Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves--p.219

I confess to entertaining a peculiar affection for this tale. It was the first

of the tales of the "Arabian Nights Entertainments" which I read in the days

of my "marvelling boyhood" eheu! fugaces, &c, etc. I may therefore be somewhat

prejudiced in its favour, just as I still consider Scott's "Waverley" as the

best of his long series of fascinating fictions, that being the first of them

which I read--as it was the first he wrote. But "All Baba and the Forty

Thieves"--the "open, sesame!" "shut, sesame!"--the sackfuls of gold and silver

and the bales of rich merchandise in the robbers' cave--the avaricious brother

forgetting the magical formula which would open the door and permit him to

escape with his booty--his four quarters hung up in terrorem--and above all,

the clever, devoted slave girl Morgiana, who in every way outwitted the crafty

robber-chief,--these incidents remain stamped in my memory ineffaceably: like

the initials of lovers' names cut into the bark of a growing tree, which, so

far from disappearing, become larger by the lapse of time. To me this

delightful tale will ever be, as Hafiz sings of something, "freshly fresh and

newly new." I care not much though it never be found in an Arabic or any other

Oriental dress--but that it is of Asiatic invention is self-evident; there is,

in my poor opinion nothing to excel it, if indeed to equal it, for intense

interest and graphic narrative power in all The Nights proper.

Sir Richard Burton has remarked, in note 1, p. 219, that Mr. Coote could only

find in the south of Europe, or in the Levant, analogues of two of the

incidents of this tale, yet one of those may be accepted as proof of its

Eastern extraction, namely, the Cyprian story of "Three Eyes," where the ogre

attempts to rescue his wife with a party of blacks concealed in bales: "The

King's jester went downstairs, in order to open the bales and takes something

out of them. Directly he approached one of the sacks, the black man answered

from the inside,'Is it time, master?' In the same manner he tried all the

sacks, and then went upstairs and told them that the sacks were full of black

men. Directly the King's bride heard this, she made the jester and the company

go downstairs. They take the executioner with them, and go to the first sack.

The black man says from the inside, 'Is it time ?' 'Yes,' say they to him, and

directly he came out they cut his head off. In the same manner they go to the

other sacks and kill the other black men.''[FN#408]

The first part of the tale of Ali Baba--ending with the death of his greedy

brother--is current in North Germany, to this effect:

A poor woodcutter, about to fell a beech at the back of the scattered ruins of

the castle of Dummburg, seeing a monk approach slowly through the forest, hid

himself behind a tree. The monk passed by and went among the rocks. The

woodcutter stole cautiously after him and saw that he stopped at a small door

which had never been discovered by the villagers. The monk knocks gently and

cries, "Little door, open!" and the door springs open. He also cries, "Little

door, shut!" and the door is closed. The woodcutter carefully observes the

place, and next Sunday goes secretly and obtains access to the vault by the

same means as that employed by the monk. He finds in it "large open vessels

and sacks full of old dollars and fine guilders, together with heavy gold

pieces, caskets filled with jewels and pearls, costly shrines and images of

saints, which lay about or stood on tables of silver in corners of the vault."

He takes but a small quantity of the coin, and as he is quitting the vault a

voice cries, "Come again!" First giving to the church, for behoof of the poor,

a tenth of what he had taken, he goes to the town and buys clothes for his

wife and children, giving out to his neighbours that he had found an old

dollar and a few guilders under the roots of a tree that he had felled. Next

Sunday he again visits the vault, this time supplying himself somewhat more

liberally from the hoard, but still with moderation and discretion, and "Come

again!" cries a voice as he is leaving. He now gives to the church two tenths,

and resolves to bury the rest of the money he had taken in his cellar. But he

can't resist a desire to first measure the gold, for he could not count it. So

he borrows for this purpose a corn-measure of a neighbour--a very rich but

penurious man, who starved himself, hoarded up corn, cheated the labourer of

his hire, robbed the widow and the orphan, and lent money on pledges. Now the

measure had some cracks in the bottom, through which the miser shook some

grains of corn into his own heap when selling it to the poor labourer, and

into these cracks two or three small coins lodged, which the miser was not

slow to discover. He goes to the woodcutter and asks him what it was he had

been measuring. "Pine-cones and beans. But the miser holds up the coins he had

found in the cracks of the measure, and threatens to inform upon him and have

him put to the question if he will not disclose to him the secret of his

money. So the woodcutter is constrained to tell him the whole story and much

against his will, but not before he had made the miser promise that he would

give one-tenth to the church, he conducts him to the vault. The miser enters,

with a number of sacks, the woodcutter waiting outside to receive them when

filled with treasure. But while the miser is gloating over the enormous wealth

before him--even "wealth beyond the dreams of avarice"--a great black dog

comes and lays himself down on the sacks. Terrified at the flaming eyes of the

dog, the miser crept towards the door but in his fear forgot the proper words,

and instead of saying, "Little door, open!" he cried!, "Little door, shut!"

The woodcutter, having waited a long time, approached the door, and knocking

gently and crying "Little door, open!" the door sprang open and he entered.

There lay the bleeding body of his wicked neighbour, stretched on his sacks,

but the vessels of gold and silver, and diamonds and pearls, sank deeper and

deeper into the earth before his eyes, till all had completely

vanished.[FN#409]

The resemblance which this North German tale bears to the first part of "All

Baba" is striking, and is certainly not merely fortuitous; the fundamental

outline of the latter is readily recognisable in the legend of The Dummburg,

notwithstanding differences in the details. In both the hero is a poor

woodcutter, or faggot-maker; for the band of robbers a monk is substituted in

the German legend, and for the "open, sesame" and "shut, sesame," we have

"little door, shut," and "little door, open." In both the borrowing of a

corn-measure is the cause of the secret being revealed--in the one case, to

Kasim, the greedy brother of Ali Baba and in the other, to a miserly old

hunks; the fate of the latter and the disappearance of all the treasure are

essentially German touches. The subsequent incidents of the tale of Ali Baba,

in which the main interest of the narrative is concentrated;--Ali Baba's

carrying off the four quarters of his brother's body and having them sewed

together, the artifices by which the slave-girl checkmates the robber-chief

and his followers in their attempts to discover the man who had learned the

secret of the treasure-cave--her marking all the doors in the street and her

pouring boiling oil on the robbers concealed in the oil-skins in the

courtyard;--these incidents seem to have been adapted, or imitated, from some

version of the world-wide story of the Robbery of the Royal Treasury, as told

by Herodotus, of Rhampsinitus, King of Egypt, in which the hero performs a

series of similar exploits to recover the headless body of his brother and at

the same time escape detection. Moreover, the conclusion of the tale of Ali

Baba, where we are told he lived in comfort and happiness on the wealth

concealed in the robbers' cave, and "in after days he showed the hoard to his

sons and his sons' sons, and taught them how the door could be caused to open

and shut"--this is near akin to the beginning of Herodotus' legend of the

treasury: the architect who built it left a stone loose, yet so nicely

adjusted that it could not be discovered by any one not in the secret, by

removing which he gained access to the royal stores of gold, and having taken

what he wanted replaced the stone as before; on his deathbed he revealed the

secret to his two sons as a legacy for their future maintenance. The discovery

of Ali Baba's being possessed of much money from some coins adhering to the

bottom of the corn-measure is an incident of very frequent occurrence in

popular fictions; for instance, in the Icelandic story of the Magic Queen that

ground out gold or whatever its possessor desired (Powell and Magnusson's

collection, second series); in the Indian tale of the Six Brothers (Vernieux's

collection) and its Irish analogue "Little Fairly;" in the modern Greek

popular tale of the Man with Three Grapes (Le Grand's French collection), and

a host of other tales, both Western and Eastern. The fate of Ali Baba's rich

and avaricious brother, envious of his good luck, finds also many

parallels--mutatis mutandis--as in the story of the Magic Queen, already

referred to, and the Mongolian tale of the poor man and the Dakinis, the 14th

relation of Siddhí Kúr. Morgiana's counter-device of marking all the doors in

the street, so that her master's house should not be recognised, often occurs,

in different forms: in my work on Popular Tales and Fictions, vol. ii. pp.

164, 165, a number of examples are cited. The pretended merchant's objecting

to eat meat cooked with salt, which fortunately aroused Morgiana's suspicions

of his real character˚for robber and murderer as he was, he would not be

"false to his salt''[FN#410]--recalls an anecdote related by D'Herbelot, which

may find a place here, in conclusion: The famous robber Yacúb bin Layth,

afterwards the founder of a dynasty of Persian monarchs called Soffarides, in

one of his expeditions broke into the royal palace and having collected a

large quantity of plunder, was on the point of carrying it off when his foot

struck against something which made him stumble. Supposing it not to be an

article of value, he put it to his mouth, the better to distinguish it. From

the taste he found it was a lump of salt, the symbol and pledge of

hospitality, on which he was so touched that he retired immediately without

carrying away any part of his booty. The next morning the greatest

astonishment was caused throughout the palace on the discovery of the

valuables packed up and ready for removal. Yacub was arrested and brought

before the prince, to whom he gave a faithful account of the whole affair, and

by this means so ingratiated himself with his sovereign that he employed him

as a man of courage and ability in many arduous enterprises, in which he was

so successful as to be raised to the command of the royal troops, whose

confidence in and affection for their general induced them on the prince's

death to prefer his interest to that of the heir to the throne, from whence he

afterwards spread his extensive conquests.

* * * * * * * * * *

Since the foregoing was in type I discovered that I had overlooked another

German version, in Grimm, which preserves some features of the Arabian tale

omitted in the legend of The Dummburg:

There were two brothers, one rich, the other poor. The poor brother, one day

wheeling a barrow through the forest, had just come to a naked looking

mountain, when he saw twelve great wild men approaching, and he hid himself in

a tree, believing them to be robbers. "Semsi mountain, Semsi mountain, open!"

they cried, and the mountain opened, and they went in. Presently they came

out, carrying heavy sacks. "Semsi mountain, Semsi mountain, shut thyself!"

they cried; and the mountain closed and they went away. The poor man went up

then and cried. "Semsi mountain Semsi mountain, open!" the mountain opens, he

goes in, finds a cavern full of gold, silver, and jewels, fills his pockets

with gold only, and coming out cries, "Semsi mountain, Semsi mountain, shut

thyself!" He returns home and lives happily till his gold is exhausted. Then

"he went to his brother to borrow a measure that held a bushel, and brought

himself some more." This he does again, and this time the rich brother smears

the inside of the bushel with pitch and when he gets it back finds a gold coin

sticking to it, so he taxes his poor brother with having treasure and learns

the secret. Off he drives, resolved to bring back, not gold, but jewels. He

gets in by saying, "Semsi mountain, Semsi mountain, open!" He loads himself

with precious stones, but has forgotten the word, and cries only, "Simeli

mountain, Simeli mountain, open!" The robbers return and charge him with

having twice stolen from them. He vainly protests, "It was not I " and they

cut his head off.

Here the twelve wild men represent the forty robbers, and, as in Ali Baba, it

is the hero's brother who falls a victim to his own cupidity. In the Arabian

tale the hero climbs up into a tree when he sees the robbers approach, in The

Dummburg he hides himself behind a tree to watch the proceedings of the monk;

and in Grimm's version he hides in a tree. On this last-cited story W. Grimm

has the following note: "It is remarkable that this story, which is told in

the province of Munster, is told also in the Hartz, about The Dummburg, and

closely resembles the Eastern story of 'The Forty Thieves,' where even the

rock Sesam, which falls open at the words Semsi and Semeli, recalls the name

of the mountain in the German saga. This name for a mountain is, according to

a document in Pistorius (3, 642), very ancient in Germany. A mountain in

Grabfeld is called Similes and in a Swiss song a Simeliberg is again

mentioned. This makes us think of the Swiss word 'Sine!,' for 'sinbel,' round.

In Meier, No. 53, we find 'Open, Simson.' In Prohle's 'Marcher fur die

Jugend,' No. 30, where the story is amplified, it is Simsimseliger Mountain.

There is also a Polish story which is very like it." Dr. Grimm is mistaken in

saying that in the Arabian tale the "rock Sesam" falls open at the words Semsi

and Semeli: even in his own version, as the brother finds to his cost, the

word Simeli does not open the rock. In Ali Baba the word is "Simsim" (Fr.

Sesame), a species of grain, which the brother having forgot, he cries out

"Barley." The "Open, Simson" in Meier's version and the "Semsi" in Grimm's

story are evidently corruptions of "Simsim," or "Samsam," and seem to show

that the story did not become current in Germany through Galland's work.

Dr. N. B. Dennys, in his "Folk-Lore of China, and its Affinities with that of

the Aryan and Semitic Races," p. 134, cites a legend of the cave Kwang-sio-foo

in Kiang-si, which reflects part of the tale of Ali Baba: There was in the

neighbourhood a poor herdsman named Chang, his sole surviving relative being a

grandmother with whom he lived. One day, happening to pass near the cave, he

overheard some one using the following words: "Shih mun kai, Kwai Ku hsen

shêng lai," Stone door, open; Mr. Kwai Ku is coming. Upon this the door of the

cave opened and the speaker entered. Having remained there for some time he

came out, and saying, "Stone door, close; Mr. Kwai Ku is going," the door

again opened and the visitor departed. Chang's curiosity was naturally

excited, and having several times heard the formula repeated, he waited one

day until the genie (for such he was) had taken his departure and essayed to

obtain an entrance. To his great delight the door yielded, and having gone

inside he found himself in a romantic grotto of immense extent. Nothing

however in the shape of treasure met his eye, so having fully explored the

place he returned to the door, which shut at his bidding, and went home. Upon

telling his grandmother of his adventure she expressed a strong wish to see

the wonderful cavern; and thither they accordingly went together the next day.

Wandering about in admiration of the scenery, they became separated, and Chang

at length, supposing that his grandmother had left, passed out of the door and

ordered it to shut. Reaching home, he found to his dismay that she had not yet

arrived. She must of course have been locked up in the cave, so back he sped

and before long was using the magic sentence to obtain access. But alas! the

talisman had failed, and poor Chang fell into an agony of apprehension as he

reflected that his grandmother would either be starved to death or killed by

the enraged genie. While in this perplexity the genie appeared and asked him

what was amiss. Chang frankly told him the truth and implored him to open the

door. This the genie refused to do, but told him that his grandmother's

disappearance was a matter of fate. The cave demanded a victim. Had it been a

male, every succeeding generation of his family would have seen one of its

members arrive at princely rank. In the case of a woman her descendants would

in a similar way possess power over demons. Somewhat comforted to know that he

was not exactly responsible for his grandmother's death, Chang returned home

and in process of time married. His first son duly became Chang tien shih

(Chang, the Master of Heaven), who about A.D. 25 was the first holder of an

office which has existed uninterruptedly to the present day.

Ali Khwajah and the Merchant of Baghdad--p. 246.

Precocious Children.--See note at end of the Tale, p. 256.--In the

(apocryphal) Arabic Gospel of the Saviour's Infancy is the following passage:

"Now in the month of Adar, Jesus, after the manner of a King, assembled the

boys together. They spread their clothes on the ground and he sat down upon

them. Then they put on his head a crown made of flowers, and like

chamber-servants stood in his presence, on the right and on the left, as if he

was a king. And whoever passed by that way was forcibly dragged by the boys,

saying, 'Come hither and adore the king; then go away.'"

A striking parallel to this is found in the beginning of the Mongolian Tales

of Ardshi Bordshi--i.e., the celebrated Indian monarch, Rájá Bhoja, as given

in Miss Busk's "Sagas from the Far East," p. 252.

"Long ages ago there lived a mighty king called Ardshi Bordshi.[FN#411] In the

neighbourhood of his residence was a hill where the boys who were tending the

calves were wont to pass the time by running up and down. But they had also

another custom, and it was that whichever of them won the race was king for

the day--an ordinary game enough, only that when it was played in this place

the Boy-King thus constituted was at once endowed with such extraordinary

importance and majesty that everyone was constrained to treat him as a real

king. He had not only ministers and dignitaries among his playfellows, who

prostrated themselves before him, and fulfilled all his behests, but whoever

passed that way could not choose but pay him homage also."[FN#412]

This is followed by an analogous story to that of Ah Khwajah and the Merchant

of Baghdad, under the title of "The False Friend," in which a merchant on a

trading journey entrusts a friend with a valuable jewel to give to his wife on

his return home, and the friend retaining it for his own use suborns two men

to bear witness that they saw him deliver it to the merchant's wife, so the

King dismisses the suit. But the Boy-King undertakes to try the case de novo;

causes the two witnesses to be confined in separate places, each with a piece

of clay which he is required to make into the form of the jewel, and the

models are found to be different one from the other, and both from the shape

of the jewel as described by the false friend. A similar story occurs in

several Indian collections, with a Kází instead of the Boy-King.

A curious instance of precocity is related in the Third Book of the "Masnavi"

(see ante p. 365), of which Mr. E. H. Whinfield gives an outline in his

admirable and most useful abridgment of that work: The boys wished to obtain a

holiday, and the sharpest of them suggested that when the master came into

school each boy should condole with him on his alleged sickly appearance.

Accordingly, when he entered, one said, "O master, how pale you are looking!

and another said, You are looking very ill to-day, and so on. The master at

first answered that there was nothing the matter with him, but as one boy

after another continued assuring him that he looked very ill, he was at length

deluded into imagining that he must really be ill. So he returned to his

house, making the boys follow him there, and told his wife that he was not

well, bidding her mark how pale he was. His wife assured him he was not

looking pale, and offered to convince him by bringing a mirror, but he refused

to look at it, and took to his bed. He then ordered the boys to begin their

lessons; but they assured him that the noise made his head ache, and he

believed them, and dismissed them to their homes, to the annoyance of their

mothers.

Another example of juvenile cleverness is found in a Persian collection of

anecdotes entitled "Latá'yif At-Taw'áyif," by 'Alí ibn Husain Al-Va'iz

Al-Káshifí: One day Núrshírván saw in a dream that he was drinking with a frog

out of the same cup. When he awoke he told this dream to his vazír, but he

knew not the interpretation of it. The king grew angry and said, "How long

have I maintained thee, that if any difficulty should arise thou mightest

unloose the knot of it, and if any matter weighed on my heart thou shouldst

lighten it? Now I give thee three days, that thou mayest find out the meaning

of this dream, and remove the trouble of my mind; and if, within that space,

thou art not successful, I will kill thee." The vazír went from the presence

of Núrshírván confounded and much in trouble. He gathered together all the

sages and interpreters of dreams, and told the matter to them, but they were

unable to explain it; and the vazír resigned his soul to death. But this story

was told in the city, and on the third day he heard that there was a mountain,

ten farsangs distant from the city, in which was a cave, and in this cave a

sage who had chosen the path of seclusion, and lived apart from mankind, and

had turned his face to the wall. The vazír set out for this place of

retirement, saying to himself, "Perhaps he will be able to lay a plaster on my

wound, and relieve it from the throbbings of care." So he mounted his horse,

and went to find the sage. At the moment he arrived at the hill a company of

boys were playing together. One of them cried out with a loud voice, "The

vazír is running everywhere in search of an interpreter, and all avails him

nothing; now the interpretation of the dream is with me, and the truth of it

is clear to me." When these words reached the ears of the vazír he drew in the

reins, and calling the boy to him asked him, "What is thy name? He replied,

"Buzurjmibr." The vazír said "All the sages and interpreters have failed in

loosing the knot of this difficulty--how dost thou, so young in years, pretend

to be able to do it? He replied, "All the world is not given to every one."

The vazír said, "If thou speakest truth, explain." Said the boy "Take me to

the monarch, that I may there unloose the knot of this difficulty." The vazír

said, "If thou shouldst fail, what then will come of it?" The boy replied, "I

will give up my own blood to the king, that they may slay me instead of thee."

The vazír took the boy with him, returned, and told the whole matter to the

king and produced the boy in his presence. The king was very angry, and said,

"All the wise men and dream interpreters of the court were unable to satisfy

me, and thou bringest me a child, and expectest that he shall loose the knot

of the difficulty." The vazír bowed his head. And Buzurjmihr said, "Look not

upon his youth, but see whether he is able to expound the mystery or not." The

king then said, "Speak." He replied, "I cannot speak in this multitude." So

those who were present retired, and the monarch and the youth were left alone.

Then said the youth, "A stranger has found entrance into thy seraglio, and is

dishonouring thee, along with a girl who is one of thy concubines." The king

was much moved at this interpretation, and looked from one of the wise men to

another, and at length said to the boy, "This is a serious matter thou hast

asserted; how shall this matter be proceeded in, and in what way fully known?"

The boy replied, "Command that every beautiful woman in thy seraglio pass

before thee unveiled, that the truth of this matter may be made apparent." The

king ordered them to pass before him as the boy had said, and considered the

face of each one attentively. Among them came a young girl extremely

beautiful, whom the king much regarded. When she came opposite to him, a

shuddering as of palsy, fell upon her, and she shook from head to foot, so

that she was hardly able to stand. The king called her to him, and threatening

her greatly, bade her speak the truth. She confessed that she loved a handsome

slave and had privately introduced him into the seraglio. The king ordered

them both to be impaled, and turning to the rewarding of Buzurjmihr, he made

him the object of his special bounty.

This story has been imported into the "History of the Seven Wise Masters of

Rome," the European form of the Book of Sindibád, where the prince discovers

to his father the paramour of his step-mother, the empress, in the person of a

young man disguised as one of her maid-servants, and its presence in the work

is quite inconsistent with the lady's violent lust after the young prince.

There is a similar tale in the Hebrew version, "Mishl⁄ Sandabar," but the

disguised youth is not detected. Vatsyayana, in his "Káma Sutra" (or Aphorisms

of Love), speaks of it as a common practice in India thus to smuggle men into

the women's apartments in female attire. In the Introduction to the "Kathá

Sarit Ságara," Vararuchi relates how King Yogananda saw his queen leaning out

of a window and asking questions of a Báhman guest that was looking up. That

trivial circumstance threw the king into a passion, and he gave orders that

the Bráhman should be put to death) for jealousy interferes with discernment.

Then as that Bráhman was being led off to the place of execution in order that

he should be put to death, a fish in the market laughed aloud, though it was

dead. The king hearing it immediately prohibited for the present the execution

of the Bráhman, and asked Vararuchi the reason why the fish laughed. He

desired time to think over the matter and learned from the conversation of a

rákshasí with her children that the fish said to himself, "All the king's

wives are dissolute, for in every part of his harem there are men dressed up

as women, and nevertheless while those escape, an innocent Brahmán is to be

put to death;" and this tickled the fish so that he laughed. Mr. Tawney says

that Dr. Liebrecht, in "Orient und Occident," vol. i. p. 341, compares this

story with one in the old French romance of Merlin. There Merlin laughs

because the wife of Julius C sar had twelve young men disguised as

ladies-in-waiting. Benfey, in a note on Liebrecht's article, compares with the

story of Merlin one by the Countess d'Aulnois, No. 36 of Basile's

"Pentamerone," Straparola, iv. 1, and a story in the "Suka Saptati." In this

some cooked fish laugh so that the whole town hears them; the reason being the

same as in the above story and in that of Merlin. In a Kashmírí version, which

has several other incidents and bears a close resemblance to No. 4 of M.

Legrand's "Recueil de Contes Populaires Grecs," to the story of "The Clever

Girl" in Professor T. F. Crane's "Italian Popular Tales," and to a fable in

the Talmud, the king requires his vazír to inform him within six months why

the fish laughed in presence of the queen. The vazír sends his son abroad

until the king's anger had somewhat cooled--for himself he expects nothing but

death. The vazír's son learns from the clever daughter of a farmer that the

laughing of the fish indicates that there is a man in the palace unknown to

the king. He hastens home and tells his father the secret, who at once

communicates it to the king. All the female attendants in the palace are

called together and ordered to jump across the mouth of a pit which he has

caused to be dug: the man would betray his sex in the trial. Only one person

succeeded and he was found to be a man.[FN#413] Thus was the queen satisfied,

and the faithful old vazír saved, and his son, of course, married the farmer's

clever daughter.

Prince Ahmad and the Peri Banu--p. 256.

How, in the name of all that is wonderful--how has it happened that this

ever-delightful tale is not found in any text of The Nights? And how could it

be supposed for a moment that Galland was capable of conceiving such a tale--

redolent, as it is, of the East and of Fairyland? Not that Fairyland where

"True Thomas," otherwise ycleped Thomas the Rymer, otherwise Thomas of

Erceldoune, passed several years in the bewitching society of the Fairy Queen,

years which appeared to him as only so many moments: but Eastern Fairyland,

with all its enchanting scenes; where priceless gems are as plentiful as

"autumnal leaves which strong the brooks in Vallombrosa;" where, in the royal

banqueting hall, illuminated with hundreds of wax candles, in candelabra of

the finest amber and the purest crystal are bands of charming damsels, fairest

of form and feature, who play on sweet- toned instruments which discourse

heart-ravishing strains of melody;--meanwhile the beauteous Perí Bánú is

seated on a throne adorned with diamonds and rubies and emeralds, and pearls

and other gems, and by her side is the thrice-happy Prince Ahmad, who feels

himself amply indemnified for the loss of his fair cousin Princess

Núr-en-Nihár. Auspicious was that day when he shot the arrow which the

enamoured Perí Bánú caused to be wafted through the air much farther than arm

of flesh could ever send the feathered messenger! And when the Prince feels a

natural longing to visit his father in the land of mortals from time to time,

behold the splendid cavalcade issue from the portals of the fairy palace--the

gallant jinn-born cavaliers, mounted on superb steeds with gorgeous housings,

who accompany him to his father's capital. But alas! the brightest sky is

sooner or later overcast--human felicity is--etc., etc. The old king's mind is

poisoned against his noble son by the whisperings of a malignant and envious

minister--a snake in the grass--a fly in the ointment of Prince Ahmad's

beatitude! And to think of the old witch gaining access to the fairy palace--

it was nothing less than an atrocity! And the tasks which she induces the king

to set Prince Ahmad to perform--but they are all accomplished for him by his

fairy bride. The only thing to regret--the fatal blemish in the tale--is the

slaughter of the old king. Shabbar did right well to dash into the smallest

pieces the wicked vazír and the foul witch and all who aided and abetted them,

but "to kill a king!" and a well-meaning if soft-headed king, who was, like

many better men, led astray by evil counsellors!

Having thus blown off the steam--I mean to say, having thus ventilated the

enthusiasm engendered by again reading the tale of Prince Ahmad and the Perí

Bánú, I am now in a fitter frame of mind for the business of examining some

versions and variants of it, for though the tale has not yet been found in

Arabic, it is known from the banks of Ganga to the snow-clad hills and vales

of Iceland--that strange land whose heart is full of the fiercest fires. This

tale, like that of Zayn al-Asnám, comprises two distinct stories, which have

no necessary connection, to wit, (1) the adventures of the Three Princes, each

in quest of the rarest treasure, wherewith to win the beautiful Princess

Núr-en-Nihár; and (2) the subsequent history of the third Prince and the Perí

Bánú. The oldest known form of the story concludes with the recovery of the

lady--not from death's door, but from a giant who had carried her off, and the

rival claims of the heroes to the hand of the lady are left undecided:

certainly a most unsatisfactory ending, though it must be confessed the case

was, as the priest found that of Paddy and the stolen pullet, somewhat

"abstruse." In the "Vetálapanchavinsati," or Twenty-five Tales of a Vampyre

(concerning which collection see Appendix to the preceding volumes, p. 230),

the fifth recital is to this purpose:

There was a Bráhman in Ajjayini (Oojein) whose name was Harisvamin; he had a

son named Devasvamin and a daughter far famed for her wondrous beauty and

rightly called Somaprabha (Moonlight). When the maiden had attained

marriageable age, she declared to her parents that she was only to be married

to a man who possessed heroism, or knowledge, or magic power. It happened soon

after this that Harisvamin was sent by the king on state business to the

Dekkan, and while there a young Bráhman, who had heard the report of

Somaprabha's beauty, came to him as a suitor for the hand of his daughter.

Harisvamin informed him of the qualifications which her husband must possess,

and the Bráhman answered that he was endowed with magic power, and having

shown this to the father's satisfaction, he promised to give him his daughter

on the seventh day from that time. In like manner, at home, the son and the

wife of Harisvamin had, unknown to each other, promised Somaprabha to a young

man who was skilled in the use of missile weapons and was very brave, and to a

youth who possessed knowledge of the past, the present, and the future; and

the marriage was also fixed to take place on the seventh day. When Harisvamin

returned home he at once told his wife and son of the contract he has entered

into with the young Bráhman, and they in their turn acquainted him of their

separate engagements, and all were much perplexed what course to adopt in the

circumstances.

On the seventh day the three suitors arrived, but Somaprabha was found to have

disappeared in some inexplicable manner. The father then appealed to the man

of knowledge, saying, "Tell me where my daughter is gone?" He replied, "She

has been carried off by a rákshasa to his habitation in the Vindhya forest."

Then quoth the man of magic power "Be of good cheer, for I will take you in a

moment where the possessor of knowledge says she is." And forthwith he

prepared a magic chariot that could fly through the air, provided all sorts of

weapons, and made Harisvamin, the man of knowledge, and the brave man enter it

along with himself, and in a moment carried them to the dwelling of the

rákshasa. Then followed a wonderful fight between the brave man and the

rákshasa, and in a short time the hero cut off his head, after which they took

Somaprabha into the chariot and quickly returned to Harisvamin's house. And

now arose a great dispute between the three suitors. Said the man of

knowledge, "If I had not known where the maiden was how could she have been

discovered?" The man of magic argued, "If I had not made this chariot that can

fly through the air, how could you all have come and returned in a moment?"

Then the brave man said, "If I had not slain the rákshasa, how could the

maiden have been rescued?" While they were thus wrangling Harisvamin remained

silent, perplexed in mind. The Vampyre, having told this story to the King,

demanded to know to whom the maiden should have been given. The King replied,

"She ought to have been given to the brave man; for he won her by the might of

his arm and at the risk of his life, slaying that rákshasa in combat. But the

man of knowledge and the man of magic power were appointed by the Creator to

serve as his instruments." The perplexed Harisvamin would have been glad, no

doubt, could he have had such a logical solution of the question as this of

the sagacious King Trivikramasena--such was his six-syllabled name.

The Hindí version ("Baytál Pachísi") corresponds with the Sanskrit, but in the

Tamil version the father, after hearing from each of the three suitors an

account of his accomplishments, promises to give his daughter to "one of

them." Meanwhile a giant comes and carries off the damsel. There is no

difference in the rest of the story.

In the Persian Parrot-Book ("Tútí Náma" ) where the tale is also found

[FN#414]--it is the 34th recital of the loquacious bird in the India Office

MS. No. 2573, the 6th in B. Gerrans' partial translation, 1792, and the 22nd

in Káderi's abridgment--the first suitor says that his art is to discover

anything lost and to predict future events; the second can make a horse of

wood which would fly through the air; and the third was an unerring archer.

In the Persian "Sindibád Náma," a princess, while amusing herself in a garden

with her maidens, is carried away by a demon to his cave in the mountains. The

king proclaims that he will give his daughter in marriage to whoever should

bring her back. Four brothers offer themselves for the undertaking: one is a

guide who has travelled over the world; the second is a daring robber, who

would take the prey even from the lion's mouth; the third is a brave warrior;

and the fourth is a skilful physician. The guide leads the three others to the

demons' cave, the robber steals the damsel while the demon is absent; the

physician, finding her at death's door, restored her to perfect health; while

the warrior puts to flight a host of demons who sallied out of the cave.

The Sanskrit story has undergone a curious transformation among the Kalmuks.

In the 9th Relation of Siddhí Kúr (a Mongolian version of the Vampyre Tales)

six youths are companions: an astrologer, a smith, a doctor, a mechanic, a

painter, and a rich man's son. At the mouth of a great river each plants a

tree of life and separates, taking different roads, having agreed to meet

again at the same spot, when if the tree of any of them is found to be

withered it will be a token that he is dead. The rich man's son marries a

beautiful girl, who is taken from him by the Khan, and the youth is at the

same time put to death by the Khan's soldiers and buried under a great rock.

When the four other young men meet at the time and place appointed they find

the tree of the rich youth withered. Thereupon the astrologer by his art

discovers where the youth is buried; the smith breaks the rock asunder; the

physician restores the youth to life, and he tells them how the Khan had

robbed him of his wife and killed him. The mechanic then constructs a flying

chariot in the form of Garuda--the bird of Vishnu; the counterpart of the

Arabian rukh--which the painter decorates, and when it is finished the rich

youth enters it and is swiftly borne through the air to the roof of the Khan's

dwelling, where he alights. The Khan, supposing the machine to be a real

Garuda, sends the rich youth's own wife to the roof with some food for it.

Could anything have been more fortunate? The youth takes her into the wooden

Garuda and they quickly arrive at the place where his companions waited for

his return. When they beheld the marvellous beauty of the lady the five

skilful men instantly fell in love with her, and began to quarrel among

themselves, each claiming the lady as his by right, and drawing their knives

they fought and slew one another. So the rich youth was left in undisputed

possession of his beautiful bride.

Coming back to Europe we find the primitive form of the story partly preserved

in a Greek popular version given in Hahn's collection: Three young men are in

love with the same girl, and agree to go away and meet again at a given time,

when he who shall have learned the best craft shall marry the girl. They meet

after three years' absence. One has become a famous astronomer; the second is

so skilful a physician that he can raise the dead, and the third can run

faster than the wind. The astronomer looks at the girl's star and knows from

its trembling that she is on the point of death. The physician prepares a

medicine which the third runs off with at the top of his speed, and pours it

down the girl's throat just in time to save her life--though, for the matter

of that, she might as well have died, since the second suitor was able to

resuscitate the dead!

But the German tale of the Four Clever Brothers, divested of the preliminary

incidents which have been brought into it from different folk-tales, more

nearly approaches the form of the original, as we may term the Sanskrit story

for convenience' sake: A poor man sends his four sons into the world, each to

learn some craft by which he might gain his own livelihood. After travelling

together for some time they came to a place where four roads branched off and

there they separated, each going along one of the roads, having agreed to meet

at the same spot that day four years. One learns to be an excellent astronomer

and, on quitting, his master gives him a telescope,[FN#415] saying, "With this

thou canst see whatever takes place either on earth or in heaven, and nothing

can remain concealed from thee." Another becomes a most expert thief. The

third learns to be a sharpshooter and gets from his master a gun which would

never fail him: whatever he aimed at he was sure to hit. And the youngest

becomes a very clever tailor and is presented by his master with a needle,

which could sew anything together, hard or soft. At the end of the four years

they met according to agreement, and returning together to their father's

house, they satisfied the old man with a display of their abilities Soon after

this the king's daughter was carried off by a dragon, and the king proclaimed

that whoever brought her back should have her to wife. This the four clever

brothers thought was a fine chance for them, and they resolved to liberate the

king's daughter. The astronomer looked through his telescope and saw the

princess far away on a rock in the sea and the dragon watching beside her.

Then they went and got a ship from the king, and sailed over the sea till they

came to the rock, where the princess was sitting and the dragon was asleep

with his head in her lap. The hunter feared to shoot lest he should kill the

princess. Then the thief crept up the rock and stole her from under the dragon

so cleverly that the monster did not awake. Full of joy, they hurried off with

her and sailed away. But presently the dragon awoke and missing the princess

flew after them through the air. Just as he was hovering above the ship to

swoop down upon it, the hunter shot him through the heart and he tumbled down

dead, but falling on the vessel his carcase smashed it into pieces. They laid

hold of two planks and drifted about till the tailor with his wonderful needle

sewed the planks together, and then they collected the fragments of the ship

which the tailor also sewed together so skilfully that their ship was again

sea-worthy, and they soon got home in safety. The king was right glad to see

his daughter and told the four brothers they must settle among themselves

which of them should have her to wife. Upon this they began to wrangle with

one another. The astronomer said, "If I had not seen the princess, all your

arts would have been useless, so she is mine." The thief claimed her, because

he had rescued her from the dragon; the hunter, because he had shot the

monster; and the tailor, because he had sewn the ship together and saved them

all from drowning. Then the king decreed: "Each of you has an equal right, and

as all of you cannot have her, none of you shall; but I will give to each as a

reward half a kingdom," with which the four clever brothers were well

contented.

The story has assumed a droll form among the Albanians, in which no fewer than

seven remarkably endowed youths play their parts in rescuing a king's daughter

from the Devil, who had stolen her out of the palace. One of the heroes could

hear far off; the second could make the earth open; the third could steal from

any one without his knowing it; the fourth could throw an object to the end of

the world; the fifth could erect an impregnable tower; the sixth could bring

down anything however high it might be in the air and the seventh could catch

whatever fell from any height. So they set off together, and after travelling

along way, the first lays his ear to the ground. "I hear him," he says. Then

the second causes the earth to open, and down they go, and find the Devil

sound asleep, snoring like thunder, with the princess clasped to his breast.

The third youth steals her without waking the fiend. Then the fourth takes off

the Devil's shoes and flings them to the end of the world, and off they all go

with the princess. The Devil wakes and goes after them, but first he must find

his shoes--though what need he could have for shoes it is not easy to say; but

mayhap the Devil of the Albanians is minus horns, hoof and tail! This gives

the fifth hero time to erect his impregnable tower before the fiend returns

from the end of the world. When he comes to the tower he finds all his skill

is naught, so he has recourse to artifice, which indeed has always been his

forte. He begs piteously to be allowed one last look of his beloved princess.

They can't refuse him so slight a favour, and make a tiny hole in the tower

wall, but, tiny as it is, the Devil is able to pull the princess through it

and instantly mounts on high with her. Now is the marksman's opportunity: he

shoots at the fiend and down he comes, "like a hundred of bricks" (as we don't

say in the classics), at the same time letting go the princess, who is

cleverly caught by the seventh hero, and is none the worse for her aerial

journey. The princess chooses the seventh for her husband, as he is the

youngest and best looking, but her father the king rewards his companions

handsomely and all are satisfied.

The charming history of Prince Ahmad and his fairy bride is "conspicuous from

its absence" in all these versions, but it re-appears in the Italian

collection of Nerucci: "Novelle Popolari Montalesi," No. xl., p. 335, with

some variations from Galland's story:

A certain king had three daughters, and a neighbouring king had three sons,

who were much devoted to the chase. They arrived at the city of the first

king, and all fell in love with his daughter[FN#416] and wanted to marry her.

Her father said it was impossible to content them all, but if one of them

would ask her, and if he pleased her, he would not oppose the marriage. They

could not agree which it was to be, and her father proposed that they should

all travel, and the one who at the end of six months brought the most

beautiful and wonderful present should marry her. They set out in different

directions and at the end of six months they meet by appointment at a certain

inn. The eldest brings a magic carpet on which he is wafted whithersoever he

will. (It goes a hundred miles in a day.) The second brings a telescope which

shows whatever is happening a hundred miles away. The youngest brings three

stones of a grape, one of which put into the mouth of a person who is dying

restores him to life. They at once test the telescope by wishing to see the

princess, and they find her dying--at the last gasp indeed. By means of the

carpet they reach the palace m time to save her life with one of the

grape-stones. Each claims the victory. Her father, almost at his wits' end to

decide the question, decrees that they shall shoot with the crossbow, and he

who shoots farthest shall win the princess. The second brother shoots farther

than the first; but the youngest shoots so far that they cannot find where

kits arrow has fallen. He persists in the search and falls down a deep hole,

from the bottom of which he can scarcely see a speck of the sky. There an ogre

(mago) appears to him and also a bevy of young fairy maidens of extreme

beauty. They lead him to a marvellous palace, give him refreshments and

provide him with a room and a bed, where every night one of the fairies bears

him company. He spends his days in pleasure until the king's daughter is

almost forgotten. At last he begins to think he ought to learn what has become

of his brothers, his father, and the lady. The chief fairy however, tries to

dissuade him warning him that evil will befall him if he return to his

brothers. He persists, and she tells him that the princess is given to his

eldest brother, who reigns in his father-in-law's stead the latter having

died, and that his own father is also dead; and she warns him again not to go.

But he goes. His eldest brother says that he thought he was dead "in that

hole." The hero replies that, on the contrary, he fares so well with a bevy of

young and beautiful fairies that he does not even envy him, and would not

change places with him for all the treasures in the world. His brother,

devoured by rage, demands that the hero bring him within eight days a pavilion

of silk which will lodge three hundred soldiers, otherwise he will destroy his

palace of delights. The hero, affrighted, returns to the fairies and relates

his brother's threats. The chief fairy says, "Didn't I tell you so? You

deserve that I should leave you to your fate; but, out of pity for your youth,

I will help you." And he returns to his brother within eight days with the

required pavilion. But his brother is not satisfied: he demands another silk

pavilion for 600 soldiers, else he will lay waste the abode of the fairies.

This pavilion he also receives from the fairies, and it was much finer and

richer than the first. His brother's demands rise when he sees that the hero

does not find any difficulty in satisfying him. He now commands that a column

of iron 12 cubits (braccia) high be erected in the midst of a piazza. The

chief of the fairies also complies with this requirement. The column is ready

in a moment, and as the hero cannot carry it himself, she gives it to the

guardian ogre, who carries it upon his shoulders, and presents himself, along

with the hero, before the eldest brother. As soon as the latter comes to see

the column set in the piazza the ogre knocks him down and reduces him to pulp

(cofaccino, lit., a cake), and the hero marries his brother's widow and

becomes king in his stead.

Almost suspiciously like the story in Galland in many of the details is an

Icelandic version in Powell and Magnússon's collection, yet I cannot conceive

how the peasantry of that country could have got it out of "Les Mille et une

Nuits." There are two ways by which the story might have reached them

independently of Galland's work: the Arabs and Persians traded extensively in

former times with Scandinavia, through Russia, and this as well as other Norse

tales of undoubtedly Eastern extraction may have been communicated by the same

channel;[FN#417] or the Norsemen may have taken it back with them from the

South of Europe. But however this may be, the Icelandic version is so quaint

in its diction, has such a fresh aroma about it, and such novel particulars,

that I feel justified in giving it here in full:

It is said that once, in the days of old, there was a good and wealthy king

who ruled over a great and powerful realm; but neither his name nor that of

his kingdom is given, nor the latter's whereabouts in the world. He had a

queen, and by her three sons, who were all fine youths and hopeful, and the

king loved them well. The king had taken, too, a king's daughter from a

neighbouring kingdom, to foster her, and she was brought up with his sons. She

was of the same age as they, and the most beautiful and accomplished lady that

had ever been seen in those days, and the king loved her in no way less than

his own sons. When the princess was of age, all the king's sons fell in love

with her, and things even went so far that they all of them engaged her at

once, each in his own name. Their father, being the princess's foster-father,

had the right of bestowing her in marriage, as her own father was dead. But as

he was fond of all his sons equally the answer he gave them was, that he left

it to the lady's own choice to take for a husband whichever of the brothers

she loved the most. On a certain day he had the princess called up to him and

declared his will to her, telling her that she might choose for a husband

whichever she liked best of his sons. The princess answered, "Bound I am in

duty to obey your words. But as to this choice of one of your sons to be my

husband I am in the greatest perplexity; for I must confess they are all

equally dear to me, and I cannot choose one before the other." When the king

heard this answer of the princess he found himself in a new embarrassment, and

thought a long while what he could do that should be equally agreeable to all

parties, and at last hit upon the following decision of the matter: that all

his sons should after a year's travel return each with a precious thing, and

that he who had the finest thing should be the princess's husband. This

decision the king's sons found to be a just one and they agreed to meet after

one year at a certain castle in the country, whence they should go all

together, to the town, in order to lay their gifts before the princess. And

now their departure from the country was arranged as well as could be.

First the tale tells of the eldest, that he went from one land to another, and

from one city to another, in search of a precious thing, but found nowhere

anything that at all suited his ideas. At last the news came to his ears that

there was a princess who had so fine a spy-glass that nothing so marvellous

had ever been seen or heard of before. In it one could see all over the world,

every place, every city, every man, and every living being that moved on the

face of the earth, and what every living thing in the world was doing. Now the

prince thought that surely there could be no more precious thing at all likely

to turn up for him than this telescope; he therefore went to the princess, in

order to buy the spy-glass if possible. But by no means could he prevail upon

the king's daughter to part with her spy-glass, till he had told her his whole

story and why he wanted it, and used all his powers of entreaty. As might be

expected, he paid for it well. Having got it he returned home, glad at his

luck, and hoping to wed the king's daughter.

The story next turns to the second son. He had to struggle with the same

difficulties as his elder brother. He travelled for a long while over the wide

world without finding anything at all suitable, and thus for a time he saw no

chance of his wishes being fulfilled. Once he came into a very well-peopled

city; and went about in search of precious things among the merchants, but

neither did he find nor even see what he wanted. He heard that there lived a

short way from the town a dwarf, the cleverest maker of curious and cunning

things. He therefore resolved to go to the dwarf in order to try whether he

could be persuaded to make him any costly thing. The dwarf said that he had

ceased to make things of that sort now and he must beg to be excused from

making anything of the kind for the prince. But he said that he had a piece of

cloth, made in his younger days, with which however, he was very unwilling to

part. The king's son asked the nature and use of the cloth The dwarf answered,

"On this cloth one can go all over the world, as well through the air as on

the water. Runes are on it, which must be understood by him who uses it." Now

the prince saw that a more precious thing than this could scarcely be found,

and therefore asked the dwarf by all means to let him have the cloth. And

although the dwarf would not at first part with his cloth at all, yet at last,

hearing what would happen if the king's son did not get it, he sold it to him

at a mighty high price. The prince was truly glad to have got the cloth, for

it was not only a cloth of great value, but also the greatest of treasures m

other respects, having gold-seams and jewel-embroidery. After this he returned

home, hoping to get the best of his brothers in the contest for the damsel.

The youngest prince left home last of all the three brethren.[FN#418] First he

travelled from one village to another in his own country, and went about

asking for precious things of every merchant he met on his way, as also on all

sides where there was the slightest hope of his getting what he wanted. But

all his endeavours were in vain, and the greater part of the year was spent in

fruitless search till at last he waxed sad in mind at his lot. At this time he

came into a well-peopled city, whereto people were gathered from all parts of

the world. He went from one merchant to another till at last he came to one

who sold apples.[FN#419] This merchant said he had an apple that was of so

strange a nature that if it was put into the arm-hole of a dying man he would

at once return to life. He declared that it was the property of his family and

had always been used in the family as a medicine. As soon as the king's son

heard this he would by all means have the apple, deeming that he would never

be able to find a thing more acceptable to the king's daughter than this. He

therefore asked the merchant to sell him the apple and told him all the story

of his search, and that his earthly welfare was based upon his being in no way

inferior to his brethren in his choice of precious things for the princess.

The merchant felt pity for the prince when he had told him his story, so much

so that he sold him the apple, and the prince returned home, glad and

comforted at his happy luck.

Now nothing more is related of the three brothers till they met together at

the place before appointed. When they were all together each related the

striking points in his travelling. All being here, the eldest brother thought

that he would be the first to see the princess and find out how she was and

therefore he took forth his spy-glass and turned it towards the city. But what

saw he? The beloved princess lying in her bed, in the very jaws of death! The

king, his father, and all the highest nobles of the court were standing round

the bed in the blackness of sorrow, sad in their minds, and ready to receive

the last sigh of the fair princess. When the prince saw this lamentable sight

he was grieved beyond measure. He told his brothers what he had seen and they

were no less struck with sorrow than himself. They began bewailing loudly,

saying that they would give all they had never to have undertaken this

journey, for then at least they would have been able to perform the last

offices for the fair princess. But in the midst of these bewailings the second

brother bethought him of his cloth, and remembered that he could get to the

town on it in a moment. He told this to his brothers and they were glad at

such good and unexpected news. Now the cloth was unfolded and they all stepped

on to it, and in one of moment it was high in the air and in the next inside

the town. When they were there they made all haste to reach the room of the

princess, where everybody wore an air deep sadness. They were told that the

princess's every breath was her last. Then the youngest brother remembered his

wonderful apple, and thought that it would never be more wanted to show its

healing power than now. He therefore went straight into the bed-room of the

princess and placed the apple under her right arm. And at the same moment it

was as if a new breath of life flushed through the whole body of the princess;

her eyes opened, and after a little while she began to speak to the folk

around her. This and the return of the king's sons caused great joy at the

court of the king.

Now some time went by until the princess was fully recovered. Then a large

meeting was called together, at which the brothers were bidden to show their

treasures. First the eldest made his appearance, and showing his spy-glass

told what a wonderful thing it was, and also how it was due to this glass that

the life of the fair princess had ever been saved, as he had seen through it

how matters stood in the town. He therefore did not doubt for a moment that

his gift was the one which would secure him the fair princess.

Next stepped forward the second brother with the cloth. Having described its

powers, he said, "I am of opinion that my brother's having seen the princess

first would have proved of little avail had I not had the cloth, for thereupon

we came so quickly to the place to save the princess; and I must declare that

to my mind, the cloth is the chief cause of the king's daughter's recovery."

Next stepped forward the youngest prince and said, as he laid the apple before

the people, "Little would the glass and the cloth have availed to save the

princess's live had I not had the apple. What could we brothers have profited

in being only witnesses of the beloved damsel's death? What would this have

done, but awaken our grief and regret? It is due alone to the apple that the

princess is yet alive; wherefore I find myself the most deserving of her."

Then a long discussion arose in the meeting, and the decision at last came

out, that all the three things had worked equally towards the princess's

recovery, as might be seen from the fact that if one had been wanting the

others would have been worthless. It was therefore declared that, as all gifts

had equal claim to the prize, no one could decide to whom the princess should

belong.

After this the king planned another contrivance in order to come to some end

of the matter. He soon should try their skill in shooting, and he who proved

to be the ablest shooter of them should have the princess. So a mark was

raised and the eldest brother stepped forward with his bow and quiver. He

shot, and no great distance from the mark fell his arrow. After that stepped

forward the second brother, and his arrow well-nigh reached the mark. Last of

all stepped forward the third and youngest brother, and his arrow seemed to go

farther than the others, but in spite of continued search for many days it

could not be found. The king decided in this matter that his second son should

marry the princess They were married accordingly, and as the king, the father

of the princess, was dead, his daughter now succeeded him, and her husband

became king over his wife's inheritance. They are now out of this tale, as is

also the eldest brother, who settled in life abroad.

The youngest brother stayed at home with his father, highly displeased at the

decision the latter had given concerning the marriage of the princess. He was

wont to wander about every day where he fancied his arrow had fallen, and at

last he found it fixed in an oak in the forest, and saw that it had by far

outstripped the mark. He now called together witnesses to the place where the

arrow was, with the intention of bringing about some justice m his case. But

of this there was no chance, for the king said he could by no means alter his

decision. At this the king's son was so grieved that he went well-nigh out of

his wits. One day he busked for a journey, with the full intention of never

again setting foot m his country. He took with him all he possessed of fine

and precious things, nobody knowing his rede, not even his father, the king.

He went into a great forest and wandered about there many days, without

knowing whither he was going, and at last, yielding to hunger and weariness,

he found himself no longer equal to travelling; so he sat down under a tree,

thinking that his sad and sorrowful life would here come to a close. But after

he had sat thus awhile he saw ten people, all in fine attire and bright

armour, come riding towards the stone. On arriving there they dismounted, and

having greeted the king's son begged him to go with them, and mount the spare

horse they had with them, saddled and bridled in royal fashion. He accepted

this offer and mounted the horse, and after this they rode on their way till

they came to a large city. The riders dismounted and led the prince into the

town, which was governed by a young and beautiful maiden-queen. The riders led

the king's son at once to the virgin-queen, who received him with great

kindness. She told him that she had heard of all the ill-luck that had

befallen him and also that he had fled from his father. "Then," quoth she, "a

burning love for you was kindled in my breast and a longing to heal your

wounds. You must know that it was I who sent the ten riders to find you out

and bring you hither. I give you the chance of staying here; I offer you the

rule of my whole kingdom, and I will try to sweeten your embittered life;--

this is all that I am able to do." Although the prince was in a sad and gloomy

state of mind, he saw nothing better than to accept this generous offer and

agree to the marriage with the maiden-queen. A grand feast was made ready, and

they were married according to the ways of that country. And the young king

took at once in hand the government, which he managed with much ability.

Now the story turns homewards, to the old king. After the disappearance of his

son he became sad and weary of life, being, as he was, sinking in age. His

queen also had died sometime since. One day it happened that a wayfaring woman

came to the palace. She had much knowledge about many things and knew how to

tell tales.[FN#420] The king was greatly delighted with her story-telling and

she got soon into his favour. Thus some time passed. But in course of time the

king fell deeply in love with this woman, and at last married her and made her

his queen, in spite of strong dissent from the court. Shortly this new queen

began meddling in the affairs of the government, and it soon turned out that

she was spoiling everything by her redes, whenever she had the chance. Once it

happened that the queen spoke to the king and said, "Strange indeed it seems

to me that you make no inquiry about your youngest son's running away: smaller

faults have been often chastised than that. You must have heard that he has

become king in one of the neighbouring kingdoms, and that it is a common tale

that he is going to invade your dominions with a great army whenever he gets

the wished-for opportunity, in order to avenge the injustice he thinks he has

suffered in that bygone bridal question. Now I want you to be the first in

throwing this danger off-hand." The king showed little interest in the matter

and paid to his wife's chattering but little attention. But she contrived at

length so to speak to him as to make him place faith in her words, and he

asked her to give him good redes, that this matter might be arranged in such a

way as to be least observed by other folk. The queen said, "You must send men

with gifts to him and pray him to come to you for an interview, in order to

arrange certain political matters before your death, as also to strengthen

your friendship with an interchange of marks of kindred. And then I will give

you further advice as to what to do." The king was satisfied with this and

equipped his messengers royally.

Then the messengers came before the young king, saying they were sent by his

father, who wished his son to come and see him without delay. To this the

young king answered well, and lost no time in bushing his men and himself. But

when his queen knew this she said he would assuredly rue this journey. The

king went off, however, and nothing is said of his travels till he came to the

town where his father lived. His father received him rather coldly, much to

the wonder and amazement of his son. And when he had been there a short while

his father gave him a good chiding for having run away. "Thereby," said the

old king, "you have shown full contempt of myself and caused me such sorrow as

well-nigh brought me to the grave. Therefore, according to the law, you have

deserved to die; but as you have delivered yourself up into my power and are,

on the other hand, my son, I have no mind to have you killed. But I have three

tasks for you which you must have performed within a year, on pain of death.

The first is that you bring me a tent which will hold one hundred men but can

yet be hidden in the closed hand;[FN#421] the second, that you shall bring me

water that cures all ailments;[FN#422] and the third, that you shall bring me

hither a man who has not his like in the whole world." "Show me whither I

shall go to obtain these things," said the young king. "That you must find out

for yourself," replied the other.

Then the old king turned his back upon his son and went off. Away went also

the young king, no farewells being said, and nothing is told of his travels

till he came home to his realm. He was then very sad and heavy-minded, and the

queen seeing this asked him earnestly what had befallen him and what caused

the gloom on his mind. He declared that this did not regard her. The queen

answered, "I know that tasks must have been set you which it will not prove

easy to perform. But what will it avail you to sit sullen and sad on account

of such things? Behave as a man, and try if these tasks may not indeed be

accomplished."

Now the king thought it best tell the queen all that had happened and how

matters stood. "All this," said the queen, "is the rede of your stepmother,

and it would be well indeed if she could do you no more harm by it than she

has already tried to do. She has chosen such difficulties she thought you

would not easily get over, but I can do something here. The tent is in my

possession, so there is that difficulty over. The water you have to get is a

short way hence but very hard of approach. It is in a well and the well is in

a cave hellishly dark. The well is watched by seven lions and three serpents,

and from these monsters nobody has ever returned alive; and the nature of the

water is that it has no healing power whatever unless it be drawn when all

these monsters are awake. Now I will risk the undertaking of drawing the

water." So the queen made herself ready to go to the cave, taking with her

seven oxen and three pigs. When she came before the cave she ordered the oxen

to be killed and thrown before the lions and the pigs before the serpents. And

while these monsters tore and devoured the carcases the queen stepped down

into the well and drew as much water as she wanted. And she left the cave just

in time as the beasts finished devouring their bait. After this the queen went

home to the palace having thus got over the second trial.

Then she came to her husband and said, "Now two of the tasks are done, but the

third and indeed the hardest, of them is left. Moreover, this is one you must

perform yourself, but I can give you some hints as to whither to go for it. I

have got a half brother who rules over an island not far from hence. He is

three feet high, and has one eye in the middle of his forehead. He has a beard

thirty ells long, stiff and hard as a hog's bristles. He has a dog's snout and

cat's ears, and I should scarcely fancy he has his like in the whole world.

When he travels he flings himself forward on a staff of fifty ells' length,

with a pace as swift as a bird's flight. Once when my father was out hunting

he was charmed by an ogress who lived in a cave under a waterfall, and with

her he begat this bugbear. The island is one-third of my father's realm, but

his son finds it too small for him. My father had a ring the greatest gem,

which each of us would have, sister and brother, but I got it, wherefore he

has been my enemy ever since. Now I will write him a letter and send him the

ring in the hope that that will soften him and turn him in our favour. You

shall make ready to go to him, with a splendid suite, and when you come to his

palace-door you shall take off your crown and creep bareheaded over the floor

up to his throne. Then you shall kiss his right foot and give him the letter

and the ring. And if he orders you to stand up, you have succeeded in your

task; if not, you have failed."

So he did everything that he was bidden by the queen, and when he appeared

before the one-eyed king he was stupefied at his tremendous ugliness and his

bugbear appearance; but he plucked up courage as best he could and gave him

the letter and the ring. When the king saw the letter and the ring his face

brightened up, and he said, "Surely my sister finds herself in straits now, as

she sends me this ring." And when he had read the letter he bade the king, his

brother-in-law, stand up, and declared that he was ready to comply with his

sister's wish and to go off at once without delay. He seized his staff and

started away, but stopped now and then for his brother-in-law and his suite,

to whom he gave a good chiding for their slowness.[FN#423] They continued thus

their march until they came to the palace of the queen, the ugly king's

sister; but when they arrived there the one-eyed king cried with a roaring

voice to his sister, and asked her what she wished, as she had troubled him to

come so far from home. She then told him all the matter as it really was and

begged him to help her husband out of the trial put before him. He said he was

ready to do so, but would brook no delay.

Now both kings went off, and nothing is told of their journey until they came

to the old king. The young king announced to his father his coming and that he

brought with him what he had ordered last year. He wished his father to call

together a ting[FN#424] in order that he might show openly how he had

performed his tasks. This was done, and the king and the queen and other great

folk were assembled. First the tent was put forward and nobody could find

fault with it. Secondly the young king gave the wondrous healing water to his

father. The queen was prayed to taste it and see if it was the right water,

taken at the right time. She said that both things were as they should be.

Then said the old king, "Now the third and heaviest of all the tasks is left:

come, and have it off your hands quickly." Then the young king summoned the

king with one eye, and as he appeared on the ting he waxed so hideous that all

the people were struck with fright and horror, and most of all the king. When

this ugly monarch had shown himself for a while there he thrust his staff

against the breast of the queen and tilted her up into the air on the top of

it, and then thrust her against the ground with such force that every bone in

her body was broken. She turned at once into the most monstrous troll ever

beheld. After this the one eyed king rushed away from the ting and the people

thronged round the old king in order to help him, for he was in the very jaws

of death from fright. The healing water was sprinkled on him and refreshed

him.

After the death of the queen, who was killed of course when she turned into a

troll, the king confessed that all the tasks which he had given his son to

perform were undeserved and that he had acted thus, egged on by the queen. He

called his son to him and humbly begged his forgiveness for what he had done

against him. He declared he would atone for it by giving into his hand all

that kingdom, while he himself only wished to live in peace and quiet for the

rest of his days. So the young king sent for his queen and for the courtiers

whom he loved most. And, to make a long story short, they gave up their former

kingdom to the king with one eye, as a reward, for his lifetime, but governed

the realm of the old king to a high age, in great glee and happiness,

The Two Sisters Who Envied Their Cadette--p. 313.

Legends of castaway infants are common to the folk-lore of almost all

countries and date far back into antiquity. The most usual mode of exposing

them--to perish or be rescued, as chance might direct--is placing them in a

box and launching them into a river. The story of Moses in the bulrushes,

which must of course be familiar to everybody, is not only paralleled in

ancient Greek and Roman legends (e.g. Perseus, Cyrus, Romulus), but finds its

analogue in Babylonian folk-lore.[FN#425] The leading idea of the tale of the

Envious Sisters, who substituted a puppy, a kitten, and a rat for the three

babes their young sister the queen had borne and sent the little innocents

away to be destroyed, appealing, as it does to the strongest of human

instincts, is the theme of many popular fictions from India to Iceland. With a

malignant mother-in-law in place of the two sisters, it is the basis of a

medi val European romance entitled "The Knight of the Swan," and of a similar

tale which occurs in "Dolopathus," the oldest version of the "Seven Wise

Masters," written in Latin prose about the year 1180: A king while hunting

loses his way in a forest and coming to a fountain perceives a beautiful lady,

whom he carries home and duly espouses much against the will of his mother,

Matabrun. Some time after, having to lead his knights and men-at-arms against

an enemy, he commits the queen, now far advanced in pregnancy to the care of

his mother, who undertakes that no harm shall befall her during his absence.

The queen is delivered at one birth of seven lovely children, six boys and one

girl, each of whom has a silver chain around its neck.[FN#426] The king's

mother plots with the midwife to do away with the babes and place seven little

dogs in bed beside the poor queen. She gives the children to one of her

squires, charging him either to slay them or cast them into the river. But

when the squire enters the forest his heart relents and laying the infants

wrapped in his mantle, on the ground, he returns and tells his mistress that

he has done her behest. When the king returns, the wicked Matabrun accuses his

wife to him of having had unnatural commerce with a dog, and shows him the

seven puppies. The scene which follows presents a striking likeness to that in

the Arabian story after the birth of the third child. King Oriant is full of

wrath, and at once assembles his counsellors, "dukes, earls knights and other

lords of the realm, with the bishop and prelate of the church," and having

stated the case, the bishop pleads in favour of the queen, and finally induces

him not to put her to death, but confine her in prison for the rest of her

life. Meanwhile the children are discovered by an aged hermit, who takes them

to his dwelling, baptises them and brings them up. After some years it happens

that a yeoman in the service of the king's mother, while hunting in the

forest, perceives the seven children with silver chains round their necks

seated under a tree. He reports this to Matabrun, who forthwith sends him back

to kill the children and bring her their silver chains. He finds but six of

them one being absent with the hermit, who was gone alms seeking; and, touched

by their innocent looks, he merely takes off the silver chains, whereupon they

become transformed into pretty white swans and fly away. How the innocence of

the queen is afterwards vindicated by her son Helyas--he who escaped being

changed into a swan--and how his brethren and sister are restored to their

proper forms would take too long to tell, and indeed the rest of the romance

has no bearing on the Arabian tale.[FN#427]

In another mediaeval work, from which Chaucer derived his Man of Law's Tale,

the Life of Constance, by Nicholas Trivet, an English Dominican monk, the

saintly heroine is married to a king, in whose absence at the wars his mother

plots against her daughter-in- law. When Constance gives birth to a son, the

old queen causes letters to be written to the king, in which his wife is

declared to be an evil spirit in the form of a woman and that she had borne,

not a human child, but a hideous monster. The king, in reply, commands

Constance to be tended carefully until his return. But the traitress contrives

by means of letters forged in the king's name to have Constance and her son

sent to sea in a ship, where she meets with strange adventures. Needless to

say, the old queen's wicked devices come to naught.

The story of the Envious Sisters as told by Galland was known in Italy (as Dr.

W. Grimm points out in the valuable notes to his K. u. H.M.) many generations

before the learned Frenchman was born, through the "Pleasant Nights" of

Straparola. That Galland took his story from the Italian novelist it is

impossible to believe, since, as Mr. Coote has observed, Straparola's work

"was already known in France for a couple of centuries through a popular

French translation," and Galland would at once have been an easily convicted

copyist. Moreover the story, imitated from Straparola, by Madame d'Aulnois,

under the title of "La Belie Etoile et Le Prince Cheri," had been published

before Galland's last two volumes appeared, and both those writers had the

same publisher. It is clear, therefore, that Galland neither invented the

story nor borrowed it from Straparola or Madame d'Aulnois. Whence, then, did

he obtain it?--that is the question. His Arabic source has not yet been

discovered, but a variant of the world-wide story is at the present day orally

current in Egypt and forms No. xi. of "Comes Arabes Modernes. Recueillis et

Traduits par Guillaume Spitta Bey" (Paris, 1883), of which the following is a

translation: