The
Legend of Perseus
A STUDY OF TRADITION IN STORY
CUSTOM AND BELIEF: BY
Edwin Sidney Hartland
F.S.A.
VOL. III.
ANDROMEDA. MEDUSA
Published by David Nutt
in the Strand, London
1896
[IMPRINT]
Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
[DEDICATION]
_TO
DAVID BRYNMÔR JONES, Q.C., M.P._
_If any worth be found within these pages,_
_If any skill, however poor, have traced_
_Man’s thoughts and purposes down the long ages_
_Where thought is dim and purpose half-effaced--_
_To you the opportunity be reckon’d,_
_To you the worth. You flung the portals wide_
_Which guard enchanted palaces, and beckon’d_
_To new adventures life had else denied--_
_Enchanted palaces, where gods forgotten_
_Dream through an afternoon of endless years;_
_Adventures follow’d, far from fields erst foughten,_
_’Neath wilder heav’ns, aflame with mightier spheres._
_Yours be the spoils, then, from that realm of glamour;_
_At least some gracious memories they will bring,_
_When husht the forum, husht is party clamour,_
_And you can listen to their whispering._
NOTE
This volume contains, in addition to the final instalment of the
inquiry sketched at the beginning of the first volume, a Supplementary
List of Works referred to in volumes ii. and iii., and the Dedication
and General Index for the whole.
Since the publication of the second volume local inquiries have
satisfied me that the account of the ceremony at Market Drayton (or
rather at Wollerton, near that town), mentioned on p. 292 of the
volume in question, is inaccurate. The wine and biscuits were handed
to the bearers, but not _across_ the coffin; and the minister merely
reprobated in general terms the custom of drinking at funerals.
Corrigenda of a minor character are, in volume i. p. 57, note 1, for
217 read 178, and p. 61, last line but one, for _fisherman_ read
_merchant_; in volume ii. p. 147, note, after _letter xxviii._ insert
_to Daines Barrington_, and p. 271, note 4, for 68 read 57.
I cannot lay down the pen without reiterating my very inadequate
thanks to Mr. Rouse and Mr. Alfred Nutt for the unstinted and
invaluable aid I have received in various ways from them: aid which,
beginning with the opening chapter, has been continued to the latest
pages of this effort to solve the problem of the Legend of Perseus.
Highgarth, Gloucester,
_June_ 1896.
CONTENTS
{x}
CHAPTER XVI
The Rescue of Andromeda in Märchen
Simplest form of the incident--Strong Jack--The Herdsman type--Menial
hero in other tales--Punishment of impostors--Attacking the monster
from inside--Faithless Sister type--Stolen Sister type--Underworld
type--Fearless Johnny type--Helpful Animals--Change of sex--Rescue of
youth--Omaha tale--Its European origin--Vira, the Tuscan
forest-sprite.
CHAPTER XVII
The Rescue of Andromeda in Sagas
Classical stories--Saint George--The Pollard Worm--Cuchulainn and
Devorgoil--Susa No and Inada--The Dragon of Deerhurst--Other British
legends--Variants in the East and Africa--The Maiden her own
deliverer--Christian legends--Chinese tale--Rescue of youth--Maiden
rescued from thraldom only--Ragnar Lodbrog.
{xi}
CHAPTER XVIII
The Rescue of Andromeda: its Relation to Human Sacrifices
Legends of the slaughter of a monster are widespread--Origin of the
conception of the monster--Totemism--Animal gods--The incident of the
Rescue a record of the abolition of human sacrifices to animal
gods--Examples of such sacrifices in Africa and the East--Relics of
the same among the South Sea Islanders, the Greeks and Romans--Tales
of dragons inhabiting springs and lakes--Human sacrifices to water in
India, America, Europe--Legends pointing to the same practice in
various parts of the world--Legends of rescue of human sacrifices to
other divinities.
CHAPTER XIX
The Medusa-witch in Märchen
The Tzitzinæna--Petrifaction by the witch--Petrifaction on breach of
various taboos--Power of the witch’s hair--Játaka containing the
incident, its relations with the European tales--Petrifaction for
preservation--The witch’s hair.
CHAPTER XX
The Medusa-witch in Saga and Superstition
The witch’s hair--Other examples of the power of a hair--The Magical
Fetter--The Magical Word--Power of a curse--Magical effect of an
incautious word--The Magical Blow--Petrifaction by divine
vengeance--Petrifaction as transformation--The Gorgonian power of
petrifying by a look--The Evil Eye.
{xii}
CHAPTER XXI
The Story as a Whole. The Problem of its place of origin. Conclusion
The origin of the story to be sought for among nations who have passed
beyond human sacrifices to brutes--The story as a whole confined to
certain parts of the Eastern Hemisphere--Differences between classical
and modern stories--Relation between them--Traditional selection in
classical times--The Helpful Animals--The Gift of Weapons--Cambodian
_märchen_--Modern variants independent of the classical tale--The
Impostor and the Tokens--Legend of Saint George--The Deliverer’s
Sleep--Result of the inquiry--Bearing of some of the subjects
discussed upon matters of Christian controversy--Conclusion.
APPENDIX
Table A. Helpful Animals
Table B. Weapons
Table C. The Impostor and the Tokens
Table D. The Deliverer’s Sleep
Supplementary List of Works referred to
Endnotes
THE LEGEND OF PERSEUS
{1}
CHAPTER XVI.
THE RESCUE OF ANDROMEDA IN MÄRCHEN.
We have traced the incidents of the Supernatural Birth and the
Life-token throughout the world: the two remaining incidents of the
Rescue of Andromeda and the Medusa-witch have a more restricted range.
For though traditions of a fight with a monster and of human beings
turned to stone, the germs of the incidents in question, are almost
universal, yet the special forms evolved from these germs in the
Perseus saga seem to be confined to the Eastern Continent, save where
immigrant peoples have taken them in modern times to the New World and
given them in some rare instances currency there among the aboriginal
tribes.
Of these incidents, the first with which we are concerned is that of
the Rescue of Andromeda. Its popularity in Europe is hardly exceeded
by that of any incident in traditional fiction, while it is known to
story-tellers over vast spaces of the Orient and of Africa. The
simplest form of the incident is found in a Berber _märchen_
preserved in a manuscript at the _Bibliothèque Nationale_ at Paris,
and translated some years ago by M. René Basset. In this tale a
youth, whose earlier experiences vividly recall those of Joseph down
to his temptation in Potiphar’s house, is {2} more leniently treated
than the Hebrew patriarch, being simply expelled from his master’s
family. He wanders away and reaches a fountain inhabited by a serpent,
which allows no water to be drawn, save in return for the sacrifice of
a woman. That day it was the king’s daughter’s turn to be devoured.
The youth, finding her at the spring, inquires why she weeps, and
undertakes her deliverance. The snake appears to have had more than
one head, though how many is not recorded. At all events the hero beat
them one after another, as they were stretched forth to seize the
prey, until the serpent died. The water was then free to everybody;
and when the king inquired whose doing it was, the stranger youth was
led before him and frankly owned his exploit. It is hardly necessary
to say that he was rewarded with the hand of the young lady he had
saved, and was named the king’s vicegerent. The wedding festivities,
we are told, lasted seven days.[2.1]
Sometimes the hero is possessed of extraordinary strength, which
enables him to overcome his foe. An example is found on the island of
Syra, where a tale is told of an ogre who was in the habit of eating
anybody who came in his way. Strong Jack fights and kills him, thus
delivering a king’s daughter, whom he marries. But she is afterwards
carried off by a monster, a half-man with only one eye, one hand, and
one foot. Her husband, strong as he is, attacks the half-man in vain.
He cannot be killed, for his external soul consists of two doves in
the belly of a certain wild sow. To such a monster the hero falls an
easy prey; but he is restored to life, and in due time has his
revenge.[2.2] In another story, from Agia Anna, the ogre is a female
{3} called the Krikeça, who eats a maiden daily. Though already a
married man, the hero undertakes the adventure; and the maiden on
whose behalf he fights brings him food enough to quell his craving--a
difficult task, for these strong heroes are enormous eaters--and so
supplies him with a continuance of strength to conquer the Krikeça.
The latter begs for life and becomes a converted character.[3.1] So,
in an Armenian tale from the Land beyond the Forest, does a wild sow
who has fallen into the same vicious habit of devouring maidens, and
who turns out to be an enchanted youth whom the hero frees from his
spell.[3.2]
These tales are closely allied with a type of which, with one
exception, I have not found any variants outside the Celtic and Basque
populations of the west of Europe. It may be called _The Herdsman_
type. Lod, the farmer’s son, in an Argyllshire tale, is unusually
strong. He takes service as herd with a king; and in the course of his
day’s work at different times encounters and puts to death two giants
and their mother, bringing home his cattle safe and sound as no herd
had done before him. A big giant then comes for the king’s daughter,
whom a squint-eyed, red-haired cook undertakes to save, his price
being the maiden in marriage. The cook hides behind a stone and covers
himself with sea-weed. Lod comes upon the scene and meets the heroine
weeping. He comforts her, and lying down with his head on her knee he
begs her to relieve him of the vermin. If he fell asleep under the
lulling influences of this operation she was to waken him by cutting
off the point of his little finger. On the giant’s appearance the
princess wakens him. He springs up, draws his club, {4} sweeps off the
giant’s three heads and throws them contemptuously at the cook, who
takes them and the king’s daughter home, as if he himself were the
deliverer. A day is appointed for the wedding; but the heroine
identifies Lod as the man, and proves it by the point of his finger,
which she produces from her pocket. She marries him accordingly, and
the cook is burnt to death.[4.1] The same story in effect is given by
Campbell as a variant of _The Sea Maiden_, cited in an earlier
chapter.[4.2] In Ireland the tale appears as that of _The Thirteenth
Son of the King of Erin_. The king having thirteen sons is advised to
give one to fate. The eldest is the one on whom the lot falls. His
father dismisses him with the gift of a steed of supernatural
fleetness; and he hires himself as cowherd to another king. He slays
three giants and takes possession of their castles and wealth, among
which are a black, a brown, and a red horse. The king’s daughter is to
be devoured by “an _urfeist_, a great serpent of the sea, a monster
which must get a king’s daughter to devour every seven years.”
Hundreds and hundreds of kings’ sons and champions were anxious to
save her, but were so frightened at the terrible _urfeist_ that they
would not go near her when she was conducted to the beach in readiness
for her death. The hero rides down on the black horse, clad in the
black gear he has found in the first giant’s castle. Dismounting, he
lays his head in the maiden’s lap and falls asleep, waiting for the
monster. While he slept she took three hairs from his head and hid
them in her bosom. With his sword of light he took off the serpent’s
head, but it rushed back to its place and grew on again. The serpent,
however, declined to fight any more that day. In a twinkle it {5}
returned to the sea, saying: “I’ll be here again to-morrow, and
swallow the whole world before me as I come.” Undaunted by this
threat, the hero appeared on the morrow in the blue dress of the
second giant and mounted on his brown horse. He laid his head on the
lady’s lap and slept as before; and she, taking out the three hairs,
compared them with his head, and said to herself: “You are the man who
was here yesterday.” He cut the monster in two, but the halves rushed
together and were one as before. “All the champions on earth won’t
save her from me to-morrow,” cried the _urfeist_ as he plunged into
the sea again. The third day the hero donned the third giant’s dress.
It had as many colours as there are in the sky, and his boots were of
blue glass. The giant’s housekeeper gave him a brown apple, with
instructions to throw it into the serpent’s open mouth. The princess
identified him as before; and when the _urfeist_ came up out of the
sea, “enormous, terrible to look at, with a mouth big enough to
swallow the world, and three sharp swords coming out of it, Sean Ruadh
threw the apple into his mouth, and the beast fell helpless on the
strand, flattened out and melted away to a dirty jelly on the shore.”
The red steed bore the victor away from the maiden, though she tried
to cling to him and stay him: she only succeeded in retaining one of
his blue-glass boots. Then a proclamation was made for all men to come
and try on the boot. Sean Ruadh tried to evade the proof. In vain: by
his old blind sage’s advice, the king sent men, twenty at a time, to
fetch him; but he bound them twenty in a bundle, and the bundles
together. At last the king himself went and, kneeling, prayed him to
come; and the boot sprang through the air to him and fitted itself on
his foot. The princess was downstairs in a twinkle, and in {6} the
arms of Sean Ruadh. He put all the other claimants to death without
more ado, and wedded her.[6.1] This tale, with unimportant variations,
has been found more than once during recent years in the west of
Ireland. It has been recovered also in Brittany, where one of the
variants takes the following form. A noble maiden disguised as a youth
becomes page to the queen of France, who falls in love with her, and,
being repulsed, sickens and dies. The page’s real sex is disclosed to
the king in consequence of a false accusation affecting one of the
maids of honour. The king marries her, and she bears him a son. A
strange animal appears, called a _murlu_, is caught and caged, but
released by the king’s son, who is, in consequence, compelled to flee
from his father’s wrath. The _murlu_ befriends the youth, and takes
him to the palace of the King of Naples, where he is engaged as herd.
With the _murlu’s_ aid he satisfactorily performs his duties, and
overcomes a giant, whose wealth he obtains. The _murlu_ transforms
itself into a magical steed, and helps him to conquer in a two days’
fight the seven-headed serpent to which the king’s daughter was to be
sacrificed. The herd cuts out the seven tongues and goes away, leaving
the heads on the ground. They are carried off by a charcoal-burner,
who professes to be the princess’ deliverer. The king is about to give
the maiden in marriage, in spite of her protests, to the pretender,
when the herd presents himself and, by means of the seven tongues,
proves himself the true victor. The charcoal-burner undergoes the
usual penalty of his falsehood; and on the occasion of the hero’s {7}
wedding the _murlu_ appears, declares itself the King of France’s
first wife, condemned for her sin in attempting the page’s virtue to
this transformation. The conditions of her punishment are now
fulfilled and her expiation complete.[7.1]
In one of the Basque variants the mysterious animal is called a
_Tartaro_. The youth is called Petit Yorge, which causes Mr. Webster
to suspect that the tale is borrowed from the French; though the
identification of Saint George with the slayer of the dragon, not
unknown in _märchen_, and more fully developed, as we shall hereafter
see, in the sagas, may suggest a different explanation. He takes
service as gardener. With a horse, a handsome dress, and a sword,
furnished by the friendly _Tartaro_, he fights the dragon on behalf of
the king, his master’s, youngest daughter. The fight lasts three days.
A charcoal-burner is the impostor. As the lady declines to marry him a
proclamation is issued for all the young men to ride under a bell, and
whoever can carry off on the point of his sword a diamond ring
suspended from the bell shall wed her. The hero succeeds and rides
away; but as he does so the king hurls his lance at him and wounds him
in the leg. He is thus identified, and then produces the serpent’s
tongues and forty-two pieces of silk he has cut from the damsel’s
dresses.[7.2] The other Basque variants are less elaborate, and
perhaps represent more nearly the original tale. The hero is the
youngest of three sons. In one of the variants, the two elder,
sallying {8} forth successively, refuse a morsel of cake to an old
woman and are eaten by a bear. The youngest, more charitable, is
rewarded by the hag with a magical stick, the touch whereof kills
seven bears that attack him, one after the other; and he obtains their
palace and riches. He takes service as shepherd, and with his stick
slays the seven-headed serpent, cutting out its tongues and also a
little piece of silk from each of the seven robes worn by the
princess. The usual charcoal-burner takes the heads and claims the
reward, but is confuted by means of the tongues and the silk.[8.1] In
the other variant, the youth on setting forth buys a pack of cards and
a formidable mace armed with teeth. He hires himself as cowherd; and
when the kine, having broken into the forbidden pastures, as in most
of the variants, draw down the wrath of the _Tartaro_ who owns the
pastures, the youth challenges the monster to a game of cards. The
_Tartaro_ was not unaccustomed to play with his adversaries; and his
trick was to drop a card, ask his opponent to pick it up, and kill him
while he was politely complying. But now he has met his match. The
youth tells him to pick up the card himself. As he stoops for the
purpose a blow from the mace puts an end to him. Three _Tartaros_ are
thus overcome; and their mansion passes into the possession of the
hero. The combat with the triple serpent lasts two days. The victor
returns to the _Tartaro’s_ palace, merely taking the seven tongues and
the seven pieces of silk, and thus enabling the charcoal-burner to
make his false claim. The king in his joy gives a dinner to his
friends, to which of course the hero is not invited. The _Tartaros_
owned three _olanos_, ogre-dogs. One of these is sent by the hero to
fetch him a dish from {9} the banquet. This of course leads to his
discovery, and to the establishment of his right to the king’s
daughter.[9.1]
The single variant of this type found elsewhere than in Celtic and
Basque lands comes from the Odenwald. In it the widowed King of Orange
falls in love with the portrait of the daughter of the King of
Septentrion, but is daunted by the dangers of the way. His only son,
Ferdinand, seeing the portrait, then attempts the adventure. A
mannikin directs him to dig at the first crossway, where he will find
a can of strength-giving wine and a magical sword and whistle. He
slays in fight eight giants, and makes his way to the realm of
Septentrion, taking possession, ere he reaches the capital, of a
magnificent palace, gaily furnished, having many fine horses in the
stable, but void of human inhabitants. Then he enters the king’s
service as fowl-herd. Clad in three different suits of armour from his
palace, he fights the dragon on three successive days, and cuts off
his three heads, disappearing after each combat, so that nobody knows
who the princess’ saviour is. In the same armour he takes part in a
three days’ tournament for the maiden’s hand. It is necessary to run
full tilt with his spear at a ring suspended from a beam, to carry it
off, and to hang it up again in returning. He succeeds where all
others have failed, and again makes off; but on the third day he is
wounded in the leg by one of the king’s men as he escapes. By this
token he is recognised; he marries the princess and becomes King of
Septentrion. The horses in his palace turn out to be enchanted men,
whose spell is dissolved by his success.[9.2] This tale seems to bear
traces of literary influence; and in any case it is obviously of a
less barbarous character than the others. Probably it is not {10}
indigenous to Germany, but has been carried thither from the west, and
has suffered some change in the transmission. The indications point to
a Celtic or Iberian population as the originators of the _Herdsman_
type.
At the same time stories found among other nations represent the hero
as a herd or a menial servant. In a Swabian _märchen_ already cited
he is a shepherd.[10.1] A Norwegian tale, bearing some markedly Norse
characteristics, also comprises a similar incident. Here Osborn Boots
is the youngest of three brothers, who successively hire themselves to
a king. The two elder had been dismissed with three stripes cut out of
their backs, and the wounds rubbed with salt or hot embers. Boots
shares his food with an old hag he meets on the way, and receives in
return an old key, which has the property of showing him, when he
looks through the ring, whatever he wishes to see. With the help of
this and of his own shrewdness, he drives off a troll from the king’s
mill-dam, and on another occasion saves the king’s sheep from him. But
one day the king, when hunting, trod by chance upon wild grass and
lost his way in the wood. The troll met him and offered to let him go
home in consideration of having the first thing the king set eyes on
when he got to his own land. The victim proved to be his eldest
daughter. A man called Glibtongue accompanied her to the spot where
the troll was to meet and fetch her. He turned out to be a coward; and
Boots, opportunely appearing, overcame the monster by trickery, but
spared his life on condition of his restoring the king’s younger
daughter, whom he had stolen before. The maiden thus rescued gives him
a ring; but Glibtongue of course takes the credit of the deed, and is
to be married to {11} her. The troll then stops the springs, so that
there is no water to boil the bridal brose. Boots to the rescue again;
and now he is identified by the ring, which is seen glistening in his
hair. Glibtongue is thrown into a pit full of snakes; the troll is
slain; Boots weds the younger princess, and with her receives half the
kingdom.[11.1] The hero of a Negro tale from the Bahamas, is a boy who
is first a shepherd and then a horse-herd or stable-boy. His master
had every year to give one of his daughters in exchange for water. The
last daughter he had was about to be thus bartered. Her coachman
declined to allow the stable-boy to accompany him when he took the
maiden to exchange her, but set him a task instead. The boy performs
the task by magical power, obtains horse, carriage, and armour, and
follows. By the utterance of a wish he sets two boar-lizards fighting;
and while they fight the water is obtained and brought back with the
lady. The next day the adventure is repeated, with the variation that
it is two cocks which fight. The boy stains his handkerchief red and
passes it to the girl. Her father offers her in marriage, with a dowry
of two thousand dollars, to any one who can take the stain out of the
handkerchief. “All on ’em was tryin’, dey couldn’ git it out. This
fellah haxed dem to let ’im try it. Fathe’ told ’im, ‘All right, ’e
could try it.’ ’E rolled up ’is sleeve; spread the handke’-chief over
’is harm; then ’e spit on it, taken ’is hand and rubbed over it. The
stain went out. Her fathe’ give ’er to ’im to wife, and ’is two
thousan’ dollahs. Dat en’s de hold story.”[11.2] A Portuguese tale
from Brazil begins with the barter by a fisherman of his son, born
unknown to him, {12} for a catch of fish. It belongs to the _Forbidden
Chamber_ cycle. After flying from the ogre the hero takes service as
under-gardener to a king. The youngest princess penetrates his
disguise. The king offers his eldest daughter to him who would slay a
seven-headed beast which was devastating the realm. The under-gardener
performs the feat and takes the tips of the beast’s tongues. As nobody
appeared to claim the reward, the king decided to marry all his
daughters. The youngest refuses to marry anybody but the
under-gardener. The prince who is to marry the eldest claims to have
slain the beast, and the bridegroom of the second sister claims
another achievement of the hero; but the latter at the wedding-feast
puts them to open shame.[12.1]
There is one characteristic, however, which is common to a vast number
of variants belonging to almost every type, and which, in the story
from the Odenwald, stands out in full relief. If it be not a savage
characteristic, at least it is not in accordance with the etiquette of
civilisation in the nineteenth century for the hero to persist in such
unaccountable modesty, that, having slain the monster and won the
princess, he must be pursued like a criminal flying from justice, and
compelled to confess and claim his reward. When at last he is made
known, and the impostors, whom his want of gallantry and overload of
humility had encouraged, if not instigated, are convicted of their
fraud, he indulges in a savage revenge. Burning alive, indeed, is in
harmony with a certain kind of civilisation, such as that of Saint
Dominic or Bloody Mary; and the punishments the peasantry delight to
recount in these tales are an index of their culture. The hero is
deterred no more {13} than the most bigoted fanatic by any
considerations of humanity, or even of kinship. As a single example of
the disregard of kinship, take the story of _The King of Al-Yaman and
his three Sons_, found in some versions of the _Arabian Nights_. There
the king’s youngest son, disliked by his father and despised by his
two brethren, picks up a string of pearls and emeralds, and is
deprived of it by the elder sons, who pretend themselves to have found
it. Their father lays upon them the injunction to bring him the
wearer. After they have set out, the youngest goes forth too, and
delivers a princess from the scourge of her father’s city, a monstrous
lion, to which a maiden is offered by lot every year. He refuses in
the usual way to return with her, and is only discovered by means of a
proclamation requiring all the men in the city to defile before the
palace. He is married to her; but, arising before day, while she is
still asleep, he exchanges rings with her and writes upon her hand his
name, Aláeddín, his parentage and a request, if she love him truly,
to come and seek him at his father’s capital of Al-Hind. He departs,
and repeats the adventure, slaying this time an elephant. Afterwards
he continues his quest, and succeeds in obtaining the enchanting bird
Philomelet, the wearer of the necklace, while its mistress, a
princess, is sleeping. He writes his name on the palm of her hand
also, and a similar request to seek him at home. As he returns his
brothers fall in with him, rob him of the bird, and carry it to their
father as their own prize. The three princesses, each with her father
and an army, go after him and meet together. They of course reject the
two elder brothers as impostors, and Aláeddín is at last vindicated.
He then, having put his brothers to shame, falls upon them, and with a
single blow {14} of his sword despatches them both; nor is it without
difficulty that he is restrained from putting his father to death too.
He adds to the number of his wives the princess to whom the bird
Philomelet belonged, and lives happy ever after.[14.1] The vengeance
in the Arab tale, reported from a region where no reminiscences of the
_auto-da-fé_ linger, shows to advantage in comparison with the
cruelties in which the tales of the peasantry of Christian Europe
rejoice. And if the hero spare not his own flesh and blood, it must be
remembered that he is only the half-brother of the impostors, and that
both he and his mother have suffered great personal wrong at their
hands and those of his father. In a variant of the story, cited from
the same source in a previous chapter, the hero even intercedes with
his father for his brothers’ lives.[14.2] Happily in western stories
he does not always visit their sins on their heads. In the Shetlandic
story, originally from Scandinavia, Assipattle is treated with
contempt by his six elder brothers. But he had a fast friend in his
only sister, who was taken to court to be the king’s daughter’s maid.
The Mester Stoorworm, a terrific sea-monster in which we have a
reminiscence of the Midgard Snake, threatened the land. By a mighty
sorcerer’s counsel, every Saturday seven damsels were bound upon a
rock and delivered to him, to glut his maw and save the kingdom. The
only way to get rid of the scourge, the sorcerer declared, was to
deliver Gemdelovely, the princess, to be devoured. All the champions
who volunteered to save her shrank from the task when they beheld the
grisly foe. Assipattle alone had the courage to get a boat and go out
to meet the worm, whose horrid length stretched half across the world.
{15} He allowed himself to be swallowed, boat and all; and once inside
the cavernous throat he “waded and ran, and better ran, till he came
to the enormous liver of the monster.” Then he cut a hole in it and
placed a live peat, which he had brought for the purpose, in the hole
and “blew till he thought his lips would crack.” By and bye “the peat
began to flame; the flame caught the oil of the liver, and in a minute
there was a stately euse. In troth, I think it gave the Stoorworm a
hot harskit.” Hurrying into his boat again, Assipattle was spewed out
by the monster’s dying spasms, and thrown high and dry on the land. Of
course he married the princess; and the vengeance, without which the
story would not be complete, fell not on his brothers for their ill
treatment of him, but on the sorcerer, who it turned out was the
queen’s lover.[15.1]
The conquest of the dragon by attacking it from the inside carries us
back to Herakles’ deliverance of Hesione. The incident, rare in modern
folklore, is also found in a Gipsy tale from Transylvania; but there,
as might be anticipated, there is no question of a sea-monster. Radu,
a young Gipsy of the Kukuya stock, driven to desperation by his
shrewish wife, cleaves her head with a hatchet and flees for his life
from his tribal brethren. In the forest he finds a large horse’s head
lying under a tree. It bids him creep into its left ear; and he
becomes so small as to do it easily. There he lies hidden safely until
all pursuit is over, when he creeps out again through the right ear,
returning at once to his proper size. He takes the head with him, for
it tells him it will protect him; and when he longs for a horse he is
met by two cavaliers who direct him to make water into the head, which
will immediately change into a {16} steed, red in the morning, white
at noon, and black at night. Mounted on this mysterious animal he
reaches a town hung with black, because a ninety-nine-headed dragon,
living on the Glass Mountain, has carried off the king’s daughter and
will eat her on the morrow. The next day, having taken his horse’s
advice, he rides at morning, at noon, and at evening once up and down
the mountain, daunting the dragon by the belief that he has three
champions to contend with. He again rides to the hill, alights, makes
water thrice over the steed, and thus changes it back into a horse’s
head. Creeping into the left ear, he is swallowed by the serpent. Once
in the serpent’s body, he crawls out of the skull, and, tearing off
his clothes, he sets fire to them. The dragon bursts; the Glass
Mountain disappears; Radu finds himself in the arms of the princess,
whom he soon weds; and as it is recorded that he lived with his second
wife in joy and happiness, we may indulge the pleasing thought that
she lacked the exasperating tongue of the first.[16.1]
In an earlier chapter I have abstracted a Lithuanian tale where the
hero, having taken charge of a sister, is betrayed by her to a robber.
This is quite a common incident in Slav _märchen_, not always found
in connection with the Rescue of Andromeda. Another Lithuanian tale
presents {17} a brother and sister, turned out of doors by their
father for bad conduct, arriving at a robber’s dwelling. Before
leaving home, the youth had possessed himself of his father’s magical
staff, which paralysed opponents. Aided by this he slays eleven of the
twelve robbers, and severely wounds the twelfth. Having thrown their
corpses into a Bluebeard’s chamber, already used for a similar purpose
by the robbers themselves, he gives the keys of the house to his
sister, forbidding her to enter the room where the bodies lie. She
naturally disobeys, and is seized by the still living robber and
compelled to bring him certain healing plants, which are hanging from
the ceiling. The robber makes love to her, not without success, and
persuades her to feign illness, and get her brother to procure, first,
wolf’s milk, and then lioness’ milk, wherewith the wounded man is
completely restored to health. When this is effected he comes forth,
attacks the brother and threatens him with death. But in procuring the
milk the hero has also won the favour of the she-wolf and lioness, as
well as of a hare, for sparing their lives; and they have given him
each a whistle to be blown when he is in need of help. He now blows;
and immediately the grateful beasts rush to his help, tearing the
robber and his paramour to pieces. Setting out with the animals, he
comes to a town where the king’s last daughter is about to be given to
a nine-headed dragon. His conquest of the dragon follows, and the
cutting out of its nine tongues; after which he and his beasts lie
down and fall asleep with utter weariness. While he sleeps, the
princess puts her ring on his finger. She has hardly done so when some
servants of the king, her father, come to the place, kill and bury
him, and oblige her to take an oath to recognise their chief as her
deliverer and bridegroom. On awaking, the {18} hero’s animals miss
their master and disperse, to meet again at the same spot three years
later, in accordance with a tryst given them by him before lying down
to sleep. The bear smells the corpse; the lion and wolf dig it up; and
the hare fetches some leaves of a herb used by two snakes they have
seen in combat at an earlier stage of their adventures. With these he
restores the hero to life; and they all return to the town, as luck
will have it, on the day of the wedding. The hare carries a letter to
the princess, who induces her father to invite the stranger to the
festivities. There he inquires what token of victory over the dragon
the bridegroom had produced; and when the heads are shown him he draws
the tongues out of his pocket, fits them into the throats and adds as
a proof of his own identity the princess’ ring. The pretender is torn
to pieces by oxen, and the hero happily married to the princess.[18.1]
Variants of the story are well known in Italy. It is found in Brittany
and Andalucia, and has even crossed the Atlantic with the Portuguese
to Brazil.[18.2] None of these need be mentioned now, save a
Piedmontese version, which accounts for the hero’s refusal to claim
his bride as soon as he has won her, by the excuse that he was in
mourning for his sister, slain by his dogs for her treachery, together
with her paramour.[18.3] In variants from Bohemia and Transylvania,
the sister is, after her lover’s death, shut up by her brother for her
misconduct, and left when he goes abroad on his travels. When he is
married he releases her and takes her to live in {19} the palace. But
she sticks in his bed a knife which pierces and kills him. He is
brought to life again by his hounds, and his sister receives the
reward of her double guilt.[19.1] In these two, as well as in a
Sienese variant, the dogs are enchanted men who regain their true form
after the hero is finally settled in life.
A type of the story found in Italy opens with the search made by a
brother for a sister who had been carried off by an ogre. According to
the Venetian tale he meets a priest, who bestows on him three dogs,
called Rend-iron, Seize-all, and Now’s-the-time-to-help-me. With their
assistance he slays the ogre; and then, leaving his sister in
possession of the ogre’s palace and magical wand, he sets out for
further adventures. The dogs at his command slay the seven-headed
beast and bring him the heads. He will not return with the king’s
daughter; but cutting out the beast’s tongues he puts them in a box,
gives a ring to the lady as a pledge that he will return, and goes
back with the good news to his sister. On the way he stops at an inn,
and there meets a chimney-sweeper--a new and more modern shape of our
old acquaintance, the charcoal-burner. Imprudently he shows the
tongues to his new acquaintance, who robs him of them, and boldly
claims the princess. The hero, however, gets wind of the wedding, and,
breaking into the festivities, demands permission to speak. He
cross-examines the bridegroom: “Are you the bridegroom?” “Yes.” “How
did you manage to deliver this maiden?” The chimney-sweeper shuffled:
“How did I do it? Look, here are the seven tongues!” “I ask you, How
did you manage to deliver her? I will have an answer.” “With those
three dogs.” “Good! Since you {20} managed to deliver her by the help
of those three dogs, in the presence of this noble company call the
dogs by their names.” The impostor was confounded, dumb. Then the
youth turned to the company and told his story, adding sarcastically:
“And this gentleman here is he who stole the box.” The gentleman
denied it. Like a trained advocate, the hero calls as a witness the
innkeeper, who saw him showing the tongues to the chimney-sweeper, and
confronts him with the bridegroom. The king is convinced; and the hero
gets permission to do as he likes with his opponent. “Rend-iron,
Seize-all, Now’s-the-time-to-help-me, eat him up.” And in the presence
of the assembled guests, the chimney-sweeper was eaten up accordingly.
The wedding then proceeded with a new bridegroom.[20.1]
This dramatic solution combines ancient and modern elements in an
unexpected and interesting manner. A variant current in Sicily returns
to the usual proof of the deliverer’s identity by means of the
tongues. He slays the dragon with a magical sword belonging to the
giant who has carried off his sister, and heals the wound he and his
horse have received in the combat by means of a salve he has extracted
from the giant’s head after putting him to death.[20.2] In a Georgian
tale the hero is not born until after his sister has been carried away
by a hundred-headed monster, and her three elder brothers, in
attempting to rescue her, have been slain. Their desolate mother is
given by a stranger an apple to eat, whence she bears a son called
Asphurtzela. He conquers the monster, opens his breast and brings out
the dead bodies of his brothers, {21} restoring them to life by means
of an enchanted handkerchief, also found in the monster’s breast. On
the way home the ungrateful brothers tie him to a tree and leave him;
but he succeeds in escaping. He cannot, however, remain at home after
their evil conduct. So he sets forth again, and picks up two
companions of supernatural power, with whose aid he liberates three
fair maidens about to be married to three ogres. One ogre is left. He
cozens the hero’s companions, one after the other, out of the food
being prepared for their supper. Asphurtzela shoots the ogre and cuts
him in two. The head rolls into a hole, wherein they find three lovely
maidens. The two companions attempt successively to rescue them, but
on letting them down their courage fails and they call out to be drawn
up again. Asphurtzela descends and sends up the damsels. His
companions close the hole and leave him to his fate. Wandering about
in the lower regions he rescues a king’s daughter from a dragon, and
sets free the water withheld by the monster. The king offers him
presents, which he rejects, only asking to be sent back to his own
land of light. Ultimately he finds a dragon attacking a griffin’s nest
and shoots it. The griffin in gratitude carries him up to the surface
of the earth. But to give her strength for the purpose it is necessary
that she should be constantly supplied with food. When the provisions
he has taken run short he cuts a piece off his own leg and throws it
into her mouth. She restores it to him on arriving at the top, and
heals the wound. He finds his two companions about to marry the
maidens rescued from the hole and slays them, afterwards wedding the
youngest maiden, and giving the two elder ones to his brothers.[21.1]
{22}
Here we find what we may call the _Stolen Sister_ type, combined with
another. The _Underworld_ type, as it may be named, is somewhat more
fertile in variants. Among Galland’s manuscripts is a tale he obtained
from a Christian Maronite of Aleppo, named Hanna--that is, John. It
concerns the three sons of the Sultan of Samarcand, who built a house
for Rostam, his eldest son, unwittingly just above the underground
dwelling of the eldest daughter of the genius Morhagian. The genius
destroys it, and, when pursued by the prince, disappears in a well.
The sultan then builds a similar house for his second son above the
dwelling of Morhagian’s second daughter, with the same result. The
house intended for the third son, Badialzaman, is built over the
genius’ third daughter’s palace. It is destroyed like the others; but
Badialzaman succeeds in wounding the genius thrice ere he reaches the
well, and persuades his brothers to join him in pursuing the foe down
into the well. Of course Badialzaman is the only one of the three who
has the courage to be let down to the bottom. There he is entertained
for forty days, first by one and then by another of Morhagian’s
beautiful daughters, of whom the youngest is the loveliest. He
announces his intention of taking vengeance on their father. Each of
them endeavours to dissuade him, but in vain; and the youngest warns
him that he has no chance against the genius, who will simply take his
head in one hand and his feet in the other and rend him in twain. As
she has foretold, so it happens. The pieces, however, are brought to
the lady by two of her women; and when she has put them together she
revives the hero by applying the Water of Life to his wounds. Having
then made him swear to wed her, she teaches him how he may kill her
father, by {23} attacking him asleep and giving him one blow--no
more--with his own sword, which will be found hanging above his head.
The treachery of his brothers in drawing up the three maidens and
leaving Badialzaman in the pit, his conquest of the monster,
deliverance of the princess and release of the water, and finally his
conveyance to the upper world by a grateful _rokh_ whose young he had
saved from a serpent, follow the course of the Georgian tale. Before
the three maidens were sent up they had reduced their palaces to the
size of three balls, which they had put into his care; and by the
advice of the youngest he had cut some hair from the tail of
Morhagian’s magical steed. A little of the hair had only to be burnt
to bring the steed to him. With the help of these things, having taken
service with a tailor, he prepares a robe for the youngest maiden on
the occasion of her marriage to his brother Rostam, and attending the
festival he slays the bridegroom with Morhagian’s sword. Then he
disappears; but three months afterwards, when the same damsel is to be
married to his second brother, he repeats the performance. Poetical
justice is completed by his marriage with the lady; and her sisters
are given to two other princes.[23.1]
The tale is current in Italy, and is widely spread in the Levant. As
it is told at Lesbos, the cause of the hero’s descent into the lower
world is the robbery every year by a monster of the three golden
apples growing on a tree in a king’s garden. The youngest brother
succeeds in wounding the thief and tracking him to a pit. He slays the
monster and delivers three maidens, whom he sends up to his brothers
above. His brothers’ treachery and all the other incidents follow.
Here he has to prove against other pretenders {24} that it is he who
has put the dragon to death. This he does in the ordinary way by means
of his tongues. He rejects the king’s treasures, the half of his
kingdom, and even his lovely daughter, and will only accept the
provisions necessary for the eagle which is to carry him up to this
world again. His father having awarded the youngest maiden to his
eldest brother, she demands three dresses representing, one, the
heaven with all its stars, another, the earth with all her trees and
flowers, and the third, the sea with all the fishes that dwell
therein. These, of course, can only be furnished by the hero from
three walnuts handed by her to him before parting. When they have been
obtained the master-tailor is summoned and compelled to declare whence
he got them. The hero is recognised; but his vengeance on his brothers
is limited to banishing them from the realm.[24.1]
In a story of the Avares of the Caucasus the hero is the offspring of
a king’s daughter by a bear, and is called Bear’s-Ears from a
peculiarity which he owes to his parentage. His companions are not his
brothers, but two heroes like himself, of extraordinary strength, who,
however, are successively robbed of their food by a dwarf. Bear’s-Ears
catches the dwarf, cleaves a plane-tree and fastens him by the beard
in the cleft. The dwarf uproots the plane-tree and escapes into a pit.
Bear’s-Ears liberates only one princess from the dwarf. The dragon has
nine heads; and the hero, cutting off his ears, carries them to the
king.[24.2] In this tale there seem no impostors. As the Nubians tell
it, an ogre obtains {25} the food of the hero and his companions, of
whom there are four; and here again only one lady is delivered from
the pit. When he is left at the bottom by his treacherous friends, he
rescues a king’s daughter from a crocodile that stops the river. Then
dipping his fingers in its blood he marks the damsel’s thigh; and this
serves as the proof when others claim to have performed the deed of
valour.[25.1] Among the Vlachs we return to the dwarf; but there is no
lady to be rescued from his power. Peter Firitschell, as the hero is
called, however, makes friends with a blind old woman, who is captive
to certain dragons. He slays the dragons and restores the woman’s
sight. He then acquires three Helpful Beasts, a fox, a wolf, and a
bear. The monster to whom the princess is to be given has twelve
heads, and dwells in a marsh outside the city. Peter lies down to
sleep in the maiden’s lap while he is waiting for the monster, and she
abstracts one of his twelve arrows. With the rest he shoots off eleven
of the monster’s heads, and borrows of her a pin to shoot the twelfth.
He cuts out the tongues, and lies down again to sleep. A Gipsy strikes
his head off, takes the dragon’s twelve heads and claims the victory.
Peter is brought to life again by his faithful animals, and is in time
to prevent the Gipsy’s marriage to the king’s daughter. Wallachia
being a Christian country, the punishment inflicted on the impostor is
merely that of being rolled down a hill in a barrel studded inside
with spikes. Peter then weds the lady and remains in the Underworld,
where he succeeds in due time to her father’s throne.[25.2]
{26}
Nearly related to the _Underworld_ type is that of _Fearless Johnny_.
A Breton story, obtained by M. Sébillot at Dourdain in the department
of Ille et Vilaine, has also lately been given by a contributor to the
_Rivista delle Tradizioni Popolari Italiane_, as coming from Cagliari,
so nearly in the same words as to lead to the conclusion that it must
have been in very recent years carried directly from Brittany to
Sardinia, or _vice versâ_. It relates that Johnny, being a lad of
noted courage, discovers a practical joke played upon him by some of
his companions with the object of frightening him by the apparition of
a pretended corpse. He then sets out to learn what fear is, and
rescues the souls of some robbers who have been hanged, by finding the
treasure they have stolen from a church and restoring it to the
priest, from whom he will take no reward except his consecrated
stole--a magical article of considerable value in the legends of Roman
Catholic lands. With this stole he delivers a house from a devil that
haunts it, and afterwards kills the dragon, taking its tongues, with
which he proves himself the victor. A swallow scratches up a little
earth over his face as he lies asleep on the ground weary from his
combat; and awaking he cries: “Ah! I did not know till now whether
Fear was furred or feathered; now I see that it is feathered.” That
was the only time he ever experienced even the beginning of fear; and
then he was more than half asleep.[26.1]
It will have been observed that a common opening of stories which
culminate in the incident of the Rescue is the hero’s acquisition of
Helpful Animals. Sometimes, as in a tale from Oldenburg, it is the
only other incident.[26.2] More {27} often it forms part of a larger
series of adventures. Occasionally the hero obtains the power of
transformation instead of the personal service of the beasts. Thus, in
a Norwegian tale he divides a dead horse between a lion, a falcon, and
an ant, and in return for the service they confer on him this power.
It enables him to get into a princess’ chamber and secretly make love
to her; and it stands him in good stead when he goes to fight the
dragon. This dragon was a less delicate feeder than some, for he only
demanded a tax of pigs, not maidens. The king had promised his
daughter to the deliverer; but before the wedding could take place she
was stolen by a hill-ogre, whose life was bound up with a grain of
sand under the ninth tongue of the ninth head of the slaughtered
dragon. Here, again, the power of transformation enables the lad to
triumph.[27.1]
There remain one or two types of a more abnormal kind briefly to
mention. A _märchen_ of the Gipsies of Southern Hungary speaks of a
dragon which threatened a certain city with destruction, unless in ten
years the king’s fair daughter were given to him. In the interval she
marries a man who wins the favour of a Keshalyi (a forest-fairy, or
Fate) by kindly combing her hair. The Keshalyi’s hairs, as we have
already seen, are powerful talismans, identified in Gipsy
superstitions with the floating cobwebs of autumn. He obtains one of
them, and by this means is able to take from the horns of the
moon-king’s black cattle a gold ring, a similar ring from the horns of
the sun-king’s white cattle, and one from the horns of the
cloud-king’s yellow cattle. These he gives to his bride. Their virtue
causes her to give birth successively to three heroes, of whom one is
so strong he can throw high into the air a stone which ten horses
cannot {28} move, another can by blowing burn everything around him to
ashes, and the third can spit balls from his mouth farther and truer
than the best guns can carry. When, at the appointed time, the great
dragon comes for her, sons like these prove invaluable. Though the
very houses shook with the monster’s voice, the youths quickly riddled
his skin with balls, buried him beneath great rocks, and burnt him
up.[28.1]
Another Gipsy tale concerns a youth who piped so well for the dancing
of a silver-clad river-nymph, daughter of the moon-king, that she gave
him a silver sickle and prayed him to come again on the morrow and she
would give him yet fairer gifts. But he is late for the tryst, and
finds her dead on the ground, heart-broken at his breach of faith; for
these ladies’ hearts are very fragile. Her sister appears from the
river and curses him, if a man, to become a woman, if a woman, to
become a man. She then carries the dead nymph back into the river,
and, as it seems, there restores her to life; for immediately
afterwards a magnificent black steed stands before the desolate youth
(now become a girl) and declares that he is sent by the deceased
maiden to bear him where his fortune blossoms. Mounted on the steed,
he is borne through the air like lightning to the aid of a king’s
daughter, given to a dragon who dwells in a fountain and requires a
maid once a year for dinner. He slays the dragon with the sickle; and
the king in his joy gives him his daughter to wife. He accepted the
lady amid the general excitement, without thinking that he was no
longer a man but a woman. This was awkward. The bride complained to
her father, who was afraid to attempt {29} his life by direct means.
Wherefore he sent him instead to rob the cloud-king of three golden
apples which had the property, one of them of making wealthy, another
of making lucky, and the third of making healthy. His steed helps him
to accomplish the task. But when the monster, half-man, half-dog, that
guards the apples, finds that he has been cozened, he flings the curse
after the robber: “If a man, become woman; if a woman, become man.”
The curse sets matters right again. “I don’t know what has happened,
dearest father,” says the bride to the king, “but my husband is a man
after all.”[29.1] In an Albanian variant the dragon-slayer is born a
girl. She kills a lamia to whom the king has given his son, and is
rewarded with a magical steed. Later on she wins another king’s
daughter in marriage by a feat of athletics, and, as in the last tale,
is guilty of the thoughtlessness of taking the bride. Being prescribed
a series of tasks by the king with the same object of getting rid of
her, she at last is cursed by some serpents with the requisite change
of sex.[29.2]
In this tale it is no longer Andromeda who is rescued, but a young
man. The variation is doubtless due to Oriental influence, conveyed
through a Mohammedan channel. At least, all the variants of this form
with which I am acquainted are of Arab or Indian provenience. In a
story from the Panjáb the hero is the younger of two brothers,
princes, the elder of whom has eaten a parrot and the other a
starling. Now the fate of these birds {30} was that whoever ate the
parrot would become a king, and whoever ate the starling a prime
minister. The elder brother received his kingdom; but the younger is
slain by a snake-demon and afterwards restored to life. Coming into a
strange town, he takes shelter with an old woman whose turn it is to
provide the victim for an ogre who daily eats a young man, a goat and
a wheaten cake. She has no difficulty about the goat and the cake; and
the prince volunteers to take the place of the human victim, in order
to kill the ogre. He is successful; and then, cutting off the
monster’s head, he ties it up in a handkerchief and falls asleep. An
impostor in the shape of a scavenger finds him, buries him in a
clay-pit and, taking the ogre’s head, claims from the king half the
kingdom and his daughter in marriage, as a reward for overcoming the
monster. We should expect the end to be the impostor’s conviction and
the hero’s wedding. However, the further adventures of the latter
result in his obtaining a different wife. With self-denial unusual in
polygamous countries, he finds one enough; so he makes the princess
over to his brother.[30.1] It would seem as though we had here a relic
of an earlier form of the tale wherein it is a maiden who is rescued.
Another tale, also from the Panjáb, countenances the
supposition.[30.2] As given in the _Siddhi-Kür_, on the other hand,
there is no reference to a lady. Two dragon-frogs who dwell at the
source of a river and can withhold the water, demand every year a
human being to eat. The lot falls on the khan himself; and no one but
his son will go in his stead. The son is accompanied by a poor man’s
son, who is his friend and will not quit his side. They overhear the
frogs incautiously talking, after the manner {31} of supernatural
beings in fairy tales, and telling one another how they may be
subdued. Thus they succeed in ridding the land of the pest; and
further, by eating the frogs’ heads, the one acquires the power of
spitting gold and the other of spitting emeralds--an endowment which
develops the plot in a new direction.[31.1] It would be strange if the
endless adventures of the favourite Arab hero, Hatim Taï, did not
include the incident. Accordingly, we learn that Hatim reaches a
village where a giant devours one of the villagers every week. That
week the lot has fallen upon the chief’s son. Hatim rescues him from
his impending fate by causing a mirror to be prepared and set up in
the monster’s path. When the giant beholds his own ugliness he bursts
with rage in the most natural but horrible manner. Substantial rewards
are offered to the deliverer. He rejects them, however, and goes about
his business as if nothing had happened.[31.2]
A Sanskrit story found in one of the manuscripts of the _Twenty-five
Tales of a Demon_ relates that a certain king had had a quarrel with
some demons about a lady, whom he had taken to wife, whereas they had
intended her for their son. Peace was established on the terms of
making over to them daily a human victim. When it came to the turn of
the king’s own son he was fortunately rescued by a stranger-prince,
named Mahâbala. The demon, who expected a good meal, was overcome and
made to swear that he would henceforth protect brahmans and never
again set foot in the city. In contrast, however, to the generous
Hatim Taï, Mahâbala was dissatisfied with the rewards offered him,
and allowed the demon to return to his evil {32} ways. This of course
resulted in a fresh application to the deliverer, who made the monster
renew his oath. He had no cause for dissatisfaction a second
time.[32.1]
It will have been observed that the stories cited in the present
chapter, like those mentioned in the first volume as embodying more
complete versions of the Perseus legend, present in the majority of
cases the curious incident of the impostor. Concerning this personage
I shall have more to say hereafter. We have found him in the story,
from Quilimane, of _Rombao and Antonyo_. He is equally popular among
the Omahas and Ponkas of North America, where the tale of the Rescue
is so thoroughly domesticated, as to be considered by authorities
familiar with the customs and modes of thought of the aborigines as
for the most part “of Indian origin.” Two versions have been recorded
differing only in details. An outline of one of them will enable the
reader to judge of their “Indian origin.” An orphan, we are told, who
lives with his grandmother, is possessed of a gun of unerring aim. He
exchanges it for a magical sword and two hounds which always find and
kill game at their master’s command. The villagers are heard
lamenting; and the old woman tells him it is because the water-monster
with seven heads has asked for the chief’s daughter, and in case of
refusal has threatened to devour the whole tribe. The orphan
determines to deliver her. He finds her bound by the stream, unties
her and sends her home. With his dogs and sword he overcomes {33} the
monster, cuts off his heads and takes the tongues. A black man finds
the heads, pretends to be the victor and claims the chief’s daughter
in marriage, in accordance with an offer her father has previously
made. The maiden denied that he was her deliverer; but the chief
decided against her and “they cooked for the marriage.” The orphan
became aware by supernatural consciousness of what was going on. He
sent one of his dogs to steal one of the best slices of the meat. The
dog was pursued, and the orphan discovered. He justifies having sent
the dog, for he it is who has killed the water-monster and taken his
tongues. On this being reported to the chief he sends for the orphan
and confronts him with the black man. After the orphan has told his
story, “Come, black man, confess!” he says. “‘Hold on! I wish to go
outside,’ said the black man. ‘Take hold of him,’ said the orphan. The
black man did not tell the truth, therefore they burnt him. And thus,
after all, the orphan married the chief’s daughter.”[33.1]
The most hardened believer in the possibility of the independent
origin of folktales having a similar plot will scarcely refuse to
admit that this tale at least must have come to the Sioux from a
European source--probably through French trappers or missionaries. It
may be true, as the translator tells us, that only two words in it
(namely, those for _gun_ and _sword_) are of foreign origin. This is a
fact of no importance against the multifarious coincidences of plot
and idea with those of the Old World summarised in the present and
previous chapters: it is only an additional testimony to the
completeness with which the mind of the barbarous Ponka has absorbed
the story. When an alien people thus receives and assimilates a tale,
{34} it is because the tale is suited to the alien digestion. The
mental growth it indicates is the same on the part of the people
giving and the people acquiring it. It satisfies the imaginative
instincts of both. But though accepted among the traditions of the
Cegiha-speaking tribes, the tale of the Rescue has not received that
final seal of adoption which identifies the action, or some of the
actors, with the mythical history of the race: it has not attained to
the dignity of a saga, such as we are about to examine in the next
chapter.
In the Ponka and Omaha variants the black man is burnt in accordance
with Christian precedents; and this is one of the notes of their
European origin. A Tuscan story, linked to the ancient mythology by
the use of what seems to be a veritable tree-spirit who has survived
in rustic belief to the present day, confers a very different reward
on the impostor. A poor but handsome youth goes to cut wood. To him
appears Vira, the forest-sprite, and comforts him. If he will do as
she tells him he need not despair of making his fortune. She directs
him to a district near Benevento, whose king has a daughter. This
damsel has been given to a seven-headed ogre to devour; and the king
has offered her in marriage to any one who will slay the ogre and
bring him his heads. Signore Slaniani has conquered the monster and
put his heads on a wagon to carry them to the king. But the reward is
not for him. When the wagon was being loaded Vira secretly took the
tongues, and she now gives them to the youth. “Carry these tongues to
the king, and say that thou didst slay the ogre, and that thou dost
wish for his daughter.” The tale is told with snatches of verse, which
are some evidence of its antiquity. The youth readily falls into the
plot.
{35}
“And thus did Vira;
The youth was clad in splendid attire,
He too was very beautiful,
Boldly he went to the king,
Boldly he claimed to have slain,
Single-handed, the ogre,
And asked for the beautiful princess
As a reward for his valour.
‘It may not be,’ said the king;
‘He who slew the monster
Has brought with him its heads,
No better proof can be found.’
‘A better proof is the tongues,’
Answered the youth, undaunted,
‘And I can show all the seven.’”
To the amazement of the true victor, who had never let the heads go
out of his sight, the tongues are no longer in them.
“Therefore it came to pass
That the poor youth who was favoured
By the help of the fairy
Carried away the reward.
So it often goes in this world--
He who does the hard work
Often misses his pay,
When some one more favoured by fortune
Steps in and secures the prize.
Higher beings than man
Play with us like toys.
The youth was as nothing in this;
All that he won he owed
To the loving spirit Vira.”[35.1]
A moral amply justified, no doubt, by the Italian peasant’s experience
of life.