Daryl Lorette: Folktales

Folktales

October 31, 2009

The Stonecutter

Japan

Once upon a time there lived a stonecutter, who went every day to a great rock in the side of a big mountain and cut out slabs for gravestones or for houses. He understood very well the kinds of stones wanted for the different purposes, and as he was a careful workman he had plenty of customers. For a long time he was quite happy and contented, and asked for nothing better than what he had.

Now in the mountain dwelt a spirit which now and then appeared to men, and helped them in many ways to become rich and prosperous. The stonecutter, however, had never seen this spirit, and only shook his head, with an unbelieving air, when anyone spoke of it. But a time was coming when he learned to change his opinion.

One day the stonecutter carried a gravestone to the house of a rich man, and saw there all sorts of beautiful things, of which he had never even dreamed. Suddenly his daily work seemed to grow harder and heavier, and he said to himself: "Oh, if only I were a rich man, and could sleep in a bed with silken curtains and golden tassels, how happy I should be!"

And a voice answered him: "Your wish is heard; a rich man you shall be!"

At the sound of the voice the stonecutter looked around, but could see nobody. He thought it was all his fancy, and picked up his tools and went home, for he did not feel inclined to do any more work that day. But when he reached the little house where he lived, he stood still with amazement, for instead of his wooden hut was a stately palace filled with splendid furniture, and most splendid of all was the bed, in every respect like the one he had envied. He was nearly beside himself with joy, and in his new life the old one was soon forgotten.

It was now the beginning of summer, and each day the sun blazed more fiercely. One morning the heat was so great that the stonecutter could scarcely breathe, and he determined he would stop at home till the evening. He was rather dull, for he had never learned how to amuse himself, and was peeping through the closed blinds to see what was going on in the street, when a little carriage passed by, drawn by servants dressed in blue and silver. In the carriage sat a prince, and over his head a golden umbrella was held, to protect him from the sun's rays.

"Oh, if I were only a prince!" said the stonecutter to himself, as the carriage vanished around the corner. "Oh, if I were only a prince, and could go in such a carriage and have a golden umbrella held over me, how happy I should be!"

And a prince he was. Before his carriage rode one company of men and another behind it; servants dressed in scarlet and gold bore him along, the coveted umbrella was held over his head, everything his heart could desire was his. But yet it was not enough. He looked around still for something to wish for, and when he saw that in spite of the water he poured on the grass the rays of the sun scorched it, and that in spite of the umbrella held over his head each day his face grew browner and browner, he cried in his anger: "The sun is mightier than I; oh, if I were only the sun!"

And the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard; the sun you shall be."

And the sun he was, and felt himself proud in his power. He shot his beams above and below, on earth and in heaven; he burnt up the grass in the fields and scorched the faces of princes as well as of poorer folk. but in a short time he began to grow tired of his might, for there seemed nothing left for him to do. Discontent once more filled his soul, and when a cloud covered his face, and hid the earth from him, he cried in his anger: "Does the cloud hold captive my rays, and is it mightier than I? Oh, that I were a cloud, and mightier than any!"

And the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard; a cloud you shall be!"

And a cloud he was, and lay between the sun and the earth. He caught the sun's beams and held them, and to his joy the earth grew green again and flowers blossomed. But that was not enough for him, and for days and week he poured forth rain till the rivers overflowed their banks, and the crops of rice stood in water. Towns and villages were destroyed by the power of the rain, only the great rock on the mountainside remained unmoved. The cloud was amazed at the sight, and cried in wonder: "Is the rock, then, mightier than I? Oh, if I were only the rock!"

And the mountain spirit answered; "Your wish is heard; the rock you shall be!"

And the rock he was, and gloried in his power. Proudly he stood, and neither the heat of the sun nor the force of the rain could move him. "This is better than all!" he said to himself. But one day he heard a strange noise at his feet, and when he looked down to see what it could be, he saw a stonecutter driving tools into his surface. Even while he looked a trembling feeling ran all through him, and a great block broke off and fell upon the ground. Then he cried in his wrath: "Is a mere child of earth mightier than a rock? Oh, if I were only a man!"

And the mountain spirit answered: "Your wish is heard. A man once more you shall be!"

And a man he was, and in the sweat of his brow he toiled again at his trade of stone cutting. His bed was hard and his food scanty, but he had learned to be satisfied with it, and did not long to be something or somebody else. And as he never asked for things he did not have, or desired to be greater and mightier than other people, he was happy at last, and never again heard the voice of the mountain spirit.

Source: Andrew Lang, The Crimson Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green, and Company, 1903), pp. 192-197.
Lang's source: David Brauns, Japanische Märchen und Sagen (Leipzig: Verlag von Wilhelm Friedrich, 1885), pp. 87ff.
This story is similar to type 555 folktales.
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Oct 31, 2009 2:42:40 AM | Folktales

October 30, 2009

Fairy Theft

Scotland The elves have got a worse name for stealing than they deserve. So far as taking things without the knowledge or consent of the owners is concerned, the accusation is well founded; they neither ask nor obtain leave, but there are important respects in which their depredations differ from the pilferings committed among men by jailbirds and other dishonest people.

The fairies do not take their booty away bodily, they only take what is called in Gaelic its toradh, i.e. its substance, virtue, fruit, or benefit. The outward appearance is left, but the reality is gone. Thus, when a cow is elf-taken, it appears to its owner only as suddenly smitten by some strange disease (chaidh am beathach ud a ghonadh).

In reality the cow is gone, and only its semblance remains, animated it may be by an Elf, who receives all the attentions paid to the sick cow, but gives nothing in return. The seeming cow lies on its side, and cannot be made to rise. It consumes the provender laid before it, but does not yield milk or grow fat. In some cases it gives plenty of milk, but milk that yields no butter. If taken up a hill, and rolled down the incline, it disappears altogether. If it dies, its flesh ought not to be eaten -- it is not beef, but a stock of alder wood, an aged elf, or some trashy substitute.

Similarly when the toradh of land is taken, there remains the appearance of a crop, but a crop without benefit to man or beast -- the ears are unfilled, the grain is without weight, the fodder without nourishment.

A still more important point of difference is, that the fairies only take away what men deserve to lose. When mortals make a secret of (cleth), or grumble (ceasad) over, what they have, the fairies get the benefit, and the owner is a poor man, in the midst of his abundance. When (to use an illustration the writer has more than once heard) a farmer speaks disparagingly of his crop, and, though it be heavy, tries to conceal his good fortune, the fairies take away the benefit of his increase. The advantage goes away mysteriously "in pins and needles" (na phrìneachan 's na shnàdun), "in alum and madder' (na alm 's na mhadair), as the saying is, and the farmer gains nothing from his crop. Particularly articles of food, the possession of which men denied with oaths (air a thiomnadh), became fairy property.

The elves are also blamed for lifting with them articles mislaid. These are generally restored as mysteriously and unaccountably as they were taken away. Thus, a woman blamed the elves for taking her thimble. It was placed beside her, and when looked for could not be found. Some time after she was sitting alone on the hillside and found the thimble in her lap. This confirmed her belief in its being the fairies that took it away. In a like mysterious manner a person's bonnet might be whipped off his head, or the pot for supper be lifted off the fire, and left by invisible hands on the middle of the floor.

The accusation of taking milk is unjust. It is brought against the elves only in books, and never in the popular creed. The fairies take cows, sheep, goats, horses, and it may be the substance or benefit (toradh) of butter and cheese, but not milk.

Many devices were employed to thwart fairy inroads. A burning ember (eibhleag) was put into "sowens" (cabhruich), one of the weakest and most unsubstantial articles of human food and very liable to fairy attack. It was left there till the dish was ready for boiling, i.e. about three days after. A sieve should not be allowed out of the house after dark, and no meal unless it be sprinkled with salt. Otherwise, the fairies may, by means of them, take the substance out of the whole farm produce. For the same reason a hole should be put with the finger in the little cake (bonnach beag's toll ann), made with the remnant of the meal after a baking, and when given to children, as it usually is, a piece should be broken off it. A nail driven into a cow, killed by falling over a precipice, was supposed by the more superstitious to keep the elves away.

One of the most curious thefts ascribed to them was that of querns, or handmills (Bra, Brathuinn). To keep them away these handy and useful implements should be turned deiseal, i.e. with the right hand turn, as sunwise. What is curious in the belief is, that the handmill is said to have been originally got from the fairies themselves. Its sounds have often been heard by the belated peasant, as it was being worked inside some grassy knoll, and songs, sung by the fairy women employed at it, have been learned.

Source: John Gregorson Campbell, Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland: Collected Entirely from Oral Sources (Glasgow: James MacLehose and Sons, 1900), pp. 32-36.
Cambell's footnote concerning handmills (p. 35):

The use of some kind of mill, generally a hand mill, is as universal as the growth of grain, and the necessity for reducing the "solid grain into the more palatable form of meal no doubt led to its early invention. The Gaelic meil (or beil), to grind, the English mill, the Latin mola, and the Greek μνλη, show that it was known to the Aryan tribes at a period long anterior to history. The handmill mentioned in scripture, worked by two women, seems the same with that still to be found in obscure corners in the West Highlands.
An instrument so useful to man in the less advanced stages of his civilization could not fail to be looked upon with much respect and good feeling. In the Hebrides it was rubbed every Saturday evening with a wisp of straw "for payment" of its benevolent labours (sop ga shuathadh ris a bhrà ga pàigheadh). Meal ground in it is coarser than ordinary meal,and is known as gairbhein.
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Oct 30, 2009 1:54:53 AM | Folktales

October 29, 2009

The Fairies and the Two Hunchbacks: A Story of Picardy

France Once there were three fairies who used to amuse themselves by dancing round and round, and singing, "Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday."

One day a little hunchback surprised them at this sport, and without being afraid, he took them by the hand and began to dance with them, repeating also, "Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday."

He danced so prettily that the fairies were charmed, and to reward him took away his hunch. Perfectly happy, he returned home, constantly singing as he went, "Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday."

On the road he met another little hunchback whom he knew. The latter was greatly astonished to see his friend relieved of his hunch, and said, "How did you manage it? Your hunch is gone."

"It is all very easy," replied the other. "You have only to go to a certain wood, when you will find some fairies. You must dance with them and sing, 'Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday,' and they will take away your hunch."

"I will go, I will go at once," cried the little hunchback, and started immediately for the wood to which he had been directed, where, sure enough, he found the three fairies. Without hesitating, he took them by the hand and danced with them, repeating, "Sunday, Monday." But unhappily for him, he added, "Tuesday, Wednesday."

The fairies, indignant, added to his hunch that of the first hunchback, so that he was a fright to behold, so frightful that if you had seen him you would have run away from him.

And then ? -- And then the cock crew, and it was day.

Told by Auguste Gourdin, miller, aged 63, at Warloy-Baillon (Somme).
Henri Carnoy.

Source: Martha Ward Carey, Fairy Legends of the French Provinces (New York: T. Y. Crowell, 1887), pp. 6-7.
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Oct 29, 2009 3:08:11 AM | Folktales

October 28, 2009

The Fairy Horn

England There is in the county of Gloucester, a forest abounding in boars, stags, and every species of game that England produces. In a grovy lawn of this forest there is a little mount, rising in a point to the height of a man, on which knights and other hunters are used to ascend when fatigued with heat and thirst, to seek some relief for their wants. The nature of the place, and of the business, is, however, such, that whoever ascends the mount must leave his companions, and go quite alone.

When alone, he was to say, as if speaking to some other person, "I thirst," and immediately there would appear a cup-bearer in an elegant dress, with a cheerful countenance, bearing in his stretched-out hand a large horn, adorned with gold and gems, as was the custom among the most ancient English. In the cup nectar of an unknown but most delicious flavour was presented, and when it was drunk, all heat and weariness fled from the glowing body, so that one would be thought ready to undertake toil instead of haying toiled. Moreover, when the nectar was taken, the servant presented a towel to the drinker, to wipe his mouth with, and then having performed his office, he waited neither for a recompense for his services, nor for questions and enquiry.

This frequent and daily action had for a very long period of old times taken place among the ancient people, till one day a knight of that city, when out hunting, went thither, and having called for a drink and gotten the horn, did not, as was the custom, and as in good manners he should have done, return it to the cupbearer, but kept it for his own use. But the illustrious Earl of Gloucester, when he learned the truth of the matter, condemned the robber to death, and presented the horn to the most excellent King Henry the Elder, lest he should be thought to have approved of such wickedness, if he had added the rapine of another to the store of his private property.

Source: Thomas Keightley, The Fairy Mythology: Illustrative of the Romance and Superstition of Various Countries (London: H. G. Bohn, 1850), pp. 284-85.
Keightley's source: Gervase of Tilbury, Otia imperialia. Gervase of Tilbury lived between about 1150 and 1228.
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Oct 28, 2009 1:11:44 AM | Folktales

October 27, 2009

The Priest's Supper

Ireland

It is said by those who ought to understand such things, that the good people, or the fairies, are some of the angels who were turned out of heaven, and who landed on their feet in this world, while the rest of their companions, who had more sin to sink them, went down further to a worse place. Be this as it may, there was a merry troop of the fairies, dancing and playing all manner of wild pranks on a bright moonlight evening towards the end of September. The scene of their merriment was not far distant from Inchegeela, in the west of the county Cork -- a poor village, although it had a barrack for soldiers; but great mountains and barren rocks, like those round about it, are enough to strike poverty into any place. However, as the fairies can have every thing they want for wishing, poverty does not trouble them much, and all their care is to seek out unfrequented nooks and places where it is not likely anyone will come to spoil their sport.

On a nice green sod by the river's side were the little fellows dancing in a ring as gaily as may be, with their red caps wagging about at every bound in the moonshine; and so light were these bounds, that the lobes of dew, although they trembled under their feet, were not disturbed by their capering. Thus did they carry on their gambols, spinning round and round, and twirling and bobbing, and diving and going through all manner of figures, until one of them chirped out,

Cease, cease, with your drumming,
Here's an end to our mumming,
By my smell
I can tell
A priest this way is coming!

And away every one of the fairies scampered off as hard as they could, concealing themselves under the green leaves of the lusmore, where, if their little red caps should happen to peep out, they would only look like its crimson bells; and more hid themselves in the hollow of stones, or at the shady side of brambles, and others under the bank of the river, and in holes and crannies of one kind or another.

The fairy speaker was not mistaken; for along the road, which was within view of the river, came Father Horrigan on his pony, thinking to himself that as it was so late he would make an end of his journey at the first cabin he came to. According to this determination, he stopped at the dwelling of Dermod Leary, lifted the latch, and entered with "My blessing on all here."

I need not say that Father Horrigan was a welcome guest wherever he went, for no man was more pious or better beloved in the country. Now it was a great trouble to Dermod that he had nothing to offer his reverence for supper as a relish to the potatoes which "the old woman," for so Dermod called his wife, though she was not much past twenty, had down boiling in the pot over the fire; he thought of the net which he had set in the river, but as it had been there only a short time, the chances were against his finding a fish in it.

"No matter," thought Dermod, "there can be no harm in stepping down to try, and may be as I want the fish for the priest's supper that one will be there before me."

Down to the river side went Dermod, and he found in the net as fine a salmon as ever jumped in the bright waters of "the spreading Lee." But as he was going to take it out, the net was pulled from him, he could not tell how or by whom, and away got the salmon, and went swimming along with the current as gaily as if nothing had happened.

Dermod looked sorrowfully at the wake which the fish had left upon the water, shining like a line of silver in the moonlight, and then, with an angry motion of his right hand, and a stamp of his foot, gave vent to his feelings by muttering, "May bitter bad luck attend you night and day for a blackguard schemer of a salmon, wherever you go! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, if there's any shame in you, to give me the slip after this fashion! And I'm clear in my own mind you'll come to no good, for some kind of evil thing or other helped you -- did I not feel it pull the net against me as strong as the devil himself?"

"That's not true for you," said one of the little fairies, who had scampered off at the approach of the priest, coming up to Dermod Leary, with a whole throng of companions at his heels; "there was only a dozen and a half of us pulling against you."

Dermod gazed on the tiny speaker with wonder, who continued, "Make yourself noways uneasy about the priest's supper; for if you will go back and ask him one question from us, there will be as fine a supper as ever was put on a table spread out before him in less than no time."

"I'll have nothing at all to do with you," replied Dermod, in a tone of determination; and after a pause he added, "I'm much obliged to you for your offer, sir, but I know better than to sell myself to you or the like of you for a supper; and more than that, I know Father Horrigan has more regard for my soul than to wish me to pledge it for ever, out of regard to any thing you could put before him -- so there's an end of the matter."

The little speaker, with a pertinacity not to be repulsed by Dermod's manner, continued, "Will you ask the priest one civil question for us?"

Dermod considered for some time, and he was right in doing so, but he thought that no one could come to harm out of asking a civil question. "I see no objection to do that same, gentlemen," said Dermod; "but I will have nothing in life to do with your supper, -- mind that."

"Then," said the little speaking fairy, whilst the rest came crowding after him from all parts, "go and ask Father Horrigan to tell us whether our souls will be saved at the last day, like the souls of good Christians; and if you wish us well, bring back word what he says without delay."

Away went Dermod to his cabin, where he found the potatoes thrown out on the table, and his good woman handing the biggest of them all, a beautiful laughing red apple, smoking like a hard-ridden horse on a frosty night, over to Father Horrigan.

"Please your reverence," said Dermod, after some hesitation, "may I make bold to ask your honour one question?"

"What may that be?" said Father Horrigan.

"Why, then, begging your reverence's pardon for my freedom, it is, if the souls of the good people are to be saved at the last day?"

"Who bid you ask me that question, Leary?" said the priest, fixing his eyes upon him very sternly, which Dermod could not stand before at all.

"I'll tell no lies about the matter, and nothing in life but the truth," said Dermod. "It was the good people themselves who sent me to ask the question, and there they are in thousands down on the bank of the river waiting for me to go back with the answer."

"Go back by all means," said the priest, "and tell them, if they want to know, to come here to me themselves, and I'll answer that or any other question they are pleased to ask with the greatest pleasure in life."

Dermod accordingly returned to the fairies, who came swarming round about him to hear what the priest had said in reply; and Dermod spoke out among them like a bold man as he was: but when they heard that they must go to the priest, away they fled, some here and more there; and some this way and more that, whisking by poor Dermod so fast and in such numbers, that he was quite bewildered.

When he came to himself, which was not for a long time, back he went to his cabin and ate his dry potatoes along with Father Horrigan, who made quite light of the thing; but Dermod could not help thinking it a mighty hard case that his reverence, whose words had the power to banish the fairies at such a rate, should have no sort of relish to his supper, and that the fine salmon he had in the net should have been got away from him in such a manner.

Source: Thomas Crofton Croker, Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (London: John Murray, 1834), pp. 22-27.
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Oct 27, 2009 2:41:45 AM | Folktales

October 26, 2009

Mr. Hawk and Brother Rabbit

African-America (Joel Chandler Harris)

One time Brer Rabbit was going along through the bushes singing to himself, and he saw a shadow pass before him. He looked up, and there was Mr. Hawk sailing around and around. Every time he sailed around, he got a little closer, but Brer Rabbit didn't notice this, and by and by, down he dropped right slam-bang on Brer Rabbit, and there he had him. He held him in a mighty tight grip. He held him so tight that it made Brer Rabbit's breath come short like it does off a long journey.

He hollered and he begged, but that didn't do any good. He squalled and he cried, but that didn't do any good. He kicked and he groaned, but that didn't do any good. Then Brer Rabbit lay still and studied about what in the name of goodness he was going to do. By and by he up and allowed, "I don't know what you want with me, Mr. Hawk. I am scarcely a mouthful for you."

Mr. Hawk, he said, "I'll do away with you, and then I'll go catch me a couple of jay-birds."

This made Brer Rabbit shake all over, because if there was any kind of creature that he despised on the topside of the earth, it was a jay-bird. Brer Rabbit, he said, "Do pray, Mr. Hawk, go catch those jay-birds first, because I can't stand them being on top of me. I'll stay right here until you come back," he said.

Mr. Hawk, he said, "Oh-oh, Brer Rabbit, you've been fooling too many folks. You're not fooling me," he said.

Brer Rabbit, he said, "If you can't do that, Mr. Hawk, then the best thing for you to do is to wait and let me get tame, because I am so wild now that I won't taste good."

Mr. Hawk, he said, "Oh-oh!"

Brer Rabbit, he said, "Well then, if that won't do, you had better wait and let me grow big, so I'll be a full meal of vittles."

Mr. Hawk, he said, "Now you are talking sense!"

Brer Rabbit, he said, "And I'll rush around among the bushes and drive out some partridges for you, and we'll have more fun than what you can shake a stick at."

Mr. Hawk was sort of studying about this, and Brer Rabbit, he begged, and he explained, and the long and short of it was that Brer Rabbit got loose, and he did not get any bigger, and neither did he drive out any partridges for Mr. Hawk.

Source: Joel Chandler Harris, Nights with Uncle Remus (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, 1883), no. 65, pp. 366-70.
Dialect normalized by D. L. Ashliman. © 2000. Harris's story includes additional episodes. Here I have extracted only the episode of type 122F from his longer story.
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Oct 26, 2009 1:59:25 AM | Folktales

October 25, 2009

Doctor and Detective

Denmark

There was once an old farmer who had a great deal of turf, which he sold to customers in town. One day, when he drove to town with a large wagonload, he chanced to meet a doctor. This worthy man came walking along in a stately manner, with a long pipe in his mouth, a cane in his hand, and a doctor's hat on his head. Under his arm he had a thick doctor-book. He was wrapped in a long, loose mantle.

The farmer tipped his hat reverently, whereupon the doctor addressed him and said that he would like to buy the turf. They talked back and forth for some time, and finally came to an agreement in regard to the price. The farmer was to have the long mantle, the pipe and the cane, the doctor's hat and the book, and the doctor was to receive the turf. The bargain was closed. The farmer secured the doctor's articles and the doctor the farmer's turf, and then each went his own way.

It was late before the farmer returned home to his wife. She asked him at once if he had made a good bargain. When he produced the entire doctor's outfit she was not at all pleased, but wept, and asked, plaintively, how they would now obtain their bread and butter, since he had received no money for the turf.

Her husband did his best to comfort her, saying that in a little while they would have all that they needed, for now he had decided to take up a doctor's profession. He put on the mantle and the doctor's hat, and with the long pipe dangling from between his teeth he sat from morning to night reading diligently in the large doctor-book. He looked exactly like a real doctor. No one would notice the slightest difference. But, nevertheless, no one came to consult him.

Thinking the reason might be that no one knew of him, he at length decided to place a sign above his door stating, "Here Lives the Greatest Doctor in the World," as he was sure this would at once turn the general attention towards him. He began to paint these letters on an old board. But as he had a very faint idea of writing -- in fact, this was the first time he had ever tried the art -- he wrote instead, "Here Lives the Greatest Detective in the World."

A few days afterwards the king happened to pass the house of the "Greatest Detective."

"What in all the world is written on that sign?" said he, dispatching one of his servants over to examine it closely. The servant reported that the sign advertised the greatest detective in the world. "Well," said the king, "I shall remember him and employ his services some day."

Some time after, it happened that a thief entered the royal stables and stole two of the king's best horses. A thorough search was made throughout the land, both for the thief and the horses, but without success. At length someone reminded the king of the detective whose house they had passed.

"Exactly so!" cried the king. "Now we shall find both thief and horses." He at once bid one of his men go and seek the wise man's advice in the difficult problem. The man rode back, found the house, knocked at the door, and walked in. Here he saw the detective sitting in front of the table, reading in the large doctor-book. He took off his hat, bowed politely, and presented the king's compliments. "I have come," he said, "to ask --"

"That is all very well," interrupted the doctor. "I know it already."

"Oh yes, of course you do," answered the messenger. "Will you kindly direct me where to go and find them?"

"Ye-es," replied the wise man, turning the leaves in the large book before him. "I will tell you what to do. Wait a moment." Now he took out a slip of paper which he had found among the leaves in the book, folded it, and handed it to the messenger, directing him to go to the drugstore and have this prescription filled. "Take the medicine promptly," he concluded, "then you will find them!" He looked just as wise and important as any doctor in the land and waved his hand graciously at the messenger as a sign that the audience was at an end.

The messenger lost no time in having the prescription filled, and as soon as the medicine was in his hand he took a drink from the bottle, and rode along as rapidly as he could, anxious to return to the king and relate his interview with the extraordinary man who seemed to know all beforehand.

He had not gone very far, however, before the medicine began to act. Of a sudden he was seized with a terrible headache, and was obliged to seek refuge in a house near the road, where he was very kindly received. Thinking that a little rest would do him good, he lay down on a sofa in a room facing the yard. The headache became more and more severe, however, and the poor fellow cursed the wise man and his medicine with all his heart. But just as he complained of his evil fate, he heard the neighing of a horse in the stable across the yard.

He arose quietly and approached the window, listening attentively, as the neighing seemed familiar to him. Now the horse neighed once more. His doubts vanished, and as the same moment his headache seemed to also completely vanish. Silently he opened the window, jumped into the yard, crept into the stable, and at once found the stolen horses, which he immediately untied. A few hours later he stood before the king, who did not know how to praise and reward the wisdom of the Great Detective before whom nothing was, of course, concealed. He lost no time in sending him two hundred dollars as a token of his high esteem and his gratitude.

When the doctor received the money he said to his wife that a doctor's trade seemed to be a very easy one, and she answered that his bargain, which had seemed to her a foolish one, was, after all, quite satisfactory so far.

Some time passed, when one day a beautiful gold ring belonging to the princess was stolen. A diligent search was made, but it seemed to have vanished altogether, with the thief. At length the Great Detective was named to the king as the right man to be consulted in this difficult affair. His majesty lost no time in sending a beautiful carriage and a messenger, with an invitation to the great man. Would he kindly assist in finding the gold ring which had been stolen?

"Yes, I know it all," said he to the messenger who stood before him, bowing politely, "and I am willing to come."

So he entered the carriage in his complete doctor's outfit, followed by his wife, whereupon they drove to the royal palace. The king himself stepped forward and opened the carriage door to the worthy couple, bowing and scraping and making himself agreeable.

He invited them to partake of a dinner. The following day they would begin the search for the ring. The wise man assented to this, and they proceeded to the dinner table, which was, of course, laid in a splendid and gorgeous manner. The doctor whispered to his wife that she must remember how many dishes they had. When all had been seated, the door was opened and in came the servant with the first dish.

The wise man looked at his wife, nodded, and said, "This is the first one." He did not see -- in fact no one did -- that the servant turned as pale as a sheet, but busied himself with doing justice to the excellent things before him.

The servant, however, was fearfully frightened, and before returning to the kitchen he stopped behind the chair of the Great Detective, plucking him by the sleeve in order to attract his attention, but without apparent result. The dismayed man had nothing to do but return to the kitchen.

He was one of the thieves, and, with two other servants, had stolen the ring and buried it in the royal gardens under a large apple tree. Pale and trembling from fear, he told his two friends how the Great Detective had said to his wife, "This is the first one" -- meaning of course, the first thief.

As the second servant was to carry in the next dish, his two comrades told him to do his best and ask the wise man to step into the kitchen. Perhaps he could be induced to spare their lives. As the servant entered the dining hall, the doctor said to his wife, "This is the second one." She nodded.

The servant grew white from fear and pulled him from behind by the sleeve. The great man thought, however, of nothing but the dishes, and did not feel the servant's endeavor to attract his attention. Thus the poor fellow was obliged to return to the kitchen without having accomplished his errand.

When the third servant entered, the doctor said to his wife, "This is the third one."

The servant pulled him, however, so violently by the sleeve that he turned in his chair, asking what he wanted. "Would he," whispered the unfortunate man, "go with him into the kitchen?" So he arose and followed him.

When he entered the kitchen the three servants implored him to spare them. He was right. They had stolen the ring. The wise man looked keenly at the three culprits, bit his lips, and said that of course he had know it all the time. They were great rascals who deserved a severe punishment. He did not know whether he could really save them from the gallows.

They now fell upon their knees and implored him to show mercy. They would be willing to give back the ring and pay him two hundred dollars if he would agree to keep their secret. This he promised, and before leaving them he told them to put the ring into a cake and serve it to the king's dog the next morning. They promised to do as he bid them.

Next morning the king began to speak of the lost ring. The Great Detective assumed his most important air, looked around him, and finally fixed his glance upon the big dog which was walking about on the floor. They were just eating breakfast, and when one of the servants carried around the dishes he stole a glance at the doctor and nodded, thus assuring him that the dog had eaten the cake. "Can you tell me where to find the thief and the ring?" pursued the king.

"Both are in this room!" answered he.

The king looked around in great astonishment. "Both in this room?" repeated he.

"There is the thief," continued the doctor, pointing to the dog.

Now the king was thoroughly amazed, and even angry. He thought the wise man made fun of him. "Kill the thief," said the doctor, sternly, "and you will be sure to find the ring." They did so at once, and, indeed, found the ring in the stomach of the animal.

The wise man received a great sum of money from the king, and afterward the three servants paid him the two hundred dollars which they had promised him for keeping their secret.

But from this day the doctor became so famous that no one dared to steal. His very name frightened the thieves and made them control their evil instincts. Although he was no more called upon to detect stolen goods, he had already earned money enough for the rest of his lifetime. He lived happily many years, honored by everyone in the land.

Source: J. Christian Bay, Danish Folk Tales (New York and London: Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1899), pp. 111-118.
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Oct 25, 2009 3:04:03 AM | Folktales

October 24, 2009

The Dwarves' Cavern Near Hasel

August Schnezler, A Collection of the Most Beautiful Legends, Stories, Folktales and Religious Tales from the Land of Baden

The parish village of Hasel is located in a pleasant little side valley of the meadow next to the Hasel Brook, only one and a half hours east of Schopfheim. The village is extremely old and in earlier times possibly belonged to the Lord Brenfels whose castle ruins still jut out of the local forest.

About five hundred paces southward from Hasel is the Dwarves' Cavern, a worthy counterpart to the famous Builder's Cavern in the Harz Mountains and the destination of many outings by foreign tourists and the inhabitants of the surrounding area. Whoever wishes to see it must be shown it by the school teacher of the location who is privileged to possess its key. He provides visitors with proper over clothing, since one can otherwise easily come to harm by dangerously catching cold.

The site in its entirety is comprised of several main halls, grottoes and side passages, full of a jumbled field of fallen masses of rock. The walls and ceilings are made of stalactites which display the adventuresome fantasy plays of nature. One of these stalactites, called "The Coat," is said to weigh a full six hundred-weights. Others form the so-called "Organ" on one side wall; on the other wall the stalactites are grouped so as to give the appearance of a pulpit. A strong stream flows through the main passages in the deep recesses of the cavern. A more distant cavern leads to a small underground lake which prevents any further forward progress. The most interesting cavern holds the stalactite formations called the "Prince's Crypt" and the "Sarcophagus."

In earlier times the Dwarves' Cavern was not well known. It was only more closely explored and made more accessible at the beginning of this century. Thus, in the year 1811 the Grand Duchess Stephanie apparently was able to inspect it closely. The whole area of Hasel appears to be undercut by many underground caverns. For example, there is a broad roomy cavern located under the Hasel Brook, extending from beneath the pastor's house to the church. Sunken ground at various locations in the area indicate the presence of many such caverns, such as the brooks between the Wehra and Wiese from Hasel to the Rhein, where an underground connection appears to exist. Also the brook which flows through the Dwarves' Cavern has no visible outlet, rather appearing to continue onward under the earth until the Rhein. In this manner the Eichener Lake and the Rhein River may also be somehow interconnected. A description of the Dwarves' Cavern, also including illustrations from six copper plates, was published in Basel in 1803 by the Land Commissioner, Lembke.

The imagination of the inhabitants is everywhere excited by such fantastic natural wonders to inhabit the same with creatures, namely with the dwarfish dwarf peoples. These dwarves are associated with mountains such as the Riesengebirge and the Harz Mountains, and play such an important role in their identity.

The cavern in Hasel was once home to a large number of male and female dwarves, from whom the cavern's name derives. These otherwise well-meaning and harmless creatures became shy due to the universal inroads of the expanding illumination our enlightening new era: They retreated back into the most far-removed underground locations, allowing themselves, at most, only to be seen by innocent eyes or by a Sunday's child.

However, many hundreds of years ago things were different: At that time these dwarves kept up lively neighborly communication with the inhabitants of the surface world. They were also more pious and naturally reverent than in our likewise religious, though shallower days. In those times they often came out from their grotesque rocky palaces, seeking out people in house and field, in kitchen and spinning room, willing and ready to lend a helping hand in all sorts of household activities. Sometimes they helped the very poor with gold and precious stones, raising them up from their poverty; sometimes they provided helpful advice and told entertaining tales to the boys and girls, relating poetic mysteries, such as those of Paris. Further, the harmless creatures asked of the farmers and mountain inhabitants no other payment for their services than permission to come into the little corner of an inhabitant's living room: Here, next to the warm stove, they could spend the night on a little bundle of straw or on their own mountain jar of Asbetis when the winter cold would push into the deepest palace halls of the underworld and turn the springs and brooks to ice.

These guests--so we are told by many an old mother in Wiesenthal--were most beloved little creatures, hardly a span or two high, but still mostly of pleasantly-adorned form and tenderly-pleasant facial features. They only possessed one unique characteristic: that no one could ever notice feet on them.

Once, several clever fellows from Hasel, wanting to prove to themselves whether the dwarves possessed feet or not, came upon the plan to strew ashes on the entire way from the Dwarves' Caverns up to the village. In this manner they hoped to see whether the dwarves would make any tracks. The otherwise good-natured dwarves, however, going on their way to visit the village, as they were want, discovered the plan and changed as a result. They responded with such disgruntlement that they did not allow themselves to be seen again by the inhabitants of Hasel. A long time thereafter, deep beneath the ground, a muffled roaring, rumbling and murmuring was heard, the only way in which the poor creatures tried to express their annoyance.

Source: August Schnezler, Ed., Eine Sammlung der schönsten Sagen, Geschichten, Märchen und Legenden des badisches Landes aus Schrifturkunden, dem Munde des Volkes und der Dichter, 1. Abteilung: Vom Bodensee bis zur Ortenau, (Carlsruhe: Creuzbauer Verlag, 1846), pp. 221-224.

Oct 24, 2009 2:03:37 AM | Folktales

October 23, 2009

The Devil's Bridge

Austria Almost every country possesses some legend of a "Devil's Bridge," and how the Evil One has been ultimately cheated by his own handiwork, and the Tyrol, which is alive with legends and superstitions, is not behind any other in this respect.

In the valley of Montafon, the bridge of the village broke down, or rather the swollen torrent carried it away; and as the parish was anxious to restore it as soon as possible, the villagers of course being unable to pass to and from Schruns, on the other side of the river, for all their daily wants, they applied to the village carpenter, and offered him a large sum of money if he would rebuild the bridge in three days' time. This puzzled the poor fellow beyond description; he had a large family and now his fortune would be made at once; but he saw the impossibility of finishing the work in so short a time, and therefore he begged one day for reflection.

Then he set to work to study all day, up to midnight, to find out how he could manage to do the work within the specified time; and as he could find out nothing, he thumped the table with his fist, and called out, "To the devil with it! I can find out nothing."

In his anger and annoyance he was on the point of going to bed, when all at once a little man wearing a green hat entered the room, and asked, "Carpenter, wherefore so sad?" and then the carpenter told him all his troubles.

The little fellow replied, "It is very easy to help you. I will build your bridge, and in three days it shall be finished, but only on the condition that the first soul out of your house who passes over the bridge shall be mine."

On hearing this, the carpenter, who then knew with whom he had to do, shuddered with horror, though the large sum of money enticed him, and he thought to himself, "After all, I will cheat the devil," and so he agreed to the contract.

Three days afterwards the bridge was complete, and the devil stood in the middle, awaiting his prey. After having remained there for many days, the carpenter at last appeared himself, and at that sight the devil jumped with joy; but the carpenter was driving one of his goats, and as he approached the bridge, he pushed her on before him, and called out, "There you have the first soul out of my house," and the devil seized upon the goat.

But, oh, grief and shame! First disappointed, and then enraged, he dragged the poor goat so hard by her tail that it came out, and then off he flew, laughed at and mocked by all who saw him.

Since that time it is that goats have such short tails.

Source: Marie Alker Günther, Tales and Legends of the Tyrol (London: Chapman and Hall, 1874), pp. 179-81.
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Oct 23, 2009 2:34:08 AM | Folktales

October 22, 2009

Fitcher's Bird

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

Once upon a time there was a sorcerer who was a thief. He disguised himself as a poor man and went begging from house to house. A girl came to the door and brought him a piece of bread. He touched her, and she was forced to jump into his pack basket. Then he carried her to his house where everything was splendid, and he gave her everything that she wanted.

One day he said, "I have to take care of something away from home. I will be away for a while. Here is an egg. Take good care of it. Carry it with you at all times. And here is a key, but at the risk of your life, do not go into the room that it opens. But as soon as he had gone, she unlocked the door and went into the room. In the middle there was a large basin. In it there were dead and dismembered people. She was so terrified that she dropped the egg, which she was holding in her hand, into the basin. She quickly took it out again and wiped off the blood, but it reappeared in an instant. She could not get the egg clean, no matter how much she wiped and scrubbed.

When the man returned, he asked for the egg and the key. He looked at them and knew that she had been in the blood chamber. "You did not heed my words," he said angrily, "and now you are going into the chamber against your will." With that he seized her, led her into the room, cut her up in pieces, and threw her into the basin with the others.

Sometime later the man went begging again. He captured the second daughter from the house, and the same thing happened to her as to the first one. She too opened the forbidden door, dropped the egg into the blood, and was cut to pieces and thrown into the basin.

Then the sorcerer wanted to have the third daughter. He captured her in his pack basket, carried her home, and at his departure gave her the egg and the key. However, the third sister was clever and sly. First of all, she put the egg in a safe place, and then she went into the secret chamber. When she saw her sisters in the basin, she found all of their parts and put each one back in its right place: head, body, arm, and leg. The parts started to move, and then they joined together, and the two sister came back to life. She took them both out of the room and hid them.

When the man returned and found that the egg was free of blood, he asked her to become his bride. She said yes, but told him that first he would have to carry a basket filled with gold on his back to her parents, and that meanwhile she would be getting ready for the wedding. Then she told her sisters to get help from home. She put them into the basket and covered them over with gold. Then she said to the man, "Carry this away. And don't you dare stop to rest. If you do, I'll be able to see through my window." He lifted the basket onto his back and started off, but it was so heavy that the weight nearly killed him. He wanted to rest a little, but one of the girls inside the basket called out, "I can see through my window that you are resting. Walk on at once!" He thought it was his bride calling out, so he got up and walked on. Every time he wanted to rest, he heard the call, and had to continue on.

Meanwhile, back at his house, his bride dressed up a skull and placed it in the attic window. Then she invited all the sorcerer's friends to the wedding. Then she dipped herself in a barrel of honey, cut open the bed, and rolled in the feathers so that no one would be able to recognize her. In this strange disguise, she left the house and started down the path. Soon she met some of the guests, who said, "You, Fitcher's bird, where are you coming from?"

"I'm coming from Fitcher's house."

"And what is his young bride doing?"

"She's cleaning the house from bottom to top. Right now she is looking out of the attic window."

Then she also met the bridegroom, who was returning home.

"You, Fitcher's bird, where are you coming from?"