a lion."
"Well, then, thank God that you have never come across it."
"How does it look?"
"It is a huge beast with a head so big as I have never seen a head
before, and a mouth so large that it could devour us in one bite. As
to its skin, I have never yet seen any like it, all red with stripes
and patches of every colour. It stands on huge feet, and whenever it
walks it scatters fire right and left."
"That may all be as you describe it," said the wolf, "but still it
might also be otherwise. I should like to see it myself, and I might
perhaps know what it is."
"Very well then, let us go higher up the hill, where we can look down
on the field."
"I would rather see it from here, if possible, near at hand."
"As you please. I will squat down on my hind-legs and lift you up
with my fore-legs, so that you can see some distance from here."
The lion did as he said, and taking the wolf in his fore-paws he lifted
him up. But whilst doing so he pressed the wolf so hard that he nearly
lost his breath, and his eyes began starting out of his head. When
the lion saw it, he said, "You cur, you talk bravely and laugh at
me who have been close to that terrible beast, and you, who are so
far away and scarcely able to get a glimpse of it, you are already
losing your breath, and your eyes are starting out of your head."
With these words he threw the wolf down, and away he ran as fast as
his legs would carry him.
This story reminds us of the framework of the famous Indian
Panchatantra, which had so successful a run through the literature of
East and West, becoming one of the most popular books of the Middle
Ages, better known as the story of Kalila and Dimna, or even falsely,
Syntipas.
In Krauss (No. 2) the animal which frightens the lion, or rather
imposes on his credulity, is an ass. The ass makes the lion believe
that he, the ass, was the real king of beasts. The wolf, to whom
the lion says that he was not the real king but that another animal
claimed the right to rule, listens incredulously. The lion ties their
two tails together and takes the wolf to the summit of a hill, from
which they can see the ass. The lion, misunderstanding the exclamation
of the wolf and thinking that he said "there are six," runs away as
fast as he can, dragging the wolf behind him and killing him in his
mad flight. It is obviously the same tale but slightly varied in
the details. In the Rumanian the lion never gets so near the other
animal as to be undeceived by his own sight. He merely sees from a
distance an animal the like of which he had never seen before, and
he works himself up into a great fright. This seems to be the more
primitive form. In the South Slavonic, the lion is simply deceived
by an animal with which he ought to be familiar enough.
A curious and corrupted version is found in Grimm (No. 132), where
only the tying of the tails has been retained. In this version the
horse is tied to the lion, and he drags the lion to his master's house.
Similar is the story of the dib-dib (the name used by the woman for the
dropping rain), whom the leopard, who listens at the door, takes to be
a great monster. A man jumps on the back of the frightened leopard,
thinking it was an ass. The leopard carries him to the dib-dib,
and he runs away. He meets a fox, who laughs at his fear, and they
tie their tails together. The man, who had sought safety in the
branches of the trees, says that the fox had brought the leopard to be
killed. The leopard, who had distrusted the fox, runs away with him,
and as their tails are knotted together, both get killed. (Hanauer,
p. 278.) (Cf. also Afanasief, No. 19.)
CXV.
THE MARRIAGE OF TOM AND THE VIXEN.
Once upon a time there lived a very poor man who had a wife and
family, and there was also a tomcat prowling about the house. One day
a neighbour took pity on them and gave the man a handful of flour
of maize. Overjoyed he went home, and mixing it with water made a
nice dish. Pouring it out on to the plates, he and his wife and the
children sat round eating as much as they could.
Tom, smelling the dish, began to mew, and the father, taking pity on
Tom, said to the children:
"Poor Tom is starving too, give him some of the mameliga" (maize
pudding). But they said, "He must have it in a better style. We will
gird him with a sword round his loins, and he will draw it and cut for
himself as big a slice as he likes." And so they did. But when Tom saw
himself girded with a sword, which clanked as he moved about, he said,
"I am much too good for this family," and off he went into the world.
On his way he met a vixen, and she asked him:
"Where are you going, Sir Knight?"
He said, "I am going to get married."
"Will you marry me?"
Tom replied, "Yes, you are just as good as any other bride."
So they went together to the vixen's lair, and a happy life began
for our friend. For the vixen went catching birds, rabbits, and other
animals, and bringing them home to feed her husband.
One day the vixen met the wolf. "Hallo, sister," he cried, "have you
got a meal ready?"
"I have and I have not. I am married now, and I have a soldier for
a husband."
"I should like to see him," said the wolf; "show him to me."
"Come, I will show him to you," said the vixen, and going to her lair
called Tom, who came out and met the wolf. Tom came out with his sword
clanking behind him, and when he saw that huge beast with his huge
head, his hair stood on end and he began to spit and to snarl for
very fear. The wolf, thinking that Tom was getting angry and ready
to draw his sword and cut him up, turned tail and ran away.
Running very fast he met the bear, who asked him:
"What is the matter with you that you run so fast? Who is running
after you?" The wolf told him all that had happened, and how the vixen
had got a mighty soldier for a husband, who killed anybody who came
near him.
The bear began to get curious and ran to the vixen's lair, and the
same thing happened to him, for Tom came out with his hair standing
on end, and growled, and snarled, and spat, shaking all the time with
fear. The bear ran away as fast as he could and came to the wolf,
and they discussed between themselves how best to get rid of that
terrible Tom, as their lives were no longer safe. So they called the
hare and the lion into counsel. These decided to invite the vixen and
her Tom to a banquet at which they would all fall upon him and end his
career. So they spread a table-cloth under a huge tree, but none had
the courage to go and call the guests. The bear said, "Send the wolf,"
but he replied he was too weak and they would catch him. The bear
said he was rather stout and heavy and they would catch him. So the
trouble fell upon the hare. He, poor fellow, could not help himself,
so he went with the message to invite them. But he did not venture
too near. From a distance he called out to them that they were invited
to a banquet, and off he went after he had delivered the message.
When the vixen heard the message she told Tom, and together they went
to the banquet. On the way Tom saw a crow on the top of a tree, and,
as is the way with cats, before one could turn round Tom had climbed
to the top of the tree and had caught the crow. He then killed it,
and threw it down on the ground.
The hosts, who were sitting at the table, saw what had happened,
and said to one another, "Just see what that knight is doing. Even
the people on the very top of the tree are not safe from him. He
catches them and kills them. How then can we fight him on the earth?"
So the lion crawled under the table, the bear climbed up the tree,
and the wolf and the hare hid themselves in a bush.
When the vixen and Tom came to the place, no one was there, and they
wondered where their hosts could be. Whilst they were looking round,
Tom saw the tip of the lion's tail, and, thinking it to be a rat,
he attacked it. When the lion felt someone tugging at his tail he did
not wait any longer, but ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.
When Tom saw that huge lion he got frightened and ran up the tree. Now
the bear saw Tom running up the tree, and he got frightened and
tumbled head over heels down the tree on to the table with Tom after
him, who, being frightened, ran into the bush. There the wolf and the
hare were crouching, hidden away. No sooner did they see Tom than off
they dashed in a fright. Tom ran back to the vixen, who was sitting
at the table thinking with great satisfaction how they had all run
away out of fear of Tom.
She embraced him, and they sat down alone to the banquet and enjoyed
themselves, no one disturbing them.
In Krauss, No. 3, there is a story parallel yet not identical with
it. In the South Slavonic, a cat, together with a dog, a duck and a
gander, defeats the wolf, fox, bear and wild pig arrayed against them
in battle. Tom contributes most to the victory by sudden attacks on
the ear of the hidden pig, and frightening the bear in the tree by
climbing up in fear, etc. In other respects the stories disagree.
The setting is entirely different. The wolf challenged to combat the
dog, who had betrayed him on two occasions, and each one brought his
contingent to the appointed place of battle. The dog brought his
friends of the courtyard, and the wolf his of the forest, and the
battle ended in the discomfiture of the latter as mentioned above.
Another version is found in Haltrich (No. 82), in which a cat feeds on
the carcase of a horse. It is seen successively by the fox, the wolf,
the bear and the wild pig, who get frightened by the sight of a small,
wild beast, which had killed an animal many times their size and was
eating it.
The cat runs after them by mere chance, and manages to bite the pig's
ear and frighten the others to such an extent that they are still
running, all except the wolf, who has fallen on a pointed stick and
got impaled.
Among the Cossack Tales (W. Bain, London 1894, p. 130 ff.) there is
a story similar, not quite identical.
CXVI.
THE STORY OF MAN AND HIS YEARS.
When God had created the world, he called all his creatures together
to grant them their span of life, and to tell them how long they
would live and what manner of life they would lead.
The first to appear before God was man. And God said to him, "Thou,
man, shalt be king of the world, walking erect upon thy feet and
looking up to heaven. I give thee a noble countenance; the power of
thought and judgment shall be thine, and the capacity of disclosing
thy innermost thoughts by means of speech. All that lives and moves
and goes about the earth shall be under thy rule, the winged birds
and the creeping things shall obey thee, thine shall be all the fruits
of the tree and land, and thy life shall be thirty years."
Then man turned away dissatisfied and grumbling. "What is the good
of living in pleasure and in might, if all the years of my life are
to be thirty only?" So did man speak and grumble, especially when he
heard of the years granted to other animals.
The turn came to the ass. He stepped forward to hear what God had
decreed for him. The Creator said, "Thou shalt work hard; thou shalt
carry heavy burdens and be constantly beaten. Thou shalt always be
scolded and have very little rest, thy food shall be a poor one of
thistles and thorns, and thy life shall be fifty years." When the ass
heard what God had decreed for him he fell upon his knees and cried,
"All merciful Creator, am I indeed to lead such a miserable life,
and am I to have such poor food as thistles and thorns. Am I to work
so hard and carry such heavy burdens and then live on for fifty years
in such misery? Have pity on me and take off twenty years." Then man,
greedy of long life, stepped forward and begged for himself these
twenty years which the ass had rejected. And the Lord granted them
to him.
Then came the dog. To him the Creator said, "Thou shalt guard the
house and the property of thy master; thou shalt cling to them as if
thou wast afraid of losing them; thou shalt bark even at the shadow
of the moon, and for all thy trouble thou shalt gnaw bones and eat
raw meat, and thy life shall be forty years."
"All merciful Creator," cried the dog, "if my life is to be of worry
and trouble, and if I am to live on bones and raw stuff, take off,
I pray thee, twenty years."
Again man, greedy of life, stepped forward and begged the Creator to
give him the twenty years rejected by the dog. And the Creator again
granted his request.
Now, it was the turn of the monkey. The Creator said, "Thou shalt only
have the likeness of man, but not be man; thou shalt be stupid and
childish. Thy back shall be bent; thou shalt be an object of mockery
to the children and a laughing-stock of fools, and thy life shall be
sixty years."
When the monkey heard what was decreed for him, he fell upon his
knees and said, "All merciful God, in thy wisdom thou hast decided
that I should be a man and not a man, that my back shall be bent,
that I shall be a laughing-stock for young and fools and I shall be
stupid. Take, in mercy, thirty years off my life." And God, the all
merciful, granted his request.
And again, man, whose greed can never be satisfied, stepped forward and
asked also for these thirty years which the monkey had rejected. And
again God gave them to him.
Then God dismissed all the animals and all his creatures, and each one
went to his appointed station and to the life that has been granted
to him.
And as man has asked, so has it come to pass.
Man lives as a king and ruler over all creatures for the thirty
years which the Lord had given to him, in joy and in happiness,
without care and without trouble.
Then come the years from thirty to fifty, which are the years of
the ass; they are full of hard work, heavy burdens, and little food,
for man is anxious to gather and to lay up something for the years
to come. It could not be otherwise, for were not these the years
which he had taken over from the ass? Then come the years from fifty
to seventy, when man sits at home and guards with great trembling
and fear the little that he possesses, fearful of every shadow,
eating little, always keeping others away lest they rob him of that
which he has gathered, and barking at every one whom he suspects
of wanting to take away what belongs to him. And no wonder that he
behaves like that, for these are the dog's years, which man had asked
for himself. And if a man lives beyond seventy, then his back gets
bent, his face changes, his mind gets clouded, he becomes childish,
a laughing-stock for children, an amusement for the fool, and these
are the years which man had taken over from the monkey.
Thus far the story which I found in some old Rumanian MSS., and which
may, therefore, not be quite of a popular origin. I have retold it here
because we have in it the animal in the man. It may be a caricature,
but it does not show up man to advantage in comparison with the animal
world. And yet, he is endeavouring to conquer the animal, to shake
off the fateful inheritance of greed, and to return to that rule and
kingdom which are his own by the grace of God to his thirtieth year,
and which he endeavours to carry even beyond that limited span of time.
CXVII.
THE JUDGMENT OF THE SOUL OF MAN, ACCUSED AND DEFENDED BY BEAST
AND BIRDS.
When a man dies two angels appear, the good one and the evil one. The
good one walking on his right, and the evil on his left, each one holds
a book in his hand in which man's deeds are written. When the soul
appears before the divine judge, there comes first the cat accusing
the man, and the cat says, "He gave me no peace all my life through;
he put me to catch mice and I often remained hungry. Then man drives
me out of the house, and during daytime he never lets me in."
"What are you talking of? you should be ashamed of yourself," is
the rejoinder of the dog, "you live in a warm house, you have food
in plenty, you have nothing to complain of. What am I to say, who
am kept out in the cold and rain, and have to watch day and night,
and if ever I get a bone thrown at me I think myself happy." The
judge replies: "That is your work; to that you have been appointed:
off with you." The evil angel writes it all down and puts the weight
of guilt on the one scale, and the good angel writes it in his book
and he puts a counter-weight in the other scale.
Then come the birds. First the wild duck. He says, "O unfailing judge,
see how this man has ill-treated us, he comes to our resting-place
and shoots us down mercilessly." "It serves you right," is the reply
of the judge, "if you live as a wild bird, you must be treated like
a wild bird. You ought to be domesticated and no hurt will befall you."
Then the sparrow comes, and he says, "O mighty Lord, this man here
snared us and killed us." And the judge replies, "You have stolen his
corn and destroyed his crop." And other birds, like the finch and the
thrush and the heron, come, and all bring accusations against the man,
and the evil angel enters them in his book.
Then come the good witnesses. First the swallow, and she says, "O
Lord, this man has been kind to us. We built our nest in his house
and under his roof, and he never as much as molested us, and even
when my young spoil the food, which he is preparing under their nest,
he never hurts them." Then the stork comes, he says, "I build my nest
on the very roof of his house, and on his storehouses, and he never
interferes with us, and we hatch our young and feel no hurt. All
merciful father, have mercy on him, as he was full of pity for us."
Then the cuckoo comes, and he said, "I who have been thy servant pray
thee to forgive his sins, for even to me he does no hurt, and though
I often announce death to him, he none the less listens with pleasure
to my call. Have mercy on him and forgive his sins." And so the other
birds come and ask the forgiveness of sin. And the good angel writes
it all down in his book and puts it as counter-weights in his balance,
and often the pleading of the birds opens the gates of heaven to the
human soul.
CXVIII.
THE PILGRIMAGE OF THE SOUL AFTER DEATH.
O rosebush, O rosebush,
Thou art evil tempered!
Why hast thou tarried
And not budded
Since yester-morning
Until this morning?
It was bitter enough to watch,
How they became separated,
The soul from the body.
Going away from the beautiful world,
From the world with the sun shining,
From the blowing wind,
From the flowing waters.
O rosebush, why hast thou hastened not to bud?
I have budded quickly,
For my time also has come,
To go away like thee,
To travel to the setting of the sun,
Where the sun is hiding,
Where the flowers dwell
With all their sisters,
And where the flower of the sun
Sits at the gate of Paradise
To judge the flowers,
Where they have left their scent.
In the evening the rain did fall.
In the night the sky cleared up.
In the dawn the dew has fallen,
And the scent has gone astray.
The soul divided from the body,
Full of grief and sorrow,
Journeys far away.
It reaches the sea.
The sea is raging furiously.
It comes howling and foaming,
Frightening the whole world.
The wave rose up high,
To swallow the world.
It brings in its sweep blackberry trees, elder-trees,
Pines torn from the roots.
On the border of the sea,
Where the pine tree of the fairies stands,
The way across the waters,
The soul stood praying to the pine.
O pine,
Be a brother unto me.
Stretch, oh stretch
Thy boughs,
That I may lay hold of them,
And thus pass across
That wide sea
Which divides me from the world.
I may not stretch my boughs
For thee to lay hold of them,
And to pass across by them,
For on my crest a red hawk has hatched its young,
With a cursed heart
And a proud eye.
Ere thou art aware,
The young will see thee.
They will whistle,
And frighten thee,
And thou art sure to drop into the sea beneath,
And be engulfed there.
Let it be so!
The sea was raging furiously.
It came howling and storming,
Frightening the whole world.
The wave rose,
To swallow the world,
And brought in its sweep,
Blackberry trees,
Elder trees,
Pines torn from their roots.
On the shore of the seas,
Where the pine tree of the fairies stands,
The passage across the water,
The soul stood praying to the pine:
O pine tree,
Be a brother unto me.
Stretch, I pray thee,
Thy trunk,
That I may pass across the seas
Which separate one world from the other.
I may not stretch my trunk
For thee to pass,
For in it the barking otter has laid her young,
Which lie in wait for men.
Before thou art ware,
The young ones will find thee.
They will bark at thee,
And frighten thee,
And thou art sure to drop into the sea beneath,
And be engulfed by it.
Let it be so!
The sea was raging furiously.
It came howling and foaming,
Frightening the whole world.
The waves rose high up to swallow the world.
It brought in its sweep,
Blackberry trees,
Elder trees,
Pine trees torn from the roots.
On the shore of the sea,
Where the pine tree of the fairies stands,
The passage across the waters,
The soul stood praying.
O pine tree,
Be a brother unto me.
Stretch thy roots,
That I may lay hold of them,
And pass across the seas
To the other part,
From which the sea separates me.
I may not stretch my roots
For thee to lay hold of them,
To pass across,
For in it the yellow dragon has hatched its young,
And they are starving.
Ere thou art aware,
They will discover thee,
And they will hiss.
Thou wilt be frightened,
And art sure to drop into the sea,
Which will engulf thee.
Let it be so.
And now, pine tree,
Pine tree,
Long enough have I prayed of thee,
But I have a brother,
A fine shepherd.
He has a small axe,
And he has two cousins,
Two strong boys.
They will come and cut thee down,
And throw thee down.
The carpenters will come,
And cut thee to measure,
And they will make out of thee
A bridge over the sea,
To give peace to all,
For the souls to have a passage,
The tried souls,
That journey on the way to Paradise.
The pine tree considered,
It stretched out its boughs,
And the soul passed across the nameless sea,
To go where its desire carried it,
To the other world.
Pass on, O soul;
Pass on unharmed,
Until thou hast gained in mercy
The seven heavy toll-houses.
Then go on straight, O dear soul,
Until thou reachest a place
Where the road divides.
Stop there and consider
Which road to take,
Until thou seest
A tall acacia tree,
Bent and with broad leaves.
Take good care
Not to turn to the left,
For it is the narrow way--
Narrow and a blind alley,
Watered with tears.
And there are also fields badly ploughed,
And covered with briars and thistle.
There dwells the old fay,
Who takes thy passport out of thy hand.
But turn to the right.
Thy own desire leads thee,
For there thou shalt find
Delightful fields,
With choice flowers,
Fields well tilled, sown with flowers.
Thou wilt pick flowers,
And the longing for this world will vanish.
Take further good care,
For thou shalt find
In two beds,
Only one flower in each,
Flower close upon the ground
Not touched by the wind;
Flower in the shade
Never seen by the sun.
Pick them,
For these are the flowers of Paradise.
Journey on,
Until thou reachest that apple tree
Which belongs to St. Peter.
It is a high and mighty tree,
And somewhat bent
On its side.
The top reaches the heavens.
The sides go down to the seas.
The top is full of bloom,
And the boughs are full of fruit;
And down at the roots trickles a gentle fountain.
There sits St. Mary.
May her mercy be with us!
Whoever passes by
She takes pity on them,
And gives them all to drink,
And guides them into the right path.
The soul drinks of the water,
And forgets this world.
Go on thy journey
Until thou reachest the noble willow tree
Covered with bloom.
But it is not a noble willow covered with bloom.
It is St. Mary
In a beautiful garment,
A garment of silk.
She sits at a table,
Adorned with flowers.
There she sits and writes--
She the holy Mary--
The dead and the living.
And she writes down the fate of each of them.
Pray to her
To take the page of the living.
Perchance she will have compassion on thee,
And will write thee among the living.
But she will not have pity on thee,
And will not write thee among the living,
For her sheet is full up,
And she has lost her pen.
Pray her, however, very much
That she take thee with her into the Paradise,
If thou hast not prayed,
When the call has reached thee
In thine own village.
Go then further
Upon beaten tracks, until thou comest
To the very gate of Paradise,
Where there stands the flower of the sun.
There stop.
There take shelter,
And wait patiently
The hour of quickening,
For it is sure to come,
And thou wilt return,
When the stags will draw the plough,
And the hinds will scatter the seeds.
O earth,
From this day on
Be thou my father.
Do not hurry
To eat me up,
For I am giving thee now,
Without ever taking them back,
My shoulders in thy arms,
And my face under thy green sward.