poor humble man, who promises to perform six services for him. The first is to serve him well for the space of one year. He makes his lord's bed, lies armed by his door every night, and has a little dog with him which wakens him with barking whenever he is at all overcome by sleep. The second service is, that for one year he is to watch when others sleep, and sleep when others are awake. The third, that he shall know how to judge a drink. The Emperor causes vinegar, wine, and new wine to be mixed together in a glass, and given to him. He tastes it and says, "It was good, is good, and will be good." That is to say, the new wine will become good, the wine is good, and the vinegar was good. For the fourth he is to go through every kingdom and invite his master's friends. He, however, invites all the enemies, and says, "It is better thus, for they too shall become his friends," and before the feast begins he has turned their hearts. The fifth service is that he shall make a fire without smoke. He lays dried wood in the sun which in the heat kindles of its own accord, without smoke. The sixth service is this, that he shall show those who wish to go to the Holy Land, a good road by which they may safely travel there and back. He takes them all to the sea and says, "A bird is sitting there on a cliff, hatching seven eggs with great care. As long as it sits there, the sea is calm, but if the bird fly away, the sea rages so violently that no one can traverse it. The bird, however, never leaves the nest, unless another bird, which is his enemy, comes and defiles his nest, and injures the eggs, and this he constantly strives to do. He, however, can be kept away if the nest is smeared inside and out with the blood of a lamb." The Pilgrims fulfil these conditions, and travel in safety there and back. The Emperor then rewards the faithful servant. Latin edition of 1489, fol. cap. 17. German edition likewise of 1489, fol. cap. 48 (in which however he only performs five services, on the other hand in the Latin edition, Venice, 1516, in 8vo, there are again six).

2. A story which resembles the beginning of The Devil with the three Golden Hairs (No. 29), but also appears as the Saga of the Emperor Henry (Deutsche Sagen, 2. No. 480, Latin edition, chap. 20; German edition, chap. 44).

3. A criminal is seized and shall be pardoned if he utters three truths which no one can contest. On this he says, firstly, "I have been a wicked fellow all the days of my life." Secondly, "It has not been agreeable to me to be brought here." Thirdly, "If I can set myself free this time, I will never come back of my own accord." On which he receives his pardon. Latin edition, chap. 58. German, chap. 45. In Roberts's Cambrian Popular Antiquities a similar saga is related. Arthur loses his way while he is hunting, and comes to a cave where an old giantess is living with her son and daughter. The mother and son want to kill him, but the daughter prevails so far that the old woman consents to grant him his life if next morning he is able to say three true things. Arthur is well entertained; and the young giant plays on the harp to him. When he has gone to rest, the giant lays such a heavy ox-hide over him that he is unable to stir. Next morning Arthur utters the three truths. First he says to the son, "You are the best player on the harp that I have ever heard." "That is true," says the old woman. To her he says, "You are the most hideous witch I have ever beheld." "That also is true." And thirdly, "If once I were away, I would never come back." That also was admitted to be true, and Arthur was released.

4. The King will give his daughter in marriage to the man who can excel her in a race; he who fails, however, is to have his head struck off. A poor youth undertakes the venture. First, he throws a garland of roses on the course before her; she picks it up, and while she is putting it on her head, he gets before her. On this she hurls the wreath away, and passes her adversary. The second time he throws down a golden girdle; she takes it up, and girds herself with it, but when she sees that she is being left behind, she tears it in three pieces, and again outstrips the youth, strikes him in the face, and says, "Miserable creature, thou shalt never have me for thy wife." Then the third time he throws down a purse in which lies a gilded apple on which is written, "Whosoever plays with me will never weary of playing." Thereupon she begins to play with the apple; the youth arrives at the goal before her, and she is married to him. Latin edition, chap. 60; German, chap. 63. This story at once reminds us of the saga of Atalanta.

5. The Two Physicians. Latin ed. chap. 76; German, chap. 37. See note to the German story, No. 118.

6. He who is the idlest is to have the kingdom. Latin ed. chap. 91. German, chap. 3. See note to the German story, No. 151.

7. There are two snakes, one male and one female, on whose lives those of the King and Queen are dependent. Latin edit. 92.

8. The jest of the three hungry men, who only find one loaf, and agree with each other that the one who dreams the best dream shall have it. Whilst the two others are sleeping, the third eats the loaf, and afterwards invents a dream. Latin edit. 106.

9. A proud and overbearing knight falls into a wild beast's pit with his horse, and presently a lion, an ape, and a snake also fall in. A poor woodcutter comes by, and first draws out the animals one after the other, and lastly the man and his horse also. The latter promises great rewards, but afterwards, when the poor man comes to claim them, ill-treats and beats him. After some time the woodcutter is again working in the forest, and the lion drives a richly laden ass into his house. The poor man, however, causes enquiries to be made whether any one has lost these treasures, and some one presents himself and takes them away. Another time he wants to cut some wood, but as he has no axe, the ape gnaws off and breaks a whole load for him. Thirdly, the snake gives him a stone of three colours; black, white, and red, out of its mouth, and this is a luck-stone. The King wishes to buy it, but must give its value or it will return of its own accord to the seller. On this occasion the poor man relates how the overbearing knight, who is in the service of the King, rewarded him for his help, and as a punishment, he is hanged on the gallows, and his post at court is given to the poor man. Latin edition, chap. 119. German chap. 76. Compare the Swabian story, in Meier, No. 14, and 3, 5, in the Pentamerone.

10. The story of Fortunatus, Latin, chap. 120. German edit. 8. Compare the German story, No. 122.

11. A snake brings good luck, but as it is killed from greediness, the luck vanishes. Latin, chap. 141. German, chap. 88. See note to the Story of the Snake, No. 105.

12. A man comes half-riding, half-walking, and brings with him his worst enemy, his greatest friend, and his playfellow. Latin edit. chap. 124. German, chap. 24. Compare the note to the German story, The Peasant's Wise Daughter, No. 94.

13. A king covets the estate of a knight. He says to him, "If thou dost not bring me a black horse, a black dog, a black falcon, and a black horn within a week thou shalt forfeit thy land." Full of trouble, the knight goes into a forest, and there a grey-headed man is sitting with a staff in his hand which he gives him with these words, "Go straight forward with this, and thou wilt come to a black castle; demand there in the name of him to whom this staff belongs, a black horse, a black dog, a black falcon, and a black horn. When thou hast all these things, beware of mounting the horse, of blowing the horn, and do not suffer the dog to hunt, or the falcon to fly, howsoever much they may urge thee to do so. Then take them all to thy lord, but bring my staff back to me."

After three days the knight perceived the castle, and all was accomplished. The King rejoiced that he had demanded these things, and presently he heard the hounds barking. His attendants told him that a stag was in sight. Then the King mounted the black horse, called the black dog, took the black falcon on his hand, and hung the black horn round his neck. As soon as he saw the stag he blew the horn, and pursued it with his horse. The stag, however, ran at full speed down a precipice, and the King went after it, and was never seen again. From a Viennese MS. in Latin, of the Gesta R. Cod. univ. No. 172, folio 248; and in the German edit. chap. 34. It also occurs in the stories of Nicolaus, 1470; but the Gesta Romanorum is the source from whence he took it. Communicated by Hagen in Büsching's Erzählungen und Schwänken, pp. 124-126. In Grässe, 2. 208. Compare Die Sage vom Tode Dieterichs von Bern.

14. A king has a beautiful daughter, who will only marry the man who can solve three problems. Many present themselves, but are unable to do this. A knight comes likewise, accompanied only by one servant, and with a sick horse. In the first place he is to say how many feet of length, breadth, and height there are in the four elements. The knight orders his servant to lie down, measures him from head to foot, and then replies, "Seven feet long and half a foot broad are the four elements which are united in man." Secondly, "What would make the North Wind blow another way?" He sprinkles a powder in the nostrils of his unmanageable horse, which restores him to health again, and then turns his snorting head to the east, and says, "The wind is changed to the east, for the life of a beast is its breath." Thirdly, he is to carry red-hot coals in his breast next to the skin, without burning himself with them. This he is able to perform, because he carries a stone about him which has power to protect him from all danger from fire or water. Hereupon he receives the King's daughter. Chap. 70, according to the MS. in Vienna, folio 249.

The English Gesta Romanorum which has been revised and furnished with new pieces, gives another story, differing it is true in some respects, but based on similar incidents, see Grässe's translation, pp. 230, 231. The Emperor Andronicus puts three perplexing questions to a knight who has been unjustly accused, which he is to answer accurately under penalty of death. 1. How far it is from Heaven to Hell?" "As far as a sigh is from the heart." "How deep is the sea?" "A stone's throw." "How many flagons of salt water are there in the sea?" "First tell me how many flagons of fresh water there are, and then I will tell you." The knight is to explain his answers more fully. He says, 1. "A sigh passes from the heart with the rapidity of lightning." 2. "The stone because it is heavy falls at once to the bottom of the sea." 3. "It will be time to estimate how many flagons of salt water there are, when you have begun to count up the flagons of fresh water." Compare with this the German story, No. 152.

Charles Perrault.

Story-collecting in the true sense of the term did not begin in France until the end of the 17th century (later therefore than in Italy), at which period there was a great fancy for it.[49] We pass over the commonly received opinion that the origin of these fictions, which is allowedly obscure, is to be attributed to a knowledge of the Arabian Tales, combined with recollections of the poems of the Trouvères and Troubadours.[50] In opposition to this it is scarcely necessary to say that Galland's translation of The Thousand and one Nights only appeared (in 1704) after Perrault's death. The similarity of the French to the Italian and German stories, and at the same time their manifest independence of these, irrefragably proves—what can also be proved by their own peculiar character—that their contents were derived from oral tradition. The charges of plagiarism brought forward by Dunlop (Liebrecht, p. 408) are all unfounded. Of this, by chance, we have external evidence. Scarron (born 1610, died 1660) mentions the Peau d'âne in the Roman Comique, Paris, 1651, p. 78, and probably before Perrault wrote his. Perrault picked up the story entire, and, with the exception of trifles, added nothing to it; the style is simple and natural, and so far as was allowed by the smooth, polished mode of writing of the period, has caught the tone of childhood. One or two good expressions are preserved, viz., she walked "tant que la terre put la porter;" he comes "de douze mille lieues de là," or there is "Je vais manger ma viande," for I am going to eat; and it is quite certain that the question and answer in Bluebeard, "Anne, ma sœur Anne, ne vois tu rien venir?" "Je ne vois rien que le soleil qui poudroie, et l'herbe qui verdoie," was derived from oral tradition. It is to good things like these that the book owes its prolonged existence.

  1. The Fairies (Les Fées) See 3. 10 in the Pentamerone, and 4. 7; in our stories, Nos. 13 and 24. The French version is the most meagre.
  2. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood (La belle au bois dormant). See The Sun and Moon, 5, 5, in the Pentamerone and our Briar-rose, No. 50.
  1. Bluebeard (La Barbe bleue). In German, see No. 46, Fitcher's Bird, but it is rather different; there is nothing like it in Italian.
  2. Little Red-riding-hood (Le petit Chaperon Rouge). German, No. 26.
  3. Puss in Boots (Le Chat botté). See Gagliuso, 2. 4, in the Pentamerone, Straparola, 11, 1. Fragment, No. 4.
  4. Cinderella (Cendrillon). This is flatter than in the Pentamerone, 1. 6, and in the German, No. 21; and how important is the incident, which is altogether absent in the French version, of the King's son being for a short time deceived by the two wicked sisters, who have shortened their feet by force in order to be able to wear their shoes, but are betrayed by the pigeons.
  5. Riquet with the Tuft (à la houpe). At first sight this might be considered a mere invention. It has nothing in it, but that an ugly but clever man can impart his wit to a girl, and a beautiful but stupid girl can give beauty to a deformed man, if they love each other. Here, too, witty epigrammatic turns are to be found, and the dialogue is very pointed. There is not anything like it either in Italian or German.
  6. Little Thumb (Le petit Poucet). For the most part the German story of Hänsel, No. 15. In the Pentamerone, see 5, 8. The Thumbling himself has not so much character here as in the two German stories, Nos. 37 and 45.

These eight stories were first (?) published by Perrault, in 1697, in Paris, in 12mo., under an old title, borrowed from a Fabliau, of Contes de ma mère l'oye, and there was a second, Histoire ou contes du temps passé. In the following editions three more stories were added.[51]

  1. The Ass's Skin (Peau d'âne). In the Pentamerone, the She-bear (2, 6); in German, Allerleirauh (No. 65).
  2. The Clever Princess (L'adroite Princesse). In the Pentamerone, Sapia Liccarda (3, 4).
  3. The Foolish Wishes (Les Souhaits ridicides), in verse. Contains the last part of the German story, The Poor Man and the Rich One, No. 87.

Countess D'Aulnoy.

Countess D'Aulnoy (born 1650, died 1705), who is likewise known by other works, lived at the same time as Perrault. She must have written her stories, or at any rate a portion of them, after the publication of his, and therefore in her later years; for in La Chatte blanche, No. 19, she mentions Le Peau d'Ane, La Belle au bois dormant, and Le Chat bottée, and, by the two last, certainly means Perrault's stories.[52] However, she has not copied from him, for her collection is both worse and better. Worse, inasmuch as in it the traditions are less faithfully adhered to, additions, amplifications, verses, and moral reflexions, are intermingled with them, and the material is freely handled. Tradition however forms the basis of a large number of these stories, as in Perrault's, and the rest, which are pure inventions, are easily distinguishable by their want of intrinsic value. The Blue Bird, one of the finest, is a very remarkable proof of this, as it is unmistakably to be found in the poems of Marie de France, who was already living in the beginning of the 13th century. It is the Lai of Yvenec (272-313), a Gallic saga, which therefore continued to exist on the soil of France until the 18th century. Only the three last (Nos. 22, 23, and 24) have been borrowed by means of a French translation from Straparola. It is easy to see that they have been altered, and for what reason, D'Aulnoy's style cannot be called unskilful; on the contrary, it evinces a dexterous and already practised hand; much is related gracefully, and many things are naïvely and simply expressed, still these tales could not obtain universal circulation, as they were only adapted to children of the high rank to which the authoress herself belonged. There is too much ornament and sumptuousness, and also too much French sentimentality in them. We are conscious of the over-refined and elegant manners of the age of Louis XIV., while, on the other hand, we feel the want of something natural and fresh, and of the simplicity—and if the expression will not be misconstrued—the homeliness, which in conjunction with wonders of all kinds, always manifests itself in genuine stories. They are, however, better than those of Perrault, inasmuch as they are often founded on a tradition which is rich and beautiful in itself; and we are inclined, especially on first reading them, to regard as an excellence the artistic way in which the author weaves her incidents together, and the skill which she frequently exhibits in shaping her stories and working them up into little romances. If these artistic embellishments had but occurred in a poem it would have been impossible to understand why Perrault, with fewer Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/506 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/507 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/508 1650, d. 1724) stories in the same book, vol, vi., deserves to be mentioned. This is Persinette, in the Pentamerone, Petrosinella, 2.1, but taken from a very weak and imperfect version. A note to one of the other tales, expressly says of it, that it alone (The Magician) has been taken from another book, but that all the rest are the original inventions of the author. Of the stories by Mademoiselle l'Héritier (b. 1667, d. 1737), the same book, vol, xii., only one, Ricdin-Ricdon, has a genuine basis. The beginning of it is like the Three Spinners (No. 14), and then passes into Rumpelstilzchen (No. 55); but here, too, the tradition has, with manifest injury to itself, been expanded into a short romance. In the 5th vol, there is another collection entitled, Les illustres Fées, of which the author is not known, and in this there are two pieces worthy of notice, Blanche belle, in which there is a ring of the German story, The Black Bride and the White One (No. 185) and Prince Guerini, taken straight from Straparola's The Three Animals' Gifts (5, 1.). The magic tales written by Count Caylus in the first half of the 18th century (Féeries nouvelles), see Cabinet des Fées, vol, xxiv., are empty and worthless to us, and only in one of them, Tourlou and Rixette, is a fragment of a story to be found; this is called the Yellow Bird, and is inserted as a moral fable. It contains the beginning of the Two Brothers (No. 60). An enchantress is changed into a yellow bird and caught. A rich man buys it of the man who has caught it, and as on its right wing he finds these words written, "Whoso eats my head shall be king, and whoso eats my heart shall have a hundred pieces of gold every morning as soon as he awakes," he makes the poor man's wife roast the bird for him. She, however, accidentally gives the head and heart to her two boys, who have on that account to fly from the deceived man's anger. One is murdered for his wealth; the other arrives in a kingdom where at that very time they are unable to agree as to the choice of a king, and are waiting for a sign. As a dove alights on his head he is chosen, but he governs so badly that he is killed in an insurrection. The moral drawn from this is that every one should remain in the rank of life in which he was born, but there is no doubt but that this ending is added for the sake of it. A collection of stories Nouveaux contes des Fées, the author of which is not known, appeared in the year 1718, and again in 1731, and was, as both editions had become rare, reprinted in the Cabinet des Fées, vol, xxxi. Of the nine stories which it contains, three only (the 1st, 5th, and 9th) have a valid foundation, and may be derived from oral tradition.

  1. The Little Green Frog (La petite Grenouille verte). A sick king desires to have a magic bird, so his son goes forth to obtain it, and comes to a well where a green frog tells him what to do, It gives him a grain of sand, and tells him to throw it down in Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/510 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/511 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/512 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/513 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/514 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/515 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/516 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/517 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/518 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/519 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/520 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/521 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/522 Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/523 Page:Grimm's household 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  1. The river Leine rises in the Hartz Mountains in the S.W. part of the Province of Saxony, and formerly gave its name to a department of which Göttingen was the chief town.—Tr.
  2. Narrative of Journeys in the Equinoctial Regions of America. Translated by W. Macgillivray, p. 91.—Tr.
  3. Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, for instance, contains a jest, according to which a certain punishment is to be remitted if the offender comes "half- riding and half-walking, with his greatest enemy and his greatest friend." He comes with his horse, having the right foot in the stirrup, and with the other he leaps on the ground; he brings his wife, who, on having her ear boxed by him, immediately accuses him of a murder (he had falsely declared himself guilty of it to her, and confided it to her as a secret), and thus she proves herself his greatest enemy; he likewise brings his dog, who is his greatest friend, because if he calls it after he has beaten it, it always comes back wagging its tail. An old German poet, Pfälz. MS., 336, folio 190, has also treated this saga. Hans Sachs relates the story extremely well, and the events are similar. (1560, folio 78.)

    It is somewhat different in the Gesta Romanorum (Latin edition, chap. 124, German, 124, under No. 12), where, too, the task varies. The guilty person, for example, brings his horse, but puts his right leg over the dog, and, as besides this he has to bring his best playfellow, he has taken his child with him, for when he sees it playing it amuses him more than anything else. Moreover the same story appears in one of the Cento novelle antiche (Turin, 1802), p. 163. He who on an appointed day shall bring his friend, his enemy, and his companion in play, shall receive the King's pardon and great treasures. It is solved there as here, only it lacks the incident of his having to come half-riding and half-walking. A Servian story in Wuk, pp. 125, 126, belongs to this group, and so does a passage in Würdtwein (p. 488). "The Sendherr (Synodal Judge) shall come with two parts and a half of a man, two parts and a half of a horse, and shall neither come on the road nor out of the road." The Lalenbürgers likewise have to come to meet the King, half-riding and half-walking. The first mention of this occurs in a story in Ratherius (d. 975), Sermo de octavis paschae (p. 895b, and following, D'Achery Spicil), printed in Haupt's Zeitschrift, 8, 21. Compare the Altdeutsche Blätter, 1, 149, 154, Ferd. Wolf on the Altfranzös. Heldengedichte, p. 133.
  4. There are also certain races every member of which bears on the forehead a sharply-defined blood-red line, which appears whenever he is violently moved by anger or shame. Schiller relates this of Pappenheim. See the History of the Thirty Years' War.
  5. This verse has passed into other popular songs in that district.
  6. In Corsica it was formerly common for the nearest relative of a murdered man to make a vow not to cut his hair or shave his beard until the dead man was avenged.—Tr.
  7. By Prince Pückler-Muskau.—Tr.
  8. Le Chevalier du Pinson, is the title of an old knightly romance,—Tr.
  9. Sigrun, wife of Helgi sits by the mound where Helgi is buried, and continually weeps and laments him. Helgi complains that he cannot rest for the tears wept by his true wife, "Every tear falls on the breast of thy lord, cold-wet, and bitter-sharp, heavy with sorrow."—Tr.
  10. Gruudvig, Folkeviser, Xo. 90.—Tr
  11. Allemande.—Tr.
  12. See the medieval romance, Huon de Bordeaux.—Tr.
  13. Walther. (Zeigt nach dem Bannberg.)

    Vater, ist's wahr, dass auf dem Berge dort
    Die Bäume bluten, wenn man einen Streich
    Drauf führte mit der Axt—
    Tell. Wer sagt das, Knabe?
    Walther. Der Meister Hirt erzählt's—Die Bäume seien
    Gebannt, sagt er, und wer sie schädige,
    Dem wachse seine Hand heraus zum Grabe.

  14. "Did'st thou but stand in front with me,
    Be sure thy cry would then not be

    "Advance! advance! No turning back!"
    'Tis mine to make the first attack,
    But if my life he takes, straightway
    You, one and all will run away."

  15. Veitla, go first, for thou wearest boots, so he cannot bite thee.

  16. "I dreamed a dream that is not long: let me tell you my dream, and how a rose-tree, tall and delicate, clasped me with two blooming branches. Beneath it I found violets and the scent of roses, and it seemed to me that it held me enfolded half the day. Shall I confess it to you?"
  17. In Westphalia.—Tr.
  18. The dogs there are cautious about taking food, and there the church doors are soundly built of butter, and if the sun does shine warm, that hurts them never a jot. An oaken priest, that is true, says a birchen mass. Whosoever goes in to join the service will receive an absolution that will make his back ache. The blessing is given with clubs. In a moment I hurried off, I shrank from his absolution,—Seven quails were in the sack!
  19. "my head was washed for me with soap suds,"
    (or an alkali made by burning white beech-wood.)

  20. "Three oaken cudgels,
    Well chosen according to their good size,
    Were there the best blessing."

  21. "Oh holy Saint Anne,
    Help me soon to a man (husband);
    Oh, holy saint Vitus,
    It's time to unite us!"

  22. "Oh great and beloved God of Soest,
    Do give me our man-servant Joseph."

  23. In answer to this question follows a rhyming enumeration of the whole of the speaker's property, which would lose all point and etymological value, if rendered into English. "Springinsfeld grüsst mich die Welt, Ehrenwerth heisst mein Schwert, Zeitvertreib nennt sich mein Weib, Spätestagt ruft sie die Magd, Schlechtundrecht nennt sich der Knecht, Sausewind tauft ich mein Kind, Knochenfaul schalt in den Gaul, Sporenklang heisst sein Gang, Höllenschlund lock ich den Hund, Wettermann kräht (heisst) mein Hahn, Hüpfinsstroh heisst mein Floh. Nun kennst du mich mit Weib und Kind und allem meinem Hausgesind." This, with some variations, is to be found also in the Kinderlieder, edited by F. Pocci and Karl von Raumer, pp. 10, 11. "Widewidewenne heisst meine Putthenne, Kannichtruhn heisst mein Huhn, Wackelschwanz heisst meine Gans, Schwartzundweiss heisst meine Geis, Dreibein heisst mein Schwein, Wettermann heisst mein Hahn, Kunterbunt heisst mein Hund, Ehrenwerth heisst mein Pferd, Gutemuh heisst meine Kuh, Guckheraus heisst mein Haus, Schlupfheraus heisst meine Maus, Wohlgethan heisst mein Mann, Sausewind heisst mein Kind, Sammettatz heisst meine Katz, Hüpfinsstroh heisst mein Floh, Leberecht heisst mein Knecht, Spätbetagt heisst meine Magd." In a song in Pröhle's Märchen für die Jugend, No. 57, we find, "Unverzagt heisst meine Magd, Leberecht heisst mein Knecht, Schütteling heisst mein Kind, Zeitvertreib heisst mein Weib, Hinundher heisst mein Pferd, Ruhruh heisst meine Kuh, Jägerlein heisst meine Schwein, Trippeltrappel heisst mein Schaf, Langhals heisst meine Gans, Kückelhahn heisst mein Hahn." The following is current in the neighbourhood of Paderborn, "Wie heisst der Wirth?" "Schmuckelbart, er steht vor 'm Spiegel, putzt seinen Bart." "Die Frau?" "Juckelpelz, sie steht hinterm Ofen und laust ihren Pelz." "Der Koch?" "Smorlilus, er steht in der Küche und rührt sein Mus." "Der Soldat?" "Reicherheld, er sitzt im Wirthshaus und hat viel Geld." "Der Schreiber?" "Federkiel, der sitzt am Tisch und schreibt nicht viel." "Der Knecht?" "Kinkelwurst, er steht im Keller und löscht seinen Durst." "Die Tochter?" "Agnes, sie sitzt in der Kammer und macht die Käs." "Die Magd?" "Flederwisch, sie steht in der Stube und scheuert den Tisch." "Der Junge?" "Galgenstrick, er steht im Stall, und streicht sein Vieh." Schütze, in the Holstein. Idiotikon (2, 117, and 4, 156) quotes, "Hebberecht so heet min Knecht, Snakfordan so heet min Man, Tiedvördrief so heet min Wif, Luusebung so heet min Jung."
  24. Herzogin Orlamünde?—Tr.
  25. "I know that I hung on a wind-swept tree,
    For the space of nine long nights,
    And then I began to be famed and wise."

  26. See Runacapituli, 9.
  27. See Runacap, 24, 25.
  28. Ranz-des-vaches.
  29. I hear wise folks say that a nail may save a horse-shoe—a shoe a horse; a horse a man; a man who can fight,—a fortress; a fortress may compel a land to sue for mercy. The nail therefore is well spent, which helped the shoe, the horse, man, fortress, and land to such honour, so its name should stand high.
  30. Leap, Mannikin, leap,
    Our cat has boots on his feet.
    And runs in them to Hollabrun
    And finds a baby in the sun.
    What kind of name shall we give to it,
    Shall it be cat, or shall it be kit?

  31. A market-town in Lower Austria.
  32. Caterpillar, caterpillar, wilt eat with me?
    Bring me a knife; caterpillar, run across the little field,
    No dog has more legs than mine!

  33. The fingers crack, the men are watching.
  34. Matthew come in! Pilate go out! Is an unhappy soul outside? Poor soul whence comest thou? Out of the rain and out of the wind, and out of the fiery circle.
  35. Lamia was a woman who devoured children. The Gorgon was a woman with snakes for hair, with brazen hands, and teeth as large as boar's tusks; her aspect killed and turned to stone. Ephialtes was a heaven-storming giant who placed Ossa on Olympus, and Pelion on Ossa. The Mormolukai are ghosts and goblins.
  36. From childhood have I heard a sailor's story that at Givers, in the mountain a great kingdom is established, where the people live splendidly for their country is so rich; there the sand beneath the waves is silver, and they use it as lime for their fortifications, and the material they use for building their walls, and call stone, is the finest gold; there they have very little poverty. Furthermore I have heard—God's works are manifold—that he whom the magnet brings to the mountain, if he will but wait for the winds (that blows from the shore), he and his shall be rich forever.
  37. He should hear of a giant's combats
    And that might pass the time.

  38. It were well to play at dolls with him whenever he thinks of the child, and to pass the time by telling many stories.
  39. The young (folks) liked better to hear a story told of a giant.
  40. Of tails black and gray
    I have not much to say.

  41. Therefore the man is sufficiently happy who knows how to learn wisdom from the loss of others, as may be seen by this nursery-tale.
  42. A fairy-tale is sooner learnt than a good and reverent prayer.
  43. A not unknown fable, which, for example, is to be found in Walch's Decas. fabb.
  44. Römische Studien, 3. 316, 317, 462, 475, 476, 536, 539. The various rare editions collected by Fernow, are now in the Grand-Ducal library at Weimar.
  45. Eustach. d'Afflitto, Memorie degli scrittori del regno di Napoli. Nap. 1794, 1. 68-72. According to Liebrecht 2. 322, his correct title was Giovanni Battista Basile, Knight, Count of Torrana and Pfalzgraf. Mazzuchelli says that his portrait is to be found in Le glorie degli incogniti, p. 209.
  46. According to Fernow and Galiani (Del dialetto napoletano, Nap. 1779), it was republished in Naples in 1645, 1674, 1714, 1722, 1728, 1788 (Collezione di tutti li poeti in lingua napoletana, T. 20 and 21), to which should be added one as yet unnoticed of the year 1749, which was in the possession of Cl. Brentano. Compare Bartol. Gamba's Delle novelle italiane, pp. 171-172, and Brunet's Manuel du libraire (Paris, 1842), 1. 260. According to Fernow, it appeared in Rome in 1679, and subsequently in Naples in 1754, complete in 12mo., with engravings after Brunet, and Ebert. Besides these editions there appeared an abridged, and in Liebrecht's opinion, very bad translation in ordinary Italian, Naples, 1769, 1794, and another in the Bolognese dialect, Bologna, 1742.
  47. On the other hand, Liebrecht observes, 2, 260, and in his translation of Dunlop, 517, "I do not maintain that Basile has intentionally altered pipata into papara; it is much more probable that this was done, as before said, in the transmission of the story by word of mouth. A rag-doll could much more easily be used to clean anything than a great goose, and the restoration of the goose to life after its neck had been wrung, is to say the least, improbable. Rabelais also demands un oison dumeté; and it is related that Taubmann used a little goose, still covered with down, for this purpose. The doll was a kobold-like being, resembling the well-know ducat-mannikin, and Straparola's version appears to me the most original.
  48. A story given in an early edition, but omitted in this.—Tr.
  49. Of which Count Caylus makes especial mention in the preface to the story, Cadichon (Cabinet des Fées, 25, 409).
  50. See Bouterwek's Geschichte der Poésie, 6. 244. Compare Valkenaer's Lettres sur les contes de Fées attribués à Perrault, et sur l'origine de la Féerie, Paris, 1826.
  51. In some editions there was a fourth as well, viz., Griseldis, in verse. In the magnificent edition of Paris, 1782, in 12mo, and in the Cabinet des Fées, 1., there are, therefore, twelve pieces. Griseldis, however, is not a story, but a well-known novella from "Boccaccio," and is, on that account, properly omitted in other editions. Nicheron, in his Mémoires pour servir à l'histoire des hommes illustres, 33, 287, accepts as a fact that Perrault was born in the year 1626, and mentions Griseldis, nouvelle avec le conte de Peau d'âsne et celui des Souhaits ridicules, 2nd edition, Paris, 1694, 12mo., with the remark that all are composed in verse.
  52. Madame D'Aulnoy is satirized in Entretiens sur les Contes des Fées, published in 1699, so her book must have appeared before that date.