The Altruism

The Lute Player

Russia

Once upon a time there was a king and queen who lived happily and comfortably together. They were very fond of each other and had nothing to worry them, but at last the king grew restless. He longed to go out into the world, to try his strength in battle against some enemy and to win all kinds of honor and glory.

So he called his army together and gave orders to start for a distant country where a heathen king ruled who ill treated or tormented everyone he could lay his hands on. The king then gave his parting orders and wise advice to his ministers, took a tender leave of his wife, and set off with his army across the seas.

I cannot say whether the voyage was short or long; but at last he reached the country of the heathen king and marched on, defeating all who came in his way. But this did not last long, for in time he came to a mountain pass, where a large army was waiting for him, who put his soldiers to flight, and took the king himself prisoner.

He was carried off to the prison where the heathen king kept his captives, and now our poor friend had a very bad time indeed. All night long the prisoners were chained up, and in the morning they were yoked together like oxen and had to plow the land till it grew dark.

This state of things went on for three years before the king found any means of sending news of himself to his dear queen, but at last he contrived to send this letter: "Sell all our castles and palaces, and put all our treasures in pawn and come and deliver me out of this horrible prison."

The queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she said to herself, "How can I deliver my dearest husband? If I go myself and the heathen king sees me he will just take me to be one of his wives. If I were to send one of the ministers! -- but I hardly know if I can depend on them."

She thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head. She cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself in boy's clothes. Then she took her lute and, without saying anything to anyone, she went forth into the wide world.

She traveled through many lands and saw many cities, and went through many hardships before she got to the town where the heathen king lived. When she got there she walked all round the palace and at the back she saw the prison. Then she went into the great court in front of the palace, and taking her lute in her hand, she began to play so beautifully that one felt as though one could never hear enough.

After she had played for some time she began to sing, and her voice was sweeter than the lark's:

I come from my own country far Into this foreign land, Of all I own I take alone My sweet lute in my hand.

Oh! who will thank me for my song. Reward my simple lay? Like lover's sighs it still shall rise To greet thee day by day.

I sing of blooming flowers Made sweet by sun and rain; Of all the bliss of love's first kiss, And parting's cruel pain,

Of the sad captive's longing Within his prison wall, Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh To answer to their call.

My song begs for your pity, And gifts from out your store, And as I play my gentle lay I linger near your door.

And if you hear my singing Within your palace, sire, Oh! give, I pray, this happy day To me my heart's desire.

No sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by such a lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him. "Welcome, O lute player," said he. "Where do you come from?"

"My country, sire, is far away across many seas. For years I have been wandering about the world and gaining my living by my music."

"Stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave I will give you what you ask for in your song -- your heart's desire."

So the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played almost all day long to the king, who could never tire of listening and almost forgot to eat or drink or to torment people. He cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he declared, "There's nothing like your playing and singing. It makes me feel as if some gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow from me."

After three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.

"Well," said the king, "what do you desire as your reward?"

"Sire, give me one of your prisoners. You have so many in your prison, and I should be glad of a companion on my journeys. When I hear his happy voice as I travel along I shall think of you and thank you."

"Come along then," said the king, "choose whom you will." And he took the lute player through the prison himself.

The queen walked about amongst the prisoners, and at length she picked out her husband and took him with her on her journey. They were long on their way, but he never found out who she was, and she led him nearer and nearer to his own country.

When they reached the frontier the prisoner said, "Let me go now, kind lad; I am no common prisoner, but the king of this country. Let me go free and ask what you will as your reward."

"Do not speak of reward," answered the lute player. "Go in peace."

"Then come with me, dear boy, and be my guest."

"When the proper time comes I shall be at your palace," was the reply, and so they parted.

The queen took a short way home, got there before the king and changed her dress.

An hour later all the people in the palace were running to and fro and crying out, "Our king has come back! Our king has returned to us."

The king greeted every one very kindly, but he would not so much as look at the queen.

Then he called all his council and ministers together and said to them, "See what sort of a wife I have. Here she is falling on my neck, but when I was pining in prison and sent her word of it she did nothing to help me."

And his council answered with one voice, "Sire, when news was brought from you, the queen disappeared and no one knew where she went. She only returned today."

Then the king was very angry and cried, "Judge my faithless wife! Never would you have seen your king again, if a young lute player had not delivered him. I shall remember him with love and gratitude as long as I live."

Whilst the king was sitting with his council, the queen found time to disguise herself. She took her lute, and slipping into the court in front of the palace she sang, clear and sweet:

I sing the captive's longing Within his prison wall, Of hearts that sigh when none are nigh To answer to their call.

My song begs for your pity, And gifts from out your store And as I play my gentle lay I linger near your door.

And if you hear my singing Within your palace, sire, Oh! give, I pray, this happy day To me my heart's desire.

As soon as the king heard this song he ran out to meet the lute player, took him by the hand and led him into the palace.

"Here," he cried, "is the boy who released me from my prison. And now, my true friend, I will indeed give you your heart's desire."

"I am sure you will not be less generous than the heathen king was, sire. I ask of you what I asked and obtained from him. But this time I don't mean to give up what I get. I want you -- yourself!"

And as she spoke she threw off her long cloak and everyone saw it was the queen.

Who can tell how happy the king was? In the joy of his heart he gave a great feast to the whole world, and the whole world came and rejoiced with him for a whole week.

I was there too, and ate and drank many good things. I shan't forget that feast as long as I live.

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• Source: Andrew Lang, The Violet Fairy Book (London: Longmans, Green, and Company, 1901), pp. 70-76.

• Lang's source: Not stated, but probably Aleksandr Afanasyev.

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The Elves and the Envious Neighbor

Japan Once upon a time there was a certain man, who, being overtaken by darkness among the mountains, was driven to seek shelter in the trunk of a hollow tree. In the middle of the night, a large company of elves assembled at the place; and the man, peeping out from his hiding place, was frightened out of his wits. After a while, however, the elves began to feast and drink wine, and to amuse themselves by singing and dancing, until at last the man, caught by the infection of the fun, forgot all about his fright, and crept out of his hollow tree to join in the revels.

When the day was about to dawn, the elves said to the man, "You're a very jolly companion, and must come out and have a dance with us again. You must make us a promise, and keep it."

So the elves, thinking to bind the man over to return, took a large wen that grew on his forehead and kept it in pawn; upon this they all left the place, and went home.

The man walked off to his own house in high glee at having passed a jovial night, and got rid of his wen into the bargain. So he told the story to all his friends, who congratulated him warmly on being cured of his wen. But there was a neighbor of his who was also troubled with a wen of long standing, and, when he heard of his friend's luck, he was smitten with envy, and went off to hunt for the hollow tree, in which, when he had found it, he passed the night.

Elves, mistaking him for their former boon-companion, were delighted to see him, and said, "You're a good fellow to recollect your promise, and we'll give you back your pledge."

So one of the elves, pulling the pawned wen out of his pocket, stuck it onto the man's forehead, on the top of the other wen which he already had. So the envious neighbor went home weeping, with two wens instead of one.

This is a good lesson to people who cannot see the good luck of others, without coveting it for themselves.

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• Source: A. B. Mitford, Tales of Old Japan (London and New York: Macmillan, 1890), pp. 191-92.

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A Family Tradition

Janet MacLeod Golden (age 13) Once upon a time, way back in the middle ages, the clan MacLeod was a very strong clan in Scotland, and the fairies or "little people" favored it much. So the queen of the fairies gave to the chief a wonderful flag which possessed the quality of granting them three wishes, but only in time of great need. The flag was carefully laid away and not brought out for a long while.

At last there was great woe at Dunvegan, the castle of the MacLeods, for the heir was lost. Then someone thought of the flag and it was used, and soon after the boy was found.

A second time it was used to save the chief from death, and carefully laid away again, but, alas, so carefully that it could not be found till, in 1799, an iron chest that seemed keyless was broken open and found to contain an inner case in which was a scented casket, in that the fairy flag.

Now, before the finding of the flag a seer had predicted that when the third Norman son of an English lady should perish accidentally, the "Maidens" (three large rocks in the ocean belonging to MacLeod) should be sold to the Campbells; a fox should litter in the castle; and the fairy flag be found. The glory of the MacLeods would then depart, but to be more than recovered in the future when another chief called Ian Breac should arise.

In 1799 all these things happened, but at the present time the heir presumptive is called Ian Breac, so it is to be hoped that the glory of the MacLeod's will return.

The fairy flag is still shown at Dunvegan Castle, on the Isle of Skye. It is of fine yellow silk and has many so called "elf marks" on it in red silk thread.

Lovers of Scott's poems will recognize these lines of his translation of "Mackrimmon's Lament," an old song composed by a piper of the clan MacLeod:

MacLeod's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies,
The rowers are seated,
Unmoored are the galleys.

I have before me, as I write, a letter from the twenty-third chief of the clan, in which he tells me that though the belief in fairies is probably gone, the flag is still there to convince people of this tradition.

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• Source: St. Nicholas: An Illustrated Magazine for Young Folks, vol. 33, part 2 (May - October, 1906, p. 659.

• Complete text of the poem quoted above: The Complete Works of Sir Walter Scott, vol. 1 (New York: Conner and Cooke, 1833), p. 692.

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The Altar Cup in Aagerup (Ågerup)

Denmark Between the villages of Marup and Aagerup in Zealand, there is said to have lain a great castle, the ruins of which are still to be seen near the strand. Tradition relates that a great treasure is concealed among them, and that a dragon there watches over three kings' ransoms. Here, too, people frequently happen to get a sight of the underground folk, especially about festival times, for then they have dancing and great jollity going on down on the strand.

One Christmas Eve, a farmer's servant in the village of Aagerup went to his master and asked him if he might take a horse and ride down to look at the troll meeting. The farmer not only gave him leave but desired him to take the best horse in the stable; so he mounted and rode away down to the strand. When he was come to the place he stopped his horse, and stood for some time looking at the company who were assembled in great numbers. And while he was wondering to see how well and how gaily the little dwarfs danced, up came a troll to him, and invited him to dismount, and take a share in their dancing and merriment. Another troll came jumping up, took his horse by the bridle, and held him while the man got off, and went down and danced away merrily with them the whole night long.

When it was drawing near day he returned them his very best thanks for his entertainment, and mounted his horse to return home to Aagerup. They now gave him an invitation to come again on New Year's night, as they were then to have great festivity; and a maiden who held a gold cup in her hand invited him to drink the stirrup-cup. He took the cup; but, as he had some suspicion of them, he, while he made as if he was raising the cup to his mouth, threw the drink out over his shoulder, so that it fell on the horse's back, and it immediately singed off all the hair. He then clapped spurs to his horse's sides, and rode away with the cup in his hand over a ploughed field.

The trolls instantly gave chase all in a body ; but being hard set to get over the deep furrows, they shouted out, without ceasing:

Ride on the lay,
And not on the clay.

He, however, never minded them, but kept to the ploughed field. However, when he drew near the village he was forced to ride out on the level road, and the trolls now gained on him every minute. In his distress he prayed unto God, and he made a vow that if he should be delivered he would bestow the cup on the church.

He was now riding along just by the wall of the churchyard, and he hastily flung the cup over it, that it at least might be secure. He then pushed on at full speed, and at last got into the village; and just as they were on the point of catching hold of the horse, he sprung in through the farmer's gate, and the man clapt to the wicket after him. He was now safe; but the trolls were so enraged, that, taking up a huge great stone, they flung it with such force against the gate, that it knocked four planks out of it.

There are no traces now remaining of that house, but the stone is still lying in the middle of the village of Aagerup. The cup was presented to the church, and the man got in return to best farmhouse on the lands of Eriksholm.

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• Source: Thomas Keightley, The Fairy Mythology: Illustrative of the Romance and Superstition of Various Countries (London: H. G. Bohn, 1850), pp. 109-110.

• Keightley's source: "Oral."

• In a footnote Keightley gives the Danish-language version of the trolls' verse:

  Rid paa det Bolde,
  Og ikke paa det Knolde.

• In a second footnote Keightley provides the following additional information:

  This is an adventure common to many countries. The church of Vigersted in Zealand has a cup obtained in the same way. The man, in this case, took refuge in the church, and was there besieged by the trolls till morning. The bridge of Hagbro in Jutland got its name from a similar event. When the man rode off with the silver jug from the beautiful maiden who presented it to him, an old crone set off in pursuit of him with such velocity, that she would surely have caught him, but that providentially he came to a running water. The pursuer, however, like Nannie with Tam o' Shanter, caught the horse's hind leg, but was only able to keep one of the cocks of his shoe: hence the bridge was called Hagbro, i. e. Cock Bridge.

• In modern Danish Aagerup is spelled Ågerup.

• Link to information about the Ågerup Church.

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The King and the Clever Girl

India

There was once a king who, during the day, used to sit on his throne and dispense justice, but who at night was accustomed to disguise himself and to wander about the streets of his city looking for adventures.

One evening he was passing by a certain garden when he observed four young girls sitting under a tree, and conversing together in earnest tones. Curious to overhear the subject of their discourse, he stopped to listen.

One of the girls said, "I think of all tastes the pleasantest in the world is the taste of telling lies."

This remark so interested the king that the next day he summoned the girl to his palace.

"Tell me," he said, "what you and your companions talked about under the tree last night."

"It was not about the king," answered she.

"Nevertheless," asked he, "what was it you said?"

"Those who tell lies, said I, must tell them because they find the practice agreeable," replied she.

"Whose daughter are you?" inquired the king.

"I am the daughter of a farmer," answered the girl.

"And what made you think there was pleasure in telling lies?" asked the king.

The girl answered saucily, "Oh, you yourself will tell lies someday!"

"How?" said the king. "What can you mean?"

The girl answered, "If you will give me two lacs of rupees, and six months to consider, I will promise to prove my words."

So the king gave the girl the sum of money she asked for, and agreed to her conditions.

After six months he called her to his presence again, and reminded her of her promise. Now, in the interval the girl had built a fine palace far away in the forest, upon which she had expended the wealth which the king had given to her. It was beautifully adorned with carvings and paintings, and furnished with silk and satin. So she now said to the king, "Come with me, and you shall see God."

Taking with him two of his ministers, the king went out, and by the evening they all arrived at the palace.

"This palace is the abode of God," said the girl. "But he will reveal himself only to one person at a time, and he will not reveal himself even to him unless he was born in lawful wedlock. Therefore, while the rest remain without, let each of you enter in order."

"Be it so," said the king. "But let my ministers precede me. I shall go in last."

So the first minister passed through the door and at once found himself in a noble room, and as he looked around he said to himself, "Who knows whether I shall be permitted to see God or not? I may be a bastard. And yet this place, so spacious and so beautiful, is a fitting dwelling place even for the deity." With all his looking and straining, however, he quite failed to see God anywhere. Then said he to himself, "If now I go out and declare that I have not seen God, the king and the other minister will throw it in my teeth that I am base-born. I have only one course open, therefore, which is to say that I have seen him."

So he went out, and when the king asked, "Have you seen God?" he answered at once, "Of course I have seen God."

"But have you really seen him?" continued the king.

"Really and truly," answered the minister.

"And what did he say to you?" inquired the king further.

"God commanded me not to divulge his words," readily answered the minister.

Then said the king to the other minister, "Now you go in."

The second minister lost no time in obeying his master's order, thinking in his heart as he crossed the threshold, "I wonder if I am base-born?" Finding himself in the midst of the magnificent chamber, he gazed about him on all sides, but failed to see God. Then said he to himself, "It is very possible I am base-born, for no God can I see. But it would be a lasting disgrace that I should admit it. I had better make out that I also have seen God."

Accordingly, he returned to the king, who said to him, "Well, have you seen God?" when the minister asserted that he had not only seen him, but that he had spoken with him too.

It was now the turn of the king, and he entered the room confident that he would be similarly favored. But he gazed around in dismay, perceiving no sign of anything which could even represent the Almighty. Then began he to think to himself, "This God, wherever he is, has been seen by both my ministers, and it cannot be denied, therefore, that their birthright is clear. Is it possible that I, the king, am a bastard, seeing that no God appears to me? The very thought is confusion, and necessity will compel me to assert that I have seen him too."

Having formed this resolution, the king stepped out and joined the rest of his party.

"And now, O king," asked the cunning girl, "have you also seen God?"

"Yes," answered he with assurance, "I have seen God."

"Really?" asked she again.

"Certainly," asserted the king.

Three times the girl asked the same question, and three times the king unblushingly lied. Then said the girl, "O king, have you never a conscience? How could you possibly see God, seeing that God is a spirit?"

Hearing this reproof, the king recalled to mind the saying of the girl that one day he would lie too, and, with a laugh, he confessed that he had not seen God at all. The two ministers, beginning to feel alarmed, confessed the truth as well. Then said the girl, "O king, we poor people may tell lies occasionally to save our lives, but what had you to fear? Telling lies, therefore, for many has its own attractions, and to them at least the taste of lying is sweet."

Far from being offended at the stratagem which the girl had practiced on him, the king was so struck with her ingenuity and assurance that he married her forthwith, and in a short time she became his confidential adviser in all his affairs, public as well as private. Thus this simple girl came to great honor and renown, and so much did she grow in wisdom that her fame spread through many lands.

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• Source: Charles Swynnerton, Indian Nights' Entertainment; or, Folk-Tales from the Upper Indus (London: Elliot Stock, 1892), no. 22, pp. 56-62.

• Swynnerton's story includes three additional episodes, one dealing with each of the girls overheard by the king. Click here for a link to the entire story, with its original title The Story of the King and the Four Girls.

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The Dream of the Zirl Bridge

Austria It was not going well for the peasant of G. in Rinn, and his shoes pinched him on all sides. Once he dreamed that he should go to the bridge at Zirl where he would discover something important. After having the same dream the following night he shared this information with his wife and declared that he wanted to go to Zirl.

But his old woman would not allow this, saying, "Why do you want to waste an entire day and wear out your shoes for nothing? You will not have as much as a green twig to show for yourself!"

So he remained unhappily at home, but behold, the next night he had exactly the same dream again. He arose very early and hurried to Zirl. At sunrise he was already standing by the bridge there. After walking back and forth for a quarter hour, he was approached by a goat herder who wished him a good morning, then drove his herd onward. He did not see anyone for a long time after that. Noon finally arrived, and hunger was tormenting him. He took a piece of Turkish bread [a confection made from peanuts] from his pocket and let it suffice, for he was not going to leave the bridge for any price. But however long he waited, no one came to him.

He was losing his patience, and he was irritated by the thought of how his wife would laugh at him and ridicule him for his gullibility. But he nevertheless held out, until finally the sun was about to set, and the goat herder returned with his herd. He was more that a little surprised to see that the man from Rinn was still there, and he asked him why he had been waiting there so long.

"You see," said the peasant, "I dreamed that if I were to go to the Zirl bridge that I would discover something important."

"Indeed!" answered the goat herder, laughing. "And I dreamed that if I were to go to G. in Rinn that I would find a pot of gold beneath the hearth."

The man from Rinn had now heard enough. He ran home to see if the herder's words were true. Arriving home late in the evening, he secretly dismantled his hearth at once, and he did indeed find a pot completely filled with gold. Thus he became the richest peasant far and wide. (Zillertal)

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• Source: Ignaz D. Zingerle, Sagen aus Tirol (Innsbruck: Verlag der Wagner'schen Universitäts-Buchhandlung, 1891), no. 624, pp. 353-54.

• Translated by D. L. Ashliman. © 2008.

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Harisarman

India

There was a certain Brahman in a certain village, named Harisarman. He was poor and foolish and in evil case for want of employment, and he had very many children, that he might reap the fruit of his misdeeds in a former life. He wandered about begging with his family, and at last he reached a certain city, and entered the service of a rich householder called Sthuladatta. His sons became keepers of Sthuladatta's cows and other property, and his wife a servant to him, and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of an attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage of the daughter of Sthuladatta, largely attended by many friends of the bridegroom, and merrymakers. Harisarman hoped that he would be able to fill himself up to the throat with ghee and flesh and other dainties, and get the same for his family, in the house of his patron. While he was anxiously expecting to be fed, no one thought of him.

Then he was distressed at getting nothing to eat, and he said to his wife at night, "It is owing to my poverty and stupidity that I am treated with such disrespect here; so I will pretend by means of an artifice to possess a knowledge of magic, so that I may become an object of respect to this Sthuladatta; so, when you get an opportunity, tell him that I possess magical knowledge." He said this to her, and after turning the matter over in his mind, while people were asleep he took away from the house of Sthuladatta a horse on which his master's son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could not find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then, while Sthuladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching for the thieves who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman came and said to him, "My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology and magical sciences. He can get the horse back for you. Why do you not ask him?"

When Sthuladatta heard that, he called Harisarman, who said, "Yesterday I was forgotten, but today, now the horse is stolen, I am called to mind," and Sthuladatta then propitiated the Brahman with these words, "I forgot you, forgive me," and asked him to tell him who had taken away their horse. Then Harisarman drew all kinds of pretended diagrams, and said, "The horse has been placed by thieves on the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed there, and before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be at close of day, go quickly and bring it." When they heard that, many men ran and brought the horse quickly, praising the discernment of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honored by all men as a sage, and dwelt there in happiness, honored by Sthuladatta.

Now, as days went on, much treasure, both of gold and jewels, had been stolen by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not known, the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation for knowledge of magic. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and said, "I will tell you tomorrow," and then he was placed in a chamber by the king, and carefully guarded. And he was sad because he had pretended to have knowledge. Now in that palace there was a maid named Jihva (which means tongue), who, with the assistance of her brother, had stolen that treasure from the interior of the palace. She, being alarmed at Harisarman's knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door of that chamber in order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman, who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming his own tongue, that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said, "Oh tongue, what is this that you have done through your greediness? Wicked one, you will soon receive punishment in full." When Jihva heard this, she thought, in her terror, that she had been discovered by this wise man, and she managed to get in where he was, and falling at his feet, she said to the supposed wizard, "Brahman, here I am, that Jihva whom you have discovered to be the thief of the treasure, and after I took it I buried it in the earth in a garden behind the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the small quantity of gold which is in my possession."

When Harisarman heard that, he said to her proudly, "Depart, I know all this; I know the past, present and future; but I will not denounce you, being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When he said this to the maid, she consented, and departed quickly. But Harisarman reflected in his astonishment, "Fate brings about, as if in sport, things impossible, for when calamity was so near, who would have thought chance would have brought us success? While I was blaming my jihva, the thief Jihva suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes manifest themselves by means of fear." Thus thinking, he passed the night happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king, by some skillful parade of pretended knowledge into the garden, and led him up to the treasure, which was buried under the pomegranate tree, and said that the thief had escaped with a part of it. Then the king was pleased, and gave him the revenue of many villages.

But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king's ear, "How can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men, without having studied the books of magic. You may be certain that this is a specimen of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret intelligence with thieves. It will be much better to test him by some new artifice."

Then the king of his own accord brought a covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to Harisarman, "Brahman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I will do you great honor today." When the Brahman Harisarman heard that, he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet name of "Froggie" which his father had given him in his childhood in sport, and, impelled by luck, he called to himself by his pet name, lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly called out, "This is a fine pitcher for you, Froggie; it will soon become the swift destroyer of your helpless self." The people there, when they heard him say that, raised a shout of applause, because his speech chimed in so well with the object presented to him, and murmured, "Ah! a great sage, he knows even about the frog!" Then the king, thinking that this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted, and gave Harisarman the revenue of more villages, with gold, an umbrella, and state carriages of all kinds. So Harisarman prospered in the world.

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• Source: Jacobs, Indian Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt, 1892), no. 11, pp. 85-89. Jacobs' source: Somadeva, Katha-Sarit-Sagara (Calcutta, 1880).

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The Departure of the Dwarves Over the Bridge

Wilhelm und Jacob Grimm, German Legends The small caverns in the cliffs which one may find on the south side of the Harz mountains, especially in several areas of the Hohenstein region were once inhabited by dwarves. These caverns, which are still called "dwarf caverns," are mostly so low at their entrance that grown men can only crawl inside. The interior, however, partially offers roomy accomodation for larger groups.

Between Walkenried and Neuhof in the region of Hohenstein the dwarves used to have two kingdoms.

One inhabitant of that area once noted that his fields were being pilfered each night, but he could not discover who the culprits were. Finally, he acted on the advice of a wise woman: Going out to his pea field when night had fallen, he swept his thin staff about, over the field in the air.

It did not take long before several dwarves stood tangibly before him, for he had knocked off their invisible-making hats. Trembling, the dwarves fell at his feet and confessed: That it was their people which had been stealing from the fields of the inhabitants, but this they were forced to do out of great need.

The news of the accosted dwarves spread like wildfire and the whole community was in an uproar.

The dwarf people finally sent representatives and offered to pay ransom for themselves and their accosted brothers, intending then to leave the land forever.

However, the manner in which the departure was to take place became a new bone of contention. The local inhabitants did not want to allow the dwarves to leave with all their stored and hidden treasures and the dwarves themselves did not want to be seen as they left.

Finally, it was agreed upon that the dwarves should depart by way of a narrow bridge at Neuhof and that each of them, unobserved by the inhabitants, should toss a certain quantity of their wealth as a departure toll into a container which was to be placed there.

However, several curious individuals concealed themselves beneath the bridge, at least to hear the procession of the dwarves. Thus, for many hours they heard the footsteps of the little people, as if a large herd of sheep were passing over the bridge.

Since this last great departure of the dwarves only seldom does a dwarf or two allow itself to be seen. However, even in the older times of our forefathers, sometimes the dwarves which remained behind in the mountain heights would steal new-born infants from the homes of the inhabitants, replacing them with changelings.

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• Source: Wilhelm und Jacob Grimm, Deutsche Sagen, 1. Teil, Richard Dorson, Issachar Ben Ami, Vilmos Voigt, Eds., (New York: Arno Press, 1977), pp. 116-117 (no. 153).

Soupy Sales meant pie, dogs, silliness and laughs

NEW YORK – If you never thought a pie in the face was funny, you just didn't get Soupy Sales.

If you didn't want to splat him with a fluffy cream pie, or — even better — if you never yearned to be on the receiving end, well, you weren't a Soupy Sales fan.

Not everybody was a Soupy Sales fan. Some kids even turned off the TV and went outside and played.

I was a Soupy Sales fan. I loved Soupy Sales, who died Thursday at age 83. He invaded my consciousness for what seemed like an instant a long time ago but left my sensibility forever changed (I still have an unrequited longing for a pie fight).

Many people today may not even know who he was, apart from a guy with a funny name.

But Soupy Sales was funny. He was really, really funny if you were a kid (preferably a boy) around 10 or 11 in the early 1960s. As he migrated through a succession of TV shows on various outlets (I have no idea where he was originating when I watched him), he elevated cheap, cheesy kids' TV to inspirational levels. If he hadn't caused kids like me laugh so uproariously, he could've qualified for a Nobel Peace Prize.

Excuse my spotty memory if I only cite a few choice Soupy moments. After nearly a half-century, I've forgotten many of Soupy's high jinks, and, in my defense, I should mention that the local TV station that fed him to my small Southern town all too often featured snowy reception, so I couldn't always see precisely what was going on.

But I saw and remembered enough.

His big grin. His silly dance, for which I can still hum the tune. The sporty black sweater (did it evoke, even in its clean-cut way, the Beats of that insurgent age?), which perfectly offset the white custard dripping from each pie pressed to his face.

In particular, I remember his pet puppet dogs, who, in their clever, penny-pinching minimalism could have rivaled Jim Henson's brilliant early minimalist Muppet innovations.

I'm talking, of course, about White Fang and Black Tooth.

White Fang was a big mean dog that expressed himself with fierce growling.

Black Tooth was a very nice dog who mostly went "mmmm, mmmmm" as an imploring bid for affection.

Each dog, apart from its limited vocal range, was represented on-camera by a single paw that stroked or rumpled Soupy's sweater.

For a child to see how full-fledged, domineering canines could be rendered so sparingly had to fire that youngster's sense of wonder. If a paw and a growl was all it took to be a dog, what couldn't the imagination create!

Not that Soupy Sales had much interest (as I think back on his show) in educational matters.

And let's be clear. He wasn't so concerned about dietary matters (though few people were in those days, even well-meaning moms).

The version of Soupy's show I saw each Saturday noon was titled "Lunch With Soupy Sales," and it ended with his fixing himself a simple meal and eating it just before the credits rolled. Menu items, I am sure as a victim of that less-than-gourmet era, would have included a bologna sandwich with mayonnaise on white bread, and, for good measure, a glass of milk.

But with every bite or sip by Soupy, a comedic sound effect was added: "CAR-unch! CAR-unch!"; "slosh, slosh." He'd roll his eyes and grin with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. Hilarious!

Then, for dessert, in a deft display of product placement, he always had Jell-O. Every bite of Jell-O was accompanied by a perfectly appropriate springy sound effect: "boinnnnng!" Which seemed to send him reeling with delight.

It doesn't get any funnier than that, and likely sold America's kids a lot of Jell-O.

Now I have no memory of seeing Soupy pull the stunt that brought him the most publicity and got him in hot water: when he invited his disciples to raid their mother's purses and mail him those rectangular, green pieces of paper. By then, I think he had moved to another station and I could no longer watch his show, nor comply with his request.

In fact, my last memory of Soupy — before he re-emerged on game shows and such, and seemed to be catering to adults — was an episode of his Saturday show when he was planning to blast off in a rocket shop.

I don't know if this plot device resulted from his show having been canceled, or moving to a different city, or if he was staging a hiatus with a cool NASA theme. All I remember is, at the end of the episode, he boarded the rocket and, remarkably for Soupy, whose schemes didn't always pan out, the rocket lifted off. He blasted off for his visit to outer space — or that's what the no-frills visual effects implied.

And he was gone. My friend Mike kept razzing me, "Soupy Sales went into space today!" Though I didn't get the joke. I already missed Soupy.

But as a grown-up with many decades lying ahead for him, he left me with a priceless lesson that day: It's OK to be goofy and resist outgrowing it.

I think, in Soupy's honor, I need a pie. Custard or banana cream?

The Secret Room

New York, USA Once upon a time there lived a mother with three daughters, whose duty it was to guard the cabbage patch in front of the cottage in which they lived. One day they were all sitting in the sun, spinning, when they saw a bull in the cabbage-patch. "Take your distaff and run, child, run!" said the mother to the eldest daughter. So the girl took her distaff and ran. The bull ran and she ran, and she ran and the bull ran, until they came to a great house standing on the edge of a wood.

There the bull gave her a large bunch of keys, and told her that she could go anywhere in the house she liked except one room. He showed her the key to this room, and told her that she must not unlock the door to which it belonged. Then the bull went away and left her. The girl took the keys and roamed from one beautiful room to another, until she had seen all except the forbidden room. This she wanted to see more than she had any of the others. At last her curiosity became so great that she opened the door and went inside. What was her horror to discover that the room was full of headless bodies hung on all sides. Quickly she locked the door and ran downstairs. But she had some blood on the key, on her hand, and on her shoes.

As she was trying the best she knew how to get the blood off, along came a big black cat, which said to her, "Mew, mew, mew! Give me a dish of bread and milk, and I will tell you how to get the blood off your shoes."

"Go away, you old black thing! I am not going to bother with you."

So the cat went away, and pretty soon the bull came. "Let me see your keys!" said he. "How came the blood on this one?" Then he asked to see her hands and her shoes. When he saw blood on them too, he knew that she had disobeyed him; so, as he had done with all the others who had disobeyed him, he cut her head off and hung her body up with the others in the forbidden room.

The next day, when the mother and her two remaining daughters again sat spinning in the sun, they again saw the bull in the cabbage-patch. The mother sent the second daughter just as she had sent the first, and exactly the same things happened to her.

The third day the mother and the youngest daughter sat spinning in the sun, when the mother looked up and saw the bull a third time in the cabbage patch. "Take your distaff and run, child, run!" cried the mother.

So the youngest daughter ran, and the bull ran. The bull ran and she ran until they came to the great house on the edge of the wood. There the bull gave her a bunch of keys, and told her that she might open every door in the house except the one whose key he showed her. Then the bull went away. The youngest daughter did just as her sisters had done, and went into all the rooms except the forbidden one. She kept wondering what could be in there, until her curiosity became so great that she unlocked the door and went in. She, too, was so horrified that she quickly shut the door and ran downstairs, but with the tell-tale blood on the key, on her hand, and on her shoes.

To her came the big black cat, who said, "Mew, mew, mew! Give me a dish of bread and milk, and I will tell you how to get the blood off your shoes."

Instead of telling the cat to go away, as her sisters had done, she went and got some bread and milk for him. When the cat had finished eating, he said, "If you will go into the attic, you will find there a sickle. Take it, rub it on the key, on your hand, and on your shoes, while you say, 'Blood, be gone! Blood, be gone!"'

The girl went to the attic, found the sickle, and did with it as the cat had told her to do, saying, "Blood, be gone! blood, be gone!" Even as she spoke the last word, the blood-stains disappeared.

Then the girl went downstairs, where she found the bull waiting for her. "Let me see your keys," he said, "and your hands and your shoes!"

When he saw that she had no blood-stains upon her, he suddenly changed from a bull into a beautiful prince. "I was bewitched," he said, "by a girl who loved me, but whom I wouldn't marry because I didn't love her. I killed many a girl when I was a bull; but now we will have the bodies taken care of, and then we will be married."

So they buried the bodies, and then were married and lived happily ever after.

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• Source: Emelyn E. Gardner, "Folk-Lore from Schoharie County, New York," Journal of American Folklore, vol. 27, no. 105 (July-September, 1914), pp. 310-11.

• Gardner's source: Mrs. William Buell. Mrs. Buell heard the story from her mother, believed to be from Germany.

• This story is unusual in that the heroine marries her erstwhile captor. This turn illustrates a "contamination" of a traditional animal bridegroom tale with a type 311 (How the Devil Married Three Sisters) or type 312 (Bluebeard) tale.

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