POLISH-GYPSY STORIES

POLISH-GYPSY STORIES

No. 45.—Tale of a Foolish Brother and of a Wonderful Bush

There was once a poor peasant who had three sons, two of them wise and one foolish. One day the king gave a feast, to which everybody was invited, rich and poor. These two wise brothers set out for the feast like the rest, leaving the poor fool at home, crouching over the stove. He thereupon besought his mother to allow him to go after his brothers. But the mother answered, ‘Fool that thou art! thy brothers go thither to tell tales, whilst thou, thou knowest nothing. What then couldst thou tell?’ Still the fool continues to beg his mother to let him go, but still she refuses. ‘Very well! if thou wilt not let me go there, with the help of God I shall know what to do.’

Well, one day the king contrived a certain tower. He then placed his daughter on the second story, and issued a proclamation that whoever should kiss his daughter there should have her in marriage. Well, various princes and nobles hastened to the place; not one of them could reach her. The king then decreed that the peasants were to come. This order reached the house where dwelt the peasant who had three sons, two wise and one foolish. The two wise brothers arose and set out. The fool feigned to go in search of water, but he went to a bush and struck it three times with a stick. Whereupon a fairy appeared, who demanded, ‘What wouldst thou?’ ‘I wish to have a horse of silver, garments of silver, and a sum of money.’

After he had received all these things, he set out on his way. Whom should he happen to overtake on the road but his two wise brothers.

‘Whither are you going?’ he asked of them.

‘We are going to a king’s palace—his who has contrived this tower, upon the second story of which he has placed his daughter; and he has proclaimed that whoever kisses her shall become her husband.’

The fool got off his horse, cut himself a cudgel, and began to beat his two brothers; finally he gave them each three ducats. The two brothers did not recognise him, and so he went on by himself, unknown. When he had come to the king’s palace all the great lords looked with admiration at this prince, mounted on a silver steed, and clad in garments of silver. He leapt up with a great spring towards the princess, and almost got near enough to kiss her. He fell back again, and then, with the help of the good God, he took his departure. These noblemen then asked of one another, ‘What is the meaning of this? He had scarcely arrived when he all but succeeded in kissing the princess.’

The fool then returned home, and went to the bush, and struck it thrice. The fairy again appeared, and asked of him, ‘What is thy will?’ He commanded her to hide his horse and his clothes. He took his buckets filled with water and went back into the house.

‘Where hast thou been?’ asked his mother of him.

‘Mother, I have been outside, and I stripped myself, and (pardon me for saying so) I have been hunting lice in my shirt.’

‘That is well,’ said his mother, and she gave him some food.

On the return of the two wise brothers their mother desired them to tell her what they had seen.

‘Mother, we saw there a prince mounted on a silver steed, and himself clad in silver. He had overtaken us by the way, and asked us whither we were going. We told him the truth, that we were going to the palace of the king who had contrived this tower, on the second story of which he had placed his daughter, decreeing that whosoever should get near enough to give her a kiss should marry her. The prince dismounted, cut himself a cudgel, and gave us a sound beating, and then gave us each three ducats.’

The mother was very well pleased to get this money; for she was poor, and she could now buy herself something to eat.

Next day these two brothers again set out. The mother cried to her foolish son, ‘Go and fetch me some water.’ He went out to get the water, laid down his pails beside the well, and went to the bush; he struck it thrice, and the fairy appeared to him. ‘What is thy will?’

‘I wish to have a horse of gold and golden garments.’

The fairy brought him a horse of gold, golden garments, and a sum of money. Off he set, and once more he overtook his brothers on the road. This time he did not dismount, but, cudgel in hand, he charged upon his brothers, beat them severely, and gave them ten ducats apiece. He then betook himself to the king. The nobles gazed admiringly on him, seated on his horse of gold, himself attired in a golden garb. With a single bound he reached the second story, and gave the princess a kiss. Well, they wished to detain him, but he sprang away, and fled like the wind, with the help of the good God. He came back to his bush, out of which the fairy issued, and asked him, ‘What wilt thou?’

‘Hide my horse and my clothes.’

He dressed himself in his wretched clothes, and went into the house again.

‘Where hast thou been?’ asked his mother.

‘I have been sitting in the sun, and (excuse me for saying it) I have been hunting lice in my shirt.’

She answered nothing, but gave him some food. He went and squatted down behind the stove in idiot fashion. The two wise brothers arrived. Their mother saw how severely they had been beaten, and she asked them, ‘Who has mauled you so terribly?’

‘It was that prince, mother.’

‘And why have you not laid a complaint against him before the king?’

‘But he gave us ten ducats apiece.’

‘I will not send you any more to the king,’ said the mother to them.

‘Mother, they have posted sentinels all over the town to arrest him, the prince; for he has already kissed the king’s daughter, after doing which he took to flight. Then the sentinels were posted. We are certain to catch this prince.’

The fool then said to them, ‘How will you be able to seize him, since evidently he knows a trick or two?’

‘Thou art a fool,’ said the two wise brothers to him; ‘we are bound to capture him.’

‘Capture away, with the help of the good God,’ replied the fool.

Three days later the two wise brothers set out, leaving the fool cowering behind the stove.

‘Go and fetch some wood,’ called his mother to him.

He roused himself and went, with the good God. He came to the bush, and struck it three times. The fairy issued out of it and asked, ‘What dost thou demand?’

‘I demand a horse of diamonds, garments of diamonds, and some money.’

He arrayed himself and set out. He overtook his two brothers, but this time he did not beat them; only he gave them each twenty ducats. He reached the king’s city, and the nobles tried to seize him. He sprang up on to the second story, and for the second time he kissed the princess, who gave him her gold ring. Well, they wished to take him, but he said to them, ‘If you had all the wit in the world you could not catch me.’ But they were determined to seize him. He fled away like the wind. He came to the bush; he struck it thrice; the fairy issued from it and came to him, and took his horse and his clothes. He gathered some wood, and returned to the house; his mother is pleased with him and says, ‘There, now! that is how thou shouldst always behave’; and she gave him something to eat. He went and crouched behind the stove. His two brothers arrived; the mother questioned them.

‘Mother,’ they answered, ‘this prince could not be taken.’

‘And has he not given you a beating?’

‘No, mother; on the contrary, he gave us each twenty ducats more.’

‘To-morrow,’ said the mother, ‘you shall not go there again.’

And the two brothers answered, ‘No, we will go there no more.’

Aha! so much the better.

This king gave yet another feast, and he decreed that ‘All the princes, as many as there shall be of them, shall come to my palace so that my daughter may identify her husband among them.’ This feast lasted four days, but the husband of the princess was not there. What did this king do? He ordained a third feast for beggars and poor country-folk, and he decreed that ‘Every one come, be he blind or halt, let him not be ashamed, but come.’ This feast lasted for a week, but the husband of the princess was not there. What then did the king do? He sent his servants with the order to go from house to house, and to bring to him the man upon whom should be found the princess’s ring. ‘Be he blind or halt, let him be brought to me,’ said the king.

Well, the servants went from house to house for a week, and all who were found in each house they called together, in order to make the search. At last they came to this same house in which dwelt the fool. As soon as the fool saw them he went and lay down upon the stove. In came the king’s servants, gathered the people of the house together, and asked the fool, ‘What art thou doing there?’

‘What does that matter to you?’ replied the fool.

And his mother said to them, ‘Sirs, he is a fool.’

‘No matter,’ said they, ‘fool or blind, we gather together all whom we see, for so the king has commanded us.’

They make the fool come down from the stove; they look; the gold ring is on his finger.

‘So, then, it is thou that art so clever.’

‘It is I.’

He made ready and set out with them. He had nothing upon him, this fool, but a miserable shirt and a cloak all tattered and torn. He came to the king, to whom the servants said, ‘Sire, we bring him to you.’

‘Is this really he?’

‘The very man.’

They show the ring.

‘Well, this is he.’

The king commanded that sumptuous garments be made for him as quickly as possible. In these clothes he presented a very comely appearance. The king is well pleased; the wedding comes off; and they live happily, with the help of the good God.

Some time after, another king declared war against this one: ‘Since thou hast not given thy daughter in marriage to my son, I will make war against thee.’ But this king, the fool’s father-in-law, had two sons. The fool also made preparations, and went to the war. His two brothers-in-law went in advance; the fool set out after them. He took a short cut, and, having placed himself on their line of march he sat down on the edge of a pond, and amused himself hunting frogs. These two wise brothers-in-law came up.

‘Just look at him, see what he is doing; he is not thinking of the war, but only amusing himself hunting frogs.’

These two brothers went on, and this fool mounted his horse, and went to his bush; he struck it thrice, and the fairy appeared before him.

‘What demandest thou?’

‘I demand a magnificent horse and a sabre with which I may be able to exterminate the entire army, and some of the most beautiful clothes.’

He speedily dressed himself; he girded on this sabre; he mounted his horse, and set forth with the help of God. Having overtaken these two brothers-in-law by the way, he asked them, ‘Whither are you bound?’

‘We are going to the war.’

‘So am I; let us all three go together.’

He reached the field of battle; he cut all his enemies to pieces; not a single one of them escaped.

He returned home, this fool, with his horse and all the rest; he hid his horse and his sabre and all the rest, so that nobody would know anything of them. These two brothers arrived after the fool had returned. The king asked them, ‘Were you at the war, my children?’

‘Yes, father, we were there, but thy son-in-law was not there.’

‘And what was he about?’

‘He! he was amusing himself hunting frogs; but a prince came and cut the whole army to pieces; not a soul of them has escaped.’

Then the king reproached his daughter thus: ‘What, then, hast thou done to marry a husband who amuses himself catching frogs?’

‘Is the fault mine, father? Even as God has given him to me, so will I keep him.’

The next day those two sons of the king did not go to the war, but the king himself went there with his son-in-law. But the fool mounted his horse the quickest and set out first; the king came after, not knowing where his son-in-law had gone. The king arrived at the war, and found that his son-in-law had already cut to pieces the whole of the enemy’s army. And therefore the other king said to this one that henceforth he would no more war against him. They shook hands with each other, these two kings. The fool was wounded in his great toe. His father-in-law noticed it, he tore his own handkerchief and dressed the wounded foot; and this handkerchief was marked with the king’s name. The fool got home quickest, before his father-in-law; he pulled off his boots and lay down to sleep, for his foot pained him. The king came home, and his sons asked him, ‘Father, was our brother-in-law at the war?’

‘No, I saw nothing of him, he was not there; but a prince was there who has exterminated the whole army. Then this king and I shook hands in token that never more should there be war between us.’

Then his daughter said, ‘My husband has my father’s handkerchief round his foot.’

The king bounded forth; he looked at the handkerchief: it is his! it bears his name.

‘So, then, it is thou who art so clever?’

‘Yes, father, it is I.’

The king is very joyful; so are his sons and the queen, and the wife of this fool—all are filled with joy. Well, they made the wedding over again, and they lived together with the help of the good, golden God.

Cf. Ralston’s ‘Princess Helena the Fair’ (Afanasief, from Kursk Government), pp. 256–9; and Dasent’s ‘Princess on the Glass Hill’ (Pop. Tales from the Norse), pp. 89–103. The latter half, however, closely resembles the latter half of Dasent’s ‘The Widow’s Son’ (ib. pp. 400–404), as also that of Gonzenbach’s Sicilian story, ‘Von Paperarello,’ No. 67 (ii. 67), whose opening suggests our No. 9, ‘The Mother’s Chastisement.’ Matthew Wood’s Welsh-Gypsy story, ‘The Dragon’ (No. 61), offers analogies. There Jack gets (1) black horse and black clothes, (2) white horse and white clothes, (3) red horse and red clothes. The Polish-Gypsy story is strikingly identical with ‘The Monkey Prince’ in Maive Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales, No. 10, p. 41.

No. 46.—Tale of a Girl who was sold to the Devil, and of her Brother

Once upon a time there lived a countryman and his old wife; he had three daughters, but he was very poor. One day he and his young daughter went into the forest to gather mushrooms. And there he met with a great lord. The old peasant bared his head, and, frightened at the sight of the nobleman, said apologetically, ‘I am not chopping your honour’s wood with my hatchet, I am only gathering what is lying on the ground.’

‘I would willingly give thee all this forest,’ replies the nobleman; and he then asks the peasant if that is his wife who is with him.

‘No, my lord, she is my daughter.’

‘Wilt thou sell her to me?’

‘Pray, my lord, do not mock and laugh at my daughter, since none but a great lady is a fitting match for your lordship.’

‘That matters little to thee; all thou hast to do is to sell her to me.’

As the peasant did not name the price he asked for her, the nobleman give him two handfuls of ducats. The peasant, quite enraptured, grasped the money, but instead of going home to his wife, he went to a Jew’s. He asked the Jew to give him something to eat and drink, but the Jew refused, being certain that he had no money to pay him with; however, as soon as the peasant had shown him the large sum that he had, the delighted Jew seated him at the table and gave him food and drink. He made the old peasant drunk, and stole away all his money. The peasant went home to his wife. She asked him where had he left his daughter?

‘Wife, I have placed her in service with a great lord.’

The wife asked him if he had brought anything to her. He replied that he was himself hungry, but that this nobleman had said to him that he had taken one daughter, and that he would take the two others as well. His wife bade him take them away. He went away with these two daughters, and one of them he sold to another lord. This one gave him a hatful of money. Then the peasant said to his remaining daughter, ‘Wait for me here in the forest; I will bring thee something to eat and drink; do not stray from here.’ He went to the same Jew that had robbed him of his money. This Jew again stole from him the money he had received from the other lord. The peasant returned to his daughter, and brought her some bread, which she ate with delight. There came a third nobleman, who purchased this third girl.

‘Do not go to the Jew,’ said this lord to the peasant, ‘but go straight home to thy wife, and hand over thy money to her, so that she may take charge of it; else this Jew will rob thee once more.’

The peasant went home to his wife, who was very glad.

This great lord spoke thus to him: ‘There is in a forest a beautiful castle covered with silver. Go to the town, buy some fine horses and harness, engage some peasants to work, and rest thou thyself; make the peasants do the work.’

He got into a carriage; he took his peasants; and they set out with the help of God. They came, by a magnificent road, smooth as glass, into a great forest. They met a beggar, who asked this great lord (this peasant, once poor, now grown rich) where his daughters were.

Soon after these peasants discover that they are clean bewildered; they find themselves surrounded by deep ravines and insurmountable obstacles, so that they cannot get out, for they have lost their way.

There came an old beggar who asked them, ‘Why do you tarry here? Why are you not getting on?’

‘Alas!’ they answered, ‘we cannot get out of this; we had a beautiful road, but we have lost it.’

‘Whip up your horses a bit,’ said the old man, ‘perhaps they will go on.’

A lad touched up the horses, and all of a sudden the peasants see a magnificent road before them. They wish to thank this beggar, but he has vanished. The peasants fall to weeping, for, say they to themselves, ‘This was no beggar; more likely was it the good God himself.’ They reach the castle; the peasant is in ecstasies with it. The peasants work for him, and he and his wife take their ease.

Ten years rolled by. Once he had three daughters, whom he had already forgotten. ‘The good God,’ said he, ‘gave me three daughters, but I have never yet had a son.’

One day the good God so ordered it that this peasant woman was brought to bed. She was delivered (pray excuse me) of a boy. This boy grew exceedingly; he was already three years old; he was very intelligent. When he was twelve years old his father put him to school. He was an apt scholar: he knew German, and could read anything.

One day this boy, having returned home, asked his father, ‘How do you do, father?’ His mother gave him some food, and sent him to bed. Next day he got up, and went to school. Two little boys who passed along said the one to the other, ‘There goes the little boy whose father sold his daughters to the devils.’ The boy reached the school filled with anger; he wrote his task quickly, for he could not calm his angry feelings. He went home to his father as quickly as possible; he took two pistols, and called on his father to come to him. As soon as his father came into the room, the boy locked the door on them both.

‘Now, father, tell me the truth; had I ever any sisters? If you do not confess the truth to me, I will fire one of these pistols at you and the other at myself.’

The father answered, ‘You had three sisters, my child, but I have sold them to I know not whom.’

He sent his father to the town, and bade him, ‘Buy for me, father, an apple weighing one pound.’

The father came back home, and gave the apple to his son. The latter was delighted with it, and he made preparations for going out into the world. He embraced his father and mother. ‘The good God be with you,’ he said to them, ‘for it may be I shall never see you more; perchance I may perish.’

He came to a field, where he saw two boys fighting terribly. The father of these two boys had, when dying, left to the one a cloak and to the other a saddle. The little boy went up to these boys and asked them, ‘What are you fighting about?’

‘Excuse us, my lord,’ replied the younger, ‘our parents are dead; they have left to one of us a cloak and to the other a saddle; my elder brother wants to take both cloak and saddle, and not to give me anything.’

This little nobleman said to them, ‘Come now, I will put you right. Here is an apple which I will throw far out into this field; and whichever of you gets it first shall have both of these things.’

He flung away the apple, and while the boys were running to get it, this little nobleman purloined both cloak and saddle. He resumed his journey, and went away, with the help of God. He came to a field, he stopped, he examined the cloak he had just stolen, and to the saddle he cried, ‘Bear me away to where my youngest sister lives.’ The saddle took hold of him, lifted him into the air, and carried him to the dwelling of his youngest sister. He cried to his youngest sister, ‘Let me in, sister.’

Her answer was, ‘Twenty years have I been here, and have never seen anybody all that time; and you—you will break my slumber.’

‘Sister, if you do not believe I am your brother, here is a handkerchief which will prove that I am.’

His sister read thereon the names of her father, her mother, and her brother. Then she let him enter, and fainted away. ‘Where am I to hide you now, brother? for if my husband comes he will devour you.’

‘Have no fear on my account,’ he replied, ‘I have a cloak which renders me invisible whenever I wear it.’

Her husband came home; she served some food to him; and then, employing a little artifice, ‘Husband,’ she said, ‘I dreamt that I had a brother.’

‘Very good.’

‘If he were to come here, you would not harm him, would you, husband?’

‘What harm should I do to him? I would give him something to eat and to drink.’

At this she called out, ‘Brother, let my husband see you.’

The young lad’s brother-in-law saw him, and was greatly pleased with his appearance; he gave him food and something to drink. He went out and called his brothers. They, well satisfied with the state of things, entered, along with the boy’s two other sisters. The latter were brimming over with delight. A lovely lady also came, who enchanted him.

‘Is this young lady married?’ he asked his sister.

‘No,’ she replied, ‘she has no husband; you can marry her if you like.’

They fell in love with each other; they were married.

Ten years they lived there. At last this youth said to his sister, ‘I must return home to my father; perchance he is dead by now.’

He got up next morning; his brother-in-law gave him large sums of gold and silver.

They drew near to the house, he and his wife. Not far from this house was a small wood through which they had to pass, and in it they noticed a beautiful wand.

‘Let us take this wand,’ said his wife to him, ‘it is very pretty; we will plant it at home.’

He obeyed her, and took the wand. He reached the house; the father was very happy that his son was now married.

Five years passed away. The good God gave them a son. He went to the town to invite the godfathers. After the christening they came back from church; they ate, they drank, and at last everybody went away; he remained alone with his wife. One day he went to the town. When he came home, he saw that his wife was no longer there, and that the sapling also had disappeared. (It was no sapling, but a demon.) He began to lament.

‘Why do you lament?’ asked his father.

‘Do not anger me, father,’ he said, ‘for I am going out into the world.’

He got ready for the road; he set out. He came into a great forest. As it was beginning to rain, he took shelter under an oak; and in that very oak his wife was concealed. He slept for a little while; then he heard a child weeping.

‘Who is this that is crying?’ he asked of his wife.

‘It is your child.’

And he recognised her and cried, ‘Wife, hearken to what I am going to say to you. Ask this dragon of yours where it is that he hides the key of his house.’

‘Very well,’ she assented.

The dragon came home; she flung her arms round his neck and said to him, ‘Husband, tell me truly, where is the key of our house?’

‘What good would it do you if I told you?’ he replied. ‘Well, then, listen. In a certain forest there is a great cask; inside this cask there is a cow; in this cow there is a calf; in this calf a goose; in this goose a duck; in this duck an egg; and it is inside this egg that the key is to be found.’

‘Very good; that is one secret I know.’

She then asked him wherein lay his strength.

The dragon owned this to his wife: ‘When I am dressed as a lord, I cannot be killed; neither could any one kill me when I am dressed as a king; but it is only at the moment I am putting on my boots that I can be killed.’

‘Very good; now I know both these secrets.’

He smelt at his feather, and all his three brothers-in-law appeared beside him. They lay in wait till the moment when the dragon was drawing on his boots, and then they slew him. They betook themselves to that forest, they smashed the cask, they killed the cow that was inside it, they killed the goose that was inside the calf, then the duck that was inside the goose; they broke open the egg, and out of it they drew the key. He took this key, he came back to where his wife was, he opened the oak, and he let his wife out.

‘Now, my brothers-in-law, the good God be with you. As for me, I am setting out to follow my way of happiness; now I shall no more encounter any evil thing.’

He returned with his wife to his father’s house. His father was very glad to see him come back with his wife; he gave them something to eat and drink, and he said to his son, ‘Hearken to me now, my child. We are old now, I and my wife; thou must stay beside me.’

And he answered him, ‘It is well, my father; if thou sendest me not away, I will dwell with thee.’

This story of the prig of a little nobleman—a blend of George Washington and little Lord Fauntleroy—is somewhat incoherent, and presents a good many obvious lacunæ. Thus Kopernicki remarks, ‘the narrator had omitted to mention the feather in the fourth paragraph from the end. In many Polish and Russniak tales one meets with a bird’s feather or a horse-hair possessing the magical power of making anybody immediately appear. One has only to burn this feather a little, and then to smell it. In this Gypsy tale, therefore, the hero’s brothers-in-law had evidently given him such a feather at the time of his departure. But the narrator had forgotten to mention this though he remembered the feather when he reached that point at which the hero had need of it to summon his brothers-in-law to kill the dragon.’ Such a feather, however, is by no means exclusively Slavonic; it occurs in our Roumanian-Gypsy story (No. 10, p. 38), and in a Turkish-Gypsy one (Paspati, p. 523): ‘He gave the old man a feather, and he said to the old man, “Take it and carry it to your daughter, and if she puts it in the fire I will come.” ’ Cf. too, Hahn, i. 93; Carnoy and Nicolaides’ Traditions de L’Asie Mineure (1889), p. 140; Legrand’s Contes Grecs (1881), pp. 69, 71, 72, 73 (hero burns bee’s wing with a cigar), 89; and the Arabian Nights (‘Conclusion of the Story of the Ladies of Baghdad’):—‘She gave me a lock of her hair, and said, “When thou desirest my presence, burn a few of these hairs, and I will be with thee quickly.” ’ Precisely the same idea occurs frequently in F. A. Steel’s Wide-awake Stories from the Panjab and Kashmir: e.g. ‘Only take this hair out of my beard; and if you should get into trouble, just burn it in the fire. I’ll come to your aid’ (p. 13; cf. also pp. 32, 34, 413–14, and Knowles’s Folk-tales of Kashmir, pp. 3, 12).

I can offer no exact variant of this story, but many analogies suggest themselves, e.g. in No. 5, ‘The Three Princesses and the Unclean Spirit,’ in No. 44, ‘The Three Dragons,’ and in ‘The Weaver’s Son and the Giant of the White Hill’ (Curtin’s Myths and Folklore of Ireland, p. 64), where also one gets the wool, fin, and feather. For the invisible cloak, cf. Clouston, i. 72, etc. In Maive Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales, No. 22, p. 156, the hero finds four fakirs quarrelling for the possession of a travelling bed, a Fortunatus bag, a water-supplying stone bowl, and a stick and rope that bind and lay on. He shoots four arrows, and whilst the fakirs are searching for the fourth one, decamps with these objects (so, too, Knowles’s Folk-tales of Kashmir, p. 87). An invisible cap occurs in F. A. Steel’s Wide-awake Stories, p. 37.

No. 47.—The Brigands and the Miller’s Daughter

There was once a miller who had a beautiful daughter. Noble lords paid their court to her, but she cared not for them. She was wooed by high officials, but neither to them did she listen. At length three brigands, disguised as noblemen, came to the miller’s house. They ordered something to eat and drink. The miller, being invited to the repast, drank willingly, but his daughter would not take anything, for she despised them. These three brigands returned to their leader, and said to him, ‘What shall we do with this girl? She cares for nobody; she refuses to eat and drink.’

Then twelve of them set out for the miller’s. It was Sunday. The miller was from home; he had gone to a baptism. The daughter was all alone in the house. The brigands arrived. They made a hole in the store-room by which to enter. Having heard them doing this, she took a sword and placed herself beside the hole made by the brigands. She was, however, very much frightened. One of the brigands came and thrust his head half through the hole. She took the sword; she cut off the brigand’s head, and drew him into the store-room. Another brigand essayed to enter; she cut off his head and drew him inside. The ten other brigands asked their two comrades what they were about.

‘They are helping me to carry away the money here, which I am not able to lift alone.’1

Then a third brigand came forward; the girl cut off his head and pulled him in. A fourth came, and his head too was cut off, and his body drawn in. The fifth brigand endeavoured to enter; she killed him in the same way, and, having cut off his head, dragged him inside.

‘What are all of you about there?’ asked the seven brigands who remained outside.

To whom the girl answered, ‘They are helping me to carry off the bacon, which I am not able to carry myself, there is such a lot of it. If you do not believe me, see, here is a bit—taste it.’

They ate of this bacon; they were delighted with it. The sixth brigand thrust himself forward; she killed him also; she cut off his head and drew him inside. The seventh followed; he was killed in the same way; she cut off his head and drew him in. The eighth went there; she killed him like the others, and drew him in and cut off his head. The ninth advanced; him she killed in like fashion, pulled him in and cut off his head. The tenth tried to enter; she killed him also, drew him in and cut off his head. The two remaining brigands were astounded, and said to each other, ‘Hallo! there are ten of them there, and they are not sufficient for this money.’ The eleventh came forward; he also was killed; she drew him inside and cut off his head. The twelfth one at last hesitates. ‘What is going on there?’ He pushed his head in a little way, and the girl cut off a piece of his skin.

‘Ah! you are as cunning as that, are you? So, then you have killed my brothers.’

This brigand betook himself home.2

Leaving this brigand in the meantime, let us pass to the dead ones.

The miller’s daughter went to bed. Her father got up next day. She said to him, ‘Father, twelve brigands have been here. They meant to carry me away last night, but I armed myself with your sword, and killed the whole twelve [sic] of them.’

The miller did not believe her.

‘If you don’t believe me, father, I will show you them.’

‘Very well, show them to me.’

She led him to the store-room, where the miller saw the lot of decapitated brigands. He went to the town, and told the peasants and great lords what had happened. ‘My daughter has just slain twelve brigands. If you do not believe me, come with me.’

They went with the miller. He conducted them to the store-room. These noblemen, seeing so many decapitated brigands, spoke thus to the miller, ‘Tell us truly, now, who was it killed them?’

‘My daughter,’ answered he.

‘Was it you who killed these brigands?’ they asked his daughter.

‘It was I.’

‘And why did you do so?’

‘Because they wanted to carry me off.’

‘What did you kill them with?’

‘With my father’s sword.’

‘That was well done.’

They gave her three bushels of ducats. These brigands were buried.

Ten years have already passed away. One time twelve brigands, disguised as lords, came to this miller’s house, he being unaware who they were.

‘Will you give me your daughter in marriage?’ one of them asked him.

‘Why not?’ he made answer, ‘all the more willingly because she has pined for a great lord.’

This was the very brigand from whose head she had cut a piece of skin. But the miller’s daughter did not recognise him, and she consented to marry him. This girl begged her father to give her three bushels of oats. She got into the carriage with these noblemen, and went off with them. Hardly had they got a league from the house when she took one handful after another of the oats and cast them on the road: this was to mark her route, and in order to recognise afterwards the way by which she had gone. She went on sowing these oats till they came to the forest where the brigands lived. She scattered the whole quantity.

Having got home, they made her come down out of the carriage. They went into the room with her. She sat down, and saw no one there but a solitary old peasant woman.

‘Do you recognise me?’ this brigand asked her.

‘No,’ she replied, ‘I do not recognise you at all.’

He showed her the part of his head where a piece of the skin had been cut off by her. It was only then that she recognised him. She was greatly alarmed at the sight of this brigand in the guise of a nobleman.

‘Keep quite calm,’ he said to her, ‘we are going to cut some stripes from your back.’3

‘Very well,’ she replied, ‘if I have deserved it, chop me up into little bits.’

He leads her into a room, which she sees is full of money. They pass into another, and this is full of linen clothes. They enter the third, and there she sees a block and a great number of peasants hanging from pegs all round the walls. All that she saw there caused her heart to grow faint as though she were passing to the other world. The brigand led her back, and intrusted her to the old woman, to whom he said, ‘Guard her, that she flee nowhere, while we go a-hunting. We shall not return till nightfall; then we shall cut some stripes from her back.’

‘Very well,’ said the old dame.

This old woman began to lament for her. ‘Why have you come here?’ she said to her. ‘They will cut off stripes from your back, and I shall be forced to look on. But listen to me. Go to draw water; take off your clothes and place them on the well; leave the pail there and take to flight.’

Well, she went out and fled. She came to a great forest. The dogs of the house, having smelt that she was away, began seeking for her. The old woman set herself to scold the dogs, crying out to them, ‘Where were you, then, when this girl went to fetch water?’

The dogs ran out of doors; they see that she is there beside the well; they return to the house reassured.

Let us now leave the dogs, and return to the girl.

The girl travelled for about seven leagues along the road which she had marked by scattering the oats. Towards night-time the brigands returned home; they asked the old woman where the girl is, where is she gone to?

That brigand calls her, ‘Why do you not return?’

She gives him no response.

He armed himself with his sword, this brigand; he approached what he thought was the girl standing erect, and struck a blow on the iron standard of the well. He at once returned to the house, and told his comrades what had happened. They all rushed forth in pursuit.

Well, then, she perceived these brigands following on her track. Fortunately a peasant was passing with a wagon-load of straw.4 She implored the peasant, ‘For the love of God, hide me in one of those large bundles of straw, and I will give you a peck of money.’

‘I would willingly hide you,’ he answered, ‘only I am afraid that these brigands would do me harm.’

‘Fear nothing, only hide me.’

He concealed her in a large sheaf; he placed it on the wagon; and he sat down upon it.

The brigands came up and called out to the peasant, ‘What are you carrying there?’

‘A load of straw, gentlemen.’

They searched through the straw, but they did not examine the large bundle on which the peasant was sitting. The brigands turned back.

The peasant came to the house of the miller, whose daughter this was, and said to him, ‘Look, I bring your daughter back to you.’

On seeing that his daughter was naked the miller fainted away.

The girl dressed herself, and said to her father, ‘Do not be alarmed, father. Look you, those were no noblemen but brigands. I know,’ she added, ‘where they live.’

The miller went to get soldiers and gendarmes. These took his daughter with them.

‘Do you know where they live?’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Will you show us where it is?’

‘I will show you where.’

She went with them into that large forest. They saw a beautiful stone palace. Three of them went in; they saw that there were a hundred brigands.

‘What shall we do now with these brigands?’

‘We will kill them,’ replied the soldiers.

They shot the whole lot of them; not one remained alive except the old peasant woman. Her too they would have killed, but the girl begged them, ‘Do not kill her, for it was she who saved my life.’

They enter one room, they see it is full of money. They pass into the other room, and it is full of linen clothes. They go into the third, and there they find a great number of peasants suspended from pegs along the walls. All that they found there they carried away—gold, silver, and sums of money. Then they set fire to the palace and burned it down. They returned home; and the miller’s daughter took the old peasant woman with her and kept her till her death, because she had saved her life.

One night she was reminded in a dream that she had not yet recompensed the peasant who had hidden her in the straw. So next day she sent a boy to fetch this peasant. The boy went to the peasant’s house, and said to him, ‘Come to the miller’s daughter, who is asking for you.’

The peasant dressed himself, and went to the miller’s house. He entered. He stopped on the threshold and saluted the good God.5

‘You remember hiding me in the straw, my good man?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Well, I have never given you anything,’ she said to him.

She went to the store-room, and brought four quarts of silver money to him. This poor peasant, quite delighted, accepted the money and took it in his hand. The miller’s daughter gave him something to eat and drink; and then he took his leave and went home with the good God.

We have two other Gypsy versions of this story—one from Hungary (Dr. Friedrich Müller), and the other from North Wales (Matthew Wood, ‘Laula’). The Hungarian opens:—‘Somewhere was, somewhere was not,6 in the Seventy-seventh Land in a village a Hungarian;’ and may thereafter be summarised:—Of his three daughters two get married. The third at last has a sweetheart, who always comes to see her after midnight. Once she follows him to a cave in the forest, from which twelve robbers come out. She enters, comes on corpses, and hides behind cask. A lady is brought in; her hand is chopped off; the girl possesses herself of it and escapes home. The wedding is fixed. She tells soldiers, but not her father. At the wedding she relates a dream: ‘And, ye gentlemen, think not that I was really there, for I saw it merely in a dream.’ Soldiers come in just as she draws the hand from her bosom and flings it on the table. After which the story drifts off into a version of the Roumanian-Gypsy tale of ‘The Vampire’ (No. 5), a version summarised on p. 19.

The following epitome of ‘Laula’ is by Mr. Sampson:—Three young ladies live at a castle. A gentleman comes to visit them daily. They know not who he is or where he lives. He asks the youngest to accompany him home. She goes with him, eats, drinks, and returns. She asks his coachman his master’s name, ‘Laula.’ She thinks it a pretty name; her elder sister a bad one. Next evening she goes again. They eat, drink, and play cards. He leaves the room, and returns with a phial of blood. ‘Is your blood as red as this?’ She pretends that he is jesting; but he cuts off her finger, opens the window, and throws it to the big dog, afterwards killing her. The tale goes on, ‘Who got the finger? The elder sister got it’; and it then explains how she had followed the pair by the track of the horse’s feet, pacified the dog, and caught the finger (with ring on) thrown to him. She desires her father to issue invitations to a dinner. Every one comes and has to tell a tale or sing a song. On Laula’s plate is placed nothing but this finger. When the elder sister tells her tale, he grows uneasy, and says he must go outside. He twice interrupts thus, but is restrained by the other gentlemen. She gives him away, and at the old father’s suggestion he is placed in a barrel filled with grease and burnt to death. [On which it is just worth noting that Lawlor was a Gypsy name in 1540.—MacRitchie’s Scottish Gypsies under the Stewarts (1894), pp. 37–39.]

Of non-Gypsy variants may be cited Grimm’s No. 40, ‘The Robber Bridegroom’; and Cosquin’s ‘La Fille du Meunier’ (another miller’s daughter), i. 178. In England we have ‘The Story of Mr. Fox’ (Halliwell’s Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, 1849, p. 47, and Jacobs’s English Fairy Tales, pp. 148, 247), and ‘The Girl who got up the Tree’ (Addy’s Household Tales, 1895, p. 10). Shakespeare refers to the story in Much Ado about Nothing, I. i. 146. ‘Bopoluchi’ in F. A. Steel’s Indian Wide-awake Stories, pp. 73–8, should also be compared.

No. 48.—Tale of a Wise Young Jew and a Golden Hen

There was once a rich nobleman who had lived with his wife for ten years without having any children. One time he dreamt that he would have a very warlike son. Another time he dreamt again that a Jewess was going to be confined on the same day as his lady. (This was true!) Next morning this lord arose and said to his wife, ‘Wife, I dreamt that we are going to have a child.’

‘That may really come to pass,’ she answered.

He further told her of the Jewess; he said she would be brought to bed at the very same hour as her ladyship.

The good God ordained that she should be delivered of a child; the good God gave them a son. The boy’s father was very joyful, as were also the mother and that Jewess, who was brought to bed at the very same hour as this lady.

The nobleman said to his wife, ‘My lady, we must go to this Jewess, in order that our child may be brought up with hers.’

‘Very well, husband.’

They brought thither the Jewess, and she made her home there, near this nobleman’s dwelling.

He begins to grow up, this son of the nobleman. He is very wise; yet the son of the Jewess is still wiser. He is now ten years old, and is eager to go to school; he learns there to perfection. His father and mother are filled with delight.

Once the Jewish boy said to the lord’s son, ‘Look here, now, why not request your father to have some beautiful baths made for you in the fields?’

The nobleman’s son approached his father, kissed his hand, as also his mother’s. ‘Father,’ said he, ‘I beg that you will build me some fine baths in the fields.’

Who should it happen to be that set themselves to this work? Two old retainers. They had seen in a town some time before a very beautiful princess. Well, what have they gone and done, these two servitors? They have caused the portrait of this princess to be painted on the walls of the baths. These two servants came back and announced to their lord, ‘We have done everything we were ordered to do.’

‘Very good. How much now do you ask for it?’

‘We shall be satisfied with whatever your grace deigns to give us.’

The nobleman gave them four thousand florins. They accorded to their lord their best thanks. Then the Jew boy called to the nobleman’s son, ‘Come, the baths are now built, let us see what there is to be seen.’

Thither they went, but this young Jew was always wiser than the nobleman’s son. They entered the first hall, where they saw painted upon the walls various kinds of birds, wolves; all which delighted the son of the lord. Then all by himself he enters the other apartment, and what does he behold there? The portrait of this lovely princess painted on one of the walls. He gazes at the likeness of the princess, and is so greatly enchanted with it that he swoons away. The young Jew sees him (swoon); he revives him with vinegar; and he asks the nobleman’s son, ‘What is the matter with you?’

‘O brother, if I do not have this princess to wife I shall kill myself.’

‘Hush, for the love of God,’ replied the young Jew; ‘do not cry so loud. For you shall perhaps have her indeed, only not so soon as you wish.’

He returned home very sick, this nobleman’s son.

‘What ails him?’ asks his father; but the young Jew was ashamed to own what had happened. Orders were given to fetch doctors with all speed; various remedies are administered; but he has nothing the matter with him, for he is quite well, only withering away for the sake of this princess.

‘What’s to be done with him?’ this lord asks himself. He sends the mother to question her son, that he may reveal to her what it is that has happened.

The mother comes to him. ‘What is the matter, my child? Don’t be ashamed to tell me everything.’

‘Ah, mother,’ he answered, ‘even though I were to tell you all, you would not be able to give me any advice.’

‘On the contrary, my son, I will give you very good advice.’

Then he said to her, ‘Mother, I have seen the likeness of a beautiful princess in these fine baths; if I do not have her to wife I shall kill myself.’

The mother hears this with delight. ‘That is well, my son. In the meantime, where am I to find her?’

But the Jew lad said to the nobleman, ‘My lord, I will go with him to seek the princess. I make myself answerable for his person, and if any harm befalls him, punish me.’

‘Very well, then; get ready, and set out with the help of God.’

They set out, and on the further side of a large town the young Jew saw a beautiful wand on the road and a little key beside it.

‘I shall dismount and pick up that wand,’ said he.

But the nobleman’s son said to him, ‘What good will that wand do you? You can buy yourself a fine sword in any town.’

But the young Jew replied, ‘I don’t want a sword; I wish to take that wand.’

Well, he got down from his horse; he picked up this wand and the little key. He got into the saddle again, and they went on their way with the help of God. They came to a great forest, where night surprised them. They saw a light shining in this forest.

‘See,’ said the lord’s son, ‘there’s a light shining over yonder.’

They came up to this light; they went into the room; there was no one within. There they see a beautiful bed, but unoccupied. They see that there is food for them. There is a golden goblet on the side next to the nobleman’s son; and beside the young Jew there is a goblet of silver. The nobleman’s son would have seated himself beside the silver goblet, but the young Jew said to him, ‘Listen to me, brother. You are the son of a wealthy sire, and I am a poor man’s son; your place therefore is beside the goblet of gold, and I will seat myself beside the silver goblet.’

Thereafter he disrobed him deftly, and made him lie down on the bed.

‘Come you to bed, brother,’ said the nobleman’s son.

‘I don’t feel sleepy,’ replied the young Jew.

‘Well, I’m going to sleep at any rate.’

He placed himself beside the table, this young Jew, and pretended to fall asleep. Two ladies approached the young Jew, but they were not really ladies—they were fairies.7 These ladies spoke thus to one another, ‘Oh! this young Jew and this nobleman’s son are going to a capital, where they wish to carry away the king’s daughter. But,’ said they, ‘the young Jew did well to pick up that wand with the little key, for there will be an iron door, which with that key he will be able to open.’

These ladies went away with the help of God. The young Jew undressed himself and went to bed. They arose next morning; they came to that iron door; the young Jew dismounted and opened it. They see that this is the capital wherein dwells the princess. They went into this town; they see a gentleman passing. The young Jew asks him, ‘Where is there a first-rate inn in this place?’ The gentleman indicated such a one to them, and guided them to it. He paid him for his trouble. They ate until they were satisfied. The nobleman’s son remained in the inn, and the young Jew sallied out into the town. He saw a gentleman passing.

‘Stay, sir, I have something to ask of you.’

The gentleman stopped, and the young Jew asked him, ‘Where is the principal goldsmith’s in this town?’

He directed him there; the young Jew went to this goldsmith.

‘Will you make me an old hen and her chickens of gold? The old hen must have eyes of diamonds and the young chickens also.’

‘Very well.’

‘But I stipulate further that she be alive.’

The goldsmith, who was a great wizard, replied, ‘Very good, sir; I will do so if you will pay me.’

‘I will pay you as much as ten thousand.’

Three days later he returned to get what he had ordered. He chose a Sunday, at the time when the princess was going to church. It was then he proposed to exhibit this golden hen and her chickens in such a way that the princess should see them. Well, he went to the goldsmith’s; he got the golden hen with her young chickens. On the following Sunday, he went near the church, this young Jew; he placed a table there, and on it he exposed his golden hen with the young chicks. Nobody who passed that way thought any more about going to church, but all stopped to gaze with wonder at this golden hen with her young chickens. A throng of people gathered from all parts of the town to see this hen and her chickens. The priest himself does not go into the church, but stops before the hen and her chickens; he looks at them so greedily that his eyes are almost starting out of his head. At last the king’s daughter comes to church. She looks to see what is going on there. A crowd of people, gentle and simple, gathered together. She had four lackeys with her.

‘Go,’ she said to one of them, ‘see what is going on there.’

He went and did not return.

She sent a second one; no more did he come back, so much was he enchanted. She despatched a third; neither did that one return—he was charmed. She sent the fourth, and he returned not either, being enchanted like the others.

‘What can have happened there?’ she asked herself. ‘Has somebody been killed?’

She sent her maid, who forced her way with difficulty among the people; but she also came not back, so much did this golden hen delight her. Another was sent, who with great difficulty forced a passage through the crowd, but she too returned not, so charmed was she. She despatched her third maid-servant, who also penetrated the throng, but, being charmed, did not return. Finally she said to the fourth one, ‘I am sending you to see what is happening there; but if you do not come back to tell me, I will have you put to death.’

This one too went. She forced her way after much difficulty through the crowd, but she came not back out of it, so greatly had that golden hen charmed her.

The princess then said to herself, ‘What can be going on there? Here, I’ve sent eight persons, and not one of them has come back to tell me what’s the matter.’

Then she went herself to see what had happened. Peasants and gentlemen gave way before her. She draws near and sees—a golden hen with her young chickens. The Jew lad perceives her and asks her, ‘Does this give pleasure to your royal highness?’

‘Greatly though it pleases me, sir,’ she answered, ‘you will not give it to me.’

He took this hen and presented it to the princess; then, with the help of the good God, he went away. But the princess called after him, and invited him to dine at her father’s. The young Jew returned to the inn, where the nobleman’s son was asleep. He knew nothing of what the young Jew had done. The king sent a very fine carriage to fetch the young Jew; he got into it and drove off. The princess was amusing herself with the hen and its young golden chickens. The king proposed to him that he should live with his daughter.

‘Very well,’ said the young Jew to him. ‘I will live with her.’

Well, they eat, they drink, and at length towards night the young Jew sent some one to fetch the nobleman’s son. When he arrived, all three went out to walk in the garden. Then the young Jew said to the princess, ‘Will you go away from here with us?’

‘Yes, I will go away,’ she replied.

They set out with her and hurried away, with the help of the good God. The father of the princess knew not where she had gone to; neither did he know whence the young Jew and the nobleman’s son had come. The nobleman’s son arrived at his father’s house. The father and mother are well satisfied that he has been so successful in bringing home the princess.

‘And now, my son,’ said his father to him, ‘you must marry her.’

So he married her, and they live together with the help of God. The young Jew has also married a wife, and they live together with the help of God.

Obviously an incomplete story; for of the beautiful wand the young Jew makes no use at all, of the key very little. It offers analogies to ‘Baldpate’ (No. 2), to ‘The Dead Man’s Gratitude’ (No. 1), and to Miklosich’s Bukowina-Gypsy story of ‘The Rivals.’ The last may be summarised thus:—

An emperor’s daughter on her brow had the sun, on her breast the moon, on her back the stars. An old lady had a sow with twelve little golden pigs; and her servant tended them. He goes into the forest and grazes them along the road, and on three successive days the princess gets a little pig by revealing to him her birth-marks. The emperor makes proclamation for them to come and guess her birth-marks. A prince, who is in love with her and knows her marks, guesses them; so too does the swineherd. So the emperor shuts up the three of them in a room. ‘And the boy bought himself bread and sweet apples and sweet cakes, and put them in his bosom. And the prince lay with the girl in his arms, and the boy at her back. The princess was hungry. The boy was eating cakes. She asked him, “What are you eating, boy?” “I am eating my lips.” “Give me some.” And he gave to her. “God! how sweet.” And the prince said, “Mine are sweeter.” And he took his knife, and cut off his lips, and gave them to her. She flung them on the ground. Again the boy was eating apples. “What are you eating now, boy?” “I am eating my nose.” “Give me some.” He gave her. “God! how delicious.” And the prince, “Mine is sweeter.” He took his knife and cut off his nose, and gave it to her. She flung it on the ground. The boy eats bread. “What are you eating now, boy?” “I am eating my ears.” “Give me some.” He gave to her. “God! how delicious.” And the prince, “Mine are sweeter.” He took his knife, cut off his ears, and gave them to her. She flung them on the ground. By daybreak the prince was dead; the girl was all over blood from him, and she shoved his corpse on the ground, and took the boy in her arms. And the emperor came and found the two locked in an embrace. Straightway the emperor clad him, and joined them in marriage.’

Denton’s ‘The Shepherd and the King’s Daughter,’ in Serbian Folklore, p. 172, is closely akin to Miklosich’s story over the first six pages, but is probably Bowdlerised. Cf. too, ‘The Emperor’s Daughter and the Swineherd,’ in Krauss’s Sagen und Märchen der Südslaven, ii. 302; and Hahn, ii. 180. Mr. David MacRitchie suggested in the Gypsy Lore Journal (ii. 381) that by the golden hen and her chickens in the Polish-Gypsy story is to be understood a planetarium of the Pleiades, the popular Roumanian name for the Pleiades being ‘the golden hen with her golden chickens.’ The suggestion is most ingenious; but in Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicilian story, ‘Vom Re Porco’ (No. 42, i. 291–293) the true bride purchases permission from the false bride to pass three nights with the bridegroom with the contents of three nuts—(1) a golden hen with many golden chickens; (2) a little golden schoolmistress, with little golden pupils, who sew and embroider; and (3) a lovely golden eagle. Cf. also Hahn, i. 188.

No. 49.—The Golden Bird and the Good Hare

Once upon a time there was a king who had three sons, two wise and one foolish. This king had an apple-tree which bore golden apples; but every night some one robbed him of these apples. The king inflicted severe punishment on his servants.

One time his eldest son said to him, ‘Father, I am going to watch the golden apple-tree, and if I do not catch the thief you shall kill me.’

‘Very well; go, then.’

He went to stand guard, but in the night-time a golden bird came and stole a golden apple from the tree.

Next day the king arose, and asked of his son, ‘Have you caught the thief?’ The king counted the apples on the tree: one of them was missing. ‘Well,’ said he to his son, ‘you shall be put to death.’

The notables of the kingdom, and everybody, prayed that he would pardon him. The king pardoned him.

Then the other brother said to the king, ‘Father, I also will go and keep watch; it may be that I shall seize the thief.’

‘Very well; then go.’

He made his preparations, and went on guard. The golden bird came once more and stole an apple from the tree.

Next day the king arose and asked of his son, ‘Have you caught the thief?’

‘No, father, I have not caught him, for he has escaped me.’

‘Did you see him, then?’

‘Yes, I saw him.’

‘Well, then, how was he able to escape you? You shall be killed.’

Then the queen and all the nobles entreated him. He pardoned this other son.

The king returned to his house.

Then the third brother, the fool, came to beg him that he would allow him to go and guard the golden apple-tree. ‘Father,’ said he, ‘it must be that I shall catch this thief.’

‘Go, then, fool that thou art,’ replied the king; ‘your wise brothers have kept watch, and could not take him; and you, what will you do, fool?’

‘Never mind, father, wise though my brothers may be, they knew not how to secure the thief. I, who am a fool, shall know better than they how to capture him.’

‘Very well; then, go. But you shall be put to death if you do not take him.’

‘Very well, father, I agree to it that you kill me; but if I do secure the thief, it is I who am to kill you.’

‘Very well, I shall not seek to excuse myself.’

He made his preparations. He went to keep watch. He climbed up into the tree to watch there. He stuck a needle into a twig, and leant his chin upon it.

‘Whenever I feel sleepy,’ said he to himself, ‘the needle will prick me, and I shall be aroused.’

Just at daybreak he saw a golden bird come, intending to steal one of the golden apples. He perceived this, and, firing at the bird, knocked out three feathers of gold. These he picked up and kept in his hand.

He got up in the morning and went to his father, who asked him, ‘Have you seized the thief? What have you taken from him?’

‘I have blown off a piece of his shirt with a musket-shot.’

Then said the king to him, ‘Now you may kill me.’

‘Father, I grant you your life.’

He showed him the three golden feathers, whereupon his father became blind, so dazzled was he by the terrible gleam.

‘What shall we do now, unfortunates that we are?’

The eldest brother said to his father, ‘I am going in quest of this bird.’

‘Well, go, my son; have a care of me.’

He took plenty of money with him and a beautiful horse. He set out in quest of this bird. He went away far out into the world. Once he saw a fine inn. He went in. He ordered something to eat and drink. He hears, this son of the king, that they are wrangling in the next room. He looks through the keyhole and sees twelve young ladies playing at cards. He gently opens the door a little, and these damsels call to him, ‘Come away, sir, and play with us.’

He goes in, and he loses all his money at play. He sells his horse, and loses that money too. He sells his clothes, and still loses. Lastly, he asks these damsels to lend him a hundred florins. They lend them to him, and he loses the hundred florins.

‘What shall I do now, pauper that I am?’

These damsels have him arrested and put into prison. For six months he sees no one, this eldest brother.

Then his younger brother made his preparations, and requested his father to let him go in quest of the golden bird.

His father said to him, ‘Each of you goes away, and none returns. Very well, go.’

He took even more money than his brother and a finer horse. He set out, and came to the same inn. He makes them serve him with something to eat and drink. He hears people wrangling in the next room. He opens the door a little, and sees twelve damsels playing at cards.

‘Come away, sir, and play with us.’

He sits down to play, and loses all his money. He sells his horse for a large sum, which he loses in the same way. He sells his clothes, and loses likewise. Lastly, he borrows a hundred florins from the twelve damsels, and loses them also.

‘What shall I do now, pauper that I am?’

These damsels have him arrested and put into prison.

Then the king says, ‘See, it is full six months since my two sons set out, and neither of them has returned.’

Then the fool, the youngest brother, wishes to go in quest of this bird. He requests his father to let him go and seek the golden bird.

‘Well, go, my boy. Fool though you are, perhaps you will bring this bird to me sooner than your two wise brothers, who set out and return not.’

So he made his preparations. He set out without money, without anything save two bottles of wine, but he set out with the help of God. After a very long journey he came to a small wood. In this wood he saw a lame hare, which fled away from him. He would have killed this hare, but it besought him, ‘Have the fear of God; do not kill me. For I know where you are going, and I will tell it to you.’

‘That is well,’ replied this foolish prince; and he dismounted from his horse. He drew a fine loaf out of his pocket, and gave it to the hare to eat. For himself, he drank some of his wine, and said to this hare, ‘If I gave you wine too, you would certainly not drink any of it?’

‘Why should I not drink any of it, my lord?’ replied the hare; ‘you have only to give me some.’

Well, he gave him some. The hare drank of it, and thanked him courteously. Then the foolish prince asked him, ‘What was that you said to me just now?’

‘I will tell you that you are going in quest of the golden bird, three of whose feathers you knocked out with a musket-shot. You showed them to your father, who has consequently become blind.’

‘Yes, that is so.’

‘But listen: there will be various birds; there will be a cage of diamonds, a cage of gold, a cage of silver, and a cage of wood. In the first there will be a diamond bird, in the second a golden bird, in the third a silver bird, and in the fourth a miserable, common bird. Beware of taking one of the birds with a beautiful cage, or it will bring misfortune on you. Now, get on my back, and leave your horse to graze in this forest.’

He mounted the hare, and on arriving at the place where these birds were he dismounted. Then said the hare to him again, ‘For God’s sake, beware of touching a bird with a beautiful cage, but take the one in a common cage.’

Well, then, he goes in to steal, and he sees that there are three miserable cages. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘should I take one of these, when I can take a bird with a beautiful cage?’ He then espied a cage of diamonds with a diamond bird in it. He approached it. He would have taken it, when suddenly these wretched birds uttered a terrible scream. The warders came running up, and secured the prince. Next day the king questioned him, ‘Why have you come here?’

‘I came, sire, to take the bird that robbed me of the golden apples.’

‘Listen, then. You shall have that bird provided you do this for me. There is a certain king who has a silver horse. Steal that horse from him and bring it to me, and I will give you the bird.’

‘Very well.’

The fool came to his hare, and began to lament. The hare said to him, ‘Didn’t I tell you not to touch the bird in the fine cage, but to take the bird in the common cage? Well, be silent; come with me without mounting me. And listen: there will be beautiful horses of gold and silver. Don’t touch them, but take that miserable horse beside the door.’

Well, he went. He sees such beautiful horses, one all gold, the other silver. He looks at them, and says to himself, ‘Why should I take that wretched horse, when I can take the golden one?’ He tries to mount the golden horse, when they all neigh terribly loud, and he was arrested.

On the morrow the king arose and questioned him, ‘What do you want here?’

‘I came, sire, to steal your silver horse, because that other king said to me that if I bring him your silver steed, he will give me his golden bird.’

‘Well, I will give it to you myself if you will accomplish this feat: Our third king has a daughter with locks of gold. If you will carry her off, and bring her to me, then I will give you my silver steed.’

‘Very well.’

He came back to his hare. ‘Why, then, won’t you do what I tell you?’ said the hare to him, and would have beaten him. ‘Come, then, with me, but do not get on my back. You will go to where this princess dwells; you will eat with her; you will drink with her; finally, you will sleep with her. Then I shall come during the night and carry you both away.’

Well, he came to where the princess lived. He ate, he drank, and he slept with her. The hare got up during the night, and carried them both away. They set out, and by the time it was day they had gone a great distance.

‘Where am I?’ asked the princess.

The hare told her, ‘You will be the wife of this prince.’

She was quite content to have such a young and handsome husband.

Then said the foolish prince, ‘Well, we have already got the princess with the golden locks, but how are we going to manage to steal the silver steed and the golden bird?’

‘Oh!’ replied the hare, ‘that is my affair, and I shall answer for it.’

They remained, then, in that place, and the hare set out alone. He went to where that king lived, and he stole from him that same wretched horse that was beside the door. He mounted it and came back to the fool. The latter sees such a beautiful silver horse. He is enchanted that the hare had succeeded in stealing it. He mounts the princess on this horse, and they continued their journey with the help of God. They reach the home of the third king, who had the golden bird. The hare stole from him the miserable bird in the wretched cage. (Neither the birds nor the horses uttered a single cry.) The hare returned to the fool. He is perfectly delighted on seeing a golden bird in a golden cage. They go on their way. They set out with the help of God, and they come to that forest where they had left their horse. The prince mounted it.

Before his departure the hare said to him, ‘I forbid you to ransom your two brothers from death.’ The prince swore that he would not. He and the princess returned thanks to the good hare who had brought them away. They set out and arrived at his father’s house. He presents the golden bird to his father, who thereupon recovered his sight. His father is charmed at his son bringing him his wife with the golden locks and a silver steed. He marries her, and lives with her five years.

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Once it occurred to this fool that he ought to go in search of his two brothers.

‘Do not go, my son,’ said his father, ‘let God punish them.’

‘Permit me to do so, father; I will go and seek them.’

His father objected, but he besought him incessantly, till at last he allowed him to go. He came to a very large town. What does he see there? His two brothers. They were just being led to death. He came to the place, this fool, and he would have ransomed them from death, but the nobles would not have it. He offered an enormous sum, but they would not accept it.

‘If you will not, I can but go home.’

He came home, and he said to his father, ‘Alas! father, my brothers are now dead.’

‘Since they did not obey me,’ replied his father, ‘it is right that God should punish them.’

This youngest prince dwells with his wife, and they live with the help of the good, golden God.

This opens like a Bulgarian story, ‘The Golden Apples and the Nine Peahens,’ No. 38 of Wratislaw’s Sixty Slavonic Folk-tales, p. 186, also somewhat like the Roumanian-Gypsy tale of ‘The Red King and the Witch’ (No. 14). Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicilian story, No. 51, ‘Vom singenden Dudelsack,’ may also be compared. But it is essentially identical with our Scottish-Tinker story of ‘The Fox’ (No. 75), and with Wratislaw’s Serbian story of ‘The Lame Fox,’ No. 40, pp. 205–217, with Grimm’s No. 57, ‘The Golden Bird’ (i. 227, 415), and with Campbell of Islay’s No. 46, ‘Mac Iain Direach,’ on which see Reinhold Köhler in Orient und Occident, ii. 1864, pp. 685–6. Kopernicki’s Gypsy story is plainly very defective. The lame hare should first meet the two elder brothers, and his stealing the steed and the bird is as lame as himself. The concluding phrase, ‘golden God,’ occurs often in Hungarian and in Slovak-Gypsy stories; so I am inclined to question Kopernicki’s footnote that ‘ “with the help of God” (or “of the good God”), a phrase frequently occurring in the Polish-Gypsy stories is borrowed from the popular speech of Poland.’ Dja Devlésa, ‘go with God,’ is of constant occurrence in Turkish-Romani (Paspati, p. 205), and in most, if not all, of the other European Gypsy dialects.

No. 50.—The Witch

There was once a nobleman who had a very handsome son. The nobleman wished that his son should marry, but there was nobody whom he would wed. Young ladies of every kind were assembled, but not one of them would he have. For ten years he lived with his father. Once in a dream he bethought himself that he should go and travel. He went away far out into the world; and for ten years he was absent from his home. He reflected, and ‘What shall I do?’ he asked himself; ‘I will return to my father.’ He returned home in rags, and all lean with wretchedness, so that his father was ashamed of him. He remained with him three months.

Once he dreamt that in the middle of a field there was a lovely sheet of water, and that in this little lake three beautiful damsels were bathing. Next morning he arose and said to his father, ‘Rest you here with the help of the good God, my father; for I am going afar into the world.’

His father gave him much money, and said to him, ‘If you do not wish to stay with me, go forth with the help of God.’

He set out on his way; he came to this little lake; and there he saw three beautiful damsels bathing. He would have captured one of them, but these damsels had wings on their smocks, by means of which they soared into the air and escaped him. He went away, this nobleman’s son, and said he to himself, ‘What shall I do now, poor wretch that I am?’ and he began to weep bitterly.

Then he sees an old man approaching him, and this old man asks him, ‘Why do you weep, my lad?’

‘Oh! well do I know why I weep: there are three lovely damsels who bathe in that lake, but I cannot capture them.’

‘What do you want, then?’ asks this old man. ‘Would you catch the whole three of them?’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘I wish to catch only one of them, the youngest one.’

‘Very well, then, listen: I am going to dig a pit for you; whenever you see them coming for a swim, hide yourself in this hole, and wait there in silence. As soon as they have laid down their clothes, jump up and seize hold of the smock belonging to the youngest one. She will beg you to give it up to her, but do not give it up.’

Well, these three damsels came; they took off their smocks, and laid each of them aside. The nobleman’s son watched them from his pit; he jumped out; he seized hold of the smock belonging to the youngest one. She beseeches him to give it back to her, but he will not consent to do so. The two other sisters fly away with the good God, and he returns to his home with the young damsel. His father sees that he brings a beautiful damsel with him. Well, he marries her. They live together for five years. They had a very pretty young son. But as for the winged smock he had a special room made, into which he locked it, and the key of the room he gave to his mother to take care of. Madman that he was! He would have done better had he burned that smock.

One day he went out into the fields. Then his wife spoke thus to his mother, ‘Mother, five years now have I been here, and I know not what there is in my husband’s room, because he always keeps it hidden from me.’

Then the mother said to her, ‘Well, come with me; I am going to show it to you.’

‘That is right, mother. I wish it much, because he ought not to hide anything from me, for I would not rob him of anything, to hand it over to the lads.’

She went into that room with his mother; she sees that her smock with the two wings is there.

‘Mother,’ she said, ‘may I again don this smock, to see whether I am as beautiful still as I was once?’

‘Very well, my daughter, put it on again; I do not forbid you.’

She put on the smock, and she said to his mother, ‘Remain here with the help of the good God, my mother; salute my husband for me; and take good care of my child. For never more will you see me.’

Then she sped away with the good God, and returned home to the witch, her mother.

Her husband came back to the house and asked his mother, ‘Where has my wife gone?’

‘My son, she went into that room there; she once more put on a certain smock; she sent you a farewell greeting; and she asked me to take care of her child, for never more would she see us.’

‘Well, I am going away in quest of her.’

He took a lot of money with him, he set out, and journeyed forth with the help of the good God. He came to a miller’s house. The miller had a mill, where they ground corn for this witch. Well, the nobleman’s son asked this miller to hide him in a sack, to cover him with meal, and to fasten him securely into the sack.

‘I will pay you for this service,’ said he to the miller.

Well, as soon as he had hidden him in the sack and fastened it, four devils came. Each of them took a sack; but the first of these, the one in which the nobleman’s son was concealed, was very heavy. This devil took the sack; he threw it upon his back; he set out on his road, and went away with the good God (sic!). They went to the abode of the witch and laid down their sacks.

The next day there was to be a wedding there. Who should happen to come to this first sack but his wife?

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Well, I am come to take you away.’

‘Meanwhile, my mother is going to kill you.’

Her mother, having heard with whom she was speaking, entered and recognised him. ‘So, then, it is you who are so clever, and who stole away my daughter. Hearken, then, you shall have her to wife if you perform for me the feats which I shall lay upon you.’

She gave him food and drink; he went to bed.

Next day he got up, and the witch arose also and said to him, ‘Hearken, I have here a great forest, three hundred leagues in extent. You must uproot for me every tree, cut them in pieces, arrange these pieces in piles, the logs on one side and the brushwood on the other. If you do not do that for me, I will cut off your head.’

She gave him a wooden axe and a wooden spade. He set out; he went to the forest. He came to this forest; he saw it was very large.

‘What can I do here, wretched man that I am, with the wooden axe and the wooden spade that she has given me?’

He struck a blow with the axe on a tree; and the axe broke.

‘What am I going to do now, wretched man that I am?’

He cowered down upon the ground, and fell a-weeping. He sees his wife come; she brings him something to eat and drink.

‘Why are you weeping?’ asks his wife.

‘How can I refrain from weeping when your mother has given me an axe and a spade of wood, and I have broken them both already.’

‘Hush, then, weep not; all will go well. Only eat and be filled.’

He ate and was filled.

‘Come, now, I am going to louse your head.’8

He went to her; he laid his head in her lap; and he fell asleep. His wife put her fingers into her mouth and whistled. A great number of devils came to her.

‘What is it that the great lady demands of us?’

‘That this entire forest be cut down, and that the logs be set in piles on one side, and the brushwood on the other; each kind has to be ranged in separate piles.’

The devils set themselves to this task, and cut down the whole forest, so that not a stick of it remained standing, and all the wood was arranged in piles.

His wife then awoke him: ‘Get up now.’

He arose, he saw the whole forest was cut down, and each kind of wood was arranged in lots. He is rejoiced; he returns to the house before night.

‘Finished already?’ the mother, this witch, asks him.

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I am finished.’

She went out to see. The whole forest indeed was felled, and each kind of wood was arranged in piles. At that she was much mortified. Well, she gave him some food; he satisfied himself, and lay down to sleep.

She arose next morning, this witch, and said to him, ‘I will give you my daughter to wife if you cause my forest to become again what it was before, with every leaf in its place again. And if you fail to do that for me, why, then, I will cut off your head.’

Well, he set out; he went on his way. He came to the forest.

‘What shall I do now, unhappy wretch that I am?’

He tried to fasten a branch on to its proper trunk, and the branch fell off again. He bowed himself to the ground and wept. His wife came to him, bringing him food.

‘Why do you weep so, like a calf?’

‘How can I help weeping, when your mother has made me fell this forest, and now commands me so to restore this same forest so that each leaf shall be once more in its proper place on the tree?’

‘Don’t weep any more, then; eat.’

He ate; he was satisfied.

‘Come, let me louse your head.’

He lay down on her lap and went to sleep.

Then she whistled, and the devils appeared in great numbers.

‘What do you demand of us, my lady?’

‘I demand that my forest be restored to its former condition, so that each leaf may be on its own tree.’

Well, the devils set to work and restored everything, so that every leaf was in its proper place. Then she awoke him. He got up and saw the whole forest entire, as it had been before.

Quite overjoyed, he returned to the house before night.

‘Finished already?’ asked the mother.

‘Yes. I have finished.’

She went forth to see if it was true. There was the forest as it had been before.

Then the mother said, ‘What are we to do with him now?’

She gave him food and drink.

She arose next morning, this witch. ‘Hearken, you shall have my daughter to wife if you perform for me yet one more feat.’

‘Very well, mother.’

‘There is a very large pond here; you must drain it dry.’

‘Willingly.’

‘But beware of letting a single fish in it perish.’

She gave him a sieve with big holes. ‘This is what you must empty the pond with.’

He went to the pond, this nobleman’s son; he lifted up a sieveful of water, which immediately streamed away. He flung the sieve to the devils.

‘If at least she had given me a bucket, I might perhaps have managed to empty this pond more quickly.’

Then he bowed himself down and began to weep. ‘Wretch that I am, what shall I do now?’

He sees his wife come to him.

‘Why are you weeping again?’

‘Because your mother has given me a sieve with big holes, so that the water runs away at once.’

‘Never mind, then, be quiet; do not weep any more. With God’s help all will go well.’

She gave him to eat and to drink; then he lay down on his wife’s lap and slept. His wife whistled, and a great number of devils appeared before her.

‘What does her ladyship demand of us?’

‘I desire that all the water in this pond be drained away, without a single fish in it dying.’

The devils set themselves to the task; the pond was soon empty; and not one fish in it died. When he arose, he saw that there was no longer any water in the pond, and that the fish in it remained alive. Filled with joy, he went away to the house.

‘Finished already?’ the witch asked him.

‘Yes, mother, I have done it already.’

Well, she went away out to see. She sees that not a single drop of water remained in her pond, but that the fish, still living, were like to die for want of water. The witch, having then returned home, said to herself, ‘What are we going to do with him now? He has already performed three feats for me; I must make him perform yet a fourth.’

She gave him food and drink. He went to bed.

Next morning, when he arose, the witch said to him, ‘Hearken, you shall have my daughter to wife if you accomplish this feat: my pond must be fuller than ever of water, and with more fish in it.’

Then he betook himself to the pond, this nobleman’s son, and began to weep bitterly. ‘Unhappy that I am, what am I going to do now?’ He sees his wife come bringing food.

‘Why are you weeping at such a rate? I’ve told you already not to weep any more.’

He ate; he lay down with his head in his wife’s lap, and fell asleep. She whistled, and the devils appeared in great numbers.

‘What does her ladyship demand of us?’

‘I desire that my pond again be filled with water, and that it have more water and more fish than before.’

Well, she awoke him; he found the pond full of water. He was quite delighted and returned to the house.

‘Finished already?’ the witch asked him.

‘Yes, mother, I have finished.’

She goes out and sees that the pond is full of water and fish. She comes into the house again, and says she to herself, ‘What are we going to do now with him? However, he must be killed to-morrow.’

She gave him food and drink; thereafter he went to bed.

His wife came to him and said, ‘We must escape this very night. But should our mother pursue us, I will then change myself into a lovely flower, and you shall change yourself into a beautiful meadow.’

‘Very well.’

‘And if you see it is our father that pursues us, then I will change myself into a church, and you shall change yourself into an old man.’

‘Well.’

‘And if you perceive it is our sister who is coming after us, then I shall have to change myself into a duck, and you must change yourself into a drake. But I shall no longer have the heart to retain myself; she will beseech me, “My darling sister, return to us.” Thus will she speak to me. Then must you, in your form of drake, allow her no rest, but beat her senseless with blows of your wings.’

‘All right.’

Well, they set out and took to flight.

After they had escaped, and had traversed a distance of a great many leagues, what do they see?—the eldest sister coming after them. As soon as she perceived her, she said to her husband, ‘Change yourself into a beautiful meadow, and I will change myself into a pretty flower.’

The eldest sister came up, and, finding nobody, said to herself, ‘In the midst of such miserable fields, see, here is a beautiful large meadow and a very pretty flower.’ Then she went home to her mother, the witch.

‘What have you seen?’ asked her mother.

‘In the midst of a field I saw a beautiful meadow with a lovely flower.’

Her mother stormed at her: ‘Why did you not pluck that flower? You would have brought them both home again.’

Well, the witch set out herself. Meanwhile they had got to a great distance. At length she sees the witch pursuing them, and she says to her husband, ‘I will change myself into a duck swimming in the middle of a pond, and you must change yourself into a swan.’9

Well, she changed herself into a duck on a beautiful pond, and he changed himself into a swan. Her mother, the witch, making up to them, said to them, ‘Oh! I am just going to capture you, to take you both back with me.’

She proceeded to drink up the water of the pond. Then the swan flung himself upon the witch, and battered in her head.

‘That’s what my wife advised me to do,’ he remarked.

Then they renewed their journey, and went away with the help of God. They had gone yet some leagues further on; then the father set out in pursuit of them. His daughter sees her father coming, and says she to her husband, ‘Now change yourself into an old man, and I will change myself into a church.’

The father arrives, but finds nobody. He sees a church in the middle of a forest, and he says to himself, this sorcerer, ‘I am now a hundred years old, but never yet have I seen a church in the depths of a forest with an old man inside it.’ So he went back to his house with the good God. When he got there, his two daughters said to him, ‘Our mother has been killed. We knew not that she had exposed all the tricks to him, and they have ended by killing our mother.’

They journeyed still further away into the world. She sees, the wife of the nobleman’s son, that her youngest sister is pursuing them. She says to him, ‘I will change myself into a duck, and do you change yourself into a drake, and you must do the same thing to her as you did to my mother.’

Well, he stopped there and changed himself into a drake, and she changed herself into a beautiful duck. Her sister came up, and proceeded to entreat her, ‘My dear sister, come back with me, for if you do not I will kill myself.’

Then the drake flung himself upon this sister, and battered her with blows of his wings, and gave her no respite; again he flung himself on her and battered in her head. Well, then they set out, and resumed their journey with the good God.

‘Now,’ said they to themselves, ‘nobody will pursue us any more.’

They arrived, this nobleman’s son and his wife, at the house of that same miller who had hidden him in a sack.

‘So you see, sir, that I have gained my end.’

‘It is very fortunate that you have, by the grace of God. We were certain you were dead, and, see, you are still alive.’

He paid this miller a large sum of money for bringing him to the house where his wife was living. He comes home; his mother sees that it is her son, who had been absent from home for more than twenty years. His child is now grown up. She is filled then with joy, so is his son at his father’s return; and they all live together with the good, golden God.

‘The Witch’ is identical with the middle portion (pp. 125–130) of Ralston’s ‘The Water King and Vasilissa the Wise,’ collected by Afanasief in the Voronej government, South-eastern Russia. Ralston cites many variants, among them an Indian one. Cf. also ‘Prince Unexpected,’ a Polish story, No. 17 in Wratislaw’s Sixty Slavonic Folk-tales, pp. 108–121. A striking parallel for the recovery of the smock is furnished by ‘La Loulie et la Belle de la Terre’ in Dozon’s Contes Albanais, pp. 94–5. Cf. also Wratislaw’s Croatian story, ‘The She-Wolf,’ No. 55, p. 290; Georgeakis and Pineau’s story from Lesbos, No. 2, ‘Le Mont des Cailloux,’ p. 11; and especially Cosquin’s ‘Chatte Blanche,’ No. 32, with the valuable notes thereon (ii. 9–28). The Welsh-Gypsy story of ‘The Green Man of Noman’s Land,’ No. 62, is almost a variant (there, likewise, the hero is tearful); so, too, is the Bukowina-Gypsy story, ‘Made over to the Devil’ (No. 34). Cf. the notes on these; and Clouston, i. 182–191, for bird-maidens. The pursuit and the transformation into a church and a priest are discussed pretty fully in the Introduction.

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1 This answer presupposes the presence of at least three robbers. ↑

2 This method of killing the robbers is exactly the same as that followed by the youth in the Moravian-Gypsy story of ‘The Princess and the Forester’s Son’ (No. 43, p. 147). Cf. too, No. 8, ‘The Bad Mother,’ pp. 25, 30, where the lad kills eleven of twelve dragons, and Hahn, vol. ii. p. 279. ↑

3 For cutting three red stripes out of back, cf. ‘Osborn’s Pipe’ (Dasent’s Tales from the Fjeld, p. 3), which = the Welsh-Gypsy tale of ‘The Ten Rabbits’ (No. 64); also Dasent’s Tales from the Norse, ‘The Seven Foals,’ p. 380. Cutting three strips out of the back occurs also in a Russian story epitomised by Ralston, p. 145; and cutting a strip of skin from head to foot in Campbell’s West Highland tale, No. 18 (cf. supra, p. 124), which Reinhold Köhler connects with the pound of flesh in the Merchant of Venice (Orient und Occident, 1864, pp. 313–316). ↑

4 Our story here has a curious resemblance with pp. 122–3 of ‘Le Trimmatos ou l’Ogre aux Trois Yeux,’ a vampire story from Cyprus, in Legrand’s Contes Grecs (1881). Query: Was ‘Mr. Fox’ originally a vampire story? ↑

5 It is the general custom among pious people in Poland, on entering a house, or when meeting one another, to give the greeting, ‘Jesus Christ be praised.’ To which the response is, ‘From age to age.’ ↑

6 Albanian folk-tales open with a similar formula (Dozon’s Contes Albanais, 1881, p. 1). ↑

7 The Gypsy word, rashani, originally means ‘priestess.’ ↑

8 Cf. Campbell’s Tales of the West Highlands, i. 61, and iv. 283; and Dozon’s Contes Albanais, 27, note. ↑

9 It should by rights be a drake; still, the swan is suggestive of ‘swan-maidens.’ Nor does she strictly adhere to her self-prescribed rules of metamorphosis. ↑