THE GRATEFUL DEAD AND THE POISON MAIDEN.
One of the most prevalent types of The Grateful Dead is that in which
it has combined with The Poison Maiden, a theme almost world-wide in
distribution and application. From the time of Benfey and Stephens
[67] the connection between the two themes has been regarded
as vital. Though Hippe recognized that the stories were perhaps
originally independent, [68] he took the compound as his point of
departure and derived all other forms from it. As will be seen in
the course of our study, such a filiation is exceedingly improbable,
if the essential features of The Grateful Dead and The Poison Maiden
be closely examined. Hippe went wrong, I should say, in failing to
differentiate between what traits belong to the former and what to
the latter theme.
As a matter of fact, The Poison Maiden exists in a cycle of its
own. Any doubt about this and any necessity of studying the theme in
detail here is removed by the valuable monograph of Wilhelm Hertz,
Die Sage vom Giftmaedchen, [69] in which the literature of the subject
has been marshalled with masterly skill. Starting with the stories of
how a maiden, who had been fed with snake-poison, was sent to Alexander
the Great from India by an enemy, and how the plot to kill the emperor
through her embraces was foiled by the cunning of Aristotle, [70]
Hertz shows [71] that the central idea of the tale is the belief that
a man could be killed by sexual connection with a woman who had been
nourished on poison. In most of the variants, to be sure, it is the
bite of the woman that is venomous, while in others it is her glance
or her breath; but these are natural modifications. Without following
the study into details, the important fact to remember is that there
has existed from early times a tale relating how a man was saved by
a watchful friend on his bridal night from a maiden whose embraces
were certain death. [72] With this in mind we can safely proceed
to a consideration of the variants of The Grateful Dead which have
similar features.
Twenty-four of the stories in my list fall into this category,
viz.: Tobit, Armenian, Gypsy, Siberian, Russian I., II., III.,
and IV., Servian II., III., and IV., Bulgarian, Esthonian II.,
Finnish, Rumanian I., Irish I., II., and III., Breton I., Danish
III., Norwegian II., Simrock X., Harz I., Jack the Giant Killer,
and Old Wives' Tale. All but three of them [73] are folk-tales,
a fact that considerably simplifies the discussion.
According to the apocryphal story, Tobit buries by night the dead
who lie in the street. He is thrown into prison, and later becomes
blind and poverty-stricken. He sends his son Tobias to his brother
Gabael for the return of a loan. The youth is accompanied by the
angel Raphael in disguise, who calls himself Azarias. On the journey
Tobias catches a fish and preserves the heart, liver, and gall at the
bidding of his companion. When they arrive at their journey's end,
the angel, as go-between, asks Gabael's daughter Sara in wedlock for
Tobias, though seven men have died while consummating their marriage
with her. By burning the heart and liver of the fish at the command
of the angel, and by prayer, Tobias escapes; for the demon Asmodeus
is driven out of the maiden and bound by Raphael. With his bride and
companion Tobias goes home, where he cures Tobit's blindness by means
of the gall of the fish. After being offered half of the wealth that he
has brought the family, Raphael explains his identity and disappears.
This variant is peculiar in that the father does the good action, while
the son is chiefly rewarded. Indeed, it is the son whose life is saved
from the possessed woman whom he marries. Moreover, the grateful dead
is replaced by an angel, who indeed commends Tobit for his good deed,
but is certainly a substitute for the ghost. Obviously Tobit with
such peculiarities as these cannot be regarded as the general source
of the widespread folk-tale. At the same time we must not forget
that it has been, perhaps, the best-loved story in the Apocrypha,
[74] and that its influence on details of the narrative may be looked
for almost anywhere in Christendom.
In the Armenian story from Transcaucasia [75] a man finds a corpse
hanging in a tree and being beaten by his late creditors. The man pays
the debt and buries the body. Some years later he becomes poor. A rich
man offers him in marriage his daughter, with whom five bridegrooms
have already met death on the wedding night. While thinking over
the proposition, he is approached by a man who offers to become his
servant for half of his future possessions, and counsels him to
marry the woman. On the night of the marriage the servant stands
with a sword in the chamber, cuts off the head of a serpent that
comes from the bride's mouth, and pulls out its body. Later he asks
for his share of his master's gains. When he is about to split the
woman through the middle, a second snake glides from her mouth. The
servant then says that he is the ghost of the corpse long ago rescued,
and disappears. Here the story appears in a very normal form, except
that the hero is not taking a journey at the time of his kind deed,
and that he waits several years for his reward. Moreover, the second
snake appears to be due to reduplication.
In Gypsy a youth gives his last twelve piasters for the release of a
corpse, which is being maltreated by Jews. The ghost of the dead man
follows him and promises to get him a bride if he will share her with
him. The youth consents and marries a woman whose five bridegrooms
have died on the wedding night. The companion keeps watch in the
chamber and cuts off the head of a dragon that comes from the bride's
mouth. Later he demands his half of the woman, and takes a sword to
cut her asunder, when she screams and disgorges the dragon's body. The
ghost then explains the situation and disappears. [76]
With the Siberian variant some very important modifications enter. A
soldier buys a picture of the Saviour from a peasant and maltreats
it. A merchant's son then buys it out of reverence and takes it to
his mother. Later he helps an old man on a raft and goes with him to
market. There he meets the daughter of a priest and, by the advice of
his friend, marries her. When the old man strikes her with a whip,
she splits open, and the devil comes out. She is put together again
by the mysterious companion, and accompanies them home, where the old
man asks for a division of the gains they have made together. Again
he divides the woman. After she has been burned, she is found living
and purified. Then the old man says that he is God and departs.
This tale, found among the Turkish race of southern Siberia, has
transformed the opening incident altogether. For the burial of
the corpse it substitutes a good deed, which is entirely different
from the original trait. Yet it is evident that we have to do with
The Grateful Dead, after all, since the divine image is rescued
from senseless contumely and God himself appears in the role of the
thankful ghost. It is evident also that the theme is combined with
The Poison Maiden. Though we do not hear of any misadventures of
other men with the priest's daughter, the marvels which attend her
purification indicate the danger in which the hero stood.
Russian I. is likewise peculiar in several respects. The younger of
two brothers angers his parents by going to the wars without their
permission. He is killed. Later he appears to his brother, asking
him to implore pardon of their mother, whose anger prevents him
from resting quietly in his grave. The elder brother thus succeeds
in giving peace to the ghost. Later, when he marries a merchant's
daughter, whose first two husbands have been killed by a dragon on
the wedding night, he is saved by the ghost of the dead, which keeps
watch in the chamber with a sword and kills the nine-headed dragon.
This tale stands almost alone [77] in giving the two chief characters
personal relations, since it is nearly always a total stranger whom
the hero benefits. That actual burial of the dead does not come in
question is not so remarkable, as various changes have been made in
this trait. One story, [78] indeed, which otherwise has no likeness,
similarly makes the dead man uneasy in his grave. The beginning of
Russian I. has thus suffered considerable modification. The ending
is also different from the normal type in that the division of the
property and the woman has entirely disappeared.
Russian II. has also some peculiarities, though none which is
difficult to explain. A youth named Hans receives three hundred
rubles from his uncle, who has taken his inheritance, and goes into
the world. In another province he ransoms with his whole stock of
money an unbeliever, who is being bled by the people. He has the
poor man baptised, but is not able to save his life, so sorely has
he been wounded. The people, however, pay for proper burial. Hans
goes on and is joined by an angel, who proposes that he take him as
uncle and divide with him whatever they get while in one another's
company. They come to a city where the king proposes that Hans marry
his daughter, and to this the hero agrees at his companion's advice,
despite the protests of the citizens, who say that the princess
has already strangled six bridegrooms. On the wedding night the
uncle keeps watch, and slays a dragon which is approaching to kill
the young man. After two months the pair set out for home with
the uncle. On the way they are saved by the old man from robbers,
and get a store of gold. When they arrive at the place where the
uncle first appeared, he calls for a fulfilment of their agreement,
and saws the bride asunder. Young dragons come out of her; but, when
she has been washed and sprinkled with water, she is made whole. The
angel thereupon parts with the couple.
For the burial of the dead we have in this tale the interesting
substitution of an unsuccessful attempt of the hero to save a man's
life by paying his entire inheritance as ransom. That the man dies and
is buried shows how the change probably arose. Strangely enough, as in
the case of Tobit, an angel appears in the role of the grateful dead,
and, even more oddly, takes the form of the hero's uncle, who gave
him the money with which he set forth on his journey. The recurrence
of the angel in this and in one other variant [79] inclines me to
the belief that the essential feature of the reward in the original
story was that it came from heaven. The remainder of Russian II. has
no characteristic unusual in the tales where the woman is actually
divided to get rid of the snakes or dragons.
In Russian III. [80] the youngest of three brothers rescues a swimming
coffin from the sea and takes it on his ship. From the coffin comes a
man clothed in a white shirt, who enters the service of his rescuer,
and helps him win a beautiful princess as wife. A six-headed dragon
has hitherto killed all her bridegrooms on the wedding night, but it
is overcome by the hero through his obedience to the advice of his
servant. The latter cleanses the bride's body of the dragon brood
and goes away. Here the opening has been modified, though not beyond
recognition, since the rescued man is clearly enough the grateful dead.
Russian IV., taken like the preceding from a folk-book, differs from
that in only minor points, though the ampler form in which I have
found it makes it of more importance. The three sons of a czar go
out in separate ships to see the world. The youngest, named Sila,
rescues a swimming coffin, which his brothers have not heeded,
and buries it on shore. There he leaves his companions, and goes
on alone till joined by a man dressed in a shroud, who says that he
is the rescued corpse and proposes that Sila win a certain Princess
Truda as wife by his aid. The hero is dismayed when he sees the walls
of her city decorated with the heads of countless former suitors,
but he is told by his servant not to fear. On the bridal night he
is counselled to keep silence, and, when his wife presses her hand
on his breast, to beat her, as she is in league with a six-headed
dragon. Sila obeys, the dragon appears, and the servant cuts off two
of its heads. Two more heads are cut off on the second night, and the
remaining two on the third. The bride is not completely cleansed,
however, till the end of a year, when the servant cuts her in two,
burns the evil things that emerge from her body, and sprinkles her
with living water to make her well again. He then disappears.
Here the grateful dead appears with perfect clearness, as he did not
in Russian III. The course of events by which the lady is won does not
differ materially from that of Russian II. Presumably III. would follow
the same procedure, had we an adequate summary. III. and IV. are like
I., and different from II., in omitting all mention of any division
of property or of the woman between hero and assistant. The division
for the sake of cleansing in IV. is, however, actual.
Not without contamination from another source, Russian V. and
VI. still belong to the class containing variants with The Poison
Maiden. In Russian V. the only son of a rich man went out into the
world to seek his fortune. On the road he gave a large sum of money
for two horses. Later he stopped at an inn, where the widow of the
landlord was weeping because she had no money to pay the debts of her
husband, who was cursed by all the people, though he had been dead
two years. The hero gave all his money to save the memory of the dead
man, and proceeded. Soon he met two unsatisfied creditors, who still
cursed the dead landlord, and to them he gave his two horses. Not long
afterward he was joined by a man, who accompanied him on condition of
receiving half of what they might win together. They came to a place
where a lord offered a thousand rubles to anyone who would watch his
daughter's corpse over night in a chapel. The hero undertook the
adventure, and received payment in advance. At dark his companion
came to him, and gave him a cross as protection. At midnight the
lady came out of her coffin, but could not find the man because he
held the cross. The same adventure was repeated the next night. On
the third night the hero, according to his companion's advice, got
into the coffin when the vampire rose, and would not get out for all
her entreaties, being protected by the cross. So in the morning both
were found alive, and were betrothed. Then came the companion, cut the
maiden into halves, took out her entrails, and put her together again,
when she became very beautiful. Next day he called the hero aside,
explained his identity with the dead landlord, and disappeared.
Russian VI. differs from the above in several points, but is closely
allied to it. There were two brothers, one good and the other
stingy. The former expended in benevolence all his wealth, save
a hundred rubles, while the latter grew richer and richer. A poor
man borrowed a hundred rubles from the miser, calling St. George as
witness that he would pay; but he died in debt. The rich brother came
to the widow, and said that he would get his money from St. George if
not from the dead man. He pulled down an image of the saint from the
wall, dug up the corpse, and spat upon them both. At this juncture
the good brother came by, and gave his last hundred rubles to put
the matter right. He then went to a large city, where the king's
daughter had eaten all the deacons who watched with her dead body. So
when volunteers were called for to stay with her, the hero offered
to undertake the task at the advice of an old man, who promised to
pray for his safety on condition of receiving half his winnings. He
received payment in advance from the king, and divided with the old
man, by whom he was given a sanctified coal, a taper, a cross, and a
scapulary, together with advice how to act. So he entered the chapel,
lighted his taper, closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and
enclosed himself in a circle marked with the coal near the head of
the bier. At cockcrow the vampire came out all blue and grinning;
but, though she yelled horribly, she could not touch the man in the
circle, who put the cross in the coffin. At the second cockcrow she
tried to get into the coffin, and unavailingly begged him to take
out the cross. At the third cockcrow he put the scapulary on her,
whereupon she rose and thanked him, promising to be his wife and
servant. So in the morning the hero married her and received the
kingdom from her father. To their chamber that night came the old man,
and recalled the agreement to divide. He cut the lady into halves,
minced her flesh on the table, and blew on the bits, whereupon she
came together more beautiful than ever. The helper then threw off
his gaberdine, and showed himself to be St. George.
In the two stories just summarized The Grateful Dead is clear enough,
though in VI. St. George has ousted the ghost from part of its proper
functions, just as the angel does in Tobit, Russian II., and Simrock
IV., God in Siberian, and various saints elsewhere. The introduction
in VI. is a unique trait, as far as I know. In both the variants
the main features of the theme appear without distortion, including
the picturesque cleansing of the woman by actual division. The
Poison Maiden, however, has been replaced by a story of similar
character, but of different content, which I have not elsewhere found
compounded with The Grateful Dead. A vampire infests a church (or a
churchyard). A soldier is sent to watch nights, and to try to dislodge
her. He successfully counters her tricks, and finally gets hold of
something belonging to her, which he refuses to return. Thereupon she
is reduced to submission, promises him happiness, and is married to
him with the consent of the king. [81] This tale, it will be evident,
bears a strong likeness to The Poison Maiden in the figure of the
heroine, though it certainly is independent. The vital difference
between the two is the absence of any helping friend in the story of
the vampire. Because of the lack of this figure it seems improbable
that the tale was compounded with The Grateful Dead without the
intermediary stage in which The Poison Maiden appears. I regard the
vampire as usurping the place of the possessed maiden, and the two
Russian variants as a secondary growth. Given the normal form of the
compound as it appears in Russian II., for instance, there would be
no difficulty in substituting an even more gruesome figure for that
of the heroine there depicted, and in making the hero's danger lie
in a prenuptial attack on her part.
The three Servian tales, which fall in this section, differ widely
in their characteristics. The first of them, Servian II., [82] is
the most nearly normal. Vlatko goes into the world to trade, but
pays all his money to free from debt a corpse, which creditors are
digging up in order to vent their spite upon it. He returns home,
and is sent out again by his parents, receiving a greater sum of
money and, from his mother, an apple by means of which he can tell
the intentions of anyone who desires his friendship by the way. [83]
He is joined by a man, who cuts the apple into two exact halves,
and so is accepted as a friend. After Vlatko has prospered in trade,
the friend proposes that he marry the emperor's daughter, with whom
ninety-nine men have already died on the wedding night. Arrangements
are made, and the friend keeps watch in the bridal chamber. During
the night he cuts off the heads of three snakes, which come from the
lady's mouth. Sometime afterwards all three set out for Vlatko's home;
and on the way the hero divides his property with his friend. Jestingly
the latter proposes that they divide the wife, and, after blindfolding
the husband, shakes her three times, when three dead snakes come out
of her. Thereupon he disappears.
Like Armenian and Gypsy, this variant has the ghost cut off the head of
the monster (here three snakes) that possesses the maiden. The actual
division of the woman as it appears in those tales occurs here as a
mere jest, which is the case with most of the European versions. [84]
Servian III. has a more romantic character. The daughter of an emperor
had been married thirteen times, but each of her bridegrooms had died
on the wedding night. A certain prince, who had fallen in love with
her through a dream, set out for her castle. On the way he paid the
debts of a poor man, whose corpse was held by creditors, and buried
him. Soon after, he was met by a man who became his servant, and won
a castle for him by a wonderful adventure. After the wedding this
man killed the snakes that came out of the bride, and also caused
her to disgorge three snake eggs by threatening her with his drawn
sword. He then disappeared.
This variant shows traces of foreign substance in the dream and
the winning of the castle by the unrevealed companion. Possibly the
latter trait unites it with the combined type of which The Water of
Life is one of the elements. It will be noticed that the division of
the property and of the woman is not brought into question, though
the sword is used somewhat incongruously for the removal of the last
traces of the heroine's snaky infestation. Thus, by an evident change
in structure, the identity of the hero's companion is never explained.
With Servian IV. [85] we encounter a most serious problem, which must
receive special treatment later on, [86]--the relation of The Grateful
Dead to The Thankful Beasts theme. A poor youth three times set free
a gold-fish which he had three times caught. Later he was cast out of
his father's house and sent into the world. He was joined by a man,
who swore friendship with him on a sword, and accompanied him to a
city where many men had been mysteriously slain while undertaking
to pass a night with the king's daughter. The hero undertook the
adventure, and was saved by his companion, who cut off the head of
a serpent that came from the princess's mouth. In the morning the
youth was married to the lady, and divided all his property with his
helper. On their way home the latter demanded half of the bride, and,
while she was held by two servants, swung a sword above her. With
a shriek she cast first two sections, and finally the tail, of a
serpent from her mouth. Thereupon the friend leaped into the sea,
for he was the gold-fish.
The burial of the dead has here been ousted by a good deed which the
hero does to a gold-fish. That the trait is foreign to the type,
however, seems clear. From the time when the companion appears to
the hero, the story follows the normal course until the very end,
when the man unexpectedly leaps into the sea. The thankful dead has
been replaced by the thankful beast, but the tale really belongs to
the present category, since otherwise it has all the characteristics
of the type. Thus the division of the woman is almost precisely
similar to that of Armenian and Gypsy--that is, the sword is raised,
and the woman disgorges the serpent with a scream. That it comes out
piecemeal may be a faulty recollection of the actual division. As so
often, it is not stated that the companion made a share of the gains
a condition of his help.
Bulgarian is in some respects very primitive, though fragmentary. A
father sends his son out into the world to gain experience. The youth
is joined by an archangel, who promises him assistance on condition
that he will pay their joint expenses and will be obedient. The
companion kills a negro and a serpent, and goes with the hero into
their den, where the adventurers find, but leave, great treasure. They
come to a city where the king's daughter has been thrice married,
each time only to have her bridegroom die on the wedding night. Now
she is to be given to any man who can live with her one night; and
many wooers have died in the attempt. The youth offers himself as a
suitor, and is saved by the archangel, who draws a serpent out of the
woman. Later he helps the hero to get the wealth previously found in
the cave, and demands the division of everything, even the wife. When
he cuts her in two, many little snakes fall out of her body. He then
unites her, and gives the hero all the riches they have obtained.
The burial of the dead has entirely disappeared, as will be observed,
though the other traits of the story show that we must regard it as
of the type now under consideration. The appearance of the archangel
as companion, and the plunder which they take by the way, suggest the
influence of Tobit, which indeed appears as a folk-tale in the same
collection. [87] The conditions made by the angel are only slightly
altered from the normal form, while every other feature is found
intact, even to the actual division of the woman.
Esthonian II. has altogether lost the essential features of our theme;
and it has besides put in several traits from a maerchen, which, as
we shall soon see, is joined to ours with considerable frequency. The
inclusion of this variant here is justified only by some vague traces
indicating that the extraneous parts of the narrative have replaced
others which, if preserved, would make it an ordinary representative
of The Grateful Dead.
A certain couple had a weak-minded son, who could not learn. Wishing
to get rid of him, the father took the boy into a forest and gave
him gladly to an old man whom he chanced to meet. From the man the
youth received books in foreign tongues, which he learned to read in a
day. He then wandered till he came to a city, where lived a princess
who was in the power of devils and went to church with them every
night. The hero watched in the church for three nights, with three,
six, and twelve candles, successively. Thus on the third night he
freed the princess and married her, receiving half the kingdom. He then
sought the old man, who told him to cut the woman in halves and divide
her. The old man halved her himself, when there sprang out a serpent,
a toad, and a lizard. After this he gave her back to her husband.
The obscurity of motivation in this tale makes apparent the extensive
revision that it has undergone. The introduction is nowhere else
found combined, as far as I know, with the stories of our cycle. The
characteristics of The Poison Maiden are sufficiently evident in the
conclusion; but there seems to be no way to account for the peculiar
form of demonic possession, together with the actual division of
the woman, except by supposing, with Dutz, [88] that the variant has
lost the part concerning the burial of the dead man. If this be true,
the story belongs in the category where it is here placed.
The Finnish variant [89] presents difficulties of a somewhat different
sort. A merchant's son, to whom it has been foretold that he will marry
a three-horned maiden, goes abroad to escape this fate. There he sees
the corpse of a debtor hanging nailed to a church wall, and insulted
by the passers-by. He expends all but nine silver kopecks in rescuing
the body, and turns homeward. He is joined by a companion, who makes
the money last three days, and on the fourth arranges for him to marry
the three-horned daughter of a king. On the wedding night the helper
brings the hero fresh-cut twigs. By beating the maiden with these her
blood is purified, the horns drop off, and she becomes very beautiful.
No new material is here introduced; but the handling is considerably
changed, and the narrative abridged. The woman in the case is
three-horned instead of possessed by snakes, nor is there any hint of
harm to the bridegroom. A reminiscence of the division of the woman,
though not of the dowry, appears in the beating which the ghostly
companion gives her, whereby she is freed from her horns and made very
beautiful. The variant appears to be weakened by frequent retelling.
Rumanian I. is more striking, since it has undergone both revision
and addition. The only daughter of an emperor wears out twelve pairs
of slippers every night, until her father offers her hand and the
heirship of the kingdom to any man who can explain this extraordinary
and costly habit. Many men of high birth and low make the attempt
unsuccessfully. Meanwhile, a certain peasant, whose servant had died
when his year of service was but half ended, had placed the body in a
chest under the roof in revenge for his disappointment. The new servant
had discovered this, and had given the corpse the rites due the dead,
as far as permitted by his master. When he departs at the end of
his year of service, the dead man comes from the earth, thanks him,
and proposes that they swear on the cross to be brothers. So they do,
and go on together till they come to an iron wood. The vampire breaks
off a twig, and casts it to the earth in the place where the emperor's
daughter comes at night with the sons of the dragon. When she appears,
she sees the broken twig, and is afraid. So she goes to the copper
wood, where she sees another twig broken by the vampire, and hastens
on to the place where the sons of the dragon dwell. It is in going
so far that she wears out her slippers. When she comes to the place,
and is about to sit down at table, she drops her handkerchief. The
vampire, who has followed her from the copper wood in the form of a
cat, takes it away, as he does also the spoon that falls from her
hand and the ring that falls from her finger. He goes back to the
copper wood with them, and explains everything to his friend. The
latter takes them to the emperor and wins the lady.
This curious tale has several elements which make it difficult to
classify. As far as the kindness to the dead goes, the matter is
simple. Instead of an agreement between the companions to divide their
gains, however, an oath of brotherhood is introduced. This is probably
a local substitution, since it has long been a custom of the Slavs of
the south to swear brotherhood on the cross, [90] but it necessitates
the further loss of important features at the end of the narrative
such as the saving of the bridegroom on the wedding night and the
division of the maiden (or some modification of that feature) by the
vampire. Indeed, the heroine is rather enchanted than possessed. The
whole series of acts by which she is freed introduces traits into the
narrative which we have hitherto met only in Esthonian II. Were it
not that they are repeated in all the other members of the group save
Breton I., which we have still to consider, there would be considerable
doubt about placing this variant under the category of The Grateful
Dead + The Poison Maiden. As it is, we can with security say that
this and the following versions belong here. They have simply modified
the normal form by the addition of certain elements from another theme.
The three Irish versions all have this form. In Irish I. a king's son,
while hunting, pays five pounds to the creditors of a dead man, so that
he may be buried. Later the prince kills a raven, and declares that he
will marry only that woman who has hair as black as the raven, skin as
white as snow, and cheeks as red as blood upon the snow. [91] On his
way to find her he meets a red-haired youth, who takes service with him
for half of what they may gain in a year and a day. The youth obtains
for him from various giants by threats of what his master will do [92]
horses of gold and silver, a sword of light, a cloak of darkness,
and the slippery shoes. When they come to the castle of the maiden,
he helps the Prince to keep over night a comb and a pair of scissors
in spite of enchantment, and he obtains at her bidding the lips of
the giant enchanter, which are the last that she has kissed. He then
tells the prince and the maiden's father to strike her three times,
when three devils come from her mouth in fire. So the prince marries
her, and is ready at the end of a year and a day to divide his child
[93] at the servant's command. But the latter explains that he is
the soul of the dead man, and disappears.
Irish II. differs little except in details from the above. The king
of Ireland's son sets forth to find a woman with hair as black as the
raven, skin as white as snow, and cheeks as red as blood. Ten pounds
of the twenty which he takes with him he pays to release the corpse
of a man on which writs are laid. He meets a short green man, who
goes with him for his wife's first kiss; and he comes upon a gunner,
a man listening to the growing grass, a swift runner, a man blowing a
windmill with one nostril, and a strong man, all of whom accompany him
for the promise of a house and garden apiece. After various adventures
in the castles of giants, they arrive in the east, where the prince's
lady dwells. She says that her suitor must loose her geasa from her
before she can marry him. With the help of the short green man he
gives her the scissors, the comb, and the King of Porson's head,
which she requires. He is then told to get three bottles of healing
water from the well of the western world. The runner sets out for
them, and is stopped and put to sleep by an old hag on the way back;
but the earman hears him snoring, the gunman sees him and wakes him
up, and the windman keeps the hag back till he returns. Finally the
strong man crushes three miles of steel needles so that the prince
can walk over them. Thus the bride is won. The short green man claims
the first kiss, and finds her full of serpents, which he picks out of
her. He then tells the youth that he is the man who was in the coffin,
and disappears with his fellows.
In Irish III. three brothers set out from home with three pounds
apiece. The youngest gives his all to pay a dead man's debts to three
giants. He shares his food with a poor man, who offers to be his
servant, saying that the corpse was his brother, and had appeared
to him in a dream. [94] Jack the servant frightens the first giant
into giving up his sword of sharpness, the second giant his cloak
of darkness, and the third giant his shoes of swiftness. The two
Jacks come to the castle of a king, whose daughter has to be wooed
by accomplishing three tasks. Jack the servant follows the princess
in the cloak of darkness to the demon king of Moroco and rescues
her scissors. Next day Jack the master runs a race with the king and
beats him because shod with the shoes of swiftness. That night Jack
the servant goes again to the demon king and cuts off his head with
the sword of sharpness, thus accomplishing the third task. So Jack
the master marries the princess.
These three variants make evident the nature of the foreign material
in Esthonian II. and Rumanian I. The whole sub-group, indeed, has
in combination with The Grateful Dead + The Poison Maiden important
elements from the themes of The Water of Life and The Lady and the
Monster. These features will be considered in detail in a later
chapter, [95] when we study the general type The Grateful Dead +
The Water of Life. For the present it is enough to indicate how the
addition has affected the type with which we are immediately concerned.
Of the three Irish tales, the first two have best preserved the
characteristics of the compound as found in Asia and Eastern
Europe. Irish I. has all the essential features of Armenian and
Gypsy,--for example, the burial, the agreement to divide what is
gained, and the removal of the evil things by which the woman is
possessed. To be sure, the latter are devils, not serpents, and the
woman is beaten, not divided. Yet the division appears in another
form, since the hero is ready to share his child with the red-haired
man, a trait connected with the theme of Amis and Amiloun. [96] Irish
II. is in some respects more changed, and in some respects less, than
Irish I. The agreement to divide is changed to a promise that the
green man shall have the first kiss of the bride. On the other hand,
the serpents in the woman's body are retained, a trait which is very
primitive and very important in enabling us to identify the position
of these variants. Irish III. has lost most of the typical features
of the compound. Kennedy's evidence shows that Jack the servant
is to be regarded as really the thankful dead; but the agreement
to divide the gains and the removal of the demons or serpents have
entirely disappeared under pressure from the secondary theme, the
essential idea of which is the accomplishment by the hero of certain
unspelling tasks. In conjunction with the other two variants, however,
the position of Irish III. is clear.
Very different from the Irish tales is Breton I., since under the
influence of a tendency very common in Brittany, the narrative
has become a Mary legend and has lost its clearness of outline in
the process. Yet it really belongs to this group, replacing by a
dragon-fight and a rescue of the hero from the villain the cleansing
of the bride. At least, I am led to the belief that such is the case
by the fact that the story fits into no other category. Nor is it
surprising that the position of the tale should be obscure in view
of the grotesque transformation which it has undergone.
A youth named Mao pays all his money to have the body of a beggar
interred. The spirit of the dead man helps him win the daughter of a
rich man after killing a dragon in the stables. The lady's treacherous
cousin tries to burn him alive in an old mill, whence he is saved by
the ghost. He forgives the man, and is tricked into promising him
half of all his possessions in order to save his wife. When a son
is born, the villain demands its division. At the hero's appeal, the
Virgin comes with the ghost and takes Mao and his family to heaven,
while the cousin is sent to hell.
Norwegian II. and Danish III. stand together, since the relation of
the latter (Andersen's Reisekammeraten) to the former is simply that
of a literary redaction to its original. A brief analysis of each is,
however, necessary.
In Norwegian II. a young peasant on account of a dream sets forth to
win the hand of a princess. On his way he gives most of his money
to bury a dishonest tapster, who has been executed and left frozen
in a block of ice outside a church for passers-by to spit upon. As
he proceeds, the youth is joined by the ghost of the tapster, who
accompanies him. They go to a hill, where they get a magic sword from
one witch, a golden ball of yarn from another, and a magical hat from
a third. Of the yarn they make a bridge, and so come to the princess's
castle. The hero is told to keep her scissors overnight and loses them;
but the companion rides behind the princess on her goat in the hat
of invisibility, when she goes to her troll lover, and so rescues
them. The hero is told to keep a golden ball overnight, and the
same adventure is repeated. The hero is then told to bring what the
princess is thinking of. The companion rides again with the princess
and beats her with his sword, gets the troll's head for his master,
and so enables him to win the lady. On the wedding night the hero flogs
his wife at the advice of the companion, only just in time to save
himself, indeed, as she is about to kill him with a butcher-knife. He
dips her into a tub of whey, whence she comes out black as a raven,
but after a rubbing with buttermilk and new milk she becomes very
beautiful. The companion discovers his identity and disappears.
In Danish III. poor John, whose father has died, dreams of a beautiful
princess, and sets forth to find her. He does various kind deeds by
the way, and one night takes refuge from the storm in a church. There
he sees two evil men dragging a corpse from its coffin, and pays his
all that it may be buried. He is joined by the ghost of the dead
man, who accompanies him. They get three rods from an old woman,
who is healed by the comrade's salve, and they come to a city,
where they get a sword from a showman, whose puppets are made alive
by the salve. They come to a mountain, where the companion cuts off
the wings of a great white swan and carries them along. They come at
length to the city of the beautiful princess, who is a witch. Anyone
can marry her who guesses three things, but every man who has tried
has failed and been killed. John tells the king that he will try to
win her, and is told to come the next day. In the night the comrade
puts on the wings of the swan, takes the largest of the rods, and
follows the princess when she flies out to the palace of her wizard
lover. There he hears that she is to think of her shoe when her suitor
comes in the morning. All the way to the mountain and back the comrade
beats her so that the blood flows. The next morning he tells John to
guess her shoe when asked what she has thought of. Everyone save the
princess rejoices when the youth guesses right. The next night the
companion beats the princess with two rods as she flies, and learns
that she is to think of her glove. Again everyone is pleased with
John's answer. The third night the companion takes all three rods
and the sword. He cuts off the wizard's head when he learns that the
princess is to think of that, and he gives it to John, wrapped in a
handkerchief. John produces this when asked by the princess what she
has thought about, and so he wins her. That night, at the bidding
of the companion, he dips her three times in a tub of water, into
which have been shaken three swan's feathers and some drops from a
flask. The first time she becomes a black swan, the second a white
swan, and the third a more beautiful princess than ever. The next
day the comrade explains his identity and disappears.
It will be seen that Andersen simply embroidered the Norwegian tale
as was his wont, adding a good many picturesque details, and softening
some features. The changes do not materially affect the course of the
narrative, nor need they delay us here, interesting though they are
of themselves, [97] since the position of the variant with reference
to the story-type under consideration is perfectly clear. Norwegian
II. demands further attention. Like Esthonian II., Rumanian I., and
Irish I., II., and III., it has the form The Grateful Dead + The Poison
Maiden + The Water of Life. The burial of the dead is undisturbed,
but the agreement between the companions to divide their gains has
entirely disappeared, perhaps because the secondary theme takes so
large a place. The removal of the poisonous habitants of the bride
is clearly indicated, though it has been weakened into a flogging,
which is given, however, only just in time to save the bridegroom
from death. The subsequent milk bath seems to show a conflict between
the conclusions of the two subsidiary motives--the end of The Poison
Maiden being release from something like demonic possession, and that
of The Water of Life in this form being release from a spell--though
perhaps the bath is only a reduplication of the purifying process.
Simrock X. is not unlike the two variants just cited. A king's son
wastes his property, and is sent out to shift for himself. He pays
the debts of a naked corpse, and has only enough money left to pay
his reckoning at his inn. So he takes the body to a wood, and buries
it there. As he goes his way, he is met by a man, who becomes his
follower and secures three rods, a sword, and a pair of wings from a
dead raven. They come to a castle, where to win the king's daughter
the prince has to guess her thoughts for three days in succession. The
companion flies with her each night when she goes to her wizard for
counsel, and learns that the prince must say "bread," "the princess's
jewels," and "the wizard's head" in turn. On the last night he cuts off
the wizard's head and brings it to his master, who displays it at court
and so breaks the spell. When the couple are married, the companion
explains that he is the spirit of the dead man, and disappears.
This variant obviously belongs to the same type as those preceding. As
in Irish I. and II. the hero is a prince instead of a youth of
low birth; but there is no general uniformity in this trait. The
agreement of division and the violent dispossession of the heroine have
disappeared. Indeed, so far has The Water of Life supplanted the other
motives that the position of the tale is only evident when it is placed
side by side with other versions of the same class. When so considered,
however, the peculiar features of the succession of feats by which
the bride is won appear very prominently, and establish the type.
Harz I. stands closer to Norwegian II. than the preceding. A youth pays
his all for the burial of a poor man, whose ghost joins him. They go
to a city, where a bespelled princess kills all her suitors who cannot
answer a riddle. The companion spirit tells the youth to save her,
explaining his own identity. He gives wings and an iron rod to the
hero, who flies with the princess to a mountain spirit, and hears that
he must guess that she is thinking of her father's white horse. The
next night the youth follows her with two rods and is thus enabled
to guess that she is thinking of her father's sword. The third night
he follows her with two rods and a sword, with which he cuts off the
monster's head. This he shows her in the morning when asked the usual
question, and so he breaks the spell. On the wedding night he dips her
thrice in water. The first time she comes from the bath a raven, the
second time a dove, and the third time in her own shape, but purified.
The burial is here retained, but the agreement is entirely
lost. Though the variant follows Norwegian II. in general, even to
such details as the preliminary beating of the lady, and the bath
of final purification, the important trait of flogging the bride,
by which the hero is saved on the wedding night, has altogether
disappeared. Like Simrock X., the tale has obscured the first of the
two secondary themes for the benefit of the second. Its position seems
sure, however, as a member of the little group now being considered.
Jack the Giant-Killer clearly belongs to this group, approaching
Irish I. in form. The earliest complete version that I know is
unfortunately not older than the eighteenth century, and perhaps has
lost several features of interest which might be found in earlier
forms. King Arthur's son sets forth to free a lady possessed of seven
spirits. At a market town in Wales he pays almost all his money to
release the body of a man who died in debt. He gives his last twopence
to an old woman, who meets him after he has left the town. Jack the
Giant-Killer is so pleased with these good deeds that he becomes the
prince's servant. They go to a giant's castle together. Jack tells
the giant that a mighty prince is coming [98] and locks him up,
so that the two take all his gold. Jack takes also an old coat and
cap, a rusty sword, and a pair of slippers. They arrive at the lady's
house. She tells the prince to show her in the morning a handkerchief,
which she conceals in her dress. By putting on the coat of darkness,
and the shoes of swiftness, and following her when she goes to her
demon lover, Jack gets the handkerchief for his master. Next day the
lady tells the prince to get the lips which she will kiss the last
that night. Jack follows her again and cuts off the demon's head,
which the prince produces, thus breaking the spell that has bound
her to the evil spirits.
This variant, even in what is probably a mutilated state, is strikingly
similar to Irish I. in such details as the means used to follow the
lady, and the tasks imposed upon the suitor. Indeed, the fact that
the adventures take place in Wales might lead one to suppose that
the story in this form was Celtic, were not the knowledge of it so
persistent in England also. Several features are obscured, at least
in the form from which I cite. Though the burial of the dead is given
clearly enough, and the fact that the lady is possessed is insisted on,
the prince is kind to an old woman as well as to a dead man, and Jack
is certainly not understood to be a ghost. All mention of an agreement
between the companions, and of the means taken to free the heroine
from her possession by dividing her or flogging her, has likewise
disappeared. However, the correspondence both in outline and in detail
with Irish I. is sufficient to establish the position of the variant.
In the Old Wives' Tale the theme of The Grateful Dead is imbedded in
such a mass of folk-lore and folk-tales that it is quite impossible
to restore adequately the narrative as Peele found it. He treated the
story as a literary artist, of course, modifying and adding details to
suit the scheme of his play. The outline of the story, as Peele gives
it, is as follows: A king, or a lord, or a duke, has a daughter as
white as snow and as red as blood, who is carried off by a conjurer
in the form of a dragon. Her two brothers set forth to seek her,
and by a cross meet an old man named Erestus, who calls himself the
White Bear of England's Wood. He, they learn, has been enchanted by
the conjurer, and is a man by day and a bear by night. He tells them
of his own troubles, and gives them good advice. Later he is met by
the wandering knight Eumenides, who likewise is seeking the lady
Delia and is counselled:
"Bestowe thy almes, give more than all,
Till dead men's bones come at thy call."
Eumenides pays all his money except three farthings to bury the body
of Jack, while the conjurer compels Delia to goad her brothers at the
work to which he has set them. Eumenides is overtaken by the ghost of
Jack, who becomes his servant, or "copartner," provides him with money,
and slays the conjurer while invisible, thus breaking the spell of all
the enchanted persons. Jack then demands his half of Delia, refuses
to take her whole, and, when Eumenides prepares to cut her in twain,
explains that he has asked this only as a trial of constancy. He
quickly disappears.
Dutz has already shown [99] that Old Wives' Tale has three of the
essential features of The Grateful Dead, viz.: the burial of the
dead with the peculiar prophetic advice of Erestus, the reward of
the hero by assistance in getting a wife, and the sharing of the
woman. Because of the non-schematic nature of his discussion he did
not make any attempt to classify the variant more specifically. In
his edition of the play, [100] Professor Gummere, in indicating some
of the folk-lore which Peele used, has likewise called attention
[101] to the connection with our theme. Of particular importance is
his hint as to the likeness of the variant to the story which I call
Irish III. It is practicable, however, to carry the matter somewhat
further. The adventures of Delia, Eumenides, and Jack are all that
really concern us. It will be seen that these conform in essentials
to the type under consideration. There is the burial, the agreement,
the death of the wizard, and the division. To be sure, as in other
instances, the dispossession of the woman has been obscured by other
elements; yet the type is unmistakable, it seems to me. One trait in
particular connects Old Wives' Tale with Irish I. and II. In all three
the hero seeks a maiden who is white as snow and red as blood. On
the other hand, the ghost is called Jack as in Irish III. and the
English tale which bears Jack's name. Because of these similarities
and discrepancies one is forced to conclude that for this part of his
play Peele drew upon some version of Jack the Giant-Killer, which was
far better preserved than the forms known to-day. His original must
have had many points in common with the tale as extant in Ireland,
though we need not believe that he knew it in other than English dress.
It yet remains to consider the relations of the two sets of variants
discussed in this chapter to The Poison Maiden and to one another. The
group is peculiar in that all the members of it are folk-tales, save
three: Tobit, Danish III. and Old Wives' Tale. The two latter are,
however, immediately derived from popular narratives of an easily
discernible type. Thus Tobit is an anomaly from almost any point of
view, obscure in its origin and possessed of only trivial influence
upon the other tales belonging to the same group. Of the twenty-six
variants, fifteen have The Grateful Dead + The Poison Maiden simply,
while the other eleven add thereto more or less distinct elements of
The Water of Life.
In the following versions the hero is saved on the wedding night, or
the bride is purified by some means: Tobit, Armenian, Gypsy, Siberian,
Russian I., Russian II., Russian III., Russian IV., Russian V., Russian
VI., Servian II., Servian III., Servian IV., Bulgarian, Esthonian II.,
Irish I., Irish II., Danish III., Norwegian II., and Harz I. Not all
the stories which I have placed in the group, it will be observed,
have this feature; but, out of all the variants of The Grateful Dead
enumerated in the bibliographical list, not one has it except members
of the group. Now this purification of the bride, by means of which
the hero is saved, is precisely the element of The Poison Maiden which
is most essential. There can be no doubt, therefore, that this theme
actually united with a more primitive form of The Grateful Dead to
form the compound discussed in this chapter. The combination must
have been made very early and in Asia, as Tobit and Armenian bear
witness. It will be noted that all the variants, save Finnish, which
have the simple compound, retain the rescue of the bridegroom, while
only half of those where a subsidiary motive has been introduced have
the like. Apparently the intrusion of new matter of a very romantic
sort tended to obscure the original climax of the combined type.
Another feature of much importance in this connection is the division
of the woman, or whatever is substituted for it. In a large majority
of the variants studied, which have the trait at all, the purpose
of the division proposed or accomplished is to test the fidelity of
the hero. Hippe believed [102] that this was a modification of the
original trait, an opinion which would be justified if the compound
type The Grateful Dead + The Poison Maiden only were considered. The
versions which have the purification are the following: Armenian,
Gypsy, Siberian, Russian II., Russian IV., Russian V., Russian VI.,
Servian II., Servian III., Servian IV., Bulgarian, Esthonian II.,
Finnish, Irish I., Irish II., and Old Wives' Tale. In these the
purpose of the division, or beating, whether actually performed or
not, is the disposal of serpents or other venomous creatures by which
the woman is possessed. [103] It will be noted, however, that all
of these variants are of the type treated in the present chapter. If
the division for the sake of purification were then regarded as more
primitive and older than the division for the sake of sharing the
gains or of testing the hero, it would naturally follow that all
the combined types must proceed from The Grateful Dead + The Poison
Maiden. Hippe followed the logical course from his premises in so
regarding the relationship of the groups. [104] However, it seems
clear to me--and it will be increasingly evident as we study the
other groups--that the division for purification belongs solely to
the compound treated in this chapter. It would follow logically from
combining The Poison Maiden, where a friend saves the hero from the
fatal embraces of a woman, with The Grateful Dead, where the hero
is willing to divide his wife to satisfy the agreement which he has
made with his benefactor. Only by such an explanation is it possible
to account for the development of the several groups from a common
root. The barbarous character of the division for purification,
and the softening which it has undergone in the group which we have
been studying, give it an appearance of antiquity to which it has
no right. In point of fact, it belongs only to this group, which is
thus clearly set off from all the others as an independent branch. The
division for the sake of fulfilling an obligation is more widespread,
though it has suffered many modifications.