Daryl Lorette

Lindorm Legend

Mecklenburg

In the vicinity of the main road between Neubrandenburg and Stavenhagen, adjacent to the field belonging to Gevezin and Blankenhof, there are three hills: Blocksberg, Jabsberg, and Lindberg.

A long time ago lindorms lived there. When they lay outstretched, they resembled a felled fir tree, and they were feared far and wide.

Once a wagon was driving along the road, and not far from the watermill it came to a young lindorm lying across the road asleep in the sun. Thinking that it was a fir log, the driver drove over it. Only after the run-over beast cried out did the driver realize what it was, and he drove away.

Hearing the cry, the old lindorm rushed forward and found its young one dead. Enraged, it attacked a wagon loaded with straw headed in the direction of Neubrandenburg. The driver saw it and fled in a gallop. Fortunately, on the far side of the Neuendorf Enclosure he lost his connecting pin, leaving the rear part of the wagon behind with its load of straw, while the driver hurried away all the faster on the front part of the wagon.

The lindorm tore about in the straw, but finding no one there, it continued in pursuit of the driver. In order to gain speed, it bit into its tail, then rolled along after the wagon like a hoop. The driver just barely made it to the Brandenburg gate, which was quickly closed behind him, with the lindorm on the outside.

The lindorm remained lying just outside the gate, there where Saint George's Church now stands, and no one from Brandenburg dared to go through the gate.

Now a foreign prince by the name of George was in the city, and he made the decision to challenge the lindorm. After a difficult battle he succeeded in cutting off the beast's tail, which was the source of its strength, and then he quickly killed it.

In commemoration of this event Saint George's Church was built, and the story is depicted on its altar.

The Cannibal Innkeeper

Romania

Once there was a poor orphan girl who worked as a servant at the house of a rich man. Her dearest companion was a little dog that her parents had given her before they died.

One day the chieftain of a robber band, disguised as an ordinary servant, came to the rich man's house and asked the girl to marry him. Sensing something sinister about him, the girl rejected the suitor's advances, so, with the assistance of his fellow robbers, he carried her away by force.

Now a prisoner in the robber's house, the girl still refused to marry him, in spite of his friendly words, his threats, and his abuse. Finally he gave up his attempts to win her love, and sold her to a wild and cruel innkeeper.

Now this innkeeper would rob travelers, kill them, cut them into pieces, and serve their cooked flesh to his other guests. He terrorized the poor girl by showing her the valuables he had stolen from his victims, the room where he murdered them, and the weapons he used for his wicked deeds. Then he locked her and her little dog in an adjoining room.

Soon afterward he brought in a little boy whom he had captured in the woods gathering berries. He cut off the boy's head and cut him into pieces. Then he forced the girl to cook the boy's flesh and serve it to the innkeeper's guests.

Some time later the innkeeper brought in a very old woman, ugly and wrinkled, and nothing but skin and bones. Perhaps wanting to fatten her up for later, he locked her in the room with the girl and her dog.

After their captor had left, the old woman told the girl that the cannibal innkeeper was her own son, and that she, disguised so well that he could not recognize her, had come to punish him for his wickedness. Skilled in witchcraft, the old woman told the girl how she could escape. She would first have to kill her little dog and eat a piece of its heart. The girl did this, and then the old woman rubbed some ointment all over the girl's body, which transformed her into a duck.

A little later the wild man opened the door, and the duck flew over his head, escaping into the open. The innkeeper ran from room to room looking for the girl, and his mother uttered a magic curse that caused the house to collapse upon him, killing him at once.

The girl turned around and saw the heap of ruins, but as the old woman had not told her how she could again become a human being, she has remained a duck to this very day.

Little Red Riding Hood

Charles Perrault

Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding Hood.

One day her mother, having made some cakes, said to her, "Go, my dear, and see how your grandmother is doing, for I hear she has been very ill. Take her a cake, and this little pot of butter."

Little Red Riding Hood set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.

As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."

"Does she live far off?" said the wolf

"Oh I say," answered Little Red Riding Hood; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."

"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."

The wolf ran as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman's house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.

"Who's there?"

"Your grandchild, Little Red Riding Hood," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter sent you by mother."

The good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."

The wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the good woman and ate her up in a moment, for it been more than three days since he had eaten. He then shut the door and got into the grandmother's bed, expecting Little Red Riding Hood, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.

"Who's there?"

Little Red Riding Hood, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had a cold and was hoarse, answered, "It is your grandchild Little Red Riding Hood, who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter mother sends you."

The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."

Little Red Riding Hood pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.

The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Put the cake and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come get into bed with me."

Little Red Riding Hood took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!"

"All the better to hug you with, my dear."

"Grandmother, what big legs you have!"

"All the better to run with, my child."

"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"

"All the better to hear with, my child."

"Grandmother, what big eyes you have!"

"All the better to see with, my child."

"Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!"

"All the better to eat you up with."

And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.

Moral: Children, especially attractive, well bred young ladies, should never talk to strangers, for if they should do so, they may well provide dinner for a wolf. I say "wolf," but there are various kinds of wolves. There are also those who are charming, quiet, polite, unassuming, complacent, and sweet, who pursue young women at home and in the streets. And unfortunately, it is these gentle wolves who are the most dangerous ones of all.

The Three Delicate Wives of King Virtue-Banner: Which Is the Most Delicate?

India

Then the king went to the sissoo tree, put the goblin on his shoulder once more, and started toward the monk. And as he walked along, the goblin on his shoulder said, "O King, I will tell you a strange story to relieve your weariness. Listen."

There once was a king in Ujjain, whose name was Virtue-Banner. He had three princesses as wives, and loved them dearly. One of them was named Crescent, the second Star, and the third Moon. While the king lived happily with his wives, he conquered all his enemies, and was content.

One day at the time of the spring festival, the king went to the garden to play with his three wives. There he looked at the flower-laden vines with black rows of bees on them ; they seemed like the bow of the god of love, all ready for service. He heard the songs of nightingales in the trees; they sounded like commands of Love. And with his wives he drank wine which seemed like Love's very life blood.

Then the king playfully pulled the hair of Queen Crescent, and a lotus-petal fell from her hair into her lap. And the queen was so delicate that it wounded her, and she screamed and fainted. And the king was distracted, but when servants sprinkled her with cool water and fanned her, she gradually recovered consciousness. And the king took her to the palace and waited upon his dear wife with a hundred remedies which the physicians brought.

And when the king saw that she was made comfortable for the night, he went to the palace balcony with his second wife Star. Now while she slept on the king's breast, the moonbeams found their way through the window and fell upon her.

And she awoke in a moment, and started up, crying, "I am burned!"

Then the king awoke and anxiously asked what the matter was, and he saw great blisters on her body. When he asked her about it, Queen Star said, "The moonbeams that fell on me did it."

And the king was distracted when he saw how she wept and suffered. He called the servants and they made a couch of moist lotus leaves, and dressed her wounds with damp sandal paste.

At that moment the third queen, Moon, left her room to go to the king. And as she moved through the noiseless night, she clearly heard in a distant part of the palace the sound of pestles grinding grain. And she cried, "Oh, oh! It will kill me!"

She wrung her hands and sat down in agony in the hall. But her servants returned and led her to her room, where she took to her bed and wept. And when the servants asked what the matter was, she tearfully showed her hands with bruises on them, like two lilies with black bees clinging to them. So they went and told the king. And he came in great distress, and asked his dear wife about it.

She showed her hands and spoke, though she suffered, "My dear, when I heard the sound of the pestles, these bruises came."

Then the king made them give her a cooling plaster of sandal paste and other things. And the king thought, "One of them was wounded by a falling lotus petal. The second was burned by the moonbeams. The third had her hands terribly bruised by the sound of pestles. I love them dearly, but alas! The very delicacy which is so great a virtue, is positively inconvenient."

And he wandered about in the palace, and it seemed as if the night had three hundred hours. But in the morning the king and his skilful physicians took such measures that before long his wives were well and he was happy.

When he had told this story, the goblin asked, "O King, which of them was the most delicate?"

And the king said, "The one who was bruised by the mere sound of the pestles, when nothing touched her. The other two who were wounded or blistered by actual contact with lotus petals or moonbeams, are not equal to her."

When the goblin heard this, he went back, and the king resolutely hastened to catch him again.

How Brother Fox Was Too Smart

Joel Chandler Harris

One day Brer Fox heard Mr. Man coming down the big road in a one-horse wagon carrying some chickens and some eggs and some butter to town. Brer Fox heard him coming, he did, and what did he do but go and lay down in the road in front of the wagon. Mr. Man, he drove along, he did, clucking to the horse and humming to himself, and when they got almost up to Brer Fox, the horse, he shied, he did, and Mr. Man, he took and hollered "whoa!" and the horse, he took and whoaed.

Then Mr. Man, he looked down, and he saw Brer Fox lying out there on the ground, just like he was cold and stiff, and when Mr. Man saw this, he hollered out, "Heyo! There's the chap that's been nabbing up my chickens, and somebody's done gone and shot off a gun at him, which I wish it had been two guns -- that I do!"

With that Mr. Man drove off and left Brer Fox lying there. Then Brer Fox, he got up and ran around through the woods and lay down in front of Mr. Man again, and Mr. Man came driving along, and he saw Brer Fox, and he said, "Heyo! You're the very chap that's been destroying my pigs. Somebody's done gone and killed him, and I wish they'd have killed him a long time ago."

Then Mr. Man, he drove on, and the wagon wheel came mighty near mashing Brer Fox's nose. Yet, all the same, Brer Fox leaped up and ran around ahead of Mr. Man and lay down in the road, and when Mr. Man came along, there he was all stretched out like he was big enough to fill a two-bushel basket, and he looked like he was dead enough to be skinned.

Mr. Man drove up, he did, and stopped. He looked down upon Brer Fox, and then he looked all around to see what the occasion was and why the fox was dead.

Mr. Man looked all around, he did, but he didn't see anything, and neither did he hear anything. He sat there and studied, and by and by he decided to see what had got into the fox family, and with that he got down out of the wagon, and he felt Brer Fox's ears. Brer Fox's ears felt right warm. Then he felt Brer Fox's neck. Brer Fox's neck felt right warm. Then he felt Brer Fox's short ribs. Brer Fox's short ribs were sound. Then he felt Brer Fox's limbs. Brer Fox's limbs were sound. Then he turned Brer Fox over, and lo and behold, Brer Fox was right limber.

When Mr. Man saw this, he said to himself, "Heyo, here! How come? This here chicken nabber looks like he's dead, but no bones are broken, and I can't see any blood, and neither can I see any bruises; and more than that, he is warm and limber. Something is wrong here for sure! This here pig grabber might be dead, and then again, he might not be. Just to make sure that he is, I'll give him a whack with my whip handle."

And with that, Mr. Man drew back and fetched Brer Fox a clip behind the ears -- pow! -- and the lick came so hard and it came so quick that Brer Fox thought for sure that he was a goner. But before Mr. Man could draw back and fetch him another wipe, Brer Fox scrambled to his feet, he did, and did he make tracks away from there.

The Pied Piper of Franchville

England

Newtown, or Franchville, as 'twas called of old, is a sleepy little town, upon the Solent shore. Sleepy as it is now, it was once noisy enough, and what made the noise was -- rats. The place was so infested with them as to be scarce worth living in. There wasn't a barn or a corn-rick, a storeroom or a cupboard, but they ate their way into it. Not a cheese but they gnawed it hollow, not a sugar puncheon but they cleared out. Why the very mead and beer in the barrels was not safe from them. They'd gnaw a hole in the top of the tun, and down would go one master rat's rail, and when he brought it up round would crowd all the friends and cousins, and each would have a suck at the tail.

Had they stopped here it might have been borne. But the squeaking and shrieking, the hurrying and scurrying, so that you could neither hear yourself speak nor get a wink of good honest sleep the live-long night! Not to mention that mamma must needs sit up and keep watch and ward over baby's cradle, or there'd have been a big ugly rat running across the poor little fellow's face, and doing who knows what mischief.

Why didn't the good people of the town have cats? Well they did, and there was a fair stand-up fight, but in the end the rats were too many, and the pussies were regularly driven from the field.

Poison, I hear you say? Why, they poisoned so many that it fairly bred a plague.

Ratcatchers! Why there wasn't a ratcatcher from John o' Groat's house to the Land's End that hadn't tried his luck. But do what they might, cats or poison, terrier or traps, there seemed to be more rats than ever, and every day a fresh rat was socking his tail or pricking his whiskers.

The mayor and the town council were at their wits' end. As they were sitting one day in the town hall racking their poor brains and bewailing their hard fate, who should run in but the town beadle. "Please, your honor," says he, "here is a very queer fellow come to town. I don't rightly know what to make of him."

"Show him in," said the mayor, and in he stepped.

A queer fellow, truly, For there wasn't a color of the rainbow but you might find it in some corner of his dress, and he was tall and thin, and had keen piercing eyes. "I'm called the Pied Piper," he began. "And pray what might you be willing to pay me, if I rid you of every single rat in Franchville?"

Well, much as they feared the rats, they feared parting with their money more, and fain would they have higgled and haggled. But the piper was not a man to stand nonsense, and the upshot was that fifty pounds were promised him (and it meant a lot of money in those old days) as soon as not a rat was left to squeak or scurry in Franchville.

Out of the hall stepped the piper, and as he stepped he laid his pipe to his lips and a shrill keen tune sounded through street and house. And as each note pierced the air you might have seen a strange sight. For out of every hole the rats came tumbling. There were none too old and none too young, none too big and none too little to crowd at the piper's heels and with eager feet and upturned noses to patter after him as he paced the streets. Nor was the piper unmindful of the little toddling ones, for every fifty yards he'd stop and give an extra flourish on his pipe just to give them time to keep up with the older and stronger of the band.

Up Silver Street he went, and down Gold Street, and at the end of Gold Street is the harbor and the broad Solent beyond. And as he paced along, slowly and gravely, the townsfolk flocked to door and window, and many a blessing they called down upon his head.

As for getting near him there were too many rats. And now that he was at the water's edge he stepped into a boat, and not a rat, as he shoved off into deep water, piping shrilly all the while, but followed him, plashing, paddling, and wagging their tails with delight. On and on he played and played until the tide went down, and each master rat sank deeper and deeper in the slimy ooze of the harbor, until every mother's son of them was dead and smothered.

The tide rose again, and the piper stepped on shore, but never a rat followed. You may fancy the townsfolk had been throwing up their caps and hurrahing and stopping up rat holes and setting the church bells a-ringing. But when the piper stepped ashore, and not so much as a single squeak was to be heard, the mayor and the council, and the townsfolk generally, began to hum and to haw and to shake their heads.

For the town money chest had been sadly emptied of late, and where was the fifty pounds to come from? Such an easy job, too! Just getting into a boat and playing a pipe! Why the mayor himself could have done that if only he had thought of it.

So he hummed and hawed and at last, "Come, my good man," said he. "You see what poor folk we are. How can we manage to pay you fifty pounds? Will you not take twenty? When all is said and done, 'twill be good pay for the trouble you've taken."

"Fifty pounds was what I bargained for," said the piper shortly, "and if I were you I'd pay it quickly, for I can pipe many kinds of tunes, as folk sometimes find to their cost."

"Would you threaten us, you strolling vagabond?" shrieked the mayor, and at the same time he winked to the council. "The rats are all dead and drowned," muttered he; and so, "You may do your worst, my good man," and with that he turned short upon his heel.

"Very well," said the piper, and he smiled a quiet smile. With that he laid his pipe to his lips afresh, but now there came forth no shrill notes, as it were, of scraping and gnawing, and squeaking and scurrying, but the tune was joyous and resonant, full of happy laughter and merry play. And as he paced down the streets the elders mocked, but from schoolroom and playroom, from nursery and workshop, not a child but ran out with eager glee and shout following gaily at the piper's call. Dancing, laughing, joining hands and tripping feet, the bright throng moved along up Gold Street and down Silver Street, and beyond Silver Street lay the cool green forest full of old oaks and wide-spreading beeches. In and out among the oak trees you might catch glimpses of the pipers many-colored coat. You might hear the laughter of the children break and fade and die away as deeper and deeper into the lone green wood the stranger went, and the children followed.

All the while, the elder watched and waited. They mocked no longer now. And watch and wait as they might, never did they set their eyes again upon the piper in his parti-colored coat. Never were their hearts gladdened by the song and dance of the children issuing forth from amongst the ancient oaks of the forest.

How the First Head Was Taken

Igorot

One day the Moon, who was a woman named Kabigat, sat out in the yard making a large copper pot. The copper was still soft and pliable like clay, and the woman squatted on the ground with the heavy pot against her knees while she patted and shaped it.

Now while she was working a son of Cal-chal, the Sun, came by and stopped to watch her mold the form. Against the inside of the jar she pressed a stone, while on the outside with a wooden paddle dripping with water she pounded and slapped until she had worked down the bulges and formed a smooth surface.

The boy was greatly interested in seeing the jar grow larger, more beautiful, and smoother with each stroke, and he stood still for some time. Suddenly the Moon looked up and saw him watching her. Instantly she struck him with her paddle, cutting off his head.

Now the Sun was not near, but he knew as soon as the Moon had cut off his son's head. And hurrying to the spot, he put the boy's head back on, and he was alive again.

Then the Sun said to the Moon, "You cut off my son's head, and because you did this, ever after on the earth people will cut off each other's heads.

The Story of Lydia and Pyrrhus

Giovanni Boccaccio

Nicostratus, a wealthy patrician, married Lydia, a woman of great distinction and unsurpassed beauty. He was well advanced in years, while she was still a paragon of youth and vitality. Consequently, to state the matter delicately, their marriage did not leave the young wife entirely satisfied. Thus, it is quite understandable that Lydia found herself paying ever more attention to one of her husband's servants, Pyrrhus by name, who was elegant, handsome, young, and energetic. He was attracted to her as well, and gladly would have accepted her invitations to love, but the old man gave them no opportunity. What he lacked in vigor he made up with jealousy and perseverance, rarely leaving his beautiful young wife alone.

Their unrequited passion aglow, Lydia and Pyrrhus devised a daring scheme through which, even in the master's presence, they might satisfy their longing for one another. Accordingly, one day when the three were walking in the garden, as they often did, Lydia requested a pear from a certain tree. Pyrrhus climbed after the fruit, but once in the tree, he called to his master, "Have you no shame, making love like that in broad daylight?"

The master demanded an explanation for the strange remark, and Pyrrhus concluded that the pear tree was enchanted, giving the impression of unreal happenings below. To test the theory, he asked his master to climb the tree, and see if he too would behold impossible things below. His curiosity piqued, Nicostratus mustered enough strength to climb onto one of the pear tree's lower branches. Looking down, what did he behold but Pyrrhus and Lydia making fervent love. From his precarious perch, he shouted curses, threats, and insults at them. but they -- engaged with other pursuits -- quite ignored him.

Nicostratus climbed down from the tree, only to find Pyrrhus and Lydia seated discretely on a garden bench. Their innocent demeanor convinced him that nothing unseemly had happened. Fearing that only a bedeviled tree could be responsible for the vile images that he had perceived, he sent for an ax and had it cut down immediately.

From that time forth Nicostratus relaxed his watchful vigil over his young wife, and thus Pyrrhus and Lydia were able to pluck the fruits of their love at regular intervals, even without the help of their enchanted pear tree.

The Parrot

England (Yorkshire)

There was once a grocer who had a beautiful parrot with green feathers, and it hung in a cage at his shop door. It was a very shrewd, sensible bird, and very observing. But it was a female, and as such could not hold its tongue, but proclaimed aloud all that it knew, announcing to everyone who entered the shop the little circumstances which had fallen under its observation.

One day the parrot observed its master sanding the sugar. Presently in came a woman and asked for some brown sugar. "Sand in the sugar! Sand in the sugar!" vociferated the bird, and the customer pocketed her money and rushed out of the shop.

The indignant grocer rushed to the cage and shook it well. "You abominable bird, if you tell tales again, I will wring your neck!" And again he shook the cage till the poor creature was all ruffled, and a cloud of its feathers was flying about the shop.

Next day it saw its master mixing cocoa powder with brick dust. Presently in came a customer for cocoa powder. "Brick dust in the cocoa!" cried the parrot, eagerly and repeatedly, till the astonished customer believed it, and went away without his cocoa. A repetition of the shaking of the cage ensued, with a warning that such another instance of tale-telling should certainly be punished with death. The parrot made internal resolutions never to speak again.

Presently, however, it observed its master making shop butter of lard colored with a little turmeric. In came a lady and asked for butter.

"Nice fresh butter, ma'am, fresh from the dairy," said the shopman

"Lard in the butter! Lard in the butter!" said the parrot.

"You scoundrel, you!" exclaimed the shopman, rushing at the cage. Opening it, drawing forth the luckless bird, and wringing its neck, he cast it into the ash pit. But Polly was not quite dead, and after lying quiet for a few minutes, she lifted up her head and saw a dead cat in the pit.

"Halloo!" called the parrot. "What is the matter with you, Tom?"

No answer, for the vital spark of heavenly flame had quitted the mortal frame of the poor cat.

"Dead!" sighed the parrot. "Poor Tom! He too must have been afflicted with the love of truth. Ah me!"

She sat up and tried her wings. "They are sound. Great is truth in my own country, but in this dingy England it is at a discount, and lies are at a premium."

Then spreading her wings, Polly flew away. But whether she ever reached her own land, where truth was regarded with veneration, I have not heard. No, she flew twice round the world in search of it, and could not find it. I wonder whether she has found it now!

So, What Do You Think of Payday Loans?