and gentlemen attended. The gentleman who had the servant dressed in
wood prepared to go to the ball, and after he had departed, the servant
said to his mother: "Do me this kindness, mistress: let me go to the
ball too, for I have never seen any dancing." "What, you wish to go to
the ball so badly dressed that they would drive you away as soon as they
saw you!" The servant was silent, and when the mistress was in bed,
dressed herself in one of her silk dresses and became the most beautiful
woman that was ever seen. She went to the ball, and it seemed as if the
sun had entered the room; all were dazzled. She sat down near her
master, who asked her to dance, and would dance with no one but her. She
pleased him so much that he fell in love with her. He asked her who she
was and where she came from. She replied that she came from a distance,
but told him nothing more.
At a certain hour, without any one perceiving it, she went out and
disappeared. She returned home and put on her wooden dress again. In the
morning the master returned from the ball, and said to his mother: "Oh!
if you had only seen what a beautiful lady there was at the ball! She
appeared like the sun, she was so beautiful and well dressed. She sat
down near me, and would not dance with any one but me." His mother then
said: "Did you not ask her who she was and where she came from?" "She
would only tell me that she came from a distance; but I thought I
should die; I wish to go again this evening." The servant heard all this
dialogue, but kept silent, pretending that the matter did not concern
her.
In the evening he prepared himself again for the ball, and the servant
said to him: "Master, yesterday evening I asked your mamma to let me,
too, go to the ball, for I have never seen dancing, but she would not;
will you have the kindness to let me go this evening?" "Be still, you
ugly creature, the ball is no place for you!" "Do me this favor," she
said, weeping, "I will stand out of doors, or under a bench, or in a
corner so no one shall see me; but let me go!" He grew angry then, and
took a stick and began to beat the poor servant. She wept and remained
silent.
After he had gone, she waited until his mother was in bed, and put on a
dress finer than the first, and so rich as to astonish, and away to the
ball! When she arrived all began to gaze at her, for they had never seen
anything more beautiful. All the handsomest young men surround her and
ask her to dance; but she would have nothing to do with any one but her
master. He again asked her who she was, and she said she would tell him
later. They danced and danced, and all at once she disappeared. Her
master ran here and there, asked one and another, but no one could tell
him where she had gone. He returned home and told his mother all that
had passed. She said to him: "Do you know what you must do? Take this
diamond ring, and when she dances with you give it to her; and if she
takes it, it is a sign that she loves you." She gave him the ring. The
servant listened, saw everything, and was silent.
In the evening the master prepared for the ball and the servant again
asked him to take her, and again he beat her. He went to the ball, and
after midnight, as before, the beautiful lady returned more beautiful
than before, and as usual would dance only with her master. At the right
moment he took out the diamond ring, and asked her if she would accept
it. She took it and thanked him, and he was happy and satisfied.
Afterward he asked her again who she was and where from. She said that
she was of that country
That when they speak of going to a ball,
They are beaten on the head;
and said no more. At the usual hour she stopped dancing and departed. He
ran after her, but she went like the wind, and reached home without his
finding out where she went. But he ran so in all directions, and was in
such suffering, that when he reached home he was obliged to go to bed
more dead than alive. Then he fell ill and grew worse every day, so that
all said he would die. He did nothing but ask his mother and every one
if they knew anything of that lady, and that he would die if he did not
see her. The servant heard everything; and one day, when he was very
ill, what did she think of? She waited until her mistress' eye was
turned, and dropped the diamond ring in the broth her master was to eat.
No one saw her, and his mother took him the broth. He began to eat it,
when he felt something hard, saw something shine, and took it out....
You can imagine how he looked at it and recognized the diamond ring!
They thought he would go mad. He asked his mother if that was the ring
and she swore that it was, and all happy, she said that now he would see
her again.
Meanwhile the servant went to her room, took off her wooden dress, and
put on one all of silk, so that she appeared a beauty, and went to the
room of the sick man. His mother saw her and began to cry: "Here she is;
here she is!" She went in and saluted him, smiling, and he was so beside
himself that he became well at once. He asked her to tell him her
story,--who she was, where she came from, how she came, and how she knew
that he was ill. She replied: "I am the woman dressed in wood who was
your servant. It is not true that I was a poor girl, but I had that
dress to conceal myself in, for underneath it I was the same that I am
now. I am a lady; and although you treated me so badly when I asked to
go to the ball, I saw that you loved me, and now I have come to save
you from death." You can believe that they stayed to hear her story.
They were married and have always been happy and still are.[17]
* * * * *
In the various stories thus far mentioned which involve the family
relations, we have had examples of treachery on the part of brothers,
ill-treatment of step-children, etc. It remains now to notice the trait
of treachery on the part of sister or mother towards brother or son. The
formula as given by Hahn (No. 19) is as follows: The hero, who is
fleeing with his sister (or mother), overcomes a number of dragons or
giants. The only survivor makes love to the sister (or mother), and
causes her, for fear of discovery, to send her brother, in order to
destroy him, on dangerous adventures, under the pretence of obtaining a
cure for her illness. The hero survives the dangers, discovers the
deception, and punishes the guilty ones. Traces of this formula are
found in several Italian stories,[18] but it constitutes only two entire
stories: one in Pitre (No. 71) the other in Comparetti (No. 54, "The
Golden Hair," from Monferrato, Piedmont). The latter is in substance as
follows: A king with three sons marries again in his old age. The
youngest son falls in love with his step-mother and the jealous father
tries to poison her. The son and wife flee together, and fall in with
some robbers whom they kill, and set at liberty a princess who has the
gift of curing blindness and other diseases. They afterward find a cave
containing rooms and all the necessaries of life, but see no one. They
spend the night there, and the next morning the youth goes hunting; and
as soon as he has departed a giant appears and solicits the
step-mother's love, saying that if she will marry him, she will always
be healthy and never lose her youth. But first it will be necessary to
remove from her step-son's head a golden hair, and then he will become
so weak that he can be killed by a blow. She was unwilling at first,
because he had saved her life, but finally yielded. First she tried to
get rid of him by pretending to be ill, and sending him for some water
from a fountain near which was a lion. He obtained the water safely.
Then his step-mother, pretending to comb his hair, cut off the golden
hair, and the giant dragged him by the feet fifty miles, and let him
fall first in the bushes and then on the ground. From the wounds in his
head he became blind, but recovered his sight by means of the princess
mentioned in the first part of the story, whom he married. After his
golden lock had grown out again he returned to the cave and killed the
giant, punishing his step-mother by leaving her there without even
looking at her.
The story in Pitre (No. 71, "The Cyclops") is more detailed. A queen who
has been unfaithful to her husband is put in confinement, gives birth to
a son, and afterward, through his aid, escapes. They encounter some
cyclops, a number of whom the son kills; but one becomes secretly the
mother's lover. To get rid of her son, she sends him for the water of a
certain fountain, which he brings back safely. Finally the mother binds
the son fast, under the pretence of playing a game, and delivers him to
the cyclops, who kills him and cuts him into small bits, which he loads
on his horse and turns him loose. The youth is, however, restored to
life by the same water that he had brought back, and kills the cyclops
and his mother, finally marrying the princess to whom he owes his
life.[19]
In marked contrast to the above class is the one in which a number of
brothers owe their deliverance from enchantment to the self-sacrifice of
a sister. Generally the sister is the innocent cause of her brothers'
transformation. They live far from home, and their sister is not aware
for a long time of their existence. When she learns it she departs in
search of them, finds them, and, after great risk to herself, delivers
them. But two versions of this story have yet been published in Italy:
one from Naples (Pent. IV. 8), the other from Bologna (Coronedi-Berti,
No. 19). The latter version we give at length.
XI. THE CURSE OF THE SEVEN CHILDREN.
There was once a king and a queen who had six children, all sons. The
queen was about to give birth to another child, and the king said that
if it was not a daughter all seven children would be cursed. Now it
happened that the king had to go away to war; and before departing he
said to the queen, "Listen. If you have a son, hang a lance out of the
window; if a daughter, a distaff; so that I can see as soon as I arrive
which it is." After the king had been gone a month, the queen gave birth
to the most beautiful girl that was ever seen. Imagine how pleased the
queen was at having a girl. She could scarcely contain herself for joy,
and immediately gave orders to hang the distaff out of the window; but
in the midst of the joyful confusion, a mistake was made, and they put
out a lance. Shortly after, the king returned and saw the sign at the
window, and cursed all his seven sons; but when he entered the house and
the servants crowded around him to congratulate him and tell him about
his beautiful daughter, then the king was amazed and became very
melancholy. He entered the queen's room and looked at the child, who
seemed exactly like one of those wax dolls to be kept in a box; then he
looked about him and saw nothing of his sons, and his eyes filled with
tears, for those poor youths had wandered out into the world.
Meanwhile the girl grew, and when she was large she saw that her parents
caressed her, but always with tears in their eyes. One day she said to
her mother: "What is the matter with you, mother, that I always see you
crying?" Then the queen told her the story, and said that she was afraid
that some day she would see her disappear too. When the girl heard how
it was, what did she do? One night she rose softly and left the palace,
with the intention of going to find her brothers. She walked and walked,
and at last met a little old man, who said to her: "Where are you going
at this time of the night?" She answered: "I am in search of my
brothers." The old man said: "It will be difficult to find them, for
you must not speak for seven years, seven months, seven weeks, seven
days, seven hours, and seven minutes." She said: "I will try." Then she
took a bit of paper which she found on the ground, wrote on it the day
and the hour with a piece of charcoal, and left the old man and hastened
on her way. After she had run a long time, she saw a light and went
towards it, and when she was near it, she saw that it was over the door
of a palace where a king lived. She entered and sat down on the
stairway, and fell asleep. The servants came later to put out the light,
and saw the pretty girl asleep on the stone steps; they awakened her,
asking her what she was doing there. She began to make signs, asking
them to give her a lodging. They understood her, and said they would ask
the king. They returned shortly to tell her to enter, for the king
wished to see her before she was shown to her room. When the king saw
the beautiful girl, with hair like gold, flesh like milk and wine, teeth
white as pearls, and little hands that an artist could not paint as
beautiful as they were, he suddenly imagined that she must be the
daughter of some lord, and gave orders that she should be treated with
all possible respect. They showed her to a beautiful room; then a maid
came and undressed her and put her to bed. Next morning, Diana, for so
she was called, arose, saw a frame with a piece of embroidery in it, and
began to work at it. The king visited her, and asked if she needed
anything, and she made signs that she did not. The king was so pleased
with the young girl that he ended by falling in love with her, and after
a year had passed he thought of marrying her. The queen-mother, who was
an envious person, was not content with the match, because, said she, no
one knows where she came from, and, besides, she is dumb, something that
would make people wonder if a king should marry her. But the king was so
obstinate that he married her; and when his mother saw that there was no
help, she pretended to be satisfied. Shortly after, the queen-mother put
into the king's hands a letter which informed him of an imminent war, in
which, if he did not take part, he would run the risk of losing his
realm. The king went to the war, in fact, with great grief at leaving
his wife; and before departing, he commended her earnestly to his
mother, who said: "Do not be anxious, my son, I shall do all that I can
to make her happy." The king embraced his wife and mother, and departed.
Scarcely had the king gone when the queen-mother sent for a mason, and
made him build a wall near the kitchen-sink, so that it formed a sort of
box. Now you must know that Diana expected soon to become a mother, and
this afforded the queen-mother a pretext to write to her son that his
wife had died in giving birth to a child. She took her and put her in
the wall she had had built, where there was neither light nor air, and
where the wicked woman hoped that she would die. But it was not so. The
scullion went every day to wash the dishes at the sink near where poor
Diana was buried alive. While attending to his business, he heard a
lamentation, and listened to see where it could come from. He listened
and listened, until at last he perceived that the voice came from the
wall that had been newly built. What did he do then? He made a hole in
the wall, and saw that the queen was there. The scullion asked how she
came there; but she only made signs that she was about to give birth to
a child. The poor scullion had his wife make a fine cushion, on which
Diana reposed as well as she could, and gave birth to the most beautiful
boy that could be seen. The scullion's wife went to see her every
moment, and carried her broth, and cared for the child; in short, this
poor woman, as well as her husband, did everything she could to
alleviate the poor queen, who tried to make them understand by signs
what she needed. One day it came into Diana's head to look into her
memorandum book and see how long she still had to keep silent, and she
saw that only two minutes yet remained. As soon as they had passed, she
told the scullion all that had happened. At that moment the king
arrived, and the scullion drew the queen from out the hole, and showed
her to the king. You can imagine how delighted he was to see again his
Diana, whom he believed to be dead. He embraced her, and kissed her and
the child; in short, such was his joy that it seemed as if he would go
mad. Diana related everything to him: why she had left her home, and why
she had played dumb so long, and finally how she had been treated by the
queen-mother, and what she had suffered, and how kind those poor people
had been to her. When he had heard all this, he said: "Leave the matter
to me; I will arrange it."
The next day the king invited all the nobles and princes of his realm to
a great banquet. Now it happened that in setting the tables the servants
laid six plates besides the others; and when the guests sat down, six
handsome youths entered, who advanced and asked what should be given to
a sister who had done so and so for her brothers. Then the king sprang
up and said: "And I ask what shall be done to a mother who did so and so
to her son's wife?" and he explained everything. One said: "Burn her
alive." Another: "Put her in the pillory." Another: "Fry her in oil in
the public square." This was agreed to. The youths had been informed by
that same old man whom Diana had met, and who was a magician, where
their sister was and what she had done for them. Then they made
themselves known, and embraced Diana and their brother-in-law the king,
and after the greatest joy, they all started off to see their parents.
Imagine the satisfaction of the king and queen at seeing again all their
seven children. They gave the warmest reception to the king, Diana's
husband, and after they had spent some days together, Diana returned
with her husband to their city. And all lived there afterward in peace
and contentment.[20]
* * * * *
We shall now turn our attention to another wide-spread story, which may
be termed "The True Bride," although the Grimm story of that name is not
a representative of it. One of the simplest versions is Grimm's "The
Goose-Girl," in which a queen's daughter is betrothed to a king's son
who lives far away. When the daughter grew up she was sent to the
bridegroom, with a maid to wait upon her. On the journey the maid takes
the place of the princess, who becomes a poor goose-girl. The true bride
is of course discovered at last, and the false one duly punished. "The
White and the Black Bride," of the same collection, is a more
complicated version of the same theme. The first part is the story of
two sisters (step-sisters) who receive different gifts from fairies,
etc.; the second part, that of the brother who paints his sister's
portrait, which the king sees and desires to marry the original. The
sister is sent for, but on the journey the ugly step-sister pushes the
bride into a river or the sea, and takes her place. The true bride is
changed into a swan (or otherwise miraculously preserved), and at last
resumes her lawful place. In the above stories the substitution of the
false bride is the main incident in the story; but there are many other
tales in which the same incident occurs, but it is subordinate to the
others. Examples of this latter class will be given as soon as we reach
the story of "The Forgotten Bride."
The first class mentioned is represented in Italy by two versions also.
The first is composed of the two traits: "Two Sisters" and "True Bride";
the second, of "Brother who shows beautiful sister's portrait to king."
This second version sometimes shows traces of the first. It is with this
second version that we now have to do, as in it only is the substitution
of the false bride the main incident. Examples of the first version will
be found in the notes.[21] The story we have selected to illustrate the
second version of this story is from Florence (_Nov. fior._ p. 314), and
is entitled:
XII. ORAGGIO AND BIANCHINETTA.
There was once a lady who had two children: the boy was called Oraggio,
the girl, Bianchinetta. By misfortunes they were reduced from great
wealth to poverty. It was decided that Oraggio should go out to service,
and indeed he found a situation as _valet de chambre_ to a prince. After
a time the prince, satisfied with his service, changed it, and set him
to work cleaning the pictures in his gallery. Among the various
paintings was one of a very beautiful lady, which was constantly
Oraggio's admiration. The prince often surprised him admiring the
portrait. One day he asked him why he spent so much time before that
picture. Oraggio replied that it was the very image of his sister, and
having been away from her some time, he felt the need of seeing her
again. The prince answered that he did not believe that picture
resembled his sister, because he had a search made, and it had not been
possible to find any lady like the portrait. He added: "Have her come
here, and if she is as beautiful as you say, I will make her my wife."
Oraggio wrote at once to Bianchinetta, who immediately set out on her
journey. Oraggio went to the harbor to await her, and when he perceived
the ship at a distance, he called out at intervals: "Mariners of the
high sea, guard my sister Bianchina, so that the sun shall not brown
her." Now, on the ship where Bianchinetta was, was also another young
girl with her mother, both very homely. When they were near the harbor,
the daughter gave Bianchinetta a blow, and pushed her into the sea. When
they landed, Oraggio could not recognize his sister; and that homely
girl presented herself, saying that the sun had made her so dark that
she could no longer be recognized. The prince was surprised at seeing
such a homely woman, and reproved Oraggio, removing him from his
position and setting him to watch the geese. Every day he led the geese
to the sea, and every day Bianchinetta came forth and adorned them with
tassels of various colors. When the geese returned home, they said:--
"Cro! cro!
From the sea we come,
We feed on gold and pearls.
Oraggio's sister is fair,
She is fair as the sun;
She would suit our master well."
The prince asked Oraggio how the geese came to repeat those words every
day. He told him that his sister, thrown into the sea, had been seized
by a fish, which had taken her to a beautiful palace under the water,
where she was in chains. But that, attached to a long chain, she was
permitted to come to the shore when he drove the geese there. The prince
said: "If what you relate is true, ask her what is required to liberate
her from that prison."
The next day Oraggio asked Bianchinetta how it would be possible to take
her from there and conduct her to the prince. She replied: "It is
impossible to take me from here. At least, the monster always says to
me: 'It would require a sword that cuts like a hundred, and a horse that
runs like the wind.' It is almost impossible to find these two things.
You see, therefore, it is my fate to remain here always." Oraggio
returned to the palace, and informed the prince of his sister's answer.
The latter made every effort, and succeeded in finding the horse that
ran like the wind, and the sword that cut like a hundred. They went to
the sea, found Bianchinetta, who was awaiting them. She led them to her
palace. With the sword the chain was cut. She mounted the horse, and
thus was able to escape. When they reached the palace the prince found
her as beautiful as the portrait Oraggio was always gazing at, and
married her. The other homely one was burned in the public square, with
the accustomed pitch-shirt; and they lived content and happy.[22]
* * * * *
We have already encountered the trait of "Thankful Animals," who assist
the hero in return for kindness he has shown them. What is merely an
incident in the stories above alluded to constitutes the main feature of
a class of stories which may be termed "Animal Brothers-in-law." The
usual formula in these stories is as follows: Three princes, transformed
into animals, marry the hero's sisters. The hero visits them in turn;
they assist him in the performance of difficult tasks, and are by him
freed from their enchantment. This formula varies, of course. Sometimes
there are but two sisters, and the brothers-in-law are freed from their
enchantment in some other way than by the hero. A good specimen of this
class is from the south of Italy, Basilicata (Comparetti, No. 20), and
is called:
XIII. THE FAIR FIORITA.
There was once a king who had four children: three daughters and a son,
who was the heir to the throne. One day the king said to the prince: "My
son, I have decided to marry your three sisters to the first persons who
pass our palace at noon." At that time there first passed a swine-herd,
then a huntsman, and finally a grave-digger. The king had them all three
summoned to his presence, and told the swine-herd that he wished to give
him his oldest daughter for a wife, the second to the huntsman, and the
third to the grave-digger. Those poor creatures thought they were
dreaming. But they saw that the king spoke seriously, or rather
commanded. Then, all confused, but well pleased, they said: "Let your
Majesty's will be done." The prince, who loved his youngest sister
dearly, was deeply grieved that she should become a grave-digger's wife.
He begged the king not to make this match, but the king would not listen
to him.
The prince, grieved at his father's caprice, would not be present at his
sisters' wedding, but took a walk in the garden at the foot of the
palace. Now, while the priest in the marriage hall was blessing the
three brides, the garden suddenly bloomed with the fairest flowers, and
there came forth from a white cloud a voice which said: "Happy he who
shall have a kiss from the lips of the fair Fiorita!" The prince
trembled so that he could hardly stand; and afterward, leaning against
an olive-tree, he began to weep for the sisters he had lost, and
remained buried in thought many hours. Then he started, as if awakening
from a dream, and said to himself: "I must flee from my father's house.
I will wander about the world, and will not rest until I have a kiss
from the lips of the fair Fiorita."
He travelled over land and sea, over mountains and plains, and found no
living soul that could give him word of the fair Fiorita. Three years
had elapsed, when one day, leaving a wood and journeying through a
beautiful plain, he arrived at a palace before which was a fountain, and
drew near to drink. A child two years old, who was playing by the
fountain, seeing him approach, began to cry and call its mother. The
mother, when she saw the prince, ran to meet him, embraced him, and
kissed him, crying: "Welcome, welcome, my brother!" The prince at first
did not recognize her; but looking at her closely in the face, he saw
that it was his oldest sister, and embracing her in turn, exclaimed:
"How glad I am to see you, my sister!" and they rejoiced greatly. The
sister invited him to enter the palace, which was hers, and led him to
her husband, who was much pleased to see him, and all three overwhelmed
with caresses the child who, by calling his mother, had been the cause
of all that joy.
The prince then asked about his other two sisters, and his
brother-in-law replied that they were well, and lived in a lordly way
with their husbands. The prince was surprised, and his brother-in-law
added that the fortunes of the three husbands of his sisters had changed
since they had been enchanted by a magician. "And cannot I see my other
two sisters?" asked the prince. The brother-in-law replied: "Direct your
journey towards sunrise. After a day you will find your second sister;
after two days, the third." "But I must seek the way to the fair
Fiorita, and I do not know whether it is towards sunrise or sunset." "It
is precisely towards sunrise; and you are doubly fortunate: first,
because you will see your two sisters again; secondly, because from the
last you can receive information about the fair Fiorita. But before
departing I wish to give you a remembrance. Take these hog's bristles.
The first time you encounter any danger from which you cannot extricate
yourself, throw them on the ground, and I will free you from the
danger." The prince took the bristles, and after he had thanked his
brother-in-law, resumed his journey.
The next day he arrived at the palace of his second sister; was received
there also with great joy, and this brother-in-law, too, wished to give
him a memento before he departed; and because he had been a huntsman,
presented him with a bunch of birds' feathers, telling him the same
thing that the other brother-in-law had. He thanked him and departed.
The third day he came to his youngest sister's, who, seeing the brother
who had always loved her more dearly than his other sisters, welcomed
him more warmly, as did also her husband. The latter gave him a little
human bone, giving him the same advice as the other brothers-in-law had.
His sister then told him that the fair Fiorita lived a day's journey
from there, and that he could learn more about her from an old woman who
was indebted to her, and to whom she sent him.
As soon as the prince arrived at the fair Fiorita's country (she was the
king's daughter), he went to the old woman. When she heard that he was
the brother of the one who had been so kind to her, she received him
like a son. Fortunately, the old woman's house was exactly opposite that
side of the king's palace where there was a window to which the fair
Fiorita came every day at dawn. Now one morning at that hour she
appeared at the window, scarcely covered by a white veil. When the
prince saw that flower of beauty, he was so agitated that he would have
fallen had not the old woman supported him. The old woman attempted to
dissuade him from the idea of marrying the fair Fiorita, saying that the
king would give his daughter only to him who should discover a hidden
place, and that he killed him who could not find it, and that already
many princes had lost their lives for her. But, notwithstanding, he
answered that he should die if he could not obtain possession of the
fair Fiorita. Having learned afterward from the old woman that the king
bought for his daughter the rarest musical instruments, hear what he
devised! He went to a cymbal-maker and said: "I want a cymbal that will
play three tunes, and each tune to last a day, and to be made in such a
way that a man can be hidden inside of it; and I will pay you a thousand
ducats for it. When it is finished I will get in it; and you must go
and play it in front of the king's palace; and if the king wishes to
buy it you will sell it to him on condition that you shall take it every
three days to fix it." The cymbal-maker consented, and did all that the
prince commanded him. The king purchased the cymbal with the maker's
condition, had it carried to his daughter's bed-chamber, and said to
her: "See, my daughter, I do not wish you to lack any diversion, even
when you are in bed and cannot sleep."
Next to the fair Fiorita's chamber slept her maids of honor. In the
night when all were asleep, the prince, who was hidden in the cymbal,
came out and called: "Fair Fiorita! fair Fiorita!" She awoke in a fright
and cried: "Come, my maids of honor, I hear some one calling me." The
maids of honor came quickly, but found no one, for the prince hid
himself suddenly in the instrument. The same thing happened twice, and
the maids coming and finding no one, the fair Fiorita said: "Well, it
must be my fancy. If I call you again, do not come, I command you." The
prince, within the cymbal, heard this. Scarcely had the maids of honor
fallen asleep again, when the prince approached the fair one's bed and
said: "Fair Fiorita, give me, I beg you, a kiss from your lips; if you
do not, I shall die." She, all trembling, called her maids; but obeying
her command, they did not come. Then she said to the prince: "You are
fortunate and have won. Draw near." And she gave him the kiss, and on
the prince's lips there remained a beautiful rose. "Take this rose," she
said, "and keep it on your heart, for it will bring you good luck." The
prince placed it on his heart, and then told his fair one all his
history from the time he had left his father's palace until he had
introduced himself into her chamber by the trick with the cymbal. The
fair Fiorita was well pleased, and said that she would willingly marry
him; but to succeed, he must perform many difficult tasks which the king
would lay upon him. First he must discover the way to a hiding-place
where the king had concealed her with a hundred damsels; then he must
recognize her among the hundred damsels, all dressed alike and veiled.
"But," she said, "you need not trouble yourself about these
difficulties, for the rose you have taken from my lips, and which you
will always wear over your heart, will draw you like the loadstone,
first to the hiding-place, and afterward to my arms. But the king will
set you other tasks, and perhaps terrible ones. These you must think of
yourself. Let us leave it to God and fortune."
The prince went at once to the king, and asked for the fair Fiorita's
hand. The king did not refuse it, but made the same conditions, that the
princess had told him of. He consented, and by the help of the rose
quickly performed the first tasks. "Bravo!" exclaimed the king, when the
prince recognized the fair Fiorita among the other damsels; "but this is
not enough." Then he shut him up in a large room all full of fruit, and
commanded him, under pain of death, to eat it all up in a day. The
prince was in despair, but fortunately he remembered the hog's bristles
and the advice which his first brother-in-law had given him. He threw
the bristles on the ground, and there suddenly came forth a great herd
of swine which ate up all the fruit and then disappeared. This task was
accomplished. But the king proposed another. He wished the prince to
retire with his bride, and cause her to fall asleep at the singing of
the birds which are the sweetest to hear and the most beautiful to see.
The prince remembered the bunch of feathers given him by his
brother-in-law the huntsman, and threw them on the ground. Suddenly
there appeared the most beautiful birds in the world, and sang so
sweetly that the king himself fell asleep. But a servant awakened him at
once, because he had commanded it, and he said to the prince and his
daughter: "Now you can enjoy your love at liberty. But to-morrow, on
arising, you must present me with a child two years old, who can speak
and call you by name. If not, you will both be killed." "Now let us
retire, my dear wife," said the prince to the fair Fiorita. "Between now
and to-morrow some saint will aid us." The next morning the prince
remembered the bone which his brother-in-law the grave-digger had given
him. He rose and threw it to the ground, and lo! a beautiful child,
with a golden apple in his right hand, who cried papa and mamma. The
king entered the room, and the child ran to meet him, and wished to put
the golden apple on the crown which the king wore. The king then kissed
the child, blessed the pair, and taking the crown from his head, put it
on his son-in-law's, saying: "This is now yours." Then they gave a great
feast at the court for the wedding, and they invited the prince's three
sisters, with their husbands. And the prince's father, receiving such
good news of the son whom he believed lost, hastened to embrace him, and
gave him his crown too. So the prince and the fair Fiorita became king
and queen of two realms, and from that time on were always happy.[23]
* * * * *
In the above story the wife is won by the performance of difficult tasks
by the suitor. A somewhat similar class of stories is the one in which
the bride is won by the solution of a riddle. The riddle, or difficult
question, is either proposed by the bride herself, and the suitor who
fails to answer it is killed, or the suitor is obliged to propose one
himself, and if the bride fails to solve it, she marries him; if she
succeeds, the suitor is killed. The first of the above two forms is
found in three Italian stories, two of which resemble each other quite
closely.
In the Pentamerone (I. 5, "The Flea"), the King of High-Hill, "being
bitten by a flea, caught him by a wonderful feat of dexterity; and
seeing how handsome and stately he was, he could not in conscience pass
sentence on him upon the bed of his nail. So he put him into a bottle,
and feeding him every day with the blood of his own arm, the little
beast grew at such a rate that at the end of seven months it was
necessary to shift his quarters, for he was grown bigger than a sheep.
When the king saw this, he had him flayed, and the skin dressed. Then he
issued a proclamation, that whoever could tell to what animal this skin
had belonged should have his daughter to wife." The question is answered
by an ogre, to whom the king gives his daughter rather than break his
promise. The hapless wife is afterward rescued by an old woman's seven
sons, who possess remarkable gifts. In Gonz. (No. 22, "The Robber who
had a Witch's Head"), a king with three daughters fattens a louse and
nails its skin over the door as in the Pentamerone. A robber, who had a
witch's head that told him everything he wanted to know, answers the
question, and receives in marriage the king's eldest daughter. He takes
her home and leaves her alone for a time, and on his return learns from
the witch's head that his wife has reviled him. He kills her and marries
the second sister, whom he kills for the same reason, and marries the
youngest. She is more discreet, and the witch's head can only praise
her. One day she finds the head and throws it in the oven; and the
robber, whose life was in some way connected with it, died. The wife
then anointed her sisters with a life-giving salve, and all three
returned to their father's house, and afterward married three handsome
princes. The third story, from the Tyrol (Schneller, No. 31, "The
Devil's Wife"), is connected with the Bluebeard story which will be
mentioned later. A king and queen had an only daughter, who was very
pretty and fond of dress. One day she found a louse; and as she did not
know what kind of an animal it was, she ran to her mother and asked her.
Her mother told her and said: "Shut the louse up in a box and feed it.
As soon as it is very large, we will have a pair of gloves made of its
skin; these we will exhibit, and whoever of your suitors guesses from
the skin of what animal they are made, shall be your husband." The
successful suitor is no other than the Devil, who takes his wife home
and forbids her to open a certain room. One day, while he is absent, she
opens the door of the forbidden chamber, and sees from the flames and
condemned souls who her husband is. She is so frightened that she
becomes ill, but manages to send word to her father by means of a
carrier-pigeon. The king sets out with many brave men to deliver her; on
the way he meets three men who possess wonderful gifts (far seeing,
sharp ear, great strength), and with their aid rescues his daughter.
More frequently, however, this class of stories turns on a riddle
proposed by the suitor himself, and which the bride is unable to solve.
The following story, which illustrates the latter version, is from
Istria (Ive, 1877, p. 13), and is entitled:
XIV. BIERDE.
Once upon a time there was a mother who had a son, who went to school.
One day he came home and said to his mother: "Mother, I want to go and
seek my fortune." She replied: "Ah, my son, are you mad? Where do you
want to seek it?" "I want to wander about the world until I find it."
Now he had a dog whose name was Bierde. He said: "To-morrow morning bake
me some bread, put it into a bag, give me a pair of iron shoes, and I
and Bierde will go and seek our fortune." His mother said: "No, my son,
don't go, for I shall not see you again!" And she wept him as dead.
After she was quieted she said to him: "Well, if you will go, to-morrow
I will bake you some bread, and I will make you a bread-cake." She made
the bread-cake, and put some poison in it; she put the bread and the
bread-cake in the bag, and he went away. He walked and walked and walked
until he felt hungry, and said to the dog: "Ah, poor Bierde, how tired
you are, and how hungry, too! Wait until we have gone a little farther,
and then we will eat." He went on, tired as he was, and at last seated
himself under a tree, with the dog near him. He said: "Oh, here we are;
now we will eat. Wait, Bierde; I will give you a piece of the bread-cake
so that you, too, can eat." He broke off a piece of the cake, and gave
it to him to eat. The dog was so hungry that he ate it greedily. After
he had eaten it he took two or three turns, and fell dead on the ground,
with his tongue sticking out. "Ah, poor Bierde!" said his master. "You
have been poisoned! My mother has done it! The wretch! She has put
poison in the cake in order to kill me!" He kept weeping and saying:
"Poor Bierde, you are dead, but you have saved my life!" While he was
weeping three crows passed, alighted, and pecked at the tongue of the
dog, and all three died. Then he said: "Well, well! _Bierde dead has
killed three crows!_ I will take them with me." So he took them and
continued his journey. He saw at a distance a large fire; he approached
and heard talking and singing, and beheld seven highwaymen, who had
eaten a great many birds, and who had a great deal of meat still left.
He said to himself: "Poor me! Now I shall have to die; there is no
escape; they will certainly take me and kill me!" Then he said: "Enough;
I will go ahead." As soon as they saw him they cried: "Stop! Your money
or your life!" The poor fellow said: "Brothers, what would you have me
give you? Money I have not. I am very hungry. I have nothing but these
three birds. If you want them I will give them to you." "Very well,"
they said; "eat and drink; we will eat the birds." They took the birds,
picked them, skinned them, roasted them over the coals, and said to the
youth: "We will not give you any of these; you can eat the others." They
ate them, and all seven fell down dead. When the youth saw that they did
not stir, but were dead, he said: "Well, well! _Bierde dead has killed
three, and these three have killed seven!_" He rose and went away after
he had made a good meal. On the way he felt hungry again, and sat down
under a tree, and began to eat. When he got up he saw a beautiful
canary-bird on the top of another tree. He took up a stone and threw at
it. The bird flew away. Now, behind this tree was a hare, big with
young, and it happened that the stone fell on it and killed it. The
youth went to see where the stone fell, and when he saw the dead hare he
said: "Well, well! _I threw it at the canary-bird and the stone killed
the hare!_ I will take it with me. If I had the fire that those robbers
left I would cook it." He went on until he came to a church, in which he
found a lighted lamp and a missal. So he skinned the hare, and made a
fire with the missal, and roasted and ate the hare. Then he continued
his journey until he came to the foot of a mountain, where the sea was.
On the shore he saw two persons with a boat, who ferried over those who
wished to reach the other shore, because one could not go on foot on
account of the great dust, which was suffocating. The price for crossing
was three _soldi_. The youth said to the owners of the bark: "How much
do you want to set me down on the other bank?" "Three _soldi_." "Take me
across, brothers; I will give you two, for I have no more." They
replied: "_Two do not enter if there are not three._" He repeated his
offer and they made the same answer. Then he said: "Very well. I will
stay here." And he remained there. In a moment, however, there came up a
shower, and laid the dust, and he went on. He reached a city, and found
it in great confusion. He asked: "What is the matter here, that there
are so many people?" They answered: "It is the governor's daughter, who
guesses everything. He whose riddle she cannot guess is to marry her;
but he whose riddle she guesses is put to death." He asked: "Could I,
too, go there?" "What, you go, who are a foolish boy! So many students
have abstained, and you, so ignorant, wish to go! You will certainly go
to your death!" "Well," he said, "my mother told me that she would never
see me again, so I will go." He presented himself to the governor and
said: "Sir governor, I wish to go to your daughter and see whether she
can guess what I have to tell her." "Do you wish," he replied, "to go to
your death? So many have lost their lives, do you, also, wish to lose
yours?" He answered: "Let me go and try." He wished to go and see for
himself. He entered the hall where the daughter was. The governor
summoned many gentlemen to hear. When they were all there the governor
again said that the youth should reflect that if she guessed what he had
to say that he would lose his life. He replied that he had thought of
that. The room was full of persons of talent, and the youth presented
himself and said:--
"Bierde dead has killed three."
She said to herself: "How can it be that one dead should kill three?"
"And three have killed seven."
She said: "Here is nothing but dead and killed; what shall I do?" She
was puzzled at once, and felt herself perplexed. He continued:--
"I threw where I saw, and reached where I did not expect to.
I have eaten that which was born, and that which was not born.
It was cooked with words.
Two do not enter if there are not three;
But the hard passes over the soft."
When she heard this the governor's daughter could not answer. All the
others were astonished likewise, and said that she must marry him. Then
he told them all that had happened, and the marriage took place.[24]
* * * * *
We shall now direct our attention to a class of stories found in all
lands, and which may, from one of its most important episodes, be called
"The Forgotten Bride." In the ordinary version, the hero, in consequence
of some imprecation, sets out in search of the heroine, who is either
the daughter or in the custody of ogre or ogress. The hero, by the help
of the heroine, performs difficult tasks imposed upon him by her father
or mother, etc., and finally elopes with her. The pursuit of father or
mother, etc., is avoided by magic obstacles raised in their way, or by
transformations of the fugitives. The hero leaves his bride, to prepare
his parents to receive her; but at a kiss, usually from his mother, he
entirely forgets his bride until she recalls herself to his memory, and
they are both united. The trait of difficult tasks performed by the hero
is sometimes omitted, as well as flight with magic obstacles or
transformations. All the episodes of the above story, down to the
forgetting bride at mother's kiss, are found in many stories; notably in
the class "True Bride," already mentioned.
A Sicilian story (Pitre, No. 13) will best illustrate this class. It is
entitled:
XV. SNOW-WHITE-FIRE-RED.
There was once a king and queen who had no son, and they were always
making vows to obtain one; and they promised that if they had a son, or
even a daughter, they would maintain two fountains for seven years: one
running wine, the other oil. After this vow the queen gave birth to a
handsome boy.
As soon as the child was born, the two fountains were erected, and
everybody went and took oil and wine. At the end of seven years the
fountains began to dry up. An ogress, wishing to collect the drops that
still fell from the fountain, went there with a sponge and pitcher. She
sopped up the drops with the sponge and then squeezed it in the pitcher.
After she had worked so hard to fill this pitcher, the little son of the
king, who was playing ball, from caprice threw a ball and broke the
pitcher. When the old woman saw this, she said: "Listen. I can do
nothing to you, for you are the king's son; but I can bestow upon
you an imprecation: May you be unable to marry until you find
Snow-white-fire-red!" The cunning child took a piece of paper and wrote
down the old woman's words, put it away in a drawer, and said nothing
about it. When he was eighteen the king and queen wished him to marry.
Then he remembered the old woman's imprecation, took the piece of paper,
and said: "Ah! if I do not find Snow-white-fire-red I cannot marry!"
When it seemed fit, he took leave of his father and mother, and began
his journey entirely alone. Months passed without meeting any one. One
evening, night overtook him, tired and discouraged, in a plain in the
midst of which was a large house.
At daybreak he saw an ogress coming, frightfully tall and stout, who
cried: "Snow-white-fire-red, lower your tresses for me to climb up!"
When the prince heard this he took heart, and said: "There she is!"
Snow-white-fire-red lowered her tresses, which seemed never to end, and
the ogress climbed up by them. The next day the ogress descended, and
when the prince saw her depart, he came from under the tree where he
had concealed himself, and cried: "Snow-white-fire-red, lower your
tresses for me to climb up!" She, believing it was her mother (for she
called the ogress mother), lowered her tresses, and the prince climbed
boldly up. When he was up, he said: "Ah! my dear little sister, how I
have labored to find you!" And he told her of the old woman's
imprecation when he was seven years old.
She gave him some refreshments, and then said: "You see, if the ogress
returns and finds you here, she will devour you. Hide yourself." The
ogress returned, and the prince concealed himself.
After the ogress had eaten, her daughter gave her wine to drink, and
made her drunk. Then she said: "My mother, what must I do to get away
from here? Not that I want to go, for I wish to stay with you; but I
want to know just out of curiosity. Tell me!" "What you must do to get
away from here!" said the ogress. "You must enchant everything that
there is here, so that I shall lose time. I shall call, and instead of
you, the chair, the cupboard, the chest of drawers, will answer for you.
When you do not appear, I will ascend. You must take the seven balls of
yarn that I have laid away. When I come and do not find you, I shall
pursue you; when you see yourself pursued, throw down the first ball,
and then the others. I shall always overtake you until you throw down
the last ball."
Her daughter heard all that she said, and remembered it. The next day
the ogress went out, and Snow-white-fire-red and the prince did what
they had to do. They went about the whole house, saying: "Table, you
answer if my mother comes; chairs, answer if my mother comes; chest of
drawers, answer if my mother comes;" and so she enchanted the whole
house. Then she and the prince departed in such a hurry that they seemed
to fly. When the ogress returned, she called: "Snow-white-fire-red, let
down your tresses that I may climb up!" The table answered: "Come, come,
mother!" She waited a while, and when no one appeared to draw her up,
she called again: "Snow-white-fire-red, lower your tresses for me to
climb up!" The chair answered: "Come, come, mother!" She waited a while,
but no one appeared; then she called again, and the chest of drawers
replied: "Come, come, mother!" Meanwhile the lovers were fleeing. When
there was nothing left to answer, the ogress cried out: "Treason!
treason!" Then she got a ladder and climbed up. When she saw that her
daughter and the balls of yarn were gone, she cried: "Ah, wretch! I will
drink your blood!" Then she hastened after the fugitives, following
their scent. They saw her afar off, and when she saw them, she cried:
"Snow-white-fire-red, turn around so that I can see you." (If she had
turned around she would have been enchanted.)
When the ogress had nearly overtaken them, Snow-white-fire-red threw
down the first ball, and suddenly there arose a lofty mountain. The
ogress was not disturbed; she climbed and climbed until she almost
overtook the two again. Then Snow-white-fire-red, seeing her near at
hand, threw down the second ball, and there suddenly appeared a plain
covered with razors and knives. The ogress, all cut and torn, followed
after the lovers, dripping with blood.
When Snow-white-fire-red saw her near again, she threw down the third
ball, and there arose a terrible river. The ogress threw herself into
the river and continued her pursuit, although she was half dead. Then
another ball, and there appeared a fountain of vipers, and many other
things. At last, dying and worn out, the ogress stopped and cursed
Snow-white-fire-red, saying: "The first kiss that the queen gives her
son, may the prince forget you!" Then the ogress could stand it no
longer, and died in great anguish.
The lovers continued their journey, and came to a town near where the
prince lived. He said to Snow-white-fire-red: "You remain here, for you
are not provided with proper clothes, and I will go and get what you
need, and then you can appear before my father and mother." She
consented, and remained.
When the queen beheld her son, she threw herself on him to kiss him.
"Mother," said he, "I have made a vow not to allow myself to be
kissed." The poor mother was petrified. At night, while he was asleep,
his mother, who was dying to kiss him, went and did so. From that moment
he forgot all about Snow-white-fire-red.
Let us leave the prince with his mother, and return to the poor girl,
who was left in the street without knowing where she was. An old woman
met her, and saw the poor girl, as beautiful as the sun, weeping. "What
is the matter, my daughter?" "I do not know how I came here!" "My
daughter, do not despair; come with me." And she took her to her house.
The young girl was deft with her hands, and could work enchantment. She
made things, and the old woman sold them, and so they both lived. One
day the maiden said to the old woman that she wanted two bits of old
cloth from the palace for some work she had to do. The old woman went to
the palace, and began to ask for the bits, and said so much that at last
she obtained them. Now the old woman had two doves, a male and a female,
and with these bits of cloth Snow-white-fire-red dressed the doves so
prettily that all who saw them marvelled. The young girl took these
doves, and whispered in their ears: "You are the prince, and you are
Snow-white-fire-red. The king is at the table, eating; fly and relate
all that you have undergone."
While the king, queen, prince, and many others were at the table, the
beautiful doves flew in and alighted on the table. "How beautiful you
are!" And all were greatly pleased. Then the dove which represented
Snow-white-fire-red began: "Do you remember when you were young how your
father promised a fountain of oil and one of wine for your birth?" The
other dove answered: "Yes, I remember." "Do you remember the old woman
whose pitcher of oil you broke? do you remember?" "Yes, I remember." "Do
you remember the imprecation she pronounced on you,--that you could not
marry until you found Snow-white-fire-red?" "I remember," replied the
other dove. In short, the first dove recalled all that had passed, and
finally said: "Do you remember how you had the ogress at your heels,
and how she cursed you, saying that at your mother's first kiss you must
forget Snow-white-fire-red?" When the dove came to the kiss, the prince
remembered everything, and the king and queen were astounded at hearing
the doves speak.
When they had ended their discourse, the doves made a low bow and flew
away. The prince cried: "Ho, there! ho, there! see where those doves go!
see where they go!" The servants looked and saw the doves alight on a
country house. The prince hastened and entered it, and found
Snow-white-fire-red. When he saw her he threw his arms about her neck,
exclaiming: "Ah! my sister, how much you have suffered for me!"
Straightway they dressed her beautifully and conducted her to the
palace. When the queen saw her there, she said: "What a beauty!" Things
were soon settled and the lovers were married.[25]
* * * * *
As we have remarked above, this story is often found incomplete, the
ending--"forgetfulness of bride"--being wanting.
Several of these versions are from Milan (_Nov. fior._ pp. 411, 415,
417). In the first, "The King of the Sun," a trait occurs that is of
some interest. The hero plays billiards with the King of the Sun and
wins his daughter. He goes in search of his bride, and at last finds an
old man who tells him where the King of the Sun lives, and adds: "In a
wood near by is a pond where, in the afternoon, the king's three
daughters bathe. Go and carry away their clothes; and when they come and
ask for them give them back on condition that they will take you to
their father." The hero does as he is told, is taken to the king, and
obliged to choose his bride from among the three, with his eyes
blindfolded. The remainder of the story consists of the usual flight,
with the transformations of the lovers. The incident of the maidens who
bathe, and whose clothes the hero steals, is clearly an example of the
Swan-maiden myth, and occurs in a few other Italian tales. In a story
from the North of Italy (Monferrato, Comparetti, No. 50), "The Isle of
Happiness," a poor boy goes to seek his fortune. He encounters an old
man who tells him that fortune appears but once in a hundred years, and
if not taken then, never is. He adds that this is the very time for
fortune to appear--that day or the next--and advises the youth to hide
himself in a wood near the bank of a stream, and when three beautiful
girls come and bathe, to carry away the clothes of the middle one. He
does so, and compels the owner (who is none other than Fortune) to marry
him. By his mother's fault he loses his bride, as in the Cupid and
Psyche stories, and is obliged to go in search of her to the Isle of
Happiness. The same incident occurs in several Sicilian stories. In one
(Pitre, No. 50, "Give me the Veil!") the hero, a poor youth, goes in
search of his fortune as in the last story, and meets an old woman who
tells him to go to a certain fountain, where twelve doves will come to
drink and become twelve maidens "as beautiful as the sun, with veils
over their faces," and advises the youth to seize the veil of the most
beautiful girl and keep it; for if she obtains it she will become a dove
again. The youth does as he is commanded, and takes his wife home,
giving the veil to his mother to keep for him. She gives it to the wife,
who becomes a dove again, and disappears. The same thing happens twice;
the third time the veil is burned, and the wife, who turns out to be the
enchanted daughter of the king of Spain, remains with her husband.[26]
There yet remains a large and interesting class of stories to be
examined. The class may conveniently be termed "Bluebeard," although, as
we shall see, there are three versions of this story, to only one of
which the above name properly belongs. These three versions are well
represented by the three Grimm stories of "The Feather Bird" (No. 46),
"The Robber Bridegroom" (No. 40), and "The Wood-cutter's Child" (No. 3).
In the first version, which is, properly speaking, the Bluebeard story,
two sisters are married in turn and killed by their husband, because
they open the forbidden chamber. The youngest sister, although she opens
the forbidden door, manages to escape and deliver her sisters, whom she
restores to life. In the second version a robber marries several
sisters, whom he kills for disobeying his commands (the trait of
forbidden chamber is usually wanting); the youngest sister again manages
to escape and restores her dead sisters to life. Generally in this
version the husband makes a desperate effort to be revenged on the
sister who has escaped from him, but fails in this also. In the third
version a young girl is under the guardianship of some supernatural
being, who forbids her to open a certain door. The child disobeys,
denies her fault, and is sent away in disgrace; she afterward marries
and her children are taken from her one by one until she confesses her
fault, or, as is the case in an Italian version, persists in her denial
to the very end. We shall examine these three versions separately, and
first give an example of the first, or Bluebeard, class. It is from
Venice (Widter-Wolf, No. 11, _Jahrb._ VII. 148), and is entitled:
XVI. HOW THE DEVIL MARRIED THREE SISTERS.
Once upon a time the Devil was seized with a desire to marry. He
therefore left hell, took the form of a handsome young man, and built a
fine large house. When it was completed and furnished in the most
fashionable style, he introduced himself to a family where there were
three pretty daughters, and paid his addresses to the eldest of them.
The handsome man pleased the maiden, her parents were glad to see a
daughter so well provided for, and it was not long before the wedding
was celebrated.
When he had taken his bride home, he presented her with a very
tastefully arranged bouquet, led her through all the rooms of the house,
and finally to a closed door. "The whole house is at your disposal,"
said he, "only I must request one thing of you; that is, that you do not
on any account open this door."
Of course the young wife promised faithfully; but equally, of course,
she could scarcely wait for the moment to come when she might break her
promise. When the Devil had left the house the next morning, under
pretence of going hunting, she ran hastily to the forbidden door, opened
it, and saw a terrible abyss full of fire that shot up towards her, and
singed the flowers on her bosom. When her husband came home and asked
her whether she had kept her promise, she unhesitatingly said "Yes;" but
he saw by the flowers that she was telling a lie, and said: "Now I will
not put your curiosity to the test any longer. Come with me. I will show
you myself what is behind the door." Thereupon he led her to the door,
opened it, gave her such a push that she fell down into hell, and shut
the door again.
A few months after he wooed the next sister for his wife, and won her;
but with her everything that had happened with the first wife was
exactly repeated.
Finally he courted the third sister. She was a prudent maiden, and said
to herself: "He has certainly murdered my two sisters; but then it is a
splendid match for me, so I will try and see whether I cannot be more
fortunate than they." And accordingly she consented. After the wedding
the bridegroom gave her a beautiful bouquet, but forbade her, also, to
open the door which he pointed out.
Not a whit less curious than her sisters, she, too, opened the forbidden
door when the Devil had gone hunting, but she had previously put her
flowers in water. Then she saw behind the door the fatal abyss and her
sisters therein. "Ah!" she exclaimed, "poor creature that I am; I
thought I had married an ordinary man, and instead of that he is the
Devil! How can I get away from him?" She carefully pulled her two
sisters out of hell and hid them. When the Devil came home he
immediately looked at the bouquet, which she again wore on her bosom,
and when he found the flowers so fresh he asked no questions; but
reassured as to his secret, he now, for the first time, really loved
her.
After a few days she asked him if he would carry three chests for her to
her parents' house, without putting them down or resting on the way.
"But," she added, "you must keep your word, for I shall be watching
you." The Devil promised to do exactly as she wished. So the next
morning she put one of her sisters in a chest, and laid it on her
husband's shoulders. The Devil, who is very strong, but also very lazy
and unaccustomed to work, soon got tired of carrying the heavy chest,
and wanted to rest before he was out of the street on which he lived;
but his wife called out to him: "Don't put it down; I see you!" The
Devil went reluctantly on with the chest until he had turned the corner,
and then said to himself: "She cannot see me here; I will rest a
little." But scarcely had he begun to put the chest down when the sister
inside cried out: "Don't put it down; I see you still!" Cursing, he
dragged the chest on into another street, and was going to lay it down
on a doorstep, but he again heard the voice: "Don't lay it down, you
rascal; I see you still!" "What kind of eyes must my wife have," he
thought, "to see around corners as well as straight ahead, and through
walls as if they were made of glass!" and thus thinking he arrived, all
in a perspiration and quite tired out, at the house of his
mother-in-law, to whom he hastily delivered the chest, and then hurried
home to strengthen himself with a good breakfast.
The same thing was repeated the next day with the second chest. On the
third day she herself was to be taken home in the chest. She therefore
prepared a figure which she dressed in her own clothes, and placed on
the balcony, under the pretext of being able to watch him better;
slipped quickly into the chest, and had the maid put it on the Devil's
back. "The deuce!" said he; "this chest is a great deal heavier than the
others; and to-day, when she is sitting on the balcony, I shall have so
much the less chance to rest." So by dint of the greatest exertions he
carried it, without stopping, to his mother-in-law, and then hastened
home to breakfast, scolding, and with his back almost broken. But quite
contrary to custom, his wife did not come out to meet him, and there was
no breakfast ready. "Margerita, where are you?" he cried; but received
no answer. As he was running through the corridors he at length looked
out of a window, and saw the figure on the balcony. "Margerita, have you
gone to sleep? Come down. I am as tired as a dog, and as hungry as a
wolf." But there was no reply. "If you do not come down instantly I will
go up and bring you down," he cried, angrily; but Margerita did not
stir. Enraged, he hastened up to the balcony, and gave her such a box on
the ear that her head flew off, and he saw that the head was nothing but
a milliner's form, and the body, a bundle of rags. Raging, he rushed
down and rummaged through the whole house, but in vain; he found only
his wife's empty jewel-box. "Ha!" he cried; "she has been stolen from
me, and her jewels, too!" and he immediately ran to inform her parents
of the misfortune. But when he came near the house, to his great
surprise he saw on the balcony above the door all three sisters, his
wives, who were looking down on him with scornful laughter.
Three wives at once terrified the Devil so much that he took his flight
with all possible speed.
Since that time he has lost his taste for marrying.[27]
* * * * *
We have already mentioned, in the class of "Bride Won by Solving
Riddle," the story in Gonzenbach of "The Robber who had a Witch's Head."
In this story, after the robber has married the first princess, he takes
her home, and learns from the witch's head, which hangs over the window
in a basket, what his wife says of him in his absence. The counterpart
of the witch's head is found in several very curious Italian stories. In
these a magician is substituted for the robber, and marries, in the same
way, several sisters. In the version in Gonzenbach, No. 23 ("The Story
of Ohime"), Ohime, the magician, leaves his wife for a few days, and
before he goes gives her a human bone, telling her she must eat it
before his return. The wife throws the bone away; but when the magician
returns he calls out: "Bone, where are you?" "Here I am." "Come here,
then." Then the bone came, and the magician murdered his wife because
she had not done her duty. The second sister is married and killed in
the same way. Then the youngest becomes the magician's bride. In her
perplexity and grief at her husband's command to eat a human arm during
his absence, she invokes her mother's spirit, which tells her to burn
the arm to a coal, powder it, and bind it about her body. When the
magician returns and asks the arm where it is, it replies: "In Maruzza's
body." Then her husband trusted her, and treated her kindly, showing
her, among other things, a closet containing flasks of salve which
restored the dead to life. He forbade her, however, to open a certain
door. Maruzza could not restrain her curiosity, and the first
opportunity she had she opened the door, and found in the room a
handsome young prince murdered. She restored him to life, heard his
story, and then killed him again, so that her husband would not notice
it. Then she extracted from her husband the secret of his life: "I
cannot be killed, but if any one sticks a branch of this herb in my ears
I shall fall asleep, and not wake up again." Maruzza, of course, throws
her husband, as soon as possible, into this magic sleep, restores the
prince, flies with him, and marries him.
Some years after, the branch in the magician's ears withered and fell
out, and he awakened. Then he desired to be revenged, and travelled
about until he found where his wife lived. Then he had a silver statue
made in which he could conceal himself, and in which he placed some
musical instruments. He shut himself up in it, and had himself and the
statue taken to the palace where Maruzza and her husband lived. In the
night, when all were asleep, the magician came out of the statue,
carried Maruzza to the kitchen, kindled a fire, and put on some oil to
boil, into which he intended to throw poor Maruzza. But just as he was
about to do it, the flask which he had laid on the king's bed, and which
had thrown him into a magic sleep, rolled off, and the king awoke, heard
Maruzza's cries, saved her, and threw the magician into the boiling oil.
In spite of his assurances he seems to have been very thoroughly
killed.[28]
A Florentine story (_Nov. fior._ p. 290), called "The Baker's Three
Daughters," is a combination of the Bluebeard and Robber Bridegroom
stories. The husband forbids his wife to open a certain door with a gold
key, saying: "You cannot deceive me; the little dog will tell me; and,
besides, I will leave you a bouquet of flowers, which you must give me
on my return, and which will wither if you enter that room." The two
sisters yield to their curiosity, and are killed. The third sister kills
the treacherous little dog, delivers the prince, as in the last story,
flies with him, and the story ends much as the last does. In a Milanese
version of this story, with the same title (_Nov. fior._ p. 298), the
robber bridegroom takes his wife home, and informs her that it is her
duty to watch at night, and open the door to the robbers when they
return. The poor wife falls asleep, and is murdered. So with the second
sister. The third remains awake, rescues the prince, and flies with him.
The rest of the story is as above.
Of the third version of the Bluebeard story there are but two Italian
examples: one from Sicily (Gonz. No. 20), and one from Pisa (Comparetti,
No. 38). The former is entitled "The Godchild of St. Francis of Paula,"
and is, briefly, as follows: A queen, through the intercession of St.
Francis of Paula, has a girl, whom she names Pauline, from the saint.
The saint is in the habit of meeting the child on her way to school, and
giving her candy. One day the saint tells her to ask her mother whether
it is best to suffer in youth or old age. The mother replies that it is
better to suffer in youth. Thereupon the saint carries away Pauline, and
shuts her up in a tower, climbing up and down by her tresses, as in
other stories we have already mentioned. In the tower the saint
instructed Pauline in all that belonged to her rank. One day a king
climbs up by the hair, and persuades Pauline to fly with him. She
consents and becomes his bride. When her first child was born St.
Francis came and took it away, rubbed the mother's mouth with blood, and
deprived her of speech. Three times this happened, and then the queen
was repudiated and confined in a remote room, where she spent her time
in praying to St. Francis.
Meanwhile the queen-mother arranged another marriage for her son; but
during the banquet the saint brought Pauline royal robes, and restored
her three children to her. Then he led all four to the banquet-hall, and
the happy family lived thereafter in peace and happpiness.
The "forbidden chamber" is omitted in the above version, but is found in
the Pisan story, "The Woodman." The main idea of the story, however, is
curiously distorted. A woodman had three daughters whom he cannot
support. One day a lady met him in the wood, and offered to take one of
his daughters for a companion, giving him a purse of money, and assuring
him that he would always find enough wood. The lady took her home, and
told her she must not open a certain door during her absence. The girl
did so, however, and saw her mistress in a bath, with two damsels
reading a book. She closed the door at once; but when the mistress
returned and asked her whether she had disobeyed, and what she had seen,
she confessed her fault, and told what she saw. Then the lady cut her
head off, hung it by the hair to a beam, and buried the body.
The same thing happened to the second sister, who opened the door, and
saw the lady sitting at a table with gentlemen. The lady killed her,
too, and then took the third sister, who, in spite of having seen her
two sisters' heads, could not control her curiosity, and opened the
door. She saw her mistress reclining in a beautiful bed. In the evening
the lady returned and asked her what she had seen; but she answered: "I
have seen nothing." The lady could extort no other answer from her, and
finally clothed her in her peasant's dress, and took her back to the
wood and left her.
The king of the neighboring city happened to pass by, and fell in love
with her, and married her. When her first child was born the lady
appeared at her bedside, and said: "Now it is time to tell me what you
saw." "I saw nothing," replied the young queen. Then the lady carried
away the child, having first rubbed the mother's mouth with blood. This
happened a second time, and then the king put her away, and prepared to
marry again. The first wife was invited to the wedding feast. While at
the table the lady appeared under it, and pulled the first wife's dress,
and said: "Will you tell what you saw?" The reply was twice: "Nothing."
Then the queen fainted. At that moment a carriage drove up to the palace
with a great lady in it, who asked to see the king. She told him that it
was she who had carried away his children, and added that from her
childhood she had been subjected to an enchantment that was to end when
she found a person who should say that she had seen nothing in that
room. She then brought back the children, and all lived together in
peace and joy.[29]
One of the most beautiful and touching of all fairy tales is the one
known to the readers of Grimm's collection by the title of "Faithful
John," and which has such a charming parallel in the story of "Rama and
Luxman," in Miss Frere's "Old Deccan Days." There are seven Italian
versions of this interesting story, which we shall mention briefly,
giving first the shortest entire, as a point of departure. It is from
the North of Italy (Comparetti, Monferrato, No. 29), and is called:
XVII. IN LOVE WITH A STATUE.
There was once a king who had two sons. The eldest did not wish to
marry, and the youngest, although he went about everywhere, found no
lady to his taste. Now it happened that he once went to a certain city,
and there saw a statue with which he fell in love. He bought it, had it
carried to his room, and every day embraced and kissed it. One day his
father became aware of this, and said to him: "What are you doing? If
you want a wife, take one of flesh and bones, and not one of marble." He
answered that he would take one exactly like the statue, or none at all.
His older brother, who at this time had nothing to do, went out into the
world to seek her. On his way he saw in a city a man who had a mouse
which danced so that it seemed like a human being. He said to himself:
"I will take it home to my brother to amuse himself with." He continued
his journey, and, arrived in a more distant town, where he found a bird
that sang like an angel, and bought that, too, for his brother. He was
on the point of returning home, and was passing through a street, when
he saw a beggar knocking at a door. A very beautiful girl appeared at
the window, who resembled in every respect the prince's statue, and
suddenly withdrew. Then he told the beggar to ask alms again; but the
beggar refused, because he feared that the magician, who was then
absent, would return home and eat him up. But the prince gave him so
much money and other things that he knocked again, and the young girl
appeared again, and suddenly withdrew. Then the prince went through the
streets, saying that he mended and sold looking-glasses. The servant of
the young girl, who heard him, told her mistress to go and see the
mirrors. She went, but he told her that if she wanted to select the
mirrors she would have to go on board his ship. When she was there, he
carried her away, and she wept bitterly and sighed, so that he would let
her return home, but it was like speaking to the wall.
When they were out at sea, there was heard the voice of a large black
bird, saying: "_Ciriu, ciriu!_ what a handsome mouse you have! You will
take it to your brother; you will turn his head; and if you tell him of
it, you will become marble. _Ciriu, ciriu!_ a fine bird you have; you
will take it to your brother; you will turn his head; and if you tell
him, you will become marble. _Ciriu, ciriu!_ a fine lady you have; you
will take her to your brother; you will turn his head; and if you tell
him of it, you will become marble." He did not know how he could tell
his brother, because he was afraid of becoming marble. He landed, and
took the mouse to his brother; and when he had seen it and wanted it,
the elder brother cut off its head. Then he showed him the bird that
sang like an angel, and his brother wanted it; but the elder brother
again cut off its head. Then he said: "I have something handsomer," and
he produced the beautiful girl who looked like the statue. And as the
brother who had brought her said nothing, the other feared that he would
take her away from him, and had him thrown into prison, where he was a
long time; and because he continued to keep silence, he was condemned to
death. Three days before he was to die he asked his brother to come and
see him, and he consented, although unwillingly. Then the condemned
brother said: "A large black bird told me that if I brought you back the
dancing mouse, and spoke, I should become a statue." And saying this, he
became a statue to the waist. "And if, bringing you the singing bird, I
spoke, it would be the same." Then he became a statue to his breast.
"And if, bringing you the lady, I spoke, I should become a statue." Then
he became a statue all over, and his brother began to lament in despair,
and tried to restore him to life. All kinds of physicians came, but none
succeeded. Finally there came one who said that he was capable of
turning the statue into a man provided they gave him what he needed. The
king said he would do so, and the physician demanded the blood of the
king's two children; but the mother would on no account consent. Then
the king gave a ball, and while his wife was dancing he had the two
children killed, and bathed with their blood the statue of his brother,
and the statue straightway became a man and went to the ball. The
mother, when she beheld him, suddenly thought of her children. She ran
to them and found them half dead, and fainted away. All around sought to
console and encourage her; but when she opened her eyes and saw the
physician, she cried: "Out of my sight, ugly wretch! It is you who have
caused my children to be killed." He answered: "Pardon me, my lady, I
have done no harm. Go and see whether your children are there!" She ran
to see, and found them alive and making a great noise. Then the
physician said: "I am the magician, your father, whom you forsook, and I
have wished to show you what it is to love one's children." Then they
made peace, and remained happy and contented.
* * * * *
In the Venetian version (Teza, _La Trad. dei Sette Sari_, p. 26), called
"Mela and Buccia," from the names of the prince and his friend, while
the two friends are spending the night in a deserted castle, Buccia
hears a voice foretelling the dangers to which Mela will be exposed. His
horse will throw him if Buccia does not kill it; a dragon will devour
him on his wedding night if Buccia does not kill it; and finally, the
queen's pet dog will mortally wound him if Buccia does not kill it. If,
however, Buccia reveals what he has heard, he will turn to stone. Buccia
acts accordingly, and the king forgives him everything but killing the
queen's pet dog; for that Buccia is condemned to be hung. Then he
relates all, and gradually turns to stone from his feet up. The king,
queen, and Buccia's mother are inconsolable until they are informed by
an old woman that the blood of the little prince will bring the statue
back to life. The faithful friend is by that means restored, and the
child also saved. In this version the abduction is wanting, and the last
danger is not the one usually threatened.
In a version from Siena (Gradi, _Vigilia_, p. 64), one of two brothers
goes in search of the "Princess with Blonde Tresses." He also buys a
parrot and a horse, and the dangers are: he who touches the parrot will
have his eyes put out; he who mounts the horse will be thrown; he who
marries the fair one will be devoured by a dragon; and he who reveals
these dangers will become stone. The remainder of the story is like the
last version.
The Florentine version (_Nov. fior._ p. 421) is mixed up with a number
of other incidents. The dangers from which the prince is saved by his
faithful servant are: poisoned apples, poisoned pastry, and a lion in
the royal chamber. The servant is turned to stone and restored, as in
the other versions.
In a Mantuan story (_Fiabe mant_, No. 9), the dangers are: parrot,
horse, and bride; whoever touches these will be devoured by a dragon;
whoever reveals these dangers will become stone. The conclusion is the
same as above.
The last version we shall mention here is in the Pentamerone (IV. 9),
and resembles the one from Monferrato. The elder brother, who goes in
search of a bride for his younger brother, buys a falcon and a horse.
The first will pick out the younger brother's eyes; the horse will throw
him, and finally a dragon will devour him on his wedding night. The
remainder of the story is as usual.[30]
We shall conclude this chapter with the class of stories in which giants
are outwitted by men. The simplest form is found in two stories which
are interesting examples of the survival of classic myths. Both stories
are from Sicily, and one was told to Pitre by a girl eight years old
(Pitre, No. 51). It is entitled "The Little Monk," and is, in substance,
as follows: There were once two monks who went begging for the church
every year. One was large and the other small. They lost their way once
and came to a large cave, in which was a monster (lit. animal,
_armalu_), who was building a fire. The two monks, however, did not
believe it was a monster, but said: "Let us go and rest there." They
entered, and saw the monster killing a sheep and roasting it. He had
already killed and cooked twenty.
"Eat!" said the monster to them. "We don't want to eat; we are not
hungry." "Eat, I tell you!" After they had eaten the sheep, they lay
down, and the monster closed the entrance to the cave with a great
stone. Then he took a sharp iron, heated it in the fire, and stuck it in
the throat of the larger of the two monks, roasted the body, and wanted
the other monk to help eat it. "I don't want to eat," said he; "I am
full." "Get up!" said the monster. "If you don't I will kill you."
The wretched monk arose in fright, seated himself at the table, and
pretended to eat, but threw the flesh away. In the night the good man
took the iron, heated it, and plunged it in the monster's eyes. Then the
monk in his terror slipped into the skin of a sheep. The monster felt
his way to the entrance of the cave, removed the stone, and let the
sheep out one by one; and so the good man escaped and returned to
Trapani, and told his story to some fishermen. The monster went fishing,
and being blind, stumbled against a rock and broke his head. The other
version is from the Albanian colony of Piana de' Greci (Comparetti, No.
70), in Sicily, and is substantially the same as the story just
given.[31]
Generally, however, the stories in which giants are outwitted by men are
more complicated, and may be divided into two classes: one where the
giant is outwitted by superior cunning, the other where the giant's
stupidity is deceived by the man's braggadocio. The first class may be
represented by a Sicilian story (Pitre, No. 33), entitled:
XVIII. THIRTEENTH.
There was once a father who had thirteen sons, the youngest of whom was
named Thirteenth. The father had hard work to support his children, but
made what he could gathering herbs. The mother, to make the children
quick, said to them: "The one who comes home first shall have herb
soup." Thirteenth always returned the first, and the soup always fell to
his share, on which account his brothers hated him and sought to get rid
of him.
The king issued a proclamation in the city that he who was bold enough
to go and steal the ogre's coverlet should receive a measure of gold.
Thirteenth's brothers went to the king and said: "Majesty, we have a
brother, named Thirteenth, who is confident that he can do that and
other things too." The king said: "Bring him to me at once." They
brought Thirteenth, who said: "Majesty, how is it possible to steal the
ogre's coverlet? If he sees me he will eat me!" "No matter, you must
go," said the king. "I know that you are bold, and this act of bravery
you must perform." Thirteenth departed and went to the house of the
ogre, who was away. The ogress was in the kitchen. Thirteenth entered
quietly and hid himself under the bed. At night the ogre returned. He
ate his supper and went to bed, saying as he did so:
"I smell the smell of human flesh;
Where I see it I will swallow it!"
The ogress replied: "Be still; no one has entered here." The ogre began
to snore, and Thirteenth pulled the coverlet a little. The ogre awoke
and cried: "What is that?" Thirteenth began to mew like a cat. The
ogress said: "Scat! scat!" and clapped her hands, and then fell asleep
again with the ogre. Then Thirteenth gave a hard pull, seized the
coverlet, and ran away. The ogre heard him running, recognized him in
the dark, and said: "I know you! You are Thirteenth, without doubt!"
After a time the king issued another proclamation, that whoever would
steal the ogre's horse and bring it to the king should receive a measure
of gold. Thirteenth again presented himself, and asked for a silk ladder
and a bag of cakes. With these things he departed, and went at night to
the ogre's, climbed up without being heard, and descended to the stable.
The horse neighed on seeing him, but he offered it a cake, saying: "Do
you see how sweet it is? If you will come with me, my master will give
you these always." Then he gave it another, saying: "Let me mount you
and see how we go." So he mounted it, kept feeding it with cakes, and
brought it to the king's stable.
The king issued another proclamation, that he would give a measure of
gold to whoever would bring him the ogre's bolster. Thirteenth said:
"Majesty, how is that possible? The bolster is full of little bells, and
you must know that the ogre awakens at a breath." "I know nothing about
it," said the king. "I wish it at any cost." Thirteenth departed, and
went and crept under the ogre's bed. At midnight he stretched out his
hand very softly, but the little bells all sounded. "What is that?" said
the ogre. "Nothing," replied the ogress; "perhaps it is the wind that
makes them ring." But the ogre, who was suspicious, pretended to sleep,
but kept his ears open. Thirteenth stretched out his hand again. Alack!
the ogre put out his arm and seized him. "Now you are caught! Just wait;
I will make you cry for your first trick, for your second, and for your
third." After this he put Thirteenth in a barrel, and began to feed him
on raisins and figs. After a time he said: "Stick out your finger,
little Thirteenth, so that I can see whether you are fat." Thirteenth
saw there a mouse's tail, and stuck that out. "Ah, how thin you are!"
said the ogre; "and besides, you don't smell good! Eat, my son; take the
raisins and figs, and get fat soon!" After some days the ogre told him
again to put out his finger, and Thirteenth stuck out a spindle. "Eh,
wretch! are you still lean? Eat, eat, and get fat soon."
At the end of a month Thirteenth had nothing more to stick out, and was
obliged to show his finger. The ogre cried out in joy: "He is fat, he is
fat!" The ogress hastened to the spot: "Quick, my ogress, heat the oven
three nights and three days, for I am going to invite our relatives, and
we will make a fine banquet of Thirteenth."
The ogress heated the oven three days and three nights, and then
released Thirteenth from the barrel, and said to him: "Come here,
Thirteenth; we have got to put the lamb in the oven." But Thirteenth
caught her meaning; and when he approached the oven, he said: "Ah,
mother ogress, what is that black thing in the corner of the oven?" The
ogress stooped down a little, but saw nothing. "Stoop down again," said
Thirteenth, "so that you can see it." When she stooped down again,
Thirteenth seized her by the feet and threw her into the oven, and then
closed the oven door. When she was cooked, he took her out carefully,
cut her in two, divided her legs into pieces, and put them on the table,
and placed her trunk, with her head and arms, in the bed, under the
sheet, and tied a string to the chin and another to the back of her
head.
When the ogre arrived with his guests he found the dishes on the table.
Then he went to his wife's bed and asked: "Mother ogress, do you want to
dine?" Thirteenth pulled the string, and the ogress shook her head. "How
are you, tired?" And Thirteenth, who was hidden under the bed, pulled
the other string and made her nod. Now it happened that one of her
relatives moved something and saw that the ogress was dead, and only
half of her was there. She cried in a loud voice: "Treason! treason!"
and all hastened to the bed. In the midst of the confusion Thirteenth
escaped from under the bed and ran away to the king with the bolster and
the ogre's most valuable things.
After this, the king said to Thirteenth: "Listen, Thirteenth. To
complete your valiant exploits, I wish you to bring me the ogre himself,
in person, alive and well." "How can I, your Majesty?" said Thirteenth.
Then he roused himself, and added: "I see how, now!" Then he had a very
strong chest made, and disguised himself as a monk, with a long, false
beard, and went to the ogre's house, and called out to him: "Do you know
Thirteenth? The wretch! he has killed our superior; but if I catch him!
If I catch him, I will shut him up in this chest!" At these words the
ogre drew near and said: "I, too, would like to help you, against that
wretch of an assassin, for you don't know what he has done to me." And
he began to tell his story. "But what shall we do?" said the pretended
monk. "I do not know Thirteenth. Do you know him?" "Yes, sir." "Then
tell me, father ogre, how tall is he?" "As tall as I am." "If that is
so," said Thirteenth, "let us see whether this chest will hold you; if
it will hold you, it will hold him." "Oh, good!" said the ogre; and got
into the chest. Then Thirteenth shut the chest and said: "Look
carefully, father ogre, and see whether there is any hole in the chest."
"There is none." "Just wait; let us see whether it shuts well, and is
heavy to carry."
Meanwhile Thirteenth shut and nailed up the chest, took it on his back,
and hastened to the city. When the ogre cried: "Enough, now!" Thirteenth
ran all the faster, and, laughing, sang this song to taunt the ogre:
"I am Thirteenth,
Who carry you on my back;
I have tricked you and am going to trick you.
I must deliver you to the king."
When he reached the king, the king had an iron chain attached to the
ogre's hands and feet, and made him gnaw bones the rest of his miserable
life. The king gave Thirteenth all the riches and treasures he could
bestow on him, and always wished him at his side, as a man of the
highest valor.[32]
* * * * *
The second version of the above story, in which the giant is deceived by
the hero's braggadocio, is represented by several Italian stories; the
simplest are some Milanese versions (_Nov. fior._ pp. 575-580), one of
which (_Ibid._ p. 575) is as follows:
XIX. THE COBBLER.
There was once a cobbler who one day was so tired of cobbling that he
said: "Now I will go and seek my fortune." He bought a little cheese and
put it on the table. It got full of flies, and he took an old shoe, and
hit the cheese and killed all the flies. He afterward counted them, and
five hundred were killed, and four hundred wounded. He then girded on a
sword, and put on a cocked hat, and went to the court, and said to the
king: "I am the chief warrior of the flies. Four hundred I have killed,
and five hundred I have wounded." The king answered: "Since you are a
warrior, you will be brave enough to climb that mountain there, where
there are two magicians, and kill them. If you kill them, you shall
marry my daughter." Then he gave him a white flag to wave when he had
killed them. "And sound the trumpet, you will put his head in a bag,
both the heads, to show me." The cobbler then departed, and found a
house, which was an inn, and the innkeeper and his wife were none other
than the magician and his wife. He asked for lodging and food, and all
he needed. Afterward he went to his room; but before going to bed, he
looked up at the ceiling. There he saw a great stone over the bed.
Instead of getting into bed, he got into a corner. When a certain hour
struck, the magicians let the stone drop and it crushed the whole bed.
The next morning the cobbler went down and said that he could not sleep
for the noise. They told him they would change his room. The same thing
happened the next night, and in the morning they told him they would
give him another room. When it was a certain hour, the husband and wife
went to the forest to cut a bundle of fagots. Then the magician went
home; and the cobbler, who had made ready a sickle, said: "Wait until I
help you to take the bundle off your back." Then he gave the magician a
blow with the sickle and cut off his head. He did the same thing when
the magician's wife returned. Then he unfurled his flag, and sounded his
trumpet, and the band went out to meet him. After he had arrived at the
court, the king said to him: "Now that you have killed the two
magicians, you shall marry my daughter." But the cobbler had got so used
to drawing the thread that he did so in his sleep, and kept hitting his
wife, so that she could not rest. Then the king gave him a great deal of
money and sent him home.[33]
* * * * *
A more detailed version is found in a Sicilian story in Gonzenbach, "The
Brave Shoemaker" (No. 41), the first part of which is like the Milanese
version. On his way to the giant's, the cobbler makes some balls of
plaster of Paris and cream-cheese, and puts them in his pocket. When he
heard the giant coming through the woods, he climbed a tree; but the
giant scented him, and told him to come down. The cobbler answered that
if he did not leave him alone he would twist his neck; and to show him
how strong he was, he crushed the balls of plaster of Paris in his
hands, telling the giant they were marble. The giant was frightened, and
invited the cobbler to remain with him, and took him home. After a
while, the giant asked him to bring some water in a pitcher from the
well. The cobbler said that if the giant would give him a strong rope he
would bring the well itself. The giant in terror took the pitcher, and
drew the water himself. Then the giant asked the cobbler to cut some
wood, but the latter asked for a strong rope to drag a whole tree to the
house with. Then the giant proposed a trial of strength, to see which
could carry a heavy stick the longer. The cobbler said that the giant
had better wind something about the thick end, for when he, the
cobbler, turned a somersault with it, he might hit the giant. When they
went to bed, the giant made the cobbler sleep with him; but the latter
crept under the bed, leaving a pumpkin in his place. The giant, who was
anxious to get rid of the cobbler, took an iron bar and struck at the
pumpkin all night, believing it the cobbler's head. After he had beaten
the pumpkin to pieces, the cobbler, under the bed, gave a sigh. "What is
the matter with you?" asked the terrified giant. "A flea has just bitten
my ear," answered the cobbler. The next day the cobbler proposed to the
giant to cook a great kettle of macaroni, and after they had eaten it,
he would cut open his stomach to show the giant that he had eaten it
without chewing it; the giant was to do the same afterward. The cobbler,
of course, secretly tied a sack about his neck, and put his macaroni in
it; then he took a knife and ripped open the bag, and the macaroni fell
out. The giant, in attempting to follow the cobbler's example, killed
himself. Then the cobbler cut his head off, carried it to the king, and
claimed his daughter's hand.[34]
The stories given in this chapter constitute, as we have already said in
the Introduction, but a small part of Italian fairy tales. They
represent, however, as well as our space will allow, the great fairy
cycles, so to speak. As our purpose has been to give only those stories
which have been taken down from the mouths of the people, we have not
drawn, except for purposes of reference, upon the Pentamerone, one of
the most original and charming collections of fairy tales in any
language. Enough has been given, we trust, to show how the Italians have
treated the themes familiar to us from childhood, and to furnish the
scholar with additional material for comparison.