The Altruism

Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree

Scotland

Once upon a time there was a king who had a wife, whose name was Silver-Tree, and a daughter, whose name was Gold-Tree. On a certain day of the days, Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree went to a glen, where there was a well, and in it there was a trout.

Said Silver-Tree, "Troutie, bonny little fellow, am not I the most beautiful queen in the world?"

"Oh! indeed you are not."

"Who then?"

"Why, Gold-Tree, your daughter."

Silver-Tree went home, blind with rage. She lay down on the bed, and vowed she would never be well until she could get the heart and the liver of Gold-Tree, her daughter, to eat.

At nightfall the king came home, and it was told him that Silver-Tree, his wife, was very ill. He went where she was, and asked her what was wrong with her.

"Oh! only a thing which you may heal if you like."

"Oh! indeed there is nothing at all which I could do for you that I would not do."

"If I get the heart and the liver of Gold-Tree, my daughter, to eat, I shall be well."

Now it happened about this time that the son of a great king had come from abroad to ask Gold-Tree for marrying. The king now agreed to this, and they went abroad.

The king then went and sent his lads to the hunting hill for a he goat, and he gave its heart and its liver to his wife to eat; and she rose well and healthy.

A year after this Silver-Tree went to the glen, where there was the well in which there was the trout.

"Troutie, bonny little fellow," said she, "am not I the most beautiful queen in the world?"

"Oh! indeed you are not."

"Who then?"

"Why, Gold-Tree, your daughter."

"Oh! well, it is long since she was living. It is a year since I ate her heart and liver."

"Oh! indeed she is not dead. She is married to a great prince abroad."

Silver-Tree went home, and begged the king to put the long-ship in order, and said, "I am going to see my dear Gold-Tree, for it is so long since I saw her." The long-ship was put in order, and they went away.

It was Silver-Tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered the ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.

The prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-Tree knew the long-ship of her father coming.

"Oh!" said she to the servants, "my mother is coming, and she will kill me."

"She shall not kill you at all; we will lock you in a room where she cannot get near you."

This is how it was done; and when Silver-Tree came ashore, she began to cry out, "Come to meet your own mother, when she comes to see you."

Gold-Tree said that she could not, that she was locked in the room, and that she could not get out of it.

"Will you not put out," said Silver-Tree, "your little finger through the keyhole, so that your own mother may give a kiss to it?"

She put out her little finger, and Silver-Tree went and put a poisoned stab in it, and Gold-Tree fell dead.

When the prince came home, and found Gold-Tree dead, he was in great sorrow, and when he saw how beautiful she was, he did not bury her at all, but he locked her in a room where nobody would get near her.

In the course of time he married again, and the whole house was under the hand of this wife but one room, and he himself always kept the key of that room. On a certain day of the days her forgot to take the key with him, and the second wife got into the room. What did she see there but the most beautiful woman that she ever saw.

She began to turn and try to wake her, and she noticed the poisoned stab in her finger. She took the stab out, and Gold-Tree rose alive, as beautiful as she was ever.

At the fall of night the prince came home from the hunting hill, looking very downcast.

"What gift," said his wife, "would you give me that I could make you laugh?"

"Oh! indeed, nothing could make me laugh, except Gold-Tree were to come alive again."

"Well, you'll find her alive down there in the room."

When the prince saw Gold-Tree alive her made great rejoicings, and he began to kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Said the second wife, "Since she is the first one you had it is better for you to stick to her, and I will go away."

"Oh! indeed you shall not go away, but I shall have both of you."

At the end of the year, Silver-Tree went to the glen, where there was the well, in which there was the trout.

"Troutie, bonny little fellow," said she, "am not I the most beautiful queen in the world?"

"Oh! indeed you are not."

"Who then?"

"Why Gold-Tree, your daughter."

"Oh! well, she is not alive. It is a year since I put the poisoned stab into her finger."

"Oh! indeed she is not dead at all, at all."

Silver-Tree went home, and begged the king to put the long-ship in order, for that she was going to see her dear Gold-Tree, as it was so long since she saw her. The long-ship was put in order, and they went away. It was Silver-Tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered the ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.

The prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-Tree knew her father's ship coming.

"Oh!" said she, "my mother is coming, and she will kill me."

"Not at all," said the second wife; "we will go down to meet her."

Silver-Tree came ashore. "Come down, Gold tree, love," said she, "for your own mother has come to you with a precious drink."

"It is a custom in this country," said the second wife, "that the person who offers a drink takes a draught out of it first."

Silver-Tree put her mouth to it, and the second wife went and struck it so that some of it went down her throat, and she fell dead. they had only to carry her home a dead corpse and bury her.

The prince and his two wives were long alive after this, pleased and peaceful.

I left them there.

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• Source: Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt, 1892), no. 11, pp. 88-92.

• Jacobs' source: Kenneth Macleod, Celtic Magazine, vol. 13, pp. 213-218.

• Remarks by Joseph Jacobs: It is unlikely, I should say impossible, that this tale, with the incident of the dormant heroine, should have arisen independently in the Highlands; it is mot likely an importation from abroad. Yet in it occurs a most "primitive" incident, the bigamous household of the hero.... On the "survival" method of investigation this would possibly be used as evidence for polygamy in the Highlands. Yet if, as is probably, the story came from abroad, this trait may have come with it, and only implies polygamy in the original home of the tale.

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The Serpent

Germany, Ignaz and Joseph Zingerle

Once upon a time there was a hunter who had a wife and many children, but only a meager existence. He had many difficulties with his work. He would have gladly done all the men's work both at home and away from home, but he was not able to, so although he had only a small income, he still had to hire a helper.

He had about the same luck at hunting that others have. Today he got something, tomorrow nothing, and many an evening he came home with an empty bag after spending the whole day traipsing himself tired.

Not far from his house there was a high mountain. This was his favorite place to hunt, and he went there often, for this was the easiest place to spot game. One day while hunting on this mountain he saw a human lying in the footpath. His dog ran ahead then raced around the person who was lying there, all the time barking loudly. The dog was so wild that it seemed he wanted to tear the person to pieces. With difficulty the hunter held him back. It was strange that the dog was attacking this person with such fury, because normally he would do no harm to anyone.

With the dog barking at him, the person lying there raised himself a little and said to the hunter, "Be so good as to sell this dog to me."

"No," said the hunter, "I need this dog myself and cannot give him to you. But I have another one at home that you can have, if what you want is a dog."

"That's good," said the man lying there. "Let my buy the other one. But you must bring it here at exactly this time tomorrow, and we will close the deal. Did you hear? Exactly at this time."

The hunter gave his word, went away with his dog, and hunted awhile longer on the mountain. Finding no game, he gave up his traipsing about and made his way toward home. He arrived home, and after greeting his wife he told her that he had sold the dog that he never took hunting.

The wife was glad to hear this and said, "You should have sold the other one as well. We would be better off giving the bread to our children that we use feeding the dogs."

The next day, as the appointed time approached, the hunter said, "I have to leave now with the dog, for the man might not wait, and then the deal would be broken."

He lured the promised dog to come to him and was about to leave when his thirteen-year-old daughter came up to him and cried out, "Oh, father, let me come along too!"

"Why do want to go with me today?" asked the hunter.

The girl did not have an answer, but still would not cease asking to be allowed to go with her father. In the meantime the hunter's wife came by and took the girl's side, so in the end the father gave in and allowed her to go.

They went to the mountain, coming finally to the path where the person had been lying the day before. But today a wild serpent was lying there. The frightened hunter immediately realized that there had been something uncanny about the person whom the dog had barked at the day before. Taking his daughter by the hand, he said, "Let's go. We have to turn back. Yesterday I knew there was something not right about that man, and now today there is a serpent lying there in his place."

The girl too was afraid, took his hand, and wanted to go. Then the dragon moved, shot toward the girl, wrapped his tail around her, and disappeared into the mountain with her. The hunter, paralyzed with fear, stared after the monster.

Now he was sorry that he had not brought his rifle. If he had been armed he at least could have peppered the dragon's skin a bit. However, staring after them did no good, and finally he had to decide to go home and report the sad news. Upon his arrival, his wife saw his distorted face and said immediately, "Where did you leave the girl? Why isn't she with you?"

Tears came to the hunter's eyes and, crying, he told her what had happened. After hearing this the hunter's wife was horrified and ran about crying, "We did not bless the child enough, otherwise this evil would not have happened to her."

The next day the hunter returned to the mountain and combed back and forth and up and down hoping to find some trace of his child. But he did not find as much as a scrap of her clothing, and that evening he had to return home empty-handed. Undaunted, he returned often, looking in every corner and hole. His thoughts were always with his daughter, even while hunting game. But his searching was all in vain, and seven years passed without his discovering even the slightest trace of the girl.

After the seven years had passed it happened one day that the hunter and his helper went to the mountain to hunt. They saw a beautiful game animal and began to track it, thinking it would soon be theirs. However, the animal stayed just far enough ahead of them so they could not get a shot at it, although they never lost it completely from their eyes. They were determined to get the animal, whatever it might do. Thus they pursued it long and hard, but all for naught, and did not notice that it was getting dark. They did not stop until night had fallen, and finally the hunter said to his helper, "It is late. Night has come, and we are not going to make it back home."

"I don't care," said the helper. "It isn't cold, and we can sleep here on the ground just as well as at home in bed."

"No, said the hunter, "I am not going to lie on the ground here. It is exactly seven years since the serpent carried my daughter away, and if we were to lie down on the ground here it could also happen to us that a serpent or some other beast might attack us and tear us to pieces."

"Wait a bit," answered the helper. "I'll climb a tree and look around to see if there is a house nearby."

The hunter laughed at him, saying, "Yes indeed, a house nearby! I know this entire mountain from top to bottom and know for certain that there is no house nearby."

But the helper would not be dissuaded, and he climbed the tree and looked around. "Look!" he suddenly called out. "I can see a light just a little above us. There is certainly a house up there where we can spend the night."

The hunter did not know what to think of this, because he knew full well that no one lived around here far and wide. The helper climbed quickly down the tree and said, "Let's go up to the light and see if there are people there who will give us shelter."

The hunter had no desire to go along, but the helper would not give in, and ridiculed him, so he finally agreed to go, and the two of them climbed up the mountain. They had not gone far when a light glistened brightly through the tree branches, and the hunter saw that the helper had been right. But he was all the more fearful, for he knew that there never had been a house around here. His fear became even greater when, after advancing a few paces, there appeared before them a magnificent castle, from which the light was beaming.

The helper stopped and said, "Now you can see which of us was right. I knew right away that if there was a light on the mountain there must be a house there as well. Let's go in and ask the people for shelter."

The hunter cautioned him, saying, "I have been at this spot many times, but never in my lifetime has there been a castle standing here. Believe you me, there is something not right about this. We would be better off to turn back and spend the night in a tree."

But the helper would not be dissuaded, and he said that he would go inside, come what may.

"Then I'll have to go too," thought the hunter to himself, and climbed up to the door with his helper. They went inside, with the helper bravely leading the way and the hunter timidly following.

A most beautiful maiden came up to them and asked them what they wanted.

The servant spoke first, saying, "Nightfall caught us in the woods and we were not able to make our way home. May we ask you for shelter for the night?"

"Oh, yes," replied the maiden. "You can spend the night here, but I have to tell you one thing: You must show neither fear nor disgust."

"If there is nothing more than that," said the helper, "then we can well spend the night here, for we never show fear nor disgust."

The helper was speaking for himself, for the hunter thought something quite different, but he kept his mouth shut and surrendered himself to fate.

The maiden led the two up to a room. Inviting them to be seated, she went into the kitchen and brought them something to eat. They ate heartily and felt no disgust.

While they were eating, the maiden fetched a tub and placed it in the room. Then she went for water, and carried water inside until the tub was full. The two did not know why she was doing this, and the hunter was still secretly afraid.

Then suddenly a disgusting serpent came in the door and fell into the tub, splashing the water high. The hunter was now even more frightened, because as far as he could determine, this was the same serpent that seven years earlier had abducted his daughter.

The maiden then went to the tub and began vigorously to wash the serpent. The longer she washed, the redder the water became, until finally it was so red that there appeared to be nothing but blood in the container. The two at the table had to take hold of themselves to keep their hearts from fluttering like a lamb's tail.

After the maiden had washed the serpent clean she helped him out of the tub. Then he began to speak, saying, "Maiden, would you not like to marry me?"

"No," she said, "I cannot do that. You are a serpent and I am a human."

He asked her again, "Maiden, won't you marry me?"

She said again, "No, I cannot do that. You are a serpent and I am a human."

Then he asked for the third time, "Maiden, are you sure that you won't marry me?"

She could no longer refuse him. She felt sorry for him and said, "Because you won't give in, I will accept you. I have been washing you for seven years, so for a while I will continue to be able to wash you."

She had hardly said this when the serpent disappeared, and a wonderfully handsome youth stood there in its place. As her bridegroom he extended his hand to her and said, "You have now redeemed me. As thanks for this I will indeed take you as my wife and secure a happy life for you. In this castle we have possessions enough, and the castle itself will no longer be enchanted, as it was until now."

The he led the maiden to the hunter and asked him, "Do you know her?"

"Why should I know her?" said the hunter.

"Look at her carefully," said the youth, and tell me if this is not your daughter. I was banished seven years before she was born. Then I had to wait thirteen years before bringing her to my castle. For seven years she has had to wash me every day. Now the magic has been broken, and I will take her to be my wife. The rest of you no longer must suffer from poverty. My wealth would be sufficient to care for you even if you had more children than you actually have."

The hunter did not know what was happening to him as he heard this. He looked first at the maiden and then at the youth, and could not fully believe that the woman was his child and the man his future son-in-law. But if he could trust in his own eyes then he had to believe that this was really his daughter standing before him, and he did not know why he should not believe the youth. Beside himself with joy, he jumped up and embraced them both, and then for a long time expressed thanks that everything had concluded so well.

The next day they all went together to the hunter's house and introduced themselves to the hunter's wife, telling her the whole story. It cannot be stated how happy she was, and she hurriedly began preparations for the wedding. When everything was ready the wedding was celebrated with great splendor. From this time forth the hunter's family had the best possible life with the daughter's husband. And they all lived happily together until the end of their lives.

(Heard in Meran)

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• Source: Ignaz und Joseph Zingerle, Der Wurm, Kinder- und Hausmärchen aus Süddeutschland (Regensburg: Papier, Druck und Verlag von Friedrich Pustet, 1854), pp. 311-319.

• The German title of this story is "Der Wurm." The German word Wurm (like its English cognate worm) can signify either small earthworm-type creatures, or much larger dragon-like serpents.

• Translation © 1998 by D. L. Ashliman.

• Type 433A.

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The River Snake

India, Cecil Henry Bompas

Once upon a time a certain woman had been on a visit to a distant village. As she was going home she reached the bank of a flooded river. She tried to wade across but soon found that the water was too deep and the current too strong. She looked about but could see no signs of a boat or any means of crossing. It began to grow dark, and the woman was in great distress at the thought that she would not be able to reach her home.

While she thus stood in doubt, suddenly out of the river came a great snake and said to her, "Woman, what will you give me if I ferry you across the river?"

She answered, "Snake, I have nothing to give you."

The snake said, "I cannot take you across the river unless you promise to give me something."

Now the woman at the time was pregnant and not knowing what else to do, she promised that when her child was born, if it were a daughter she would marry her to the river snake, and if it were a son that, when the boy grew up he should become the juri or "name friend" of the snake. The woman swore to do this with an oath, and the snake took her on his back and bore her safely across the flooded stream.

The woman safely reached her home, and in a little time a daughter was born to her.

Years passed away, and the woman forgot all about the snake and her oath. One day she went to the river to fetch water, and the snake came out of the stream and said to her, "Woman, where is the wife whom you promised to me?"

The woman then remembered her oath, and going back to her house she returned to the river with her daughter. When the girl came to the bank of the river, the snake seized her and drew her underneath the water, and her mother saw her no more. The girl lived with the snake at the bottom of the river, and in the course of years bore him four snake sons.

Afterwards the girl remembered her home, and one day she went to visit her mother. Her brothers when they came home were astonished to see her and said, "Sister, we thought that you were drowned in the river."

She answered, "No, I was not drowned, but I am married and have children."

The brothers said, "Where is this brother-in-law of ours?"

Their sister said, "Go to the river and call him."

So they went to the river and called, and the snake came up out of the water and went to their house with them. Then they welcomed the snake and gave him great quantities of rice beer to drink. After drinking this the snake became sleepy and coiling himself in great coils went to sleep. Then the brothers who did not like a snake brother-in-law took their axes and cut off the head of the snake while he slept, and afterwards their sister lived in their house.

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• Source: Cecil Henry Bompas, Folklore of the Santal Parganas (London: David Nutt, 1909), pp. 452-453.

• Type 433A.

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The Knights of Ållaberg

Sweden

One time a peasant, en route to Jönköping with a load of rye, came just at dusk to Ållaberg, where he discovered a grand mansion by the way.

"Maybe I can sell my rye here," thought he, "and so be spared the journey to Jönköping," and, approaching the door, he knocked for admittance.

The door was at once opened by some unseen power, and the peasant entered.

Upon entering, he found himself in a grand hall. In the middle of the floor stood a large table and upon the table lay twelve golden helmets, grand beyond the power of description, and scattered around the room, deep in slumber, were twelve knights in glittering armor.

The peasant contemplated his beautiful surroundings, but, concluding he could not sell his rye here, went on, coming finally to a large stable, where he found standing twelve most magnificent steeds, bedecked with golden trappings and silver shoes on their hoofs, stamping in their stalls.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he took hold of the bridle of one of the horses in order to learn by what art it was made. Hardly had he touched it when he heard a voice call out, "Is it time now?" and another answer, "No, not yet!"

The peasant had now seen and heard as much as he desired, and, thoroughly frightened, hastened away. When he came out he found that he had been into the mountain instead of into a mansion, and that he had seen the twelve knight who sleep there until the country shall be in some great danger, when they will awake and help Sweden to defend herself against her foreign enemies.

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• Source: Herman Hofberg, Swedish Fairy Tales, translated by W. H. Myers (Chicago, Belford-Clarke Company, 1890), pp. 109-10.

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Sun, Moon, and Talia

Giambattista Basile

There once lived a great lord, who was blessed with the birth of a daughter, whom he named Talia. He sent for the wise men and astrologers in his lands, to predict her future. They met, counseled together, and cast her horoscope, and at length they came to the conclusion that she would incur great danger from a splinter of flax. Her father therefore forbade that any flax, hemp, or any other material of that sort be brought into his house, so that she should escape the predestined danger.

One day, when Talia had grown into a young and beautiful lady, she was looking out of a window, when she beheld passing that way an old woman, who was spinning. Talia, never having seen a distaff or a spindle, was pleased to see the twirling spindle, and she was so curious as to what thing it was, that she asked the old woman to come to her. Taking the distaff from her hand, she began to stretch the flax. Unfortunately, Talia ran a splinter of flax under her nail, and she fell dead upon the ground. When the old woman saw this, she became frightened and ran down the stairs, and is running still.

As soon as the wretched father heard of the disaster which had taken place, he had them, after having paid for this tub of sour wine with casks of tears, lay her out in one of his country mansions. There they seated her on a velvet throne under a canopy of brocade. Wanting to forget all and to drive from his memory his great misfortune, he closed the doors and abandoned forever the house where he had suffered this great loss.

After a time, it happened by chance that a king was out hunting and passed that way. One of his falcons escaped from his hand and flew into the house by way of one of the windows. It did not come when called, so the king had one of his party knock at the door, believing the palace to be inhabited. Although he knocked for a length of time, nobody answered, so the king had them bring a vintner's ladder, for he himself would climb up and search the house, to discover what was inside. Thus he climbed up and entered, and looked in all the rooms, and nooks, and corners, and was amazed to find no living person there. At last he came to the salon, and when the king beheld Talia, who seemed to be enchanted, he believed that she was asleep, and he called her, but she remained unconscious. Crying aloud, he beheld her charms and felt his blood course hotly through his veins. He lifted her in his arms, and carried her to a bed, where he gathered the first fruits of love. Leaving her on the bed, he returned to his own kingdom, where, in the pressing business of his realm, he for a time thought no more about this incident.

Now after nine months Talia delivered two beautiful children, one a boy and the other a girl. In them could be seen two rare jewels, and they were attended by two fairies, who came to that palace, and put them at their mother's breasts. Once, however, they sought the nipple, and not finding it, began to suck on Talia's fingers, and they sucked so much that the splinter of flax came out. Talia awoke as if from a long sleep, and seeing beside her two priceless gems, she held them to her breast, and gave them the nipple to suck, and the babies were dearer to her than her own life. Finding herself alone in that palace with two children by her side, she did not know what had happened to her; but she did notice that the table was set, and food and drink were brought in to her, although she did not see any attendants.

In the meanwhile the king remembered Talia, and saying that he wanted to go hunting, he returned to the palace, and found her awake, and with two cupids of beauty. He was overjoyed, and he told Talia who he was, and how he had seen her, and what had taken place. When she heard this, their friendship was knitted with tighter bonds, and he remained with her for a few days. After that time he bade her farewell, and promised to return soon, and take her with him to his kingdom. And he went to his realm, but he could not find any rest, and at all hours he had in his mouth the names of Talia, and of Sun and Moon (those were the two children's names), and when he took his rest, he called either one or other of them.

Now the king's wife began to suspect that something was wrong from the delay of her husband while hunting, and hearing him name continually Talia, Sun, and Moon, she became hot with another kind of heat than the sun's. Sending for the secretary, she said to him, "Listen to me, my son, you are living between two rocks, between the post and the door, between the poker and the grate. If you will tell me with whom the king your master, and my husband, is in love, I will give you treasures untold; and if you hide the truth from me, you will never be found again, dead or alive." The man was terribly frightened. Greed and fear blinded his eyes to all honor and to all sense of justice, and he related to her all things, calling bread bread, and wine wine.

The queen, hearing how matters stood, sent the secretary to Talia, in the name of the king, asking her to send the children, for he wished to see them. Talia, with great joy, did as she was commanded. Then the queen, with a heart of Medea, told the cook to kill them, and to make them into several tasteful dishes for her wretched husband. But the cook was tender hearted and, seeing these two beautiful golden apples, felt pity and compassion for them, and he carried them home to his wife, and had her hide them. In their place he prepared two lambs into a hundred different dishes. When the king came, the queen, with great pleasure, had the food served.

The king ate with delight, saying, "By the life of Lanfusa, how tasteful this is"; or, "By the soul of my ancestors, this is good."

Each time she replied, "Eat, eat, you are eating of your own."

For two or three times the king paid no attention to this repetition, but at last seeing that the music continued, he answered, "I know perfectly well that I am eating of my own, because you have brought nothing into this house"; and growing angry, he got up and went to a villa at some distance from his palace, to solace his soul and alleviate his anger.

In the meanwhile the queen, not being satisfied of the evil already done, sent for the secretary and told him to go to the palace and to bring Talia back, saying that the king longed for her presence and was expecting her. Talia departed as soon as she heard these words, believing that she was following the commands of her lord, for she greatly longed to see her light and joy, knowing not what was preparing for her. She was met by the queen, whose face glowed from the fierce fire burning inside her, and looked like the face of Nero.

She addressed her thus, "Welcome, Madam Busybody! You are a fine piece of goods, you ill weed, who are enjoying my husband. So you are the lump of filth, the cruel bitch, that has caused my head to spin? Change your ways, for you are welcome in purgatory, where I will compensate you for all the damage you have done to me."

Talia, hearing these words, began to excuse herself, saying that it was not her fault, because the king her husband had taken possession of her territory when she was drowned in sleep; but the queen would not listen to her excuses, and had a large fire lit in the courtyard of the palace, and commanded that Talia should be cast into it.

The lady, perceiving that matters had taken a bad turn, knelt before the queen, and begged her to allow her at least to take off the garments she wore. The queen, not for pity of the unhappy lady, but to gain also those robes, which were embroidered with gold and pearls, told her to undress, saying, "You can take off your clothes. I agree." Talia began to take them off, and with every item that she removed she uttered a loud scream. Having taken off her robe, her skirt, the bodice, and her shift, she was on the point of removing her last garment, when she uttered a last scream louder than the rest. They dragged her towards the pile, to reduce her to lye ashes which would be used to wash Charon's breeches.

The king suddenly appeared, and finding this spectacle, demanded to know what was happening. He asked for his children, and his wife -- reproaching him for his treachery -- told him that she had had them slaughtered and served to him as meat. When the wretched king heard this, he gave himself up to despair, saying, "Alas! Then I, myself, am the wolf of my own sweet lambs. Alas! And why did these my veins know not the fountains of their own blood? You renegade bitch, what evil deed is this which you have done? Begone, you shall get your desert as the stumps, and I will not send such a tyrant-faced one to the Colosseum to do her penance!"

So saying, he commanded that the queen should be cast into the fire which she had prepared for Talia, and the secretary with her, because he had been the handle for this bitter play, and weaver of this wicked plot. He was going to do the same with the cook, whom he believed to be the slaughterer of his children, when the man cast himself at his feet, saying, "In truth, my lord, for such a deed, there should be nothing else than a pile of living fire, and no other help than a spear from behind, and no other entertainment than twisting and turning within the blazing fire, and I should seek no other honor than to have my ashes, the ashes of a cook, mixed up with the queen's. But this is not the reward that I expect for having saved the children, in spite of the gall of that bitch, who wanted to kill them and to return to your body that which was of your own body."

Hearing these words, the king was beside himself. He thought he was dreaming, and he could not believe what his own ears had heard. Therefore, turning to the cook, he said, "If it is true that you have saved my children, be sure that I will take you away from turning the spit, and I will put you in the kitchen of this breast, to turn and twist as you like all my desires, giving you such a reward as shall enable you to call yourself a happy man in this world."

While the king spoke these words, the cook's wife, seeing her husband's need, brought forth the two children, Sun and Moon, before their father. And he never tired at playing the game of three with his wife and children, making a mill wheel of kisses, now with one and then with the other. He gave a generous reward to the cook, he made him a chamberlain. He married Talia to wife; and she enjoyed a long life with her husband and her children, thus experiencing the truth of the proverb:

Those whom fortune favors
Find good luck even in their sleep.

---

• Source: The Pentameron of Giambattista Basile, translated by Richard F. Burton (Privately printed, 1893), day 5, tale 5. Translation revised by D. L. Ashliman.

• Giambattista Basile was born about 1575 in Naples and died 1632 in Giugliano, Campania. His Lo cunto de li cunti (The Story of Stories) was published in 1634, and named Il pentamerone because of its similarity to Boccaccio's Decamerone. The framework of Lo cunto de li cunti provides a context for ten women to tell one story each every day for five days. The fifty resulting stories, all based on oral tradition, comprise one of the monumental folktale collections of all time.

• Return to the table of contents.

The Singing Bones

French Louisiana

Once upon a time there lived a man and a woman who had twenty-five children. They were very poor. The man was good, the woman was bad. Every day when the husband returned from his work the wife served his dinner, but always meat without bones.

"How is it that this meat has no bones?"

"Because bones are heavy, and meat is cheaper without bones. They give us more for the money."

The husband ate, and said nothing.

"How is it you don't eat meat?"

"You forget that I have no teeth. How do you expect me to eat meat without teeth?"

"That is true," said the husband, and he said nothing more, because he was afraid to grieve his wife, who was as wicked as she was ugly.

When one has twenty-five children one cannot think of them all the time, and one does not see if one or two are missing. One day, after his dinner, the husband asked for his children. When they were by him he counted them, and found only fifteen. He asked his wife where were the ten others. She answered that they were at their grandmother's, and every day she would send one more for them to get a change of air. That was true, every day there was one that was missing.

One day the husband was at the threshold of his house, in front of a large stone which was there. He was thinking of his children, and he wanted to go and get them at their grandmother's, when he heard voices that were saying:

Our mother killed us,
Our father ate us.
We are not in a coffin,
We are not in the cemetery.

At first he did not understand what that meant, but he raised the stone and saw a great quantity of bones, which began to sing again. He then understood that it was the bones of his children, whom his wife had killed, and whom he had eaten. Then he was so angry that he killed his wife, buried his children's bones in the cemetery, and stayed alone at his house.

From that time he never ate meat, because he believed it would always be his children that he would eat.

---

• Source: Alcée Fortier, Louisiana Folk-Tales in French Dialect and English Translation (Boston and New York: Published for the American Folk-Lore Society by Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1895), no. 17, p. 61.

• Fortier's source: "Informant, old negress, 77 Esplanade Avenue [New Orleans]."

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The Opium Eaters and the Open Gate

Turkey

Certain opium eaters, while walking about, found a sequin. They said, "Let us go to a cook and buy food and eat." So they went and entered a cook shop and said, "Master, give us a sequin's worth of food."

The cook prepared all manner of foods and loaded a porter with them. And the opium eaters took him outside the city where there was a tomb [enclosed by four walls]. They entered and sat down, and the porter laid down the food and went away. The opium eaters fell to eating the food, when suddenly one of them said, "The gate is open. Stop, one of you shut the gate, or else other opium eaters will come and trouble us. Even though they be friends, they will do the deeds of foes."

One of them replied, "You go and shut the gate," and they began to quarrel.

At length one said, "Come, let us agree that the one of us who first speaks shall get up and fasten the gate."

They all agreed to this proposal, and left the food and sat quite still. Suddenly a she-dog and fifteen dogs came in. Not one of the opium eaters stirred or spoke, for if one spoke, he would need to get up and shut the gate, so no one spoke. The dogs made an end of the food and ate it all up. Just then another dog leaped in from outside, but no food remained. Now one of the opium eaters had partaken of everything, and some of the food remained about his mouth and on his beard. The newly arrived dog licked up the morsels of food that were on the opium eater's breast, and while he was licking up those about his mouth he took his lip for a piece of meat and bit it. The opium eater did not stir, for he said to himself, "They will ask me to shut the gate," but to ease his soul, he muttered "Ouch!" inwardly cursing the dog.

When the other opium eaters heard him make that noise they said, "Get up and fasten the gate!"

He replied, "Caution follows loss. Now that the food is gone and my lip is wounded, what need is there to shut the gate? Through negligence and folly you have let these very good things slip from your hands."

And crying "Woe! Alas!" they went each in a different direction.

---

• Source: Sheykh-Zada, "The Lady's Fourteenth Story," The History of the Forty Vezirs; or, The Story of the Forty Morns and Eves, translated by E. J. W. Gibb (London: George Redway, 1886), pp. 171-172.

• Title provided and language cautiously modernized by D. L. Ashliman.

The Midnight Dance

Russia

Once upon a time there was a king who was a widower. He had twelve daughters: each was fairer than the others. Every night these princesses went where nobody knew. It was only for twenty-four hours, and they always wore out a new pair of shoes. Now the king had no shoes ready for them, and he wanted to know where they went at night and what they did. So he made a feast ready, and he summoned all the kings and korolévichi, all the boyárs, and the merchants and the simple folk, to it, and he asked them, "Can any of you guess this riddle? Whoever guesses it I will give him my beloved daughter as a wife and a half of my kingdom as a dowry."

No one was able to find out where the princesses went at night. Only one poor nobleman cried out, "Your kingly majesty, I will find out!"

"Very well; go and find out."

So then the poor nobleman began pondering and saying to himself, "What have I done? I have undertaken to find out, and I don't know myself. If I don't find out now, possibly the king will put me under arrest."

So he went out of the palace beyond the city, and went on and on, and at last he met an old woman on the road who asked him, "What are you thinking of, doughty youth?"

And he answered, "How should I, Babushka, not become thoughtful? I have undertaken to discover for the king where his daughters go by night."

"Oh, this is a difficult task, but it can be done. Here, I will give you the cap of invisibility; with that you cannot be seen. Now, remember, when you go to sleep the princesses will pour a sleeping draught out for you. You turn to the wall and pour it into the bed and do not drink it."

So the poor nobleman thanked the old woman and returned to the palace. Nighttime approached and they gave him a room next to that in which the princesses slept. So he lay on the bed and began to keep watch. Then one of the princesses brought sleeping drugs in wine and asked him to drink her health. He could not refuse, and so he took the goblet, turned to the wall, and poured it into the bed. At midnight the princesses went to look whether he was asleep or not. Then the poor nobleman pretended to be as sound asleep as a log, and himself kept a keen look out for every noise.

"Now, sisters, our watchman has gone to sleep. It is time we set out on our promenade. It is time."

So they all put on their best clothes, and the elder sister went to her bedside, moved the bed, and an entrance into the subterranean realm instantly opened up beneath, leading to the home of the Accursèd Tsar. They all went down a flight of stairs, and the poor nobleman quietly got off his bed, put on the cap of invisibility, and followed them. He, without noticing, touched the youngest princess's dress.

She was frightened and said to her sisters, "O my sisters, somebody has stepped on my dress. This is a foretokening of woe."

"Nonsense; it does not mean anything of the sort!"

So they all went down the flight of steps into a grove, and in that grove there were golden flowers. Then the poor nobleman broke off and plucked a single sprig, and the entire grove rustled.

"Oh, sisters," said the youngest sister, "some unfortunate thing is injuring us. Did you hear how the grove rustled?"

"Do not fear; this is the music in the Accursèd Tsar's realm."

So they went into the tsar's palace. He, with his lackeys, met them; music sounded; and they began dancing. And they danced until their shoes were worn thin. Then the Tsar bade wine to be served to his guests. The poor nobleman took a single goblet from under his nose, poured out the wine, and put the cup into his pocket.

At last the rout was over, and the princesses bade farewell to their cavaliers, promised to come another night, turned back home, undressed and lay down to sleep.

Then the king summoned the poor nobleman, and asked him, "Did you keep watch on my daughters?"

"Yes, I did, your majesty."

"Where did they go?"

"Into the subterranean realm, to the Accursèd Tsar, where they danced all night long."

So the king summoned his daughters, and began cross examining them. "Where do you go at night?"

So the princesses tried a feint: "We have not been anywhere."

"Were you not with the Accursèd Tsar? There is this poor nobleman who can turn evidence on you. He is able to convict you."

"What do you mean, bátyushka? He can convict us when all night he slept the sleep of the dead?"

Then the poor nobleman brought the golden flower out of his pocket, and the goblet, and said, "There is the testimony."

What could they do? The princesses had to acknowledge their guilt, and the king bade the entrance to the subterranean realm be slated up. And he married the poor nobleman to the youngest daughter, and they lived happily ever after.

---

• Source: Aleksandr Nikolaevich Afanas'ev, Russian Folk-Tales, translated by Leonard A. Magnus (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, 1916), pp. 106-108.

• The Russian collector's name is also transliterated as Alexander Nikolayevich Afanasyev.

• Link to an article on Alexander Nikolayevich Afanasyev from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

The Coffee Mill Which Grinds Salt

Denmark

There was once a little boy by the name of Hans. As his parents died while he was very young, his grandmother took care of him and taught him reading and writing, and to be a good boy.

When she became very old, and thought she was about to die, she called the little boy to her and said, "I am old, Hans, and may not live long. You were always a good boy, and therefore you shall have my only treasure, a coffee mill which I have always kept at the bottom of my old chest. This coffee mill will grind all that you wish. If you say to it, 'Grind a house, little mill,' it will work away, and there the house will stand. When you say, 'Stop, little mill,' it will cease to grind."

Hans thanked his grandmother kindly, and when she died, and he was alone in the world, he opened the chest, took the coffee mill, and went out into the world.

When he had walked a long distance, and needed something to eat, he placed the mill on the grass and said, "Grind some bread and butter, little mill." Very soon Hans had all that he needed, and then he bid the mill to stop.

The next day he came to a large seaport, and when he saw the many vessels, he thought it would be pleasant to see more of the great world. He therefore boarded one of the ships and offered his service to the sailors. As it just happened that the captain needed a boy of Hans's age, he told him to stay.

As soon as the ship was out of port, the sailors commenced abusing Hans. He bore the harsh treatment as well as he could, and when he had nothing to eat the mill ground all that he wished. The bad men wondered how he could always be contented, although they gave him but little to eat. One day one of them peeped through a hole in the cabin door and discovered how the coffee mill served him.

Now the sailors offered a large sum of money to Hans if he would sell his treasure. He refused, however, saying that it was all that his good old grandmother had left him. So one day these wicked men threw Hans overboard and seized the mill. As they were in need of some salt, they bid it grind for them. The mill immediately began its work, and soon they had enough. Now they asked it to stop, but as the one who had peeped through the hole into the boy's cabin had not learned the exact command, the mill refused to obey, and before long the ship was filled with salt.

The men grew desperate, but none of them was able to find a way out of the difficulty. So at length the ship sank down with the mill, the salt, and all the wicked men. The men were drowned, but the mill is yet standing at the bottom of the sea, grinding away, and for this reason the water in the ocean has and always will have a salt taste.

---

Source: J. Christian Bay, Danish Fairy and Folk Tales (New York and London: Harper and Brothers, 1899), pp. 11-13.

Johnny-Cake

USA

Once upon a time there was an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy. One morning the old woman made a Johnny-Cake and put it in the oven to bake.

"You watch the Johnny-Cake while your father and I go out to work in the garden."

So the old man and the old woman went out and began to hoe potatoes and left the little boy to tend the oven. But he didn't watch it all the time, and all of a sudden he heard a noise, and he looked up and the oven door popped open, and out of the oven jumped Johnny-Cake and went rolling along end over end towards the open door of the house.

The little boy ran to shut the door, but Johnny-Cake was too quick for him and rolled through the door, down the steps, and out into the road long before the little boy could catch him. The little boy ran after him as fast as he could lip it, crying out to his father and mother, who heard the uproar and threw down their hoes and gave chase too. But Johnny-Cake outran all three a long way, and was soon out of sight, while they had to sit down, all out of breath, on a bank to rest.

On went Johnny-Cake, and by and by he came to two well-diggers, who looked up from their work and called out, "Where are you going, Johnny-Cake?"

He said, "I have outrun an old man and an old woman and a little boy, and I can outrun you too-o-o!"

"Ye can, can ye?" We'll see about that!" said they, and they threw down their picks and ran after him, but couldn't catch up with him, and soon they had to sit down by the roadside to rest.

On ran Johnny-Cake, and by and by he came to two ditch-diggers who were digging a ditch. "Where ye going, Johnny-Cake?" said they.

He said, "I've outrun an old man and an old woman and a little boy and two well-diggers, and I can outrun you too-o-o!"

"Ye can, can ye? We'll see about that!" said they, and they threw down their spades and ran after him too. But Johnny-Cake soon outstripped them also, and seeing they could never catch him, they gave up the chase and sat down to rest.

On went Johnny-Cake, and by and by he came to a bear. The bear said, "Where are ye going, Johnny-Cake?"

He said, "I've outrun an old man and an old woman and a little boy and two well-diggers and two ditch-diggers, and I can outrun you too-o-o!"

"Ye can, can ye?" growled the bear. "We'll see about that!" and trotted as fast as his legs could carry him after Johnny-Cake, who never stopped to look behind him. Before long the bear was left so far behind that he saw he might as well give up the hunt first as last, so he stretched himself out by the roadside to rest.

On went Johnny-Cake, and by and by he came to a wolf. The wolf said, "Where ye going, Johnny-Cake?"

He said, "I've outrun an old man and an old woman and a little boy and two well-diggers and two ditch-diggers and a bear, an I can outrun you too-o-o!"

"Ye can, can ye?" snarled the wolf. "We'll see about that!" And he set into a gallop after Johnny-Cake, who went on and on so fast that the wolf too saw there was no hope of overtaking him, and he too lay down to rest.

On went Johnny-Cake, and by and by he came to a fox that lay quietly in a corner of the fence. The fox called out in a sharp voice, but without getting up, "Where ye going, Johnny-Cake?"

He said, "I've outrun an old man and an old woman and a little boy and two well-diggers and two ditch-diggers, a bear, and a wolf, and I can outrun you too-o-o!"

The fox said, "I can't quite hear you, Johnny-Cake. Won't you come a little closer?" turning his head a little to one side.

Johnny-Cake stopped his race for the first time, and went a little closer, and called out in a very loud voice, "I've outrun an old man and an old woman and a little boy and two well-diggers and two ditch-diggers and a bear and a wolf, and I can outrun you too-o-o!"

"Can't quite hear you. Won't you come a little closer?"

Johnny-Cake came up close, and leaning towards the fox screamed out, "I'VE OUTRUN AN OLD MAN AND AN OLD WOMAN AND A LITTLE BOY AND TWO WELL-DIGGERS AND TWO DITCH-DIGGERS AND A BEAR AND A WOLF, AND I CAN OUTRUN YOU TOO-O-O!"

"You can, can you?" yelped the fox, and he snapped up the Johnny-Cake in his sharp teeth in the twinkling of an eye.

---

• Source: Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt, 1890), no. 28, pp. 155-58.

• Jacobs' source: American Journal of Folk-Lore, vol. 2, p. 60.