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Judgements of Karakash

Palestine

A weaver, closing his shop for the night, left a long needle sticking in his work on the loom. A thief got in with a false key, and, as he was stumbling about in the dark, the needle put out one of his eyes. He went out again and locked the door behind him.

Next morning he told his story to Karakash, the impartial judge, who sent for the weaver, and eyeing him sternly, asked, "Did you leave a packing needle in the cloth on your loom when you shut your shop last night?"

"Yes."

"Well, this poor thief has lost his eye through your carelessness. He was going to rob your shop, he stumbled, and the needle pierced his eye. Am I not Karakash, the impartial judge? This poor thief has lost an eye through your fault, so you shall lose an eye in like manner."

"But, my lord," said the weaver, "he came to rob me. He had no right there."

"We are not concerned with what this robber came to do, but with what he did. Was your shop door broken open or damaged this morning, or was anything missing?"

"No."

"He has done you no harm then, and you do but add insult to injury by throwing up his way of life against him. Justice demands that you lose an eye."

The weaver offered money to the robber, to the Kadi, but in vain. The impartial judge would not be moved. At last a bright thought struck him, and he said, "An eye for an eye is justice, O my lord the Kadi; yet in this case it is not quite fair on me. You are the impartial judge, and I submit to you that I, being a married man with children, shall suffer more damage in the loss of an eye than this poor robber, who has no one dependent on him. How could I go on weaving with but one eye? But I have a good neighbor, a gunsmith, who is a single man. Let one of his eyes be put out. What does he want with two eyes for looking along gun barrels?"

The impartial judge, struck with the justice of these arguments, sent for the gunsmith and had his eye put out.

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A carpenter was fitting the doors and lattice-work to a house newly built, when a stone over a window fell and broke one of his legs. He complained to Karakash, the impartial judge, who called the lord of the house and charged him wit culpable negligence.

"It is not my fault, but the builder's," pleaded the lord of the house. So the builder was sent for.

The builder said that it was not his fault, because at the moment he was laying that particular stone a girl passed by in a dress of so bright a red that he could not see what he was doing.

The impartial judge caused search to be made for that girl. She was found and brought before him.

"O veiled one," he said, "the red dress which you wore on such a day has cost this carpenter a broken leg, and so you must pay the damages."

"It was not my fault, but the draper's," said the girl, "because when I went to buy stuff for a dress, he had none but that particular bright red."

The draper was forthwith summoned. He said it was not his fault, because the English manufacturer had sent him only this bright red material, though he had ordered others.

"What! You dog!" cried Karakash, "Do you deal with the heathen?" And he ordered the draper to be hanged from the lintel of his own door.

The servants of justice took him and were going to hang him, but he was a tall man, and the door of his house was low. So they returned to Karakash, who inquired, "Is the dog dead?"

They replied, "He is tall, and the door of his house is very low. He will not hang there."

"Then hang the first short man you can find," said Karakash.

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• Source: J. E. Hanauer, Folk-Lore of the Holy Land: Moslem, Christian, and Jewish (London: The Sheldon Press, 1935), pp. 93-95. First published 1907.

• A kadi (also spelled qadi) is a Muslim judge who renders decisions according to the canon law of Islam.

Jephthah and His Daughter

The Book of Judges

Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah, and he passed over Gilead, and Manasseh, and passed over Mizpeh of Gilead, and from Mizpeh of Gilead he passed over unto the children of Ammon.

And Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, "If thou shalt without fail deliver the children of Ammon into mine hands, then it shall be, that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering."

So Jephthah passed over unto the children of Ammon to fight against them; and the Lord delivered them unto his hands.

And he smote them from Aroer, even until thou come to Minnith, even twenty cities, and unto the plain of the vineyards, with a very great slaughter. Thus the children of Ammon were subdued before the children of Israel.

And Jephthah came to Mizpeh unto his house, and, behold, his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and with dances: and she was his only child; beside her he had neither son nor daughter.

And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his clothes, and said, "Alas, my daughter! thou hast brought me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me: for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go back."

And she said unto him, "My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth; forasmuch as the Lord hath taken vengeance for thee of thine enemies, even of the children of Ammon."

And she said unto her father, "Let this thing be done for me: let me alone two months, that I may go up and down upon the mountains, and bewail my virginity, I and my fellows."

And he said, "Go." And he sent her away for two months: and she went with her companions, and bewailed her virginity upon the mountains.

And it came to pass at the end of two months, that she returned unto her father, who did with her according to his vow which he had vowed: and she knew no man. And it was a custom in Israel, that the daughters of Israel went yearly to lament the daughter of Jephthah the Gileadite four days in a year.

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• Source: Book of Judges 11:29-40 (King James translation).

The Talkative Tortoise

The Jataka Tales

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the future Buddha was born in a minister's family; and when he grew up, he became the king's adviser in things temporal and spiritual.

Now this king was very talkative; while he was speaking, others had no opportunity for a word. And the future Buddha, wanting to cure this talkativeness of his, was constantly seeking for some means of doing so.

At that time there was living, in a pond in the Himalayan Mountains, a tortoise. Two young wild ducks who came to feed there made friends with him. And one day, when they had become very intimate with him, they said to the tortoise, "Friend tortoise, the place where we live, at the Golden Cave on Mount Beautiful in the Himalayan country, is a delightful spot. Will you come there with us?"

"But how can I get there?"

"We can take you, if you can only hold your tongue, and will say nothing to anybody."

"Oh, that I can do. Take me with you."

"That's right," said they. And making the tortoise bite hold of a stick, they themselves took the two ends in their teeth, and flew up into the air.

Seeing him thus carried by the ducks, some villagers called out, "Two wild ducks are carrying a tortoise along on a stick!"

Whereupon the tortoise wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, what is that to you, you wretched slaves?" So just as the swift flight of the wild ducks had brought him over the king's palace in the city of Benares, he let go of the stick he was biting, and falling in the open courtyard, split in two!

And there arose a universal cry, "A tortoise has fallen in the open courtyard, and has split in two!"

The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the place, surrounded by his courtiers, and looking at the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat, "Teacher, how has it possible that he has fallen here?"

The future Buddha thought to himself, "Long expecting, wishing to admonish the king, I have sought for some means of doing so. This tortoise must have made friends with the wild ducks; and they must have made him bite hold of the stick, and have flown up into the air to take him to the hills. But he, being unable to hold his tongue when he hears anyone else talk, must have wanted to say something, and let go of the stick; and so must have fallen down from the sky, and thus lost his life." And saying, "Truly, oh king, those who are called chatterboxes -- people whose words have no end -- come to grief like this," he uttered these verses:

Verily, the tortoise killed himself
While uttering his voice;
Though he was holding tight to stick,
By a word he slew himself.

Behold him then, oh excellent by strength!
And speak wise words, not out of season.
You see how, by his talking overmuch,
The tortoise fell into this wretched plight!

The king saw that he was himself referred to, and said, "Oh teacher, are you speaking of us?"

And the Bodisat spoke openly, and said, "Oh great king, be it you, or be it any other, whoever talks beyond measure meets with some mishap like this."

And the king henceforth refrained himself, and became a man of few words.

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Source: Buddhist Birth-Stories; or, Jataka Tales, edited by V. Fausbøll and translated by T. W. Rhys Davids (London: George Routledge and Sons 1925), pp. viii-x. This translation was first published in1880.

The Monkey's Heart

Once upon a time, while Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta came to life at the foot of the Himalayas as a monkey. He grew strong and sturdy, big of frame, well to do, and lived by a curve of the river Ganges in a forest haunt. Now at that time there was a crocodile dwelling in the Ganges. The crocodile's mate saw the great frame of the monkey, and she conceived a longing to eat his heart. So she said to her lord, "Sir, I desire to eat the heart of that great king of the monkeys!"

"Good wife," said the crocodile, "I live in the water and he lives on dry land. How can we catch him?"

"By hook or by crook," she replied, "he must be caught. If I don't get him, I shall die."

"All right," answered the crocodile, consoling her, "don't trouble yourself. I have a plan. I will give you his heart to eat."

So when the Bodhisatta was sitting on the bank of the Ganges, after taking a drink of water, the crocodile drew near, and said, "Sir Monkey, why do you live on bad fruits in this old familiar place? On the other side of the Ganges there is no end to the mango trees, and labuja trees, with fruit sweet as honey! Is it not better to cross over and have all kinds of wild fruit to eat?"

"Lord Crocodile," the monkey answered. "The Ganges is deep and wide. How shall I get across?"

"If you want to go, I will let you sit upon my back, and carry you over."

The monkey trusted him, and agreed. "Come here, then," said the crocodile. "Up on my back with you!" and up the monkey climbed. But when the crocodile had swum a little way, he plunged the monkey under the water.

"Good friend, you are letting me sink!" cried the monkey. "What is that for?"

The crocodile said, "You think I am carrying you out of pure good nature? Not a bit of it! My wife has a longing for your heart, and I want to give it to her to eat.!"

"Friend," said the monkey, "it is nice of you to tell me. Why, if our heart were inside us, when we go jumping among the tree tops it would be all knocked to pieces!"

"Well, where do you keep it?" asked the crocodile.

The Bodhisatta pointed out a fig tree, with clusters of ripe fruit, standing not far off. "See," said he, "there are our hearts hanging on yonder fig tree."

"If you will show me your heart," said the crocodile, "then I won't kill you."

"Take me to the tree, then, and I will point it out to you."

The crocodile brought him to the place. The monkey leapt off his back, and, climbing up the fig tree, sat upon it. "Oh silly crocodile!" said he. "You thought that there were creatures that kept their hearts in a treetop! You are a fool, and I have outwitted you! You may keep your fruit to yourself. Your body is great, but you have no sense."

And then to explain this idea he uttered the following stanzas:

Rose-apple, jack-fruit, mangoes, too, across the water there I see;
Enough of them, I want them not; my fig is good enough for me!
Great is your body, verily, but how much smaller is your wit!
Now go your ways, Sir Crocodile, for I have had the best of it.

The crocodile, feeling as sad and miserable as if he had lost a thousand pieces of money, went back sorrowing to the place where he lived.

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Source: The Jataka; or, Stories of the Buddha's Former Births, edited by E. B. Cowell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1895), book 2, no. 208.

The Tortoise That Refused to Leave Home

Once on a time, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was born in a village as a potter's son. He plied the potter's trade, and had a wife and family to support.

At that time there lay a great natural lake close by the great river of Benares. When there was much water, river and lake were one; but when the water was low, they were apart. Now fish and tortoises know by instinct when the year will be rainy and when there will be a drought.

So at the time of our story the fish and tortoises which lived in that lake knew there would be a drought; and when the two were one water, they swam out of the lake into the river. But there was one tortoise that would not go into the river, because, said he, "here I was born, and here I have grown up, and here is my parents' home. Leave it I cannot!"

Then in the hot season the water all dried up. He dug a hole and buried himself, just in the place where the Bodhisatta was used to come for clay. There the Bodhisatta came to get some clay. With a big spade he dug down, until he cracked the tortoise's shell, turning him out on the ground as though he were a large piece of clay. In his agony the creature thought, "Here I am, dying, all because I was too fond of my home to leave it!" And in the words of these following verses, he made his moan:

Here was I born, and here I lived; my refuge was the clay;
And now the clay has played me false in a most grievous way;
Thee, thee I call, oh Bhaggava; hear what I have to say!

Go where thou canst find happiness, where'er the place may be;
Forest or village, there the wise both home and birthplace see;
Go where there's life; nor stay at home for death to master thee.

So he went on and on, talking to the Bodhisatta, until he died. The Bodhisatta picked him up, and collecting all the villagers addressed them thus: "Look at this tortoise. When the other fish and tortoises went into the great river, he was too fond of home to go with them, and buried himself in the place where I get my clay. Then as I was digging for clay, I broke his shell with my big spade, and turned him out on the ground in the belief that he was a large lump of clay. Then he called to mind what he had done, lamented his fate in two verses of poetry, and expired.

So you see he came to his end because he was too fond of his home. Take care not to be like this tortoise. Don't say to yourselves, 'I have sight, I have hearing, I have smell, I have taste, I have touch, I have a son, I have a daughter, I have numbers of men and maids for my service, I have precious gold.' Do not cleave to these things with craving and desire. Each being passes through three stages of existence."

Thus did he exhort the crowd with all a Buddha's skill. The discourse was bruited abroad all over India, and for full seven thousand years it was remembered. All the crowd abode by his exhortation, and gave alms, and did good until at last they went to swell the hosts of heaven.

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Source: The Jataka; or, Stories of the Buddha's Former Births, edited by E. B. Cowell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1895), book 2, no. 178.

Willow Wife

In a certain Japanese village there grew a great willow tree. For many generations the people loved it. In the summer it was a resting place, a place where the villagers might meet after the work and heat of the day were over, and there talk till the moonlight streamed through the branches. In winter it was like a great half-opened umbrella covered with sparkling snow.

Heitaro, a young farmer, lived quite near this tree, and he, more than any of his companions, had entered into a deep communion with the imposing willow. It was almost the first object he saw upon waking, and upon his return from work in the fields he looked out eagerly for its familiar form. Sometimes he would burn a joss-stick beneath its branches and kneel down and pray.

One day an old man of the village came to Heitaro and explained to him that the villagers were anxious to build a bridge over the river, and that they particularly wanted the great willow tree for timber.

"For timber?" said Heitaro, hiding his face in his hands. "My dear willow tree for a bridge, one to bear the incessant patter of feet? Never, never, old man!"

When Heitaro had somewhat recovered himself, he offered to give the old man some of his own trees, if he and the villagers would accept them for timber and spare the ancient willow.

The old man readily accepted this offer, and the willow tree continued to stand in the village as it had stood for so many years.

One night while Heitaro sat under the great willow he suddenly saw a beautiful woman standing close beside him, looking at him shyly, as if wanting to speak.

"Honorable lady," said he, "I will go home. I see you wait for some one. Heitaro is not without kindness towards those who love."

"He will not come now," said the woman, smiling.

"Can he have grown cold? Oh, how terrible when a mock love comes and leaves ashes and a grave behind!"

"He has not grown cold, dear lord."

"And yet he does not come! What strange mystery is this?"

"He has come! His heart has been always here, here under this willow tree." And with a radiant smile the woman disappeared.

Night after night they met under the old willow tree. The woman's shyness had entirely disappeared, and it seemed that she could not hear too much from Heitaro's lips in praise of the willow under which they sat.

One night he said to her, "Little one, will you be my wife -- you who seem to come from the very tree itself?"

"Yes," said the woman. "Call me Higo ("Willow") and ask no questions, for love of me. I have no father or mother, and someday you will understand."

Heitaro and Higo were married, and in due time they were blessed with a child, whom they called Chiyodo. Simple was their dwelling, but those it contained were the happiest people in all Japan.

While this happy couple went about their respective duties great news came to the village. The villagers were full of it, and it was not long before it reached Heitaro's ears. The ex-Emperor Toba wished to build a temple to Kwannon [goddess of mercy] in Kyoto, and those in authority sent far and wide for timber. The villagers said that they must contribute towards building the sacred edifice by presenting their great willow tree. All Heitaro's argument and persuasion and promise of other trees were ineffectual, for neither he nor anyone else could give as large and handsome a tree as the great willow.

Heitaro went home and told his wife. "Oh, wife," said he, "they are about to cut down our dear willow tree! Before I married you I could not have borne it. Having you, little one, perhaps I shall get over it someday."

That night Heitaro was aroused by hearing a piercing cry.

"Heitaro," said his wife, "it grows dark! The room is full of whispers. Are you there, Heitaro? Hark! They are cutting down the willow tree. Look how its shadow trembles in the moonlight. I am the soul of the willow tree. The villagers are killing me. Oh, how they cut and tear me to pieces! Dear Heitaro, the pain, the pain! Put your hands here, and here. Surely the blows cannot fall now!"

"My Willow Wife! My Willow Wife!" sobbed Heitaro.

"Husband," said Higo, very faintly, pressing her wet, agonized face close to his, "I am going now. Such a love as ours cannot be cut down, however fierce the blows. I shall wait for you and Chiyodo -- My hair is falling through the sky! My body is breaking!"

There was a loud crash outside. The great willow tree lay green and disheveled upon the ground.

Heitaro looked round for her he loved more than anything else in the world. Willow Wife had gone!

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• Source: F. Hadland Davis, Myths and Legends of Japan (London: G. G. Harrap and Company, 1913), pp. 177-180.

• Davis's source: R. Gordon Smith, Ancient Tales and Folk-Lore of Japan (London: A. and C. Black, 1908), pp. 12-18.

The Snow Bride

Mosaku and his apprentice Minokichi journeyed to a forest, some little distance from their village. It was a bitterly cold night when they neared their destination, and saw in front of them a cold sweep of water. They desired to cross this river, but the ferryman had gone away, leaving his boat on the other side of the water, and as the weather was too inclement to admit of swimming across the river they were glad to take shelter in the ferryman's little hut.

Mosaku fell asleep almost immediately he entered this humble but welcome shelter. Minokichi, however, lay awake for a long time listening to the cry of the wind and the hiss of the snow as it was blown against the door.

Minokichi at last fell asleep, to be soon awakened by a shower of snow falling across his face. He found that the door had been blown open, and that standing in the room was a fair woman in dazzlingly white garments. For a moment she stood thus; then she bent over Mosaku, her breath coming forth like white smoke. After bending thus over the old man for a minute or two she turned to Minokichi and hovered over him. He tried to cry out, for the breath of this woman was like a freezing blast of wind. She told him that she had intended to treat him as she had done the old man at his side, but forbore on account of his youth and beauty. Threatening Minokichi with instant death if he dared to mention to anyone what he had seen, she suddenly vanished.

Then Minokichi called out to his beloved master, "Mosaku, Mosaku, wake! Something very terrible has happened!" But there was no reply. He touched the hand of his master in the dark, and found it was like a piece of ice. Mosaku was dead!

During the next winter, while Minokichi was returning home, he chanced to meet a pretty girl by the name of Yuki. She informed him that she was going to Yedo, where she desired to find a situation as a servant. Minokichi was charmed with this maiden, and he went so far as to ask if she were betrothed, and hearing that she was not, he took her to his own home, and in due time married her.

Yuki presented her husband with ten fine and handsome children, fairer of skin than average. When Minokichi's mother died, her last words were in praise of Yuki, and her eulogy was echoed by many of the country folk in the district.

One night, while Yuki was sewing, the light of a paper lamp shining upon her face, Minokichi recalled the extraordinary experience he had had in the ferryman's hut.

"Yuki," said he, "you remind me so much of a beautiful white woman I saw when I was eighteen years old. She killed my master with her ice-cold breath. I am sure she was some strange spirit, and yet tonight she seems to resemble you."

Yuki flung down her sewing. There was a horrible smile on her face as she bent close to her husband and shrieked, "It was I, Yuki-Onna, who came to you then, and silently killed your master! Oh, faithless wretch, you have broken your promise to keep the matter secret, and if it were not for our sleeping children I would kill you now! Remember, if they have aught to complain of at your hands I shall hear, I shall know, and on a night when the snow falls I will kill you!"

Then Yuki-Onna, the Lady of the Snow, changed into a white mist, and, shrieking and shuddering, passed through the smoke-hole, never to return again.

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Source: F. Hadland Davis, Myths and Legends of Japan (London: G. G. Harrap and Company, 1913), pp. 150-151.

The Robe of Feathers

It was springtime, and along Mio's pine-clad shore there came a sound of birds. The blue sea danced and sparkled in the sunshine, and Hairukoo, a fisherman, sat down to enjoy the scene. As he did so he chanced to see, hanging on a pine tree, a beautiful robe of pure white feathers.

As Hairukoo was about to take down the robe he saw coming toward him from the sea an extremely lovely maiden, who requested that the fisherman would restore the robe to her.

Hairukoo gazed upon the lady with considerable admiration. Said he, "I found this robe, and I mean to keep it, for it is a marvel to be placed among the treasures of Japan. No, I cannot possibly give it to you."

"Oh," cried the maiden pitifully, "I cannot go soaring into the sky without my robe of feathers, for if you persist in keeping it I can never more return to my celestial home. Oh, good fisherman, I beg of you to restore my robe!"

The fisherman, who must have been a hard-hearted fellow, refused to relent.

"The more you plead," said he, "the more determined I am to keep what I have found."

Thus the maiden made answer:

Speak not, dear fisherman! Speak not that word!
Ah! know'st thou not that, like the hapless bird
Whose wings are broke, I seek, but seek in vain,
Reft of my wings, to soar to heav'n's blue plain?

After further argument on the subject the fisherman's heart softened a little.

"I will restore your robe of feathers," said he, "if you will at once dance before me."

Then the maiden replied, "I will dance it here -- the dance that makes the Palace of the Moon turn round, so that even poor transitory man may learn its mysteries. But I cannot dance without my feathers."

"No," said the fisherman suspiciously. "If I give you this robe, you will fly away without dancing before me."

This remark made the maiden extremely angry.

"The pledge of mortals may be broken," said she, "but there is no falsehood among the heavenly beings."

These words put the fisherman to shame, and, without more ado, he gave the maiden her robe of feathers.

When the maiden had put on her pure white garment she struck a musical instrument and began to dance, and while she danced and played she sang of many strange and beautiful things concerning her faraway home in the moon. She sang of the might Palace of the Moon, where thirty monarchs ruled, fifteen in robes of white when that shining orb was full, and fifteen robed in black when the moon was waning. As she sang and played and danced she blessed Japan, "that earth may still her proper increase yield!"

The fisherman did not long enjoy this kindly exhibition of the Moon Lady's skill, for very soon her dainty feet ceased to tap upon the sand. She rose into the air, the white feathers of her robe gleaming against the pine trees or against the blue sky itself. Up, up she went, still playing and singing, past the summits of the mountains, higher and higher, until her song was hushed, until she reached the glorious Palace of the Moon.

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Source: F. Hadland Davis, Myths and Legends of Japan (London: G. G. Harrap and Company, 1913), pp. 127-129.

The Mirror of Matsuyama

In ancient days there lived in a remote part of Japan a man and his wife, and they were blessed with a little girl, who was the pet and idol of her parents. On one occasion the man was called away on business in distant Kyoto. Before he went he told his daughter that if she were good and dutiful to her mother he would bring her back a present she would prize very highly. Then the good man took his departure, mother and daughter watching him go.

At last he returned to his home, and after his wife and child had taken off his large hat and sandals he sat down upon the white mats and opened a bamboo basket, watching the eager gaze of his little child. He took out a wonderful doll and a lacquer box of cakes and put them into her outstretched hands. Once more he dived into his basket, and presented his wife with a metal mirror. Its convex surface shone brightly, while upon its back there was a design of pine trees and storks.

The good man's wife had never seen a mirror before, and on gazing into it she was under the impression that another woman looked out upon her as she gazed with growing wonder. Her husband explained the mystery and bade her take great care of the mirror.

Not long after this happy homecoming and distribution of presents the woman became very ill. Just before she died she called to her little daughter, and said: "Dear child, when I am dead take every care of your father. You will miss me when I have left you. But take this mirror, and when you feel most lonely look into it and you will always see me." Having said these words she passed away.

In due time the man married again, and his wife was not at all kind to her stepdaughter. But the little one, remembering her mother's words, would retire to a corner and eagerly look into the mirror, where it seemed to her that she saw her dear mother's face, not drawn in pain as she had seen it on her deathbed, but young and beautiful.

One day this child's stepmother chanced to see her crouching in a corner over an object she could not quite see, murmuring to herself. This ignorant woman, who detested the child and believed that her stepdaughter detested her in return, fancied that this little one was performing some strange magical art--perhaps making an image and sticking pins into it. Full of these notions, the stepmother went to her husband and told him that his wicked child was doing her best to kill her by witchcraft.

When the master of the house had listened to this extraordinary recital he went straight to his daughter's room. He took her by surprise, and immediately the girl saw him she slipped the mirror into her sleeve. For the first time her doting father grew angry, and he feared that there was, after all, truth in what his wife had told him, and he repeated her tale forthwith.

When his daughter had heard this unjust accusation she was amazed at her father's words, and she told him that she loved him far too well ever to attempt or wish to kill his wife, who she knew was dear to him.

"What have you hidden in your sleeve?" said her father, only half convinced and still much puzzled.

"The mirror you gave my mother, and which she on her deathbed gave to me. Every time I look into its shining surface I see the face of my dear mother, young and beautiful. When my heart aches--and oh! it has ached so much lately--I take out the mirror, and mother's face, with sweet, kind smile, brings me peace, and helps me to bear hard words and cross looks."

Then the man understood and loved his child the more for her filial piety. Even the girl's stepmother, when she knew what had really taken place, was ashamed and asked forgiveness. And this child, who believed she had seen her mother's face in the mirror, forgave, and trouble forever departed from the home.

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• Source: F. Hadland Davis, Myths and Legends of Japan (London: George G. Harrap, 1917), pp. 196-198.

• This story is often told at Hinamatsuri (Girls' Festival), March 3rd, one of the traditional festivals still celebrated in Japan.

The Two Frogs

Once upon a time in the country of Japan there lived two frogs, one of whom made his home in a ditch near the town of Osaka, on the sea coast, while the other dwelt in a clear little stream which ran through the city of Kyoto. At such a great distance apart, they had never even heard of each other; but, funnily enough, the idea came into both their heads at once that they should like to see a little of the world, and the frog who lived at Kyoto wanted to visit Osaka, and the frog who lived at Osaka wished to go to Kyoto, where the great Mikado had his palace.

So one fine morning in the spring they both set out along the road that led from Kyoto to Osaka, one from one end and the other from the other. The journey was more tiring than they expected, for they did not know much about traveling, and halfway between the two towns there arose a mountain which had to be climbed. It took them a long time and a great many hops to reach the top, but there they were at last, and what was the surprise of each to see another frog before him!

They looked at each other for a moment without speaking, and then fell into conversation, explaining the cause of their meeting so far from their homes. It was delightful to find that they both felt the same wish--to learn a little more of their native country--and as there was no sort of hurry they stretched themselves out in a cool, damp place, and agreed that they would have a good rest before they parted to go their ways.

"What a pity we are not bigger," said the Osaka frog; "for then we could see both towns from here, and tell if it is worth our while going on."

"Oh, that is easily managed," returned the Kyoto frog. "We have only got to stand up on our hind legs, and hold onto each other, and then we can each look at the town he is traveling to."

This idea pleased the Osaka frog so much that he at once jumped up and put his front paws on the shoulder of his friend, who had risen also. There they both stood, stretching themselves as high as they could, and holding each other tightly, so that they might not fall down. The Kyoto frog turned his nose towards Osaka, and the Osaka frog turned his nose towards Kyoto; but the foolish things forgot that when they stood up their great eyes lay in the backs of their heads, and that though their noses might point to the places to which they wanted to go, their eyes beheld the places from which they had come.

"Dear me!" cried the Osaka frog, "Kyoto is exactly like Osaka. It is certainly not worth such a long journey. I shall go home!"

"If I had had any idea that Osaka was only a copy of Kyoto I should never have traveled all this way," exclaimed the frog from Kyoto, and as he spoke he took his hands from his friend's shoulders, and they both fell down on the grass. Then they took a polite farewell of each other, and set off for home again, and to the end of their lives they believed that Osaka and Kyoto, which are as different to look at as two towns can be, were as alike as two peas.

---

Source: Andrew Lang, The Violet Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1901), pp. 125-126.

Well Done and Ill Paid

Norway

Once on a time there was a man, who had to drive his sledge to the wood for fuel. So a bear met him.

"Out with your horse," said the bear, "or I'll strike all your sheep dead by summer."

"Oh! heaven help me then," said the man. "There's not a stick of firewood in the house. You must let me drive home a load of fuel, else we shall be frozen to death. I'll bring the horse to you tomorrow morning."

Yes, on those terms he might drive the wood home. That was a bargain. But Bruin said if he didn't come back, he should lose all his sheep by summer.

So the man got the wood on the sledge and rattled homewards, but he wasn't over pleased at the bargain you may fancy. So just then a fox met him.

"Why, what's the matter?" said the fox. "Why are you so down in the mouth?"

"Oh, if you want to know," said the man, "I met a bear up yonder in the wood, and I had to give my word to him to bring Dobbin back tomorrow, at this very hour; for if he didn't get him, he said he would tear all my sheep to death by summer."

"Stuff, nothing worse than that," said the fox. "If you'll give me your fattest wether, I'll soon set you free. See if I don't."

Yes, the man gave his word, and swore he would keep it too.

"Well, when you come with Dobbin tomorrow for the bear," said the fox, "I'll make a clatter up in that heap of stones yonder, and so when the bear asks what that noise is, you must say 'tis Peter the Marksman, who is the best shot in the world. And after that you must help yourself."

Next day off set the man, and when he met the bear, something began to make a clatter up in the heap of stones.

"Hist! What's that?" said the bear.

"Oh! that's Peter the Marksman, to be sure," said the man. "He's the best shot in the world. I know him by his voice."

"Have you seen any bears about here, Eric?" shouted out a voice in the wood.

"Say No!" said the bear.

"No, I haven't seen any," said Eric.

"What's that then that stands alongside your sledge?" bawled out the voice in the wood.

"Say it's an old fir stump," said the bear.

"Oh, it's only an old fir stump," said the man.

"Such fir stumps we take in our country and roll them on our sledges," bawled out the voice. "If you can't do it yourself, I'll come and help you."

"Say you can help yourself, and roll me up on the sledge," said the bear.

"No, thank ye, I can help myself well enough," said the man, and rolled the bear onto the sledge.

"Such fir stumps we always bind fast on our sledges in our part of the world," bawled out the voice. "Shall I come and help you?"

"Say you can help yourself, and bind me fast, do." said the bear.

"No, thanks, I can help myself well enough," said the man, who set to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the bear couldn't stir a paw.

"Such fir stumps we always drive our axes into in our part of the world," bawled out the voice, "for then we guide them better going down the steep pitches."

"Pretend to drive your axe into me, do now," said the bear.

Then the man took up his axe, and at one blow split the bear's skull, so that Bruin lay dead in a trice, and so the man and the fox were great friends, and on the best terms. But when they came near the farm, the fox said, "I've no mind to go right home with you, for I can't say I like your tykes, so I'll just wait here, and you can bring the wether to me, but mind and pick out one nice and fat."

Yes, the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the fox much for his help. So when he had put up Dobbin, he went across to the sheep stall.

"Whither away, now?" asked his old dame.

"Oh!" said the man, "I'm only going to the sheep stall to fetch a fat wether for that cunning fox who set our Dobbin free. I gave him my word I would."

"Wether, indeed," said the old dame. "Never a one shall that thief of a fox get. Haven't we got Dobbin safe and the bear into the bargain. And as for the fox, I'll be bound he's stolen more of our geese than the wether is worth. And even if he hasn't stolen them, he will. No, no; take a brace of your swiftest hounds in a sack, and slip them loose after him. And then, perhaps, we shall be rid of this robbing Reynard."

Well, the man thought that good advice; so he took two fleet red hounds, put them into a sack, and set off with them.

"Have you brought the wether?" said the fox.

"Yes, come and take it," said the man, as he untied the sack and let slip the hounds.

" Huff!" said the fox, and gave a great spring. "True it is what the old saw says, 'Well done is often ill paid.' And now, too, I see the truth of another saying, 'The worst foes are those of one's own house.'"

That was what the fox said as he ran off, and saw the red fox hounds at his heels.

---

Source: Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe, Vel gjort og ille lønnet, Norske Folkeeventyr. I have followed the translation of George Webbe Dasent, Popular Tales from the Norse, 3rd edition (Edinburgh: David Douglas, 1888), pp. 266-269.

Brother Wolf Still in Trouble

African-American

 Brer Rabbit was walking down the road, talking and laughing to himself, when he heard something. He stopped talking and began to hum a tune, but he didn't meet anyone. Then he stopped and listened, and he heard something holler, "Oh, Lordy! Lordy! Won't somebody come and help me?"

Brer Rabbit heard this, and he stopped and listened. It wasn't long before something or the other hollered out, "O, Lordy, Lordy! Please, somebody, come and help me."

Brer Rabbit, he hoisted up his ears, he did, and he answered back, "Who are you, anyhow, and what in the name of goodness is the matter?"

"Please, somebody, run here!"

Brer Rabbit, he took and stood on three legs to make sure of getting a good start if there was any need of it, and he hollered back, "Whereabouts are you, and how come you are there?"

"Do, please, somebody, run here and help a poor miserable creature. I'm down here in the big gully under this here big rock."

Old Brer Rabbit crept down to the big gully and looked in, and who in the name of goodness do you suspect he saw down there? -- Nobody in the round world but that there old Brer Wolf was down there in the big gully. And, bless gracious, on top of him was a great big rock. And if you want to know the reason that the great big rock hadn't totally killed Brer Wolf, then you'll have to ask someone who knows more about it than what I do, because it looks to me like it should have smashed him flat.

Yet there he was, and not only had he not been killed, but he had strength enough left to make folks a mile off hear him hollering. And he was hollering so lonesome that it made Brer Rabbit feel might sorry, and no sooner was he feeling sorry, than he held his coattails out of the way and slid down the bank in order to see what he could do.

When he got down there, Brer Wolf asked him, please, sir, couldn't he help him remove that there rock. And Brer Rabbit allowed he suspected he could. And with that, Brer Wolf hollered and told him for mercy's sake, wouldn't he hurry and do it. With that, Brer Rabbit took hold of the rock and humped himself, and it wasn't long before he got some purchase on it, and bless your soul, he lifted it up, just like someone at log-rolling.

It turned out that Brer Wolf wasn't hurt much, and when he found this out, he took and grabbed Brer Rabbit by the nap of the neck and the small of the back.

Brer Rabbit, he kicked and squealed, but it didn't do any manner of good, because the more he kicked, the tighter Brer Wolf clamped him, and he squeezed him so hard that Brer Rabbit was afraid he was going to cut off his breath.

Brer Rabbit, he allowed, "Well then, Brer Wolf! Is this here the way you thank folks for saving your life?"

Brer Wolf grinned big, and then he up and allowed, "I'll thank you, Brer Rabbit, and then I'll make fresh meat out of you."

Brer Rabbit allowed, he did, "If you talk that way, Brer Wolf, I'll never do you another good turn as long as I live."

Brer Wolf, he grinned some more, and allowed, "That you won't, Brer Rabbit. That you won't. You won't do me any more good turns until you are dead."

Brer Rabbit, he sort of studied to himself, he did, and then he allowed, "Where I come from, Brer Wolf, it's against the law for folks to kill those that have done them a good turn, and I suspect it's against the law around here as well."

Brer Wolf said he wasn't right sure about that. Brer Rabbit said he was willing to leave the whole case with Brer Terrapin, and Brer Wolf said he was agreeable.

With that, they put out, they did, and made their way to where old Brer Terrapin was staying. When they got there, Brer Wolf, he took and told his side, and then Brer Rabbit, he took and told his side. Old Brer Terrapin put on his spectacles and cleared up his throat, and then he allowed, "Something is mixed up in this here dispute, and before I can take any side, you'll just have to take me to see the place where Brer Wolf was when Brer Rabbit found him," he said.

Sure enough, they took old Brer Terrapin down the big road until they came to the big gully, and then they took him to where Brer Wolf got caught under the big rock. Old Brer Terrapin, he walked around, he did, and poked at the place with the end of his cane. By and by he shook his head, he did, and he allowed, "I hate mightily to put you gents to so much trouble, yet there are no two ways about it. I'll have to see just how Brer Wolf was caught, and just how the rock was lying on top of him," he said. "The older folks get, the more trouble they are," he said, "and I am ripening just like a persimmon that's been struck with the frost," he said.

Then Brer Wolf, he took and lay down where he was when Brer Rabbit found him, and the others, they up and rolled the rock on top of him, and there he was. Brer Terrapin, he walked all around and looked at him. Then he sat down, he did, and made marks in the sand with his cane like he was studying about something or the other.

By and by Brer Wolf, he opened up, "Ow, Brer Terrapin! This here rock is getting mighty heavy!"

Brer Terrapin, he marked in the sand, and studied, and studied.

Brer Wolf hollered, "Ow, Brer Terrapin! This here rock is mashing the breath out of me."

Brer Terrapin, he reared back, he did, and he allowed, "Brer Rabbit, you were in the wrong. You didn't have any business to come along and bother Brer Wolf when he wasn't bothering you. He was tending to his own business, and you ought to have been tending to yours."

This made Brer Rabbit look ashamed of himself, but Brer Terrapin talked right along, "When you were going down this here road this morning, you surely must have been going somewhere. If you were going somewhere, you had better be going on. Brer Wolf, he wasn't going anywhere then, and he's not going anywhere now. You found him under that rock, and you should leave him under that rock."

And bless gracious, those creatures walked off from there and left old Brer Wolf under that there rock.

---

• Source: Joel Chandler Harris, Nights with Uncle Remus: Myths and Legends of the Old Plantation (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1883), no. 46, pp. 274-79.

• Slightly abridged, and dialect normalized by D. L. Ashliman. © 1999.

The Peasant, the Snake, and King Solomon

Romania

Once upon a time, when King Solomon the wise ruled over the people, some shepherds gathered under a tree and lit a fire, not for any special reason, but just to pass their time, as they often do. When they left, they did not take care to put the fire out. It was left burning under the ashes. Spreading slowly, it caught the great tree, which soon afterwards became a mass of living flames.

A snake had crept onto that tree before and found itself now in danger of perishing in the flames. Creeping upwards to the very top of the tree, the snake cried as loud as it could, for she felt her skin scorched by the fire.

At that moment a man passed by, and hearing the shrieking of the snake, who begged him to save her from the flames, he took pity on her, and cutting a long stick, he reached with it up to the top of the tree for the snake to glide down on it. But he did not know the mind of the cunning beast, which had aforetime deceived his forefather Adam, for, instead of gliding down to the ground, no sooner did the snake reach the neck of the good man than she coiled herself round and round his neck.

In vain did he remind her that he had saved her life. She would not hear of anything, for she said, "My skin is dearer to me than to you, and I remain where I am. You cannot shake me off."

Finding that he could not get rid of the snake, the man went from judge to judge, from king to king, to decide between them, but no one could help him. At last, hearing of the wisdom of King Solomon, he came to him and laid his case before him.

But King Solomon said, "I am not going to judge between you unless you both first promise to abide by my word." Both did so.

Turning to the snake, King Solomon then said, "You must uncoil yourself and get down on the earth, for I cannot judge fairly between one who is standing on the ground and one who is riding."

Cunning though the snake may be, she did not understand the wisdom of King Solomon, and therefore, uncoiling herself, she glided down and rested on the ground.

Turning to the man, King Solomon said, "Do you not know that you must never trust a snake?"

The man at once understood what the king meant, and taking up a stone, he bruised the snake's head. And thus justice was done.

---

Source: M. Gaster, Rumanian Bird and Beast Stories (London: Folk-Lore Society, 1915), no. 112, pp. 325-326.

The Reward of Good Deeds

Denmark

There was once a man who went into the woods to cut some firewood. He went from one tree to another, but they were all too good for his purpose, as they would make good timber if allowed to stand. At last he found a tree which seemed good for nothing; it was gnarled and partly decayed, so he began to hew away at it. But just as he began to cut, he heard a voice calling to him, "Help me out, my good man." And as he turned he saw a large viper that was caught in a cleft of the tree and could not free itself.

"No, I will not help you," said the man, "for you would harm me."

But the viper said that it would not hurt him, if he would only free it. Then the man put his axe into the cleft under the snake, and so freed it. But hardly was it free, when it coiled itself up, hissed, put out its tongue and prepared to strike him.

"Did I not tell you," said the man, "that you were a rascal who would reward good with evil!"

"Yes," answered the viper, "you may well say that; but so it is in the world, that all good deeds are rewarded with evil."

"That is not true," said the man, "good deeds are rewarded with good."

"You will not find anybody to agree with you there," said the viper. "I know better how it goes in the world."

"Let us inquire about it," said the man.

"Very well," said the viper. So it did not bite him, but went with him through the forest until they came to an old, worn out horse that was grazing. It was lame, and blind in one eye, and had only a few broken teeth in its mouth. They asked him whether good deeds were rewarded with good, or with evil.

"They are rewarded with evil," said the horse. "For twenty years I have served my master faithfully; I have carried him on my back, and drawn his wagon, and have taken care not to stumble lest he fall. As long as I was young and strong, I had kind treatment; I had a good stall, and plenty of food, and was well curried. But now that I am old and weak, I must work in the treadmill the livelong day; I never have a roof to cover me, and all the food I have is what I get for myself. No, indeed, good deeds are rewarded only with evil."

"There now, you hear," said the viper, "Now I shall bite you."

"Oh, no! wait a moment," said the man, "there comes the fox; let us ask him for his opinion." The fox came up and stopped and looked at them, for he saw that the man was in serious trouble. Then the viper asked the fox whether good deeds were rewarded with evil or with good.

"Say 'with good,'" whispered the man, "and I will give you two fat geese."

Then the fox said, "Good deeds are rewarded with good," and as he said that he jumped on the viper and bit its neck so that it fell to the ground. But as it was dying it insisted, "No, good deeds are rewarded with evil; that I have experienced, I, who spared the man's life, who has now cheated me out of mine."

Now the viper was dead and the man was free. Then he said to the fox, "Come home with me and get your geese."

"No, I thank you," said the fox, "I will not go to town, for there the dogs would get me."

"Then wait here until I come with the geese," said the man. He ran home and said to his wife, "Hasten and put two fat geese into a sack, for I have promised them to the fox for his breakfast today."

The woman took a sack and put something into it; but it was not geese she put in, but two fierce dogs.

The man then ran out with the bag to the fox, and said, "Here you have your reward."

"Thank you," said the fox, "then it was not a lie after all, what I said first -- that good deeds are rewarded with good." Then taking the bag on his back he ran off into the woods.

"That sack is heavy," said the fox, so he sat down and tore it open with his sharp teeth. But as he did so the two dogs leaped from the bag and fixed their teeth in his throat. There was no escape from them, so he was bitten to death, but not until he had said, "No, what I said first was a lie, after all; good deeds are rewarded with evil."

---

• Source: Sven Grundtvig, Danish Fairy Tales, translated by J. Grant Cramer (Boston: Four Seas, 1919), pp. 113-115.

• The concluding episode, in which the fox is given fierce dogs in a sack instead of the agreed upon geese, is classified as Aarne-Thompson-Uther type 154.

• Link to additional tales of type 154.

Inside Again

Europe

A man was walking through the forest one day when he saw a funny black thing like a whip wriggling about under a big stone. He was curious to know what it all meant. So he lifted up the stone and found there a huge black snake.

"That's well," said the snake. "I have been trying to get out for two days, and, Oh, how hungry I am. I must have something to eat, and there is nobody around, so I must eat you."

"But that wouldn't be fair," said the man with a trembling voice. "But for me you would never have come out from under the stone."

"I do not care for that," said the snake. "Self preservation is the first law of life; you ask anybody if that isn't so."

"Anyone will tell you," said the man, "that gratitude is a person's first duty, and surely you owe me thanks for saving your life."

"But you haven't saved my life, if I am to die of hunger," said the snake.

"Oh yes, I have," said the man; "all you have to do is to wait till you find something to eat."

"Meanwhile I shall die, and what's the use of being saved!"

So they disputed and they disputed whether the case was to be decided by the claims of gratitude or the rights of self-preservation, till they did not know what to do.

"I tell you what I'll do," said the snake, "I'll let the first passer-by decide which is right."

"But I can't let my life depend upon the word of the first comer."

"Well, we'll ask the first two that pass by."

"Perhaps they won't agree," said the man; "what are we to do then? We shall be as badly off as we are now."

"Ah, well," said the snake, "let it be the first three. In all law courts it takes three judges to make a session. We'll follow the majority of votes."

So they waited till at last there came along an old, old horse. And they put the case to him, whether gratitude should ward off death.

"I don't see why it should," said the horse. "Here have I been slaving for my master for the last fifteen years, till I am thoroughly worn out, and only this morning I heard him say, 'Roger' -- that's my name -- 'is no use to me any longer; I shall have to send him to the knacker's and get a few pence for his hide and his hoofs.' There's gratitude for you."

So the horse's vote was in favor of the snake. And they waited till at last an old hound passed by limping on three legs, half blind with scarcely any teeth. So they put the case to him.

"Look at me," said he; "I have slaved for my master for ten years, and this very day he has kicked me out of his house because I am no use to him any longer, and he grudged me a few bones to eat. So far as I can see nobody acts from gratitude."

"Well," said the snake, "there's two votes for me. What's the use of waiting for the third? he's sure to decide in my favor, and if he doesn't it's two to one. Come here and I'll eat you!"

"No, no," said the man, "a bargain's a bargain; perhaps the third judge will be able to convince the other two and my life will be saved."

So they waited and they waited, till at last a fox came trotting along; and they stopped him and explained to him both sides of the case. He sat up and scratched his left ear with his hind paw, and after a while he beckoned the man to come near him. And when he did so the fox whispered, "What will you give me if I get you out of this?"

The man whispered back, "A pair of fat chickens."

"Well," said the fox, "if I am to decide this case I must clearly understand the situation. Let me see! If I comprehend aright, the man was lying under the stone and the snake -- -- "

"No, no," cried out the horse and the hound and the snake. "It was the other way."

"Ah, ha, I see! The stone was rolling down and the man sat on it, and then -- -- "

"Oh, how stupid you are," they all cried; "it wasn't that way at all."

"Dear me, you are quite right. I am very stupid, but, really, you haven't explained the case quite clearly to me."

"I'll show you," said the snake, impatient from his long hunger; and he twisted himself again under the stone and wriggled his tail till at last the stone settled down upon him and he couldn't move out. "That's the way it was."

"And that's the way it will be," said the fox, and, taking the man's arm, he walked off, followed by the horse and the hound. "And now for my chickens."

"I'll go and get them for you," said the man, and went up to his house, which was near, and told his wife all about it.

"But," she said, "why waste a pair of chickens on a foxy old fox! I know what I'll do."

So she went into the back yard and unloosed the dog and put it into a meal-bag and gave it to the man, who took it down and gave it to the fox, who trotted off with it to his den.

But when he opened the bag out sprung the dog and gobbled him all up.

There's gratitude for you.

---

• Source: Joseph Jacobs, Europa's Fairy Book [also published under the title European Folk and Fairy Tales], restored from various sources and retold by Joseph Jacobs (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1916), no. 20, pp. 165-69.

• The concluding episode, in which the fox is given a dog in a sack instead of the agreed upon chickens, is classified as Aarne-Thompson-Uther type 154.

• Link to additional tales of type 154.

The Unmannerly Tiger

Korea

"Mountain Uncle" was the name given by the villagers to a splendid striped tiger that lived among the highlands of Kang Wen, the long province that from its cliffs overlooks the Sea of Japan. Hunters rarely saw him, and among his fellow tigers the Mountain Uncle boasted that, though often fired at, he had never been wounded; while as for traps -- he knew all about them and laughed at the devices used by man to catch him and to strip him of his coveted skin. In summer he kept among the high hills and lived on fat deer. In winter, when heavy snow, biting winds, and terrible cold kept human beings within doors, old Mountain Uncle would sally forth to the villages. There he would prowl around the stables, the cattle enclosures, or the pigpens, in hopes of clawing and dragging out a young donkey, a fat calf, or a suckling pig. Too often he succeeded, so that he was the terror of the country for leagues around.

One day in autumn, Mountain Uncle was rambling among the lower hills. Though far from any village, he kept a sharp lookout for traps and hunters, but none seemed to be near. He was very hungry and hoped for game.

But on coming round a great rock, Mountain Uncle suddenly saw in his path some feet ahead, as he thought, a big tiger like himself. He stopped, twitched his tail most ferociously as a challenge, showed fight by growling, and got ready to spring. What was his surprise to see the other tiger doing exactly the same things. Mountain Uncle was sure that there would be a terrible struggle, but this was just what he wanted, for he expected of course to win.

But after a tremendous leap in the air, he landed in a pit and all of a heap, bruised and disappointed. There was no tiger to be seen, but instead a heavy lid of logs had closed over his head with a crash and he lay in darkness. Old Mountain Uncle at last was caught. Yes, the hunter had concealed the pit with sticks and leaves, and on the upright timbers, covered with vines and brushwood, had hung a bit of looking- glass. Mountain Uncle had often beheld his own face and body in the water, when he stooped to drink, but this time, not seeing any water, he was deceived into thinking a real tiger wanted to fight him.

By and by a Buddhist priest came along, who believed in being kind to all living creatures. Hearing an animal moaning, he opened the trap and lifting the lid saw old Mountain Uncle at the bottom licking his bruised paw.

"Oh, please, Mr. Man, let me get out. I'm hurt badly," said the tiger.

Thereupon the priest lifted up one of the logs and slid it down, until it rested on the bottom of the pit. Then the tiger climbed up and out.

Old Mountain Uncle expressed his thanks volubly, saying to the shaven head, "I am deeply grateful to you, sir, for helping me out of my trouble. Nevertheless, as I am very hungry, I must eat you up."

The priest, very much surprised and indignant, protested against such vile ingratitude. To say the least, it was very bad manners and entirely against the law of the mountains, and he appealed to a big tree to decide between them. The spirit in the tree spoke through the rustling leaves and declared that the man should go free and that the tiger was both ungrateful and unmannerly.

Old Mountain Uncle was not satisfied yet, especially as the priest was unusually fat and would make a very good dinner. However, he allowed the man to appeal once more and this time to a big rock. "The man is certainly right, Venerable Mountain Uncle, and you are wholly wrong," said the spirit in the rock. "Your master, the Mountain Spirit, who rides on the green bull and the piebald horse to punish his enemies, will certainly chastise you if you devour this priest. You will be no fit messenger of the Mountain Lord if you are so ungrateful as to eat the man who saved you from starvation or death in the trap. It is shockingly bad manners even to think of such a thing."

The tiger felt ashamed, but his eyes still glared with hunger; so, to be sure of saving his own skin, the priest proposed to make the toad a judge. The tiger agreed. But the toad, with his gold-rimmed eyes, looked very wise, and instead of answering quickly, as the tree and rock did, deliberated a long time. The priest's heart sank, while the tiger moved his jaws as if anticipating his feast. He felt sure that Old Speckled Back would decide in his favor.

"I must go and see the trap before I can make up my mind," said the toad, who looked as solemn as a magistrate.

So all three leaped, hopped, or walked to the trap. The tiger, moving fast, was there first, which was just what the toad, who was a friend of the priest, wanted. Besides, Old Speckled Back was diligently looking for a crack in the rocks nearby. So, while the toad and the tiger were studying the matter, the priest ran off and saved himself within the monastery gates. When at last Old Speckled Back decided against Mountain Uncle and in favor of the man, he had no sooner finished his judgment than he hopped into the rock crevice, and, crawling far inside, defied the tiger, calling him an unmannerly brute and an ungrateful beast, and daring him to do his worst.

Old Mountain Uncle was so mad with rage and hunger that his craftiness seemed turned into stupidity. He clawed at the rock to pull it open to get at the toad to tear him to pieces. But Speckled Back, safe within, only laughed. Unable to do any harm, the tiger flew into a passion of rage. The hotter his temper grew, the more he lost his wit. Poking his nose inside the crack, he rubbed it so hard on the rough rock that he soon bled to death.

When the hunter came along, he marveled at what he saw, but he was glad to get rich by selling the tiger's fur, bones, and claws ; for in Korea nothing sells so well as a tiger. As for the toad, he told to several generations of his descendants the story of how he outwitted the old Mountain Uncle.

---

Source: William Elliot Griffis, The Unmannerly Tiger, and Other Korean Tales (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1911), pp. 1-6. (Links open in new windows.)

The Brahman, the Tiger, and the Six Judges

India

Once upon a time a Brahman, who was walking along the road, came upon an iron cage, in which a great tiger had been shut up by the villagers who caught him.

As the Brahman passed by, the tiger called out and said to him, "Brother Brahman, brother Brahman, have pity on me, and let me out of this cage for one minute only, to drink a little water, for I am dying of thirst."

The Brahman answered, "No, I will not; for if I let you out of the cage you will eat me."

"O father of mercy," answered the tiger, "in truth that will not. I will never be so ungrateful. Only let me out, that I may drink some water and return."

Then the Brahman took pity on him, and opened the cage door; but no sooner had he done so than the tiger, jumping out, said, "Now, I will eat you first, and drink the water afterwards."

But the Brahman said, "Only do not kill me hastily. Let us first ask the opinion of six, and if all of them say it is just and fair that you should put me to death, then I am willing to die."

"Very well," answered the tiger, "it shall be as you say. We will first ask the opinion of six."

So the Brahman and the tiger walked on till they came to a banyan tree; and the Brahman said to it, "Banyan tree, banyan tree, hear and give judgment."

"On what must I give judgment ?" asked the banyan tree.

"This tiger," said the Brahman," begged me to let him out of his cage to drink a little water, and he promised not to hurt me if I did so. But now that I have let him out he wishes to eat me. Is it just that he should do so, or no?"

The banyan tree answered, "Men often come to take refuge in the cool shade under my boughs from the scorching rays of the sun; but when they have rested, they cut and break my pretty branches, and wantonly scatter the leaves that sheltered them. Let the tiger eat the man, for men are an ungrateful race."

At these words the tiger would have instantly killed the Brahman; but the Brahman said, "Tiger, tiger, you must not kill me yet, for you promised that we should first hear the judgment of six."

"Very well," said the tiger, and they went on their way. After a little while they met a camel.

"Sir camel, sir camel," cried the Brahman, "hear and give judgment."

"On what shall I give judgment?" asked the camel.

And the Brahman related how the tiger had begged him to open the cage door, and promised not to eat him if he did so; and how he had afterwards determined to break his word, and asked if that were just or not.

The camel replied, "When I was young and strong, and could do much work, my master took care of me and gave me good food; but now that I am old, and have lost all my strength in his service, he overloads me, and starves me, and beats me without mercy. Let the tiger eat the man, for men are an unjust and cruel race."

The tiger would then have killed the Brahman, but the latter said, "Stop, tiger, for we must first hear the judgment of six."

So they both went again on their way. At a little distance they found a bullock lying by the roadside.

The Brahman said to him, "Brother bullock, brother bullock, hear and give judgment."

"On what must I give judgment?" asked the bullock.

The Brahman answered, "I found this tiger in a cage, and he prayed me to open the door and let him out to drink a little water, and promised not to kill me if I did so; but when I had let him out he resolved to put me to death. Is it fair he should do so or not?"

The bullock said, "When I was able to work, my master fed me well and tended me carefully, but now I am old he has forgotten all I did for him, and left me by the roadside to die. Let the tiger eat the man, for men have no pity."

Three out of the six had given judgment against the Brahman, but still he did not lose all hope, and determined to ask the other three.

They next met an eagle flying through the air, to whom the Brahman cried, "O eagle, great eagle, hear and give judgment."

"On what must I give judgment?" asked the eagle.

The Brahman stated the case, but the eagle answered, "Whenever men see me they try to shoot me; they climb the rocks and steal away my little ones. Let the tiger eat the man, for men are the persecutors of the earth."

Then the tiger began to roar, and said, "The judgment of all is against you, O Brahman!"

But the Brahman answered, "Stay yet a little longer, for two others must first be asked"

After this they saw an alligator, and the Brahman related the matter to him, hoping for a more favorable verdict.

But the alligator said, "Whenever I put my nose out of the water, men torment me, and try to kill me. Let the tiger eat the man, for as long as men live we shall have no rest."

The Brahman gave himself up as lost; but once more he prayed the tiger to have patience, and to let him ask the opinion of the sixth judge. Now the sixth was a jackal.

The Brahman again told his story, and said to him, "Mama jackal, mama jackal, say what is your judgment?"

The jackal answered, "It is impossible for me to decide who is in the right and who in the wrong, unless I see the exact position in which you were when the dispute began. Show me the place."

So the Brahman and the tiger returned to the place where they first met, and the jackal went with them.

When they got there, the jackal said, "Now, Brahman, show me exactly where you stood."

"Here," said the Brahman, standing by the iron tiger cage.

"Exactly there, was it?" asked the jackal.

"Exactly here," replied the Brahman.

"Where was the tiger then?" asked the jackal.

"In the cage," answered the tiger.

"How do you mean?" said the jackal.

"How were you within the cage? Which way were you looking?"

"Why, I stood so," said the tiger, jumping into the cage, "and my head was on this side."

"Very good," said the jackal. "But I cannot judge without understanding the whole matter exactly. Was the cage door open or shut?"

"Shut, and bolted," said the Brahman.

"Then shut and bolt it," said the jackal.

When the Brahman had done this, the jackal said, "Oh, you wicked and ungrateful tiger, when the good Brahman opened your cage door, is to eat him the only return you would make? Stay there, then, for the rest of your days, for no one will ever let you out again. Proceed on your journey, friend Brahman. Your road lies that way, and mine this."

So saying, the jackal ran off in one direction, and the Brahman went rejoicing on his way in the other.

---

Source: Mary Frere, Old Deccan Days; or, Hindoo Fairy Legends Current in Southern India, 5th impression (London: John Murray, 1898), no. 14, pp. 135-38. First published 1868.

The Husband Who Was to Mind the House

Norway

Once upon a time there was a man who was so bad tempered and cross that he never thought his wife did anything right in the house. One evening, in haymaking time, he came home, scolding and swearing, and showing his teeth and making a commotion.

"Dear love, don't be so angry. That's a good man," said his wife, "tomorrow let's change jobs. I'll go out with the mowers and mow, and you can mind the house at home."

Yes, the husband thought that would do very well. He was quite willing, he said.

So early the next morning, his wife took a scythe over her neck, and went out into the hay field with the mowers and began to mow. But the man was to mind the house and do the work at home.

First of all he wanted to churn the butter. But when he had churned a while, he got thirsty and went down to the cellar to tap a barrel of ale. He had just knocked in the bung and was putting in the tap, when he heard the pig come into the kitchen above. As fast as he could, he ran up the cellar steps, with the tap in his hand, to keep the pig from upsetting the churn. But when he got there he saw that the pig had already knocked the churn over, and was standing there routing and grunting in the cream which was running all over the floor. He got so angry that he quite forgot the ale barrel and ran at the pig as hard as he could. He caught it, too, just as it ran out of doors, and gave it such a powerful kick that he killed it on the spot.

Then he remembered he had the tap in his hand. But when he returned to the cellar, all the ale had run out of the barrel. Then he went into the milk-shed and found enough cream left to fill the churn again, and so he began to churn, for they had to have butter for dinner.

When he had churned a bit, he remembered that their milk cow was still shut up in the barn and hadn't had a bit to eat or a drop to drink all morning, although the sun was high. It occurred to him that it was too far to take her down to the meadow, so he'd just get her up onto the roof, for it was a sod roof, and a fine crop of grass was growing there. The house was close against a steep hill, and he thought if he laid a plank across to the back of the roof he'd easily get the cow up.

But he couldn't leave the churn, for his little baby was crawling about on the floor. "If I leave it," he thought, "the child will tip it over." So he put the churn on his back, and went out with it. But then he thought he'd better first water the cow before he put her onto the roof, so he picked up a bucket to draw water out of the well. But as he stooped over the edge of the well all the cream ran out of the churn over his shoulder and down into the well.

Now it was nearly dinner time, and he hadn't even finished the butter yet, so he thought he'd best boil the porridge. He filled the pot with water and hung it over the fire. When he had done that, it occurred to him that the cow might fall off the roof and break her legs or her neck, so he climbed up onto the house to tie her up. He tied one end of the rope around the cow's neck. He slipped the other end down the chimney and tied it around his own leg. Then he had to hurry, for the water was now boiling in the pot, and he still had to grind the oatmeal.

He began to grind away; but while he was hard at it, the cow fell off the roof, dragging the man up the chimney by the rope. There he stuck fast. As for the cow, she hung halfway down the wall, swinging between heaven and earth, for she could neither get down nor up.

Now the wife waited seven lengths and seven breadths for her husband to come and call her home to dinner, but he never came. At last she thought she'd waited long enough, and she went home. But when she arrived home and saw the cow hanging there, she ran up and cut the rope with her scythe. When she did this, her husband fell down from within the chimney. When the old woman came inside, she found him with his head in the porridge pot.

---

• Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe, Mannen som skulle stelle hjemme, Norske Folkeeventyr (Christiania [Oslo], 1842-1852), translated by George Webb Dasent (1859).

• Translation revised by D. L. Ashliman. © 2001.

• Aarne-Thompson-Uther type 1408, The Man Who Did His Wife's Work.

The Story of the Pig

Romania, Ion Creanga

Once upon a time there was an old man who had an old wife; the old man was 100 and his wife 90. Both these old people had snow-white hair, and both were as gloomy as a rainy day and all because they had no children. They kept on wishing they had even one child, for all day and night they were as lonely as lonely, and their ears tingled with boredom. And as well as all that, they were as poor as church mice. Their cottage was an old ramshackle place, covered with ragged tarpaulin. Their beds were some boards covered with a blanket. And that was all. For some time past, life had become even more unbearable, for not a living soul ever came near them, as if they were ill of the plague, poor things!

One day, the old woman gave a loud sigh and said to the old man, "Dear me, old man, dear me! Just think! In all our life no one has ever said to us, 'father' or 'mother.' There's no sense in going on living in this world, for I believe God will not bless a house where there are no children."

"Well, old woman, what are we to do if it is God's will?"

"That's all very well, old man, but do you know what I was thinking last night?"

"I will know, if you'll tell me, old woman."

"Tomorrow morning, as soon as it is daylight, get up and go out; just follow your nose; and the very first thing which crosses your path -- whether it is a person, or a snake or an animal at all -- you must pick it up, put it in your knapsack, and bring it home. We will bring it up as best we can, and that will be our child."

The old man, sick of loneliness and longing for children, got up early next morning, took his sack and his stick and did as the old woman told him. He set out and followed some ravines until he came to a swamp. And what should he see there but a sow and twelve little pigs wallowing in the mud and basking in the sun. As soon as the sow saw the old man, she began to grunt and took to her heels, followed by the little pigs -- all except one who stuck in the mud -- being scraggy, skinny, and sickly, and unable to follow the others.

The old man seized it, thrust it in his bag, mud and all, and set off home.

"Thank goodness," he said, "that I have found something to console my old woman! I am just wondering whether it was God or the Devil who put that thought in her head last night."

And on arriving home he said, "Look, my old dear, what a treasure I brought you! Good luck to him! A boy with beautiful eyes and long lashes and as pretty as a picture! He's the very image of you!... Now, get him bathed and take care of him as only you know how to take care of little boys, for, as you see, he's rather dirty, poor little mite!"

"Old man, old man!" said the old woman, "you mustn't joke about him; for isn't he one of God's creatures, just like ourselves, and perhaps even more innocent, poor thing!"

Then, sprightly as a child, she got some soap and water and prepared to bath him, and because she knew all about newborn pigs, she bathed him, rubbed him gently all over with oil, twigged his nose and cast a spell on him, so as to frighten away the evil eye from her treasure! Then she combed him and looked after him so well, that, at the end of a few days, he became quite strong; and with bran and peelings, he began to recover and to grow so that it was a joy to look at him. And the old woman was beside herself with the joy of having such a fine boy, so comical, and podgy, and round as a melon. For everyone who said he was ugly or cheeky, she always had the answer -- that her boy was quite different form all others! Only one thing still troubled the old woman: that he couldn't say "mother" and "father."

One day the old man wanted to go to town to buy a few odds and ends.

"Old man, don't forget to bring some delicacy for the boy, for he must be longing for something, the darling!"

"Very well, old woman." But to himself, he thought, "Deuce take him, for I've had enough of your nagging about him. We haven't enough bread and salt for ourselves, let along stuff him up with good things. If I did everything my old woman tells me, I should go mad!"

At last the old man went to the town, bought what he had to buy and when he came home, the old woman asked him, as she always did, "Well, old man, what did you hear in the town?"

"What did I hear, old woman? Not very good news: The emperor wants to get his daughter married."

"And you call that bad news, old man?"

"Now, be patient for a little, my dear, for that isn't all, and when I heard the rest, my hair stood on end. When I tell you the whole story, I believe your flesh will creep."

"But why, old man? Dear me!"

"Then this is why, old woman. Now listen: The emperor has sent his heralds through the whole world to proclaim that the man who can build a golden bridge from his own house to the royal palace -- a bridge paved with precious stones and planted on both sides with all kinds of trees with different kinds of birds singing in the branches, which are not to be found anywhere else in the world -- may have the hand of his daughter, and even more -- half of his kingdom. Whoever dares to come and ask for the hand of the princess, without having succeeded in making the bridge as I described it to you, will have his head cut off on the spot. Till now, a crowd of kings' and emperors' sons -- dear know where they all come from! -- have arrived and not one has succeeded. And every single one has been mercilessly beheaded by the emperor without any exception, till the people are weeping for pity. Now, old woman, what have you to say? Is that good news? And what is more, the emperor has fallen ill with worry."

"Woe, woe, old man, the emperor's ill health is our health! What you have told me about the emperors' sons breaks my heart when I think of the sorrow and sadness of the bereaved mothers! What a good thing our child can't speak, and that he won't be tempted by such extravagance."

"A good thing, old woman, but what a good thing it would be to have a boy who could build a bridge and win the emperor's daughter, for I know it would be the end of all our wants, and what a blessing that would be!"

While the old couple were talking, the pig sat in his bed in a corner by the fire, his snout in the air, his eyes fixed on them, listening to everything they said and only puffing from time to time.

And as the old people chatted together, they suddenly heard a voice from the fireplace: "Father and mother, I will do it."

The old woman fainted with joy; the old man, however, thinking it was the Devil, took fright and, in great bewilderment stared into every corner of the hut to see where the voice could have come from, but seeing no one, came to his senses.

But the young pig cried again, "Father, don't be afraid! It is I! Wake mother up and go and tell the emperor that I will build the bridge."

Then the old man said hesitatingly, "But, will you be able to do it, my darling?"

"Don't worry about that father, as long as you are with me. Just go and tell the emperor the news!"

Then the old woman, recovering, kissed the boy and said to him, "Mother's darling, don't run your head into danger. And you are going to leave us alone again, sad at heart and without any support!"

"Don't worry at all, mummy, for you will see who I am."

Then the old man, finding nothing else to say, combed his beard nicely, took his stick, left the house, and set out for the emperor's palace.

A sentry, seeing him hanging about, asked, "What do you want, old man?"

"I have to see the emperor about something. My son bets he can make the bridge."

The sentry, knowing the command of the emperor, wasted no time in further talk, but led the old man into the presence of the emperor.

On seeing the old man, the emperor asked, "What do you want, old man?"

"May you live long, illustrious and all-powerful emperor! My son, on hearing that you have a daughter to be married, has sent me, on his behalf, to inform your majesty that he can build the bridge."

"If he can build it, let him do so, old man; then my daughter and half my kingdom will be his. But if he does not succeed, then ... perhaps he has heard what has happened to others, more highly bred than he? If you undertake this, then go and bring your son to me. If not, then begone and get rid of any foolish nonsense in your head."

The old man, on hearing these words right from the emperor's lips, bowed down to the ground, then left and set off towards his hut to bring his son. When he arrived home, he told his son what the emperor had said.

Then the pig, bursting with happiness, began to skip about the cottage, dived under the bed, upset several pieces of crockery with his snout and said, "Come on, daddy, let us go to the emperor."

Then the old woman began to weep and said, "It seems I am not to have any luck in this world! Till now I have struggled to bring him up and provide him with all his needs and now ... it seems as if I am to be deprived of him!" And still weeping, she fell into a swoon with worry.

But the old man kept his word; put on his fur hat, pushed it down over his ears, and took his stick in his hand, and went out, saying, "Come on with your father, boy, let us go and buy your mother a daughter-in-law."

Then the pig, out of sheer joy, took one more dive under the bed, then followed the old man, and until they arrived, he trotted behind grunting and snuffing on the ground, as a pig should do. They had hardly arrived at the gates of the imperial palace, when the guards, catching sight of them, began to look at each other and burst out laughing.

"What does this mean, old man?" said one of them.

"Well, this is my son, who reckons he can build the bridge for the emperor."

"Good gracious, old man, you still have a lot to learn; it's easy to see you are doting," said an old guardsman.

"Well! Every man's fate is written on his forehead, and everyone must die once."

"It seems to us that you, old man, are looking for trouble with a candle in broad daylight," said the sentries.

"That has nothing to do with you. Be careful, mind what you say, and go and tell the emperor that we have arrived," replied the old man.

The sentries looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

Then one of them went and told the emperor of the arrival of the new candidates: the old man and his pig! The emperor commanded them to present themselves. The old man, on entering, bowed low and remained humbly standing at the door. But the pig, grunting, trotted ahead up the carpet, and began to sniff through the room.

Then the emperor, seeing such frightful impertinence, wanted on one hand to laugh, but on the other, he was very angry and said, "Well, old man! When you came last time, it seemed to me you had all your wits about you, but now what are you thinking of? Wandering about followed by a pig! And who, may I ask, gave you the idea of making fun of me?"

"Heaven forbid, your majesty, that I, an old man, should ever think of such a thing! I crave your forgiveness, your imperial majesty, and this is my son who sent me to you before, if your majesty remembers?"

"And it is he who will build the bridge for me!"

"It is our hope, your majesty, that he will be the one to do it."

"Now! Take your pig and get out. If the bridge is not built by tomorrow morning, old man, your head will be where your feet are now. Do you understand?"

"God is merciful, your majesty. If, however, the desire of your majesty should be fulfilled, then with your majesty's permission, we should like the princess sent home to us."

So saying, he left, and taking the pig, set off home, followed by some soldiers, who had been ordered by the emperor to keep an eye on him until next day, to see what it all meant. What a lot of chatter, what roars of laughter, and what speculation this joke caused in the palace and all over the country!

Towards evening, when the old man and the pig arrived home, the old woman was overcome by fear and trembling and began to weep, saying, "Oh me! Old man, what are you up to now? What do I want with soldiers?"

"You dare to ask that! It's your doing! I allowed myself to be carried away by your foolish head, and to be coaxed to bring you an adopted child, so to speak. And now you see what a pickle we're in! I didn't bring any soldiers. They brought me! And my head is only to stay on my shoulders until tomorrow morning!"

The pig, meantime, was wandering about the cottage, sniffing around for food, and was not at all concerned about the trouble he had caused. The old couple quarreled and squabbled for a while, but worried and all as they were about the events of the day, they at last fell asleep.

Then the pig jumped lightly on the bed, broke a window, and the breath from his nostrils shot out like two tongues of fire and reached from the old man's cottage -- which was now no longer a cottage -- to the emperor's palace. And the bridge with everything commanded by the emperor, was now complete. The old man's cottage was now a palace -- much grander than that of the emperor. And suddenly the old couple were clad in imperial purple, and their palace was full of all the good things in the world. And the pig romped about and frisked all over the fine carpets.

Meanwhile, extraordinary rumors were spreading all over the kingdom, and even the emperor and his counselors were overawed when they beheld this great miracle. And the emperor, fearing lest some misfortune should befall him, took counsel and was advised to hand over his daughter to the old man; so he sent for her immediately. Because the emperor, however powerful, was overcome by fear owing to the great wonder which had just happened.

The wedding did not take place. Well, how could it, when there was no one to marry! When the princess arrived at the bridegroom's house, she was very pleased with it and liked her mother- and father-in-law, but when she caught sight of the bridegroom, she was very astonished. But, after a few moments, she shrugged her shoulders, saying to herself, "If this is what God and my parents wished for me, let it be so." And she at once set about her housekeeping.

The pig snuffed about the house during the daytime as was his custom, but each night when it was time to go to bed, his pig's skin dropped off, and out stepped a handsome prince! And before long, his wife grew quite accustomed to him, for he was no longer ugly as he had been at the beginning.

After a week or two, the young princess, very homesick, set out to visit her parents, leaving her husband at home, for she was ashamed to be seen with him. When her parents saw her, they were overjoyed and asked her all about her new home and her husband. She told them all she knew.

Then the emperor began to advise her saying, "My darling! You mustn't be led into doing him any harm, in case misfortune should overtake you; for, as far as I can see, the man, or whatever he is, has great magic powers. There must be something strange about him, since he has done something which is beyond human strength."

Then the empress and her daughter went out to stroll in the garden, and the mother gave her daughter quite different advice: "My dear! What kind of life will you lead, if you can't appear in society with your husband? I give you this advice: See to it that there is always a good fire in the stove, and when your husband falls asleep, take that pigskin and put it in the fire and let it burn, and then you will be rid of it."

"What a good idea, mother! Such a thought never entered my head...."

And when the young princess returned home, she ordered a good fire to be lit in the stove. When her husband was fast asleep, she took the pigskin from the place where he had put it, and threw it on the fire. Then the hairs on it began to singe and the skin began to sizzle, turning into burnt rind and ashes. Such a frightful odor spread through the house that it woke her husband, who jumped up terrified and looked sorrowfully towards the stove.

And when he saw this great misfortune, he burst into tears saying, "Alas! Stupid woman! What have you done? If someone told you to do that, you were ill advised; but if you did it on your own initiative, it was a great mistake."

Then the young wife noticed that she was girt round the waist with a belt of iron, while her husband said, "You have listened to the advice of others and brought misfortune to the old couple and to us as well. If ever you need me, remember my name is Prince Charming, and I will be found at the Incense Monastery."

Just as he finished speaking, a sudden gust of wind blew, and a terrifying whirlwind whisked the emperor's son-in-law off his feet and carried him out of sight. Then the wonderful bridge immediately began to crack and crumbled to the ground, so that it was impossible to say what had become of it; and the palace where the old couple and their daughter-in-law lived with all its riches and all its magnificence, turned once more into the miserable little cottage which the old couple had inhabited. When they saw this great misfortune and their daughter-in-law in such misery, they began to scold her with tears in their eyes and ordered her sharply to go back home as they had no means of supporting her.

Finding herself so forlorn and deserted, she wondered what was to be done; where to go. Should she go home? She was afraid of her father's severity and the dangerous gossip of the people. Should she stay there? But she had none of the things she needed and was tired of the remorse of her parents-in-law.

At last she decided to go and search throughout the whole world for her husband. And having taken this decision, she said, "Please help me, God?" and set out, just wandering where her fancy led her. She went on straight ahead, through the wilderness for a whole year until she came to a desolate place she had never seen before. And here, seeing a little hidden house, the roof moss-covered (which showed how old it was), she knocked on the door.

Then she head the voice of an old woman inside saying, "Who's there?"

"It is I. A lost traveler."

"If you are a good person, come into my little den; but if you are a wicked person, get away out of this, for I have a fierce dog with teeth of steel, and if I let him out he will make short work of you."

"I am a good person, good woman."

Then the old woman opened the door, and the traveler entered.

"But what chance brought you here, and how did you ever find your way through this desolate land where no magic bird ever penetrates, let alone a human being?"

Then the traveler heaved a deep sigh and said, "My sins have brought me here, good woman. I am looking for the Incense Monastery and don't know in which part of the world to find it."

"Evidently you still have some luck if you have chanced to find me. I am Saint Wednesday. Perhaps you may have heard of me?"

"Your name is familiar, good woman, but it never entered my head that I should find you here."

"You see!"

Then Saint Wednesday gave a loud shout and immediately all the creatures in her domain assembled. She asked them about the Incense Monastery, and all replied at once that they had never heard of it. Saint Wednesday, hearing this, was very disappointed, but, being unable to help, she gave the traveler a piece of holy bread and a small glass of wine to have something to eat on the way, and she also gave her a golden distaff which could spin alone and said kindly, "Take care of it, for it will come in useful when you are in need."

Then she directed her to the house of her eldest sister, Saint Friday.

The princess set out and wandered for another whole year, still through wild, unfamiliar places, until, with great difficulty, she arrived at the house of Saint Friday. And here the same thing happened as at the house of Saint Wednesday, except that Saint Friday gave her a piece of holy bread, a little glass of wine, and a golden reeling machine, which could wind alone; and she, too, directed her, with great kindness and gentleness to the house of her eldest sister, Saint Sunday.

The princess set out again from there the very same day and wandered for another whole year through places which were even more desolate than those through which she had already traveled. And being weary with three years of wandering, it was with difficulty that she arrived at the house of Saint Sunday. And Saint Sunday received her with the same ceremony and just as warmly as her sisters had done. And taking pity on the wretched weary girl, Saint Sunday shouted out once with all her might, and immediately, all living things in her domain assembled: from the waters, from the land, from the air. And then she asked them whether any of them had ever heard of the Incense Monastery. They all replied, with one voice, that they had never even heard the name mentioned. Then Saint Sunday gave a deep sigh from the depths of her heart, looked sadly at the unfortunate princess and said, "It looks as if God is angry with you or something, because you cannot find what you are looking for, my daughter! For this is the end of a world which even I don't know, and however much you or anyone else should wish to go further, it is quite impossible."

And at that moment a lame lark was seen limping along as best he could. And warbling, warbling, warbling, he stopped before Saint Sunday. Then she asked him too, "Lark, do you by any chance know where the Monastery of Incense is?"

"Of course I know, mistress. My heart's desire took me there, and there I broke my leg."

"If you do, then go there at once and take this woman with you, as you know the way, and give her the best advice you can."

Then the lark, sighing, replied humbly, "With all my heart, I obey your command, O mistress, although it is very difficult to get there."

Then Saint Sunday too, gave the traveler a piece of holy bread and a little wine to have something to eat on the way to the Monastery of Incense; and she also gave her a large gold clucking hen and chickens also made of gold in case of need on the way. Then she entrusted her to the care of the lark, who set off at once, warbling as he went.

Sometimes the lark went on foot; sometimes the princess flew through the air; sometimes she went on foot; sometimes he flew. And when the poor princess could no longer go either way, the lark at once took her on his back and flew along with her. Going on like this for another whole year, with great difficulty and hardship, they flew over innumerable countries and seas, over terrifying forests and deserts, where dragons crept along, poisonous asps, basilisks with the evil eye, otters, each with twenty-four heads, and thousands of other dreadful monsters who lay with open mouths, just ready to gobble them up; it would be quite impossible for any human tongue to describe the greed, the cunning, and the wickedness of these animals.

In the end, after so much trouble and so much danger, they succeeded in arriving at the entrance to a cave. Here the princess mounted once more onto the lark's wings which were now scarcely able to flutter, and he alighted into another world which was more beautiful than Paradise.

"Here we are at the Monastery of Incense," said the lark. "Prince Charming, whom you have sought through so many difficulties, lives here. Is there not something familiar here?"

Then, although her eyes were dazzled by so much splendor, she looked more closely and at once recognized the wonderful bridge from the other world and the palace where she and Prince Charming had lived for such a short time, and her eyes filled with tears of joy.

"Wait a moment! Don't be in such a hurry to rejoice, for you are still a stranger in these parts, and you are not yet out of danger," said the lark.

He then showed her a well where she must go three days in succession; he told her who she would meet and what she should say; he advised her what to do in turn with the distaff, with the reeling machine, and the golden clucking-hen and chickens, given to her by the three sisters, Saint Wednesday, Saint Friday, and Saint Sunday.

Then, saying good-bye to the princess entrusted to his care, he turned back suddenly, flying without stopping, afraid lest someone should break his other leg too. And the unhappy princess watched him as he flew, her eyes full of tears. Then she went towards the well which he had pointed out.

And when she reached the well, she took out first of all the spindle from the place where she had carried it, and then sat down to rest.

Shortly afterward, a servant came to draw water, and seeing an unknown woman and the miraculous distaff, spinning golden thread by itself (thread which was thousands of times finer than the hair of your head), fled to her mistress to tell her the news.

The mistress of this servant was the old witch who turned the Devil's hair gray, the housekeeper of Prince Charming's palace, a marvelous sorceress, who could make water curdle, and knew all the Devil's mischief in the world. But there was only one thing the old hag didn't know: man's thoughts. The old witch, on hearing about this wonder, sent the servant at once to ask this strange woman to come to the palace. And when she arrived, the witch asked, "I have heard that you have a golden distaff which can spin alone. Would you sell it to me, woman, and how much do you want for it?"

"Will you allow me to spend one night in the room where Prince Charming sleeps?"

"Of course. Give me the distaff and stay here until the evening when the prince returns from the hunt."

Then the princess gave up the distaff and remained. The hunchbacked, toothless old woman, knowing that the prince was accustomed to drink a cup of sweet milk every evening, now prepared one for him to make him sleep right through till the next morning. And as soon as he returned from the hunt and lay down on his bed, the old hag sent him the milk; and as soon as he had drunk it, he fell fast asleep. Then the old woman called the unknown traveler into the room of the prince, as had been arranged, and left her there, whispering softly, "Sit here until the morning. I will come and fetch you then."

The old woman whispered and went on tiptoe so that the prince should not hear, and she took good care that a faithful servant who accompanied him to the hunt every day and who was sleeping in the same room, should not hear either.

And as soon as the old woman had left the room, the unhappy princess knelt down by her husband's bed and began to week bitterly, saying, "Prince Charming! Prince Charming! Put your right arm round my waist so that the spell may be broken."

And poor thing, she persevered like this until the morning, but in vain, for the prince seemed to have gone to the next world. At daybreak, the witch came along and sulkily told her to leave the courtyard and go away. The unfortunate princess came out without having succeeded in making her husband hear, and very unhappy, went once more to the well and this time took out her reeling machine. Again the servant came to fetch water and seeing this second wonderful object, rushed off to her mistress and said that the woman had now a golden reel, which could wind alone and which was even more wonderful than the distaff she had given her. Then the old witch sent the servant to summon her and took possession of the reeling machine with the same craftiness, and the next morning took her out of the prince's room and chased her out of the palace.

That night, however, the prince's faithful servant sensed what was happening and taking pity on the poor stranger, set out to discover the old woman's trick. And when the prince rose and was setting off to hunt, his faithful servant told him in detail what had happened in his room on the two previous nights. And the prince, on hearing this, gave a sudden start, as if the sky had fallen. Then he cast down his eyes and began to weep. And while tears were streaming from his eyes, at the well, his spell-bound and tormented wife now took out her golden hen and chickens -- her last hope. And while she stood by the well, the servant came along once more to fetch water.

And when she saw still another wonder, she didn't even wait to draw water, but rushed to her mistress, saying, "Good gracious, mistress! Imagine what I have seen! That woman now has a golden hen with chickens also of gold -- so beautiful they are that they could steal your eyesight."

When the old woman heard that, she sent for her at once, saying to herself, "She won't get what she's looking for."

And when the princess came in, the old witch took possession of the golden hen and chickens by the same sly means.

But the prince, when he returned that evening from the hunt and when his milk was brought in, said to himself, "I won't drink any more of this milk."

So he threw it away and lay down, pretending to fall sound asleep.

When the old woman thought he was asleep, and was confident that he was now under the spell of the magic milk, she once more brought the princess into the room, just as she had done on the preceding nights; and leaving her there, she went off. The, the troubled girl, falling on her knees by her husband's bedside, dissolved in a flood of tears, again saying these words, "Prince Charming! Prince Charming! Have pity on an innocent soul who has been tortured for four years with the most cruel suffering, and put you right arm round my waist so that the spell may break, for I cannot bear this any longer."

And when she had finished speaking, Prince Charming stretched out his hand, as if in sleep, and when he touched her waist -- bang! The belt burst open, and the spell was broken. Then the princess told her husband how much she had suffered since he had disappeared.

Then Prince Charming rose, and, although it was the middle of the night, awoke the whole court and ordered the old witch to be brought to him, together with all the treasures taken so slyly from the princess. Then he ordered a wild mare be brought to him and a sack of nuts. And he ordered the old witch and the sack of nuts to be tied to the mare's tail and to set the mare galloping. And this was done. And when the mare began to gallop, each time a nut dropped from the bag, a little bit of the witch dropped too; and when the sack fell, the witch's head dropped off.

The old witch was the sow with the pigs from the swamp -- one of which had been brought home by the old man, Prince Charming's foster father. By her wicked tricks she had turned her master, Prince Charming, into the miserable, mangy little pig, so that later on she could make him marry one of her eleven daughters who followed her from the swamp. That is why Prince Charming punished her so severely. The faithful servant was handsomely rewarded with gifts by the prince and princess who keep him in their service as long as he lived.

And very soon a son was born to the prince and princes.

Now remember, good people, that Prince Charming had no wedding ceremony when he was married. But now he celebrated both a wedding and a christening, a thing which never happened before and which I'm sure will never happen again. Prince Charming took a wish, and immediately the parents of the princess arrived and his foster parents, the old man and the old woman -- once more dressed in imperial purple. And he seated them at the head of the table. And millions of people assembled for that large and sumptuous wedding reception, and the gaiety went on for three days and three nights, and unless it has ended, it must still be going on.

---

Source: Ion Creanga, Folk Tales from Roumania, translated by Mabel Nandris (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1952), pp. 102-119. No copyright notice.

The second half of this tale belongs to type 425 (The Search for the Lost Husband).

Ion Creanga was born in 1837 and died in 1889.

The Enchanted Pig

Romania

Once upon a time there lived a king who had three daughters. Now it happened that he had to go out to battle, so he called his daughters and said to them, "My dear children, I am obliged to go to the wars. The enemy is approaching us with a large army. It is a great grief to me to leave you all. During my absence take care of yourselves and be good girls; behave well and look after everything in the house. You may walk in the garden, and you may go into all the rooms in the palace, except the room at the back in the right-hand corner; into that you must not enter, for harm would befall you."

"You may keep your mind easy, father," they replied. "We have never been disobedient to you. Go in peace, and may heaven give you a glorious victory!"

When everything was ready for his departure, the king gave them the keys of all the rooms and reminded them once more of what he had said. His daughters kissed his hands with tears in their eyes, and wished him prosperity, and he gave the eldest the keys.

Now when the girls found themselves alone they felt so sad and dull that they did not know what to do. So, to pass the time, they decided to work for part of the day, to read for part of the day, and to enjoy themselves in the garden for part of the day. As long as they did this all went well with them. But this happy state of things did not last long. Every day they grew more and more curious, and you will see what the end of that was.

"Sisters," said the eldest princess, "all day long we sew, spin, and read. We have been several days quite alone, and there is no corner of the garden that we have not explored. We have been in all the rooms of our father's palace, and have admired the rich and beautiful furniture; why should not we go into the room that our father forbad us to enter?"

"Sister," said the youngest, "I cannot think how you can tempt us to break our father's command. When he told us not to go into that room he must have known what he was saying, and have had a good reason for saying it."

"Surely the sky won't fall about our heads if we do go in," said the second princess. "Dragons and such like monsters that would devour us will not be hidden in the room. And how will our father ever find out that we have gone in?"

While they were speaking thus, encouraging each other, they had reached the room; the eldest fitted the key into the lock, and snap! the door stood open.

The three girls entered, and what do you think they saw?

The room was quite empty, and without any ornament, but in the middle stood a large table, with a gorgeous cloth, and on it lay a big open book.

Now the princesses were curious to know what was written in the book, especially the eldest, and this is what she read, "The eldest daughter of this king will marry a prince from the East."

Then the second girl stepped forward, and turning over the page she read, "The second daughter of this king will marry a prince from the West."

The girls were delighted, and laughed and teased each other.

But the youngest princess did not want to go near the table or to open the book. Her elder sisters however left her no peace, and will she, nill she, they dragged her up to the table, and in fear and trembling she turned over the page and read, "The youngest daughter of this king will be married to a pig from the North."

Now if a thunderbolt had fallen upon her from heaven it would not have frightened her more.

She almost died of misery, and if her sisters had not held her up, she would have sunk to the ground and cut her head open.

When she came out of the fainting fit into which she had fallen in her terror, her sisters tried to comfort her, saying, "How can you believe such nonsense? When did it ever happen that a king's daughter married a pig?"

"What a baby you are!" said the other sister; "has not our father enough soldiers to protect you, even if the disgusting creature did come to woo you?"

The youngest princess would fain have let herself be convinced by her sisters' words, and have believed what they said, but her heart was heavy. Her thoughts kept turning to the book, in which stood written that great happiness waited her sisters, but that a fate was in store for her such as had never before been known in the world.

Besides, the thought weighed on her heart that she had been guilty of disobeying her father. She began to get quite ill, and in a few days she was so changed that it was difficult to recognize her; formerly she had been rosy and merry, now she was pale and nothing gave her any pleasure. She gave up playing with her sisters in the garden, ceased to gather flowers to put in her hair, and never sang when they sat together at their spinning and sewing.

In the meantime the king won a great victory, and having completely defeated and driven off the enemy, he hurried home to his daughters, to whom his thoughts had constantly turned. Everyone went out to meet him with cymbals and fifes and drums, and there was great rejoicing over his victorious return. The king's first act on reaching home was to thank Heaven for the victory he had gained over the enemies who had risen against him. He then entered his palace, and the three princesses stepped forward to meet him. His joy was great when he saw that they were all well, for the youngest did her best not to appear sad.

In spite of this, however, it was not long before the king noticed that his third daughter was getting very thin and sad looking. And all of a sudden he felt as if a hot iron were entering his soul, for it flashed through his mind that she had disobeyed his word. He felt sure he was right; but to be quite certain he called his daughters to him, questioned them, and ordered them to speak the truth. They confessed everything, but took good care not to say which had led the other two into temptation.

The king was so distressed when he heard it that he was almost overcome by grief. But he took heart and tried to comfort his daughters, who looked frightened to death. He saw that what had happened had happened, and that a thousand words would not alter matters by a hair's breadth.

Well, these events had almost been forgotten when one fine day a prince from the East appeared at the court and asked the king for the hand of his eldest daughter. The king gladly gave his consent. A great wedding banquet was prepared, and after three days of feasting the happy pair were accompanied to the frontier with much ceremony and rejoicing.

After some time the same thing befell the second daughter, who was wooed and won by a prince from the West.

Now when the young princess saw that everything fell out exactly as had been written in the book, she grew very sad. She refused to eat, and would not put on her fine clothes nor go out walking, and declared that she would rather die than become a laughing-stock to the world. But the king would not allow her to do anything so wrong, and he comforted her in all possible ways.

So the time passed, till lo and behold! one fine day an enormous pig from the North walked into the palace, and going straight up to the king said, "Hail! oh king. May your life be as prosperous and bright as sunrise on a clear day!"

"I am glad to see you well, friend," answered the king, "but what wind has brought you hither?"

"I come a wooing," replied the pig.

Now the king was astonished to hear so fine a speech from a pig, and at once it occurred to him that something strange was the matter. He would gladly have turned the pig's thoughts in another direction, as he did not wish to give him the princess for a wife; but when he heard that the court and the whole street were full of all the pigs in the world he saw that there was no escape, and that he must give his consent. The pig was not satisfied with mere promises, but insisted that the wedding should take place within a week, and would not go away till the king had sworn a royal oath upon it.

The king then sent for his daughter, and advised her to submit to fate, as there was nothing else to be done. And he added, "My child, the words and whole behavior of this pig are quite unlike those of other pigs. I do not myself believe that he always was a pig. Depend upon it some magic or witchcraft has been at work. Obey him, and do everything that he wishes, and I feel sure that Heaven will shortly send you release."

"If you wish me to do this, dear father, I will do it," replied the girl.

In the meantime the wedding day drew near. After the marriage, the pig and his bride set out for his home in one of the royal carriages. On the way they passed a great bog, and the pig ordered the carriage to stop, and got out and rolled about in the mire till he was covered with mud from head to foot; then he got back into the carriage and told his wife to kiss him. What was the poor girl to do? She bethought herself of her father's words, and, pulling out her pocket handkerchief, she gently wiped the pig's snout and kissed it.

By the time they reached the pig's dwelling, which stood in a thick wood, it was quite dark. They sat down quietly for a little, as they were tired after their drive; then they had supper together, and lay down to rest. During the night the princess noticed that the pig had changed into a man. She was not a little surprised, but remembering her father's words, she took courage, determined to wait and see what would happen.

And now she noticed that every night the pig became a man, and every morning he was changed into a pig before she awoke. This happened several nights running, and the princess could not understand it at all. Clearly her husband must be bewitched. In time she grew quite fond of him, he was so kind and gentle.

One fine day as she was sitting alone she saw an old witch go past. She felt quite excited, as it was so long since she had seen a human being, and she called out to the old woman to come and talk to her. Among other things the witch told her that she understood all magic arts, and that she could foretell the future, and knew the healing powers of herbs and plants.

"I shall be grateful to you all my life, old dame," said the princess, "if you will tell me what is the matter with my husband. Why is he a pig by day and a human being by night?"

"I was just going to tell you that one thing, my dear, to show you what a good fortuneteller I am. If you like, I will give you a herb to break the spell."

"If you will only give it to me," said the princess, "I will give you anything you choose to ask for, for I cannot bear to see him in this state."

"Here, then, my dear child," said the witch, "take this thread, but do not let him know about it, for if he did it would lose its healing power. At night, when he is asleep, you must get up very quietly, and fasten the thread round his left foot as firmly as possible; and you will see in the morning he will not have changed back into a pig, but will still be a man. I do not want any reward. I shall be sufficiently repaid by knowing that you are happy. It almost breaks my heart to think of all you have suffered, and I only wish I had known it sooner, as I should have come to your rescue at once."

When the old witch had gone away the princess hid the thread very carefully, and at night she got up quietly, and with a beating heart she bound the thread round her husband's foot. Just as she was pulling the knot tight there was a crack, and the thread broke, for it was rotten.

Her husband awoke with a start, and said to her, "Unhappy woman, what have you done? Three days more and this unholy spell would have fallen from me, and now, who knows how long I may have to go about in this disgusting shape? I must leave you at once, and we shall not meet again until you have worn out three pairs of iron shoes and blunted a steel staff in your search for me." So saying he disappeared.

Now, when the princess was left alone she began to weep and moan in a way that was pitiful to hear; but when she saw that her tears and groans did her no good, she got up, determined to go wherever fate should lead her.

On reaching a town, the first thing she did was to order three pairs of iron sandals and a steel staff, and having made these preparations for her journey, she set out in search of her husband. On and on she wandered over nine seas and across nine continents; through forests with trees whose stems were as thick as beer barrels; stumbling and knocking herself against the fallen branches, then picking herself up and going on; the boughs of the trees hit her face, and the shrubs tore her hands, but on she went, and never looked back. At last, wearied with her long journey and worn out and overcome with sorrow, but still with hope at her heart, she reached a house.

Now who do you think lived there? The moon.

The princess knocked at the door, and begged to be let in that she might rest a little. The mother of the moon, when she saw her sad plight, felt a great pity for her, and took her in and nursed and tended her. And while she was here the princess had a little baby.

One day the mother of the moon asked her, "How was it possible for you, a mortal, to get hither to the house of the moon?"

Then the poor princess told her all that happened to her, and added "I shall always be thankful to Heaven for leading me hither, and grateful to you that you took pity on me and on my baby, and did not leave us to die. Now I beg one last favor of you; can your daughter, the moon, tell me where my husband is?"

"She cannot tell you that, my child," replied the goddess, "but, if you will travel towards the East until you reach the dwelling of the sun, he may be able to tell you something."

Then she gave the princess a roast chicken to eat, and warned her to be very careful not to lose any of the bones, because they might be of great use to her.

When the princess had thanked her once more for her hospitality and for her good advice, and had thrown away one pair of shoes that were worn out, and had put on a second pair, she tied up the chicken bones in a bundle, and taking her baby in her arms and her staff in her hand, she set out once more on her wanderings.

On and on and on she went across bare sandy deserts, where the roads were so heavy that for every two steps that she took forwards she fell back one; but she struggled on till she had passed these dreary plains; next she crossed high rocky mountains, jumping from crag to crag and from peak to peak. Sometimes she would rest for a little on a mountain, and then start afresh always farther and farther on. She had to cross swamps and to scale mountain peaks covered with flints, so that her feet and knees and elbows were all torn and bleeding, and sometimes she came to a precipice across which she could not jump, and she had to crawl round on hands and knees, helping herself along with her staff.

At length, wearied to death, she reached the palace in which the sun lived. She knocked and begged for admission. The mother of the sun opened the door, and was astonished at beholding a mortal from the distant earthly shores, and wept with pity when she heard of all she had suffered. Then, having promised to ask her son about the princess's husband, she hid her in the cellar, so that the sun might notice nothing on his return home, for he was always in a bad temper when he came in at night.

The next day the princess feared that things would not go well with her, for the sun had noticed that some one from the other world had been in the palace. But his mother had soothed him with soft words, assuring him that this was not so. So the princess took heart when she saw how kindly she was treated, and asked,  "But how in the world is it possible for the sun to be angry? He is so beautiful and so good to mortals."

"This is how it happens," replied the sun's mother. "In the morning when he stands at the gates of paradise he is happy, and smiles on the whole world, but during the day he gets cross, because he sees all the evil deeds of men, and that is why his heat becomes so scorching; but in the evening he is both sad and angry, for he stands at the gates of death; that is his usual course. From there he comes back here."

She then told the princess that she had asked about her husband, but that her son had replied that he knew nothing about him, and that her only hope was to go and inquire of the wind.

Before the princess left the mother of the sun gave her a roast chicken to eat, and advised her to take great care of the bones, which she did, wrapping them up in a bundle. She then threw away her second pair of shoes, which were quite worn out, and with her child on her arm and her staff in her hand, she set forth on her way to the wind.

In these wanderings she met with even greater difficulties than before, for she came upon one mountain of flints after another, out of which tongues of fire would flame up; she passed through woods which had never been trodden by human foot, and had to cross fields of ice and avalanches of snow. The poor woman nearly died of these hardships, but she kept a brave heart, and at length she reached an enormous cave in the side of a mountain. This was where the wind lived. There was a little door in the railing in front of the cave, and here the princess knocked and begged for admission. The mother of the wind had pity on her and took her in, that she might rest a little. Here too she was hidden away, so that the wind might not notice her.

The next morning the mother of the wind told her that her husband was living in a thick wood, so thick that no axe had been able to cut a way through it; here he had built himself a sort of house by placing trunks of trees together and fastening them with withes and here he lived alone, shunning human kind.

After the mother of the wind had given the princess a chicken to eat, and had warned her to take care of the bones, she advised her to go by the Milky Way, which at night lies across the sky, and to wander on till she reached her goal.

Having thanked the old woman with tears in her eyes for her hospitality, and for the good news she had given her, the princess set out on her journey and rested neither night nor day, so great was her longing to see her husband again. On and on she walked until her last pair of shoes fell in pieces. So she threw them away and went on with bare feet, not heeding the bogs nor the thorns that wounded her, nor the stones that bruised her. At last she reached a beautiful green meadow on the edge of a wood. Her heart was cheered by the sight of the flowers and the soft cool grass, and she sat down and rested for a little. But hearing the birds chirping to their mates among the trees made her think with longing of her husband, and she wept bitterly, and taking her child in her arms, and her bundle of chicken bones on her shoulder, she entered the wood.

For three days and three nights she struggled through it, but could find nothing. She was quite worn out with weariness and hunger, and even her staff was no further help to her, for in her many wanderings it had become quite blunted. She almost gave up in despair, but made one last great effort, and suddenly in a thicket she came upon the sort of house that the mother of the wind had described. It had no windows, and the door was up in the roof. Round the house she went, in search of steps, but could find none. What was she to do? How was she to get in? She thought and thought, and tried in vain to climb up to the door. Then suddenly she bethought her of the chicken bones that she had dragged all that weary way, and she said to herself, "They would not all have told me to take such good care of these bones if they had not had some good reason for doing so. Perhaps now, in my hour of need, they may be of use to me."

So she took the bones out of her bundle, and having thought for a moment, she placed the two ends together. To her surprise they stuck tight; then she added the other bones, till she had two long poles the height of the house; these she placed against the wall, at a distance of a yard from one another. Across them she placed the other bones, piece by piece, like the steps of a ladder. As soon as one step was finished she stood upon it and made the next one, and then the next, till she was close to the door. But just as she got near the top she noticed that there were no bones left for the last rung of the ladder. What was she to do? Without that last step the whole ladder was useless. She must have lost one of the bones. Then suddenly an idea came to her. Taking a knife she chopped off her little finger, and placing it on the last step, it stuck as the bones had done. The ladder was complete, and with her child on her arm she entered the door of the house. Here she found everything in perfect order. Having taken some food, she laid the child down to sleep in a trough that was on the floor, and sat down herself to rest.

When her husband, the pig, came back to his house, he was startled by what he saw. At first he could not believe his eyes, and stared at the ladder of bones, and at the little finger on the top of it. He felt that some fresh magic must be at work, and in his terror he almost turned away from the house; but then a better idea came to him, and he changed himself into a dove, so that no witchcraft could have power over him, and flew into the room without touching the ladder. Here he found a woman rocking a child. At the sight of her, looking so changed by all that she had suffered for his sake, his heart was moved by such love and longing and by so great a pity that he suddenly became a man.

The princess stood up when she saw him. and her heart beat with fear, for she did not know him. But when he had told her who he was, in her great joy she forgot all her sufferings, and they seemed as nothing to her. He was a very handsome man, as straight as a fir tree. They sat down together and she told him all her adventures, and he wept with pity at the tale. And then he told her his own history.

"I am a king's son. Once when my father was fighting against some dragons, who were the scourge of our country, I slew the youngest dragon. His mother, who was a witch, cast a spell over me and changed me into a pig. It was she who in the disguise of an old woman gave you the thread to bind round my foot. So that instead of the three days that had to run before the spell was broken, I was forced to remain a pig for three more years. Now that we have suffered for each other, and have found each other again, let us forget the past."

And in their joy they kissed one another.

Next morning they set out early to return to his father's kingdom. Great was the rejoicing of all the people when they saw him and his wife; his father and his mother embraced them both, and there was feasting in the palace for three days and three nights.

Then they set out to see her father. The old king nearly went out of his mind with joy at beholding his daughter again. When she had told him all her adventures, he said to her, "Did not I tell you that I was quite sure that that creature who wooed and won you as his wife had not been born a pig? You see, my child, how wise you were in doing what I told you."

And as the king was old and had no heirs, he put them on the throne in his place. And they ruled as only kings rule who have suffered many things. And if they are not dead they are still living and ruling happily.

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Source: Andrew Lang, The Red Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green, and Company, 1895), pp. 104-115.

The second half of this tale belongs to type 425 (The Search for the Lost Husband).